LITERATURE.

Patea Mail, Volume IX, Issue 1065, 27 July 1883, Page 4

LITERATURE.

BITTER SWEET: A GENUINE LOVE STORY. A symphony of sound and light and scent* . A voice of-many birds twittering delicately to each other from newly f ; ibuilt pests,- amid boughs .that swayed to and fro in the wind, and shook; their latest bulls into' leaf and blossom. Right down through the sloping, woodland tinklihgi and gurgling to tbe.sea. The dim fragrance and dappled'lights and pleasant sounds young girl who stood beneath the trees in ’■ the April moon. She stood on a part of the slope whence the trees had drawn back a little, and the light fell about her just] beyond ,the verge of. the ’shadow.' Round her feet were dead leaves and / living, and soft green mosses full of the sweet rain that had fallen all the previous night. With one, hand she shaded her eyes, and theother wasuplifted to tend back a branch which had barred the open space. Her hair was blown in a brown cloud about hey face, and her eyes sbpne with fi serious joy beneath, the shading hand. ; ■ I ,

■ For the first time in her life she was tastingf that /gladness whibV comes to„ mind and body, when alone with nature in spring, after a long illness. To this full content of heifs all the long hours of fevered tossing to and fro .were hut a .background..,, And] now into her; loneliness there came another r hrimfih presence—a young mart, carelessly whistling, treading gaily :over raos's''and ; : flower till he reached the rivulet and paused on the farthersicle, looking at the tall, slim figure in the soft grey gown, crowned by the brown hair and iwiltfuhfaceil Jnst onc moment, and he turned.off a little higher up and sprang across the stream. / .Only one look, and there 1 might have been no second; their lives' mighty have glided . apart tor ever, but' for. an ' accident]—pr what we call accident]y whichaS strong link ,ia .mapy a chain p]fAs his foot touched the bank he slipped pn\ the datnp/aarih, .spraining his ankle in the >,He drew? himself in a ; sitting posture and leant against a tree,lfainl with pain. The young girl came qujiqkly towards him. . ‘I will run and gel help,’she-said, and, meeting his grateful look for a wefail Quickly, /along the path that led,, towards Cloverleigb, ; the ' f village' where she and 1 Her father iwereStaying.! At . a turning, she met a tall scholarly looking man. | • i , , ‘ I was ■, looking for, you, Margaret’; -.Are,..you- wise. tp ;go bareheaded, my child ?’ he said anxiously. ‘My hat fell into the brook, and.it is so mild. But,'-oh 1 papa, there is a gentleman' hurt down there. He has sprained his ankle and cannot walk.: And she waved her hand towards! the. woods below. ’ They'found him faint and white; but he made light of .his, suffering as they helped'Kira through the fringe of apple and pear trees to his lodging in Cloverleigb. ‘Most of onr lives are bittersweet; but if there is one period in them when the bittfer and the sweet are superlative, it is when love takes possession of soul and body as instruments whereon to play his mightyypreludes. Margaret Townsend .'-had /'lived' alone almost all ;her /life, /with her father; a qnietjStndent, Idymg but his daughter and His ;books/ and so her life ? was full of,..associations, but not of friends. None of the bloom had been worn off her soul by - that playing at love called . flirtatlbnlv iHclr father IHad. taught her Greek, and so ,‘she chanced upon the poets,’ afid‘ their ’ thoughts’ had given flavouy r J3pme fi tinE)e before ” 'this haa chine illness at qnq tmoment «as; if-sbe cross the narrow bound of Time in the wide spaces of eternity; but slowly Death had let go his hold’,;, and she was well; • enough now to enjoy the’change to the qU'aint Devonshire/] fishing village, . perched in the raft bf.a headland .among the ancestral trees and bowers; of ash and apple and pear. .It is unique,: this village, with its hundred steps •down to the quay and the shingly \ shore. The houses rise one above ‘ the. i,pther, and . the quaint rooms in them are let in summer to visitors .with good walking . powers., Its ;only. inn is a temple of bric-a-brac, and' in summer is crowded with pilgrims visiting at one of the shrines of nature. In this

sequestered solitude, the father and daughter and Dr Enderby were atpresent the orily strangers, and the ybnngdoctpr, after two of three days,limped'into Mar-iJ^gat4t,B;-sunh't/6ittiag4robjn, /into which the light flittered through,,a,network pf, budding apple boughs. Here he would' sit , arid ,watch Margaret at. work, or listen to her as she read some bid-world ‘ book to her father, her fresh young yoice contrasting with ? the oft-times crabbed style; and, as he thus watched her, she grew inexpressibly pleasant to him. Pleasant, arid that was all. • \ But to Margaret ? Without one word of warning had come the crowning affectibifof her life. ‘ Heaven lies about us in bnr iii/ancy,* then fades away. Bat \ once;more it lies about man and woman in the mellow time of youth with a beauty that baby eyes never yet beheld ; and earth borrows of this, heavenly 'light.; John was free to conie arid go as he liked in the blossom-screened f room, holding learned converse with Mr ‘ Townserid, riieeting his daughter in the ; :wood now fully leafed, sometimes helping 1 her orpr the rocks in , search of anemones! On fine evenings the three would s ait Wthe little serin-circular, pier - that ; enclosed the “ qnafy pule,” and watch the sunset fading and the dark- ; : ness nestling down arnong the wooded 3 headlands, arid the great evening ■ star ‘suddenly appearing in the : blue above -the* paling: primrose that ' touched the water. After that the sky would 'swiftly ' fill with stars, and the moon would spring into the airy silence, and her light would penetrate sky and sea and cliff-hung village, the lights would appear one by one in the windows above, and they would climb homevyard. All this fed the Warm friend I inefes*' felt.

for her, which is often mistaken forlove. OThe 1 -fragrance'.of ;^iernlife? ?*filledl his, imagination, and he determined to jnake her his wife. But pf-that,, delicious agony, {that; glorious’fear’’that makes pallid the face of the lover, the void ,in the life that/ must ; hpj.ifilled Ky| the presence 6f a beloved woman—what did he know ? Nothing. ; His nature was as yef cold, hers was all aglow. She was one of sweet women, passionatep yet sweet and pure/ with sensitive bodies that quiver ]with pain at" 'any''strong emotion. They lingered oh till the hpney-snckle wooed the meadow-sweet in the deep lanes above the village, and the young summer was in its beauty. Then there came a moment when,;the two? being'alone in the woodland-path overhanging the sea, John-asked Margaret tq-be;his wife. It was the sweetest time of the afternoon, just before sunset, when the day; has lost its weariness-and the,sky is calm, and the. sunshine is dimmed by a, soft haze. MivTownend, had left them in order to write a letter which he had forgotten, and .the. others had sauntered toward the village in dreamy silence. Then| she became aware that he was asking her to be his wife, telling"her that she the sweetest woman he had ever, Whence then her sudden shrinking from him, as in fear ? 1 ' ‘ ‘ I am not good enough,’ she crietl.

She was afraid of her joy, for she was a timid woman, bnt in (he midst of his wooing he was'vexed at her humility, hpt 'understanding.-it, fori he /was only offering her a scanty armful of firstfruits, and' she was returning him; the fnlLharvest of her soul, though she did not know its value. He drew hep to him and kissed the brown head and|laid it on his breast. She began to cfy-r----she had been so greedy of joy lately,; and; hero was ■ibis perfection I And ;he? well, it was ihe.,.,sweetest hour he had ever passed in his life. . The girl, with,, her simple dress and manner, ..and \ her serion,B\brq#n # e]ye,s an| jfndertpne of joyfulncss about Her, satisfied the more spiritual side of his nature. And yet she was not the ideal of ' his 1 past, which ideal had sheen’ compounded Rof voiced Cordelia, passionate Juliet, bright Rosalind, -witty ' Beatrice, ”• and idear DeSderaona—in fact, of all’ the sweets of many 'natures compacted into one, jSh’e was not his heroine, but he was her Hero, and her gladness inclined towards sadness ; for a true woman sees herself valueless at”the moment she believes that the ‘ man ’of men’’sees in her a precious jewel. ; • : \ • ‘ Are' you sorry ?’ he'. asked, ibalf jestingly. ; / ’ r _ ‘/Sorry 1’ ? she said,: an](j, with a frank yet coy gesture, she nestled close to] his heart, • . ... ; ' (To be continued.) ‘ : ]