LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2624, 4 September 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

GEORGE CONSIDINB r 3 MISTAKE

( Continued .)

I had no misgivings whatever when I started on my journey to Raeford I*et evening though I had neither written nor tele graphed to —to—them to expect me j meaning, you know, t© take them by surprise. I did not reach Raefoid until rather late—it was getting dusk, in fact; yon know the arrangement on that South Hass line—lf you are in a hurry you had better get out and walk. The haT is only half a mile from the station, and 1 left my portmanteau iu the cloak room and walked up Of course no one at the house knew me, and I would not send in my name, I asked for Miss Laborde, and the fellow showed me into the 1 brary— I don't think he knew who was there. There were two solitary candles , burning on the table, and looking dim in the ruddy glow of the fire that went blazing up the wide chimney. 1 went towards It, not seeing that there was anyone in the room. She stood in that little west window. Jack, half biden by the crimson curtain, and with her hack to ms ; but there was the sleeve of a brown shooting coat round her waist, and both her white hands rested on his shoulders. I saw at a glance who it was—Tom Thornhill, the richtat and most finished fool In all Blankshire. I suppose I must have made some exclamation, for they both turned round with a start—they had not heard mo enter or crots the room. She, Mary, knew me, and gave a little, half-inaudible cry, covering hrr face with both hands. I believe she must have thougbt she taw my ghost for a moment ; Thornhill starjd stupidly, twisting the end of his moustache. ‘ I am sorry to have intruded upon you, Miss Laborde ; 1 see I was presuming too far on my welcome. I should have asked p r mission to come,’ I said ; rather brutally, I’m afraid. Bhe raised her head. ‘You have not had my letter, George ! Oh, forgive me ! but how could I know you had not had it ? ’ * I received no letter since that on? you wrote in June,’ I interrupted. ‘I wroti to you to—explain ; I wrote —oh, long ago,' she cried out. Jack, I knew it was a lie, but how could I say so T I bowed, and said I was terry not to have had the letter ; It would have prevented this contretemps ; but I needed no further explanat'oo, and 1 wished—She broke in haughtily : *lt is not my fault, Captain Considme that yon did not receive my letter J, too, am sorry ; grieved ; but I did what I thought right In writing to ask you to release me fr. mmy engagement; it la a mistake, better for both our eakes, forgotten.’ 1 believe I said something I ought not to have done about a woman’s faith ; she drew back, flushing angrily. 1 1 have been very wrong, I know,’ she said ; * but I could not help it ; I could not help it; I have been forced to do things against my better judgment ; you must forgive me, George.’ She looked so beautiful, Kenyon, as she stood there by his side, her eyes brimming over with tears, her face a little flushed, and her white hand held out to me ! I did forgive her, I think ; but I couldn’t take that band ; it was mine no longer, though God knows I conld have died to call it mine one moment, even then. Consldine paused a second or two, turning hla head away from the light. ‘ She vowed she loved me—vowed to bo true to me till death ’ be went on at last j * but perhaps it’s not in the nature of woman to be true to a man with only 1500 acres and half pay. when an estate of 3000 and a title are laid at their feet. Wbst more was there to say or do T I came away, leaving them together, my lost love snd that—fellow. I have seen her face for the last time. Jaok—don’t Interrupt me. The saveu train bad gone half an hour when I got back to the station, and I had to stop at the Railway Inn all night and come up to town this morning. I would sooner have met yon, old fellow, than anyone just then. You know all there is to tell now. It is like you to have listened so patiently, “ I held cut my hand. Consldine wrung it heartily, and then turned to light a olga-’, and sat silent for the rest of the evening. Perhaps no one less intimately acquainted with him than I was would have guessed how crushing the blow bid been. His very determination to tell me the story, a story which, by the way, most men would have shrunk from laying before a friend, and his quiet and composed manner of telling it only gave me a deeper' Insight Into the strength of the love and faith that had been S 3 cruelly betrayed. Somehow I felt that, with fortune good or bad, George Oocsidine would never be the same man again. The next few days dragged out a slow length in long stretches of dismal fog or still more dismal small rain. Bub in spite of the weather, Contidico and I plodded silently over acres and acres of stubble every morning for hours, and with little regard for future seasons, and killing anything np shamelessly’ But the long days in the open air and the simple living did me a world of good, together with the nursing and petting Consldiue’s old housekeeper lavished upon me Yet wi'h renewed health and plenty of good sport the days were still long and dull, and I should not have been sorry to get back to town at the end of a week, but for Considlne. He was terribly down at times, and I had determined to fct icd by him as long as he wanted me. It was worst In the evening when after dinner, we had drawn our chairs to the fire over wine and walnuts, he woull not talk or smoke or play ecarto. The Grange was fully half a mile f-om the village, and the o’ergymau, an old bachelor with a gouty foot, the only iuhnbl taut with whom Consldine was on visiting terms. More than one evening at that time he sat nntil he had emptied the dee inter and—but you will understand; I need only touch upon the subject. 1 said nothing at first, but the third time it happened I thought I ought to interfere, and X got np and pat the wine away- He half rose, with an angry word. I went round to him and laid my hand on his shoulder, ‘ Excuse me, old fellow, but I can’t see you do that. It won't hr Ip you, you know. The man who thinks to drown trouble so, is —’ * A fool—you’re right about that. Jack,’ he put in ; ‘ thank you, for reminding me ; but the temptation’s strong, when there’s nothing left worth living for, to make as short work of it as passible.’ I believe I lectured him about duty and so forth, and be took it all io good part; spite of his faults, ho was a good hearted fellow was Consldine, and ho never transgressed again while we were alone. For the rest, the sic, lam persuaded, wi ; .l not be at his door, Cf course it was a great mistake, hia having the army, and I told him so, over and over again. It was no use ; he sent in h!s papers and the thing was done.

One day we were tramping homewards from an outlying farm, after a hard morning’s work and not mnch sport, the birds were getting wild—when a rattle of wheels and a sadden shoot warned ns to Step out of the way. I turned round, to see a well-appointed tandem driven by a tall fellow in a mackintosh, and before I had time to wonder what brought him there he had pulled np, and his groom was at the leader’s head. ‘Hallo, Contidine,’he called out, * I was just coming to call upon you. Heard yesterday you were down here. How do!’ ‘ St. Just, by Jove !’ It struck me that Contidine’s exclamation betrayed more surprise than pleasure. However, he roturrod the greeting cordially enough, and introduoed me I had heard of this Colonel St, Juet before, and knew a little about him ; enough, In fact, to make me a little curloas to see him. He was in the Crimea, and wonnded at Sebastopol, A man about middle age, I should say, tall and very slight, with a delicate, high-bred face, fair and smooth as a woman’s, and with a woman’s sweetness of expression. The smile with which he raised his hat to me was, I think, the moat winning I ever saw. I made these observations while Oonsldlno was talking to him, or, more correctly, answering questions. An Invitation to dinner was given them. ‘Uome to morrow at seven. We dine early. I have several young fellows staying with me, and I have to be careful of their morale, yon know; and bring your friend—l beg your pardon, ( aptaln B onyon, did you say ? I hope you will give mo the pleasure of your company. Captain Kenyon, though I am afraid yon will find It rather slow sft r Indian gaieties.’ I accepted. With a good deal of shouting at the horses and ‘ good nights ’ exchanged they dashed off Into the gathering mist, ‘ I didn’t know St. Jnat was a friend of yours, George, ’ I said, as we shouldered our guns and plodded on again. • Oh, I have met him two or three times ; I din't know him very well,’ he (answered with some reserve, re marking presently that he wished he had not accepted the Invitation; he supposed all the other fellows knew about It * Dare say they do; but yon must face that.’ ‘ Sup.

' pose so, unless I break my neck first, he | answered, with a bitter langb. Walford, 5 St. Jnet's place, was some three miles from \ Marston ; a comparatively now house, and J furnl bed in that high-art style which was ; just beginning to come into fashion among a few enthusiasts in the oaa’hetlc world. The dinner and wines were superb, and the other guests pleasant and gentlemanly enough ; a few youug officers—not one of whom, however, Considine or I knew, one or two Oxford men. Colonel Dixon of the Gist, a banister, and old Squire Harwood, cf Wixhope. The conversation savored rather of the stable at first, but there was not mnoh harm in it. It was St. Just himself who gave to it a tone I did not altogether like—a covert sneer now and then at things no gentleman should sneer at, an Imputation of wrong motive where none should have been imputed—a joke which a man would hardly have cared to repeat to his sister. More than once, I must confess, I feit a little annoyed ; still, I could n t held watching my host with more interest and admiration than is usually exc.ted by a total stranger on the mind of a man with an amazingly good opinion of himself. I couldn't keep my eyes off him, and yob I was glad when dinner was over, and we went to the billiard and smoking rooms. < ftsr a good deal of persuasion Considine sat down at the card table with Colonel Dixon. I did not care to play, and, pleading a slight headache as an excuse, took my cigar to a window seat with the view o( making farther observations. St. Just himself would not play, but walked a l out from one room to another, marking for billiards, or lookin',: over the hands of the half dozen who were at cards. He seemed to me to exercise the came singular fascination over all his guests, the young fellows especially. More than one lad I saw color and start like a girl when the whl e hand rested on his shoulder and the handsome bead bent down over him. I got Considine away tolerably early, but not before he had pledged himself to dine there the following night, and hear ing this, I, to”, accepted the Invitation, which, of course, was extended to me. The evening passed off in much the same way as the previous one had done, but that there was some high pl«y. More than enough wine had been drunk before we left, and—well, 1 had to drive Considine borne. I was more grieved and annoyed about it than I can tell you, and none the less go that I know whose doing it was. Ht. Just played h’s part cf tempter carefully and with infinite tact. But it was he, I knew, who hid filled Cousidine’s glass again and again, and proposed the higher stakes; and when George grew excited and angry through the quist rebuke his host gave him, I had seen a gleam of something like satisfaction—a look in the grey eyes which startled me for a moment, and the recollection of which cost my friend a lecture next morning. He listened in moody silence to what I had to say until I had concluded. *lf yon are wise, old fellow, you will break with fit. Just and hla set. Ton know as well as Ido that they are no good. We saw enough last night to give ns a fair idea of what goes on there. Why not go abroad and stay with your mother a few weeks ? I believe It would do you good,' He faced round on me at that." 'Thanks, Jack, but I believe I am old enough to choose my own friends and place of residence. I’m sorry if they don’t suit yon ; bat the remedy lies in your own hands.’ I would not have borne the insult from any other man, Charlie; but 1 could not quarrel with Consldiue. I looked at him steadily for a moment, waiting for an apology ; and when his eyes met mine he came to me, holding out his hand. ‘I beg pardon, Jock. I didn’t mean that j bat you must let me go to the deuce my own way.’ ‘There Is no necessity for your going there at all that I know of,’ I answered, laughing. 'And you will send an excuse instead of going over to Walford to-day, eh t* ' Hang it, a fellow mast have something to do, and there is capital cover shooting In the park,’ he said shortly, and with a slight frown. ‘ Never mind the shooting old fellow ; do what yon know to be right,’ • I don’t know it to bo right ; and, ’pon my word, I will not be prsachod at. Jack. If yon don’t care to go I’ll take your excuses.’ He rang the bell and ordered the dog oart ; and seeing that he was bent on having his own way, I said no more, and I went with him too, after a tough battle with my confounded pride. Leave him to himself just then 1 could not, and call myself his friend. (To he continued )