LITERATURE.

Patea Mail, Volume I, Issue 5, 7 November 1887, Page 4

LITERATURE.

UNDER THE SHADOW. CIIAFTEIi ll—Continued. Ho look a silver foldin' cup from his pocket and let it stand fur a moment in the miming water, (hen was raising it to his' Him wlien ho paused. Cj.ii I oiler 3*tMi some? he said. Iris shook her head, then as if altering her mind, said— Thank yon. lie coma up to he.’ and held his cup to her. It. was so smd! that her hand from which she had withdrawn the glove, had to touch his on taking it, ami when she had taken it she held it—it was a collapsible cup—so th it it shut up and the water was spilled. He laughed, a frank, yet grave laugh, and there was some king in its tone that made in's sunle as if in fellowship. They are awkward things if you aro acquainted with them, ho said as murmured an apology ; and he took the cup and refilled it. Hold it r.t the top, he said. Iris just put it to her Hus, then returned it. He filled it for himself twice, then stooping down threw the babbling water over Ida forehead, washed ids ha’rnls, and c me hack to lien Ida watched the whole performance, gone through so quietly and unaffectedly, with a grave smile. Will you not get down and rest a moment? he said, I know that you must be awfully tired from my own feelings. 1 did not 1 11 vo fo inn, she said ! but she got down disregarding lh G hand be extended to her, and stood, leaning her elbow on the saddle. How did you get into the field ? Well, the bull was not there whan I went in, ho said. I tinned off the road ‘to rest, and—l think I rmttt have been asleep when our friend came in through the gate which had been left ajar. It looked very amiable at first, and I was admiring it rather than otherwise, when something in my personal appearance put its back up, and—l think you know the rest. Ha laughed, than grew suddenly serious again. I haven’t yet thanked you properly for coming to my aid, lie said, and ho raised his dark eyes and looked at her 'with that look which in n ujan means so much—perhaps because a man uses it so seldom. You have saved ■my life as certainly as that wo two stand here, I can’t thank you, of course not. But I don’t want you to ihim: that I don’t understand all that yon have done, or that I am ungrateful. His voice, which Iris thought as rausi* cal In its deep, full tones as any she had heard, grew very low and earnest, and a faint colour stole into her cheeks. You make too much of it, she said. I dont thiuktho bull would have hurt me,he know.-i me. Ho shook hi* head, I know that ho would have gored you to dcmlr Ho paused and turned his Head aside, as if the picture his words called up waa intolerable. You know it? Then you aro not a stranger— hut, of course not, glancing at Snow, who was placidly cropping Hie grass as if such u thing as a bull fight had never occurred. I thought —I don’t know why; it was absurd, of course !—that you were as great a stranger as myself. I suppose, with a smile, hocause you seemed to drop from the clouds. Iris remained silent for a moment, and stood flicking softly and meditatively at the routs in her habit. Then she looked up. You aro a stranger here ? she said. Ho nodded. Yes; quite. I am on my way to Qlossop. Iris looked in the direction his eyes had taken, towards the town of Giossop, \\ Inch stood, a well-know port and liar* hour, on (ho lino below them, Can yon tell mo how many miles it is ? •Nineteen—twenty, replied Iris. Then I’ve a long walk, be said. There was silence for a moment, then ho glanced hack towards the Held. I wonder whether eur ill tempered friend would permit me to get my hat——, Surely, said Iris, with a touch of colour in her cheek, you would not risk going in there with him again ? He looked half ashamed.

I did think of it, ho said. But I hog your pardon. I ought not to have done bo. it would bo a poor and foolish return for your courage end kindness, No! I’d better go bareheaded for the rest of my natural life I

Iris laughed. TinSfrc i* a farm about three-quarters of n mile oit, sho said. Tin y will bo only too pleased to lend—to give you—a hat if you lilia slopped suddenly. He loolcoed up swiftly. If I mention your nine? ho -said cjuickiy. May Ido to? There was curiosity, eagerness in his voice, though he tried hard, evidently to conceal them. For some reason which aha could not have defined to herself, Iris determined not to gratify him, It is not uecessaiy, she said quietly. His fmo fell. Ob, thank you! I thought— ha laag’ uo d a short laugh—l thought I had trapped you into telling me your name. rr i know, she said, her eyes Uwd.ing beyond him, a smile curving her * Surely, ho said, I should knor t j, a nnmo of my preserver! In the old t «n limes a man would have added, to. te member you in my prayers ; but J’m afr my prayers wouldn’t do anybody mao' . o-nod Stiill should hke—will you 'tell m 0 your name ? Again the unconlrol' - tl b!® desire to keep it from him ovorcuiir , j ltr> Itie not neoessar y> aheeaid, and in her voice was the ♦‘.ouch of the Knighton pi id i), Ue was a 'gentleman most certainly. He bowed gff ,vcly. 1 beg yur r pardon. Of course it is not. I war .about to toll you mine, bur, as you say, J tia not necessary. We met as stranger tj V ve part UM strangers ; and if wo again v 0 meet us strangers siiil. Isn’t that uU( . meaning ? ..iguhvr words, and pregnant with a that would follow them V.irough their lives, tliough they knew it not! Iris coloured. It was not her meaning end saw was following an impulse only, but pride-the Knighton pride—prevented her from saying so. He had thrown himself on the hank almost at her loot, and ho now tinned on Ids elbow and looked at tho view, and towards the roof of the Hovels, which shone tUiorgU the tri es in tho set jug sunlight. A beautiful plac, I You were mver here before ? said Iris, battling with tho curiosity which as..sailed her to know something mote about him. He hesitated. It I have been it w r as years ago, when I was n youngster. Knighton, it ia called, is it not ? Knighton and Beverley. It is all one, she seiclf

And which is the Revela ? he asked. Carefully suppressing every sign of interest from her face, Iris pointed with her whip to Her father’s houseOh ! that is it! It is a big place ! The grandest in (hecountry, I suppose ? I suppose it is, she replied carelessly. He looked up at her curioua’y. Perhaps you know' the people who live there —a Mr Knighton and his daughter? Still mere carefully she controlled ner face, so that it wore a blank, indifferent expression. Yes, that is, slightly. Ah ! he said thoughtfully. What is he like ? Iris raised her brows with an admirable simulation of indifference. What are most men like? the said flicking Her habit. I see! 3’fiii only' know them very slightly, he mid. Are they fiiends of yours, may I osk ? hlie shrugged her shoabiers. I have few friends, she replied. He looked at her downcast face attentively. I was going to ask you about thorn, ho said I suppose 1 ought to know Mr Knigh. ton! Rut if 1 did, at any time, it was rears ago, when I was « youngster, and I’ve quite forgotten him ! 'lho daughter —there is a daughter I know. Oh, yes, carelessly, as if the subject had little inteiest for her. Do you know her? What is she like? ’ Iris raised her eyes and looked at him. How do you mean ? sue said. And as she spoke,the impulse to remain unknown to confuse and mislead him, became irresistible. He laughed shortly. Well, I don’t expect an exhaustive catalogue of her physical and mental gifts, he said. But what is she like ? Is she short or tall ? Short, said Iris. He laughed. I see you don’t like her, he said. How can you see that ? By your tone, lie answered. You said short as if it wore a crime to he short! But piny goon? Why aro you so anxious to know about her? she asked after a momentary pause. Ho frowned slightly, then laughed again, hut in a hesitating way. I am simply curious boemse I have known her father—or think I have—when I was a boy. So she is short ? Yes, said Iris, concealing most carefully the smile that longed to visit her lips. Is a Woman any worse for being short ? All women are angels, short or tall), he said gravely. The smile curved Iris’s lips now. Am I to go on ? she said gravely. Please !ho said. Would you (ieacribc Miss Knighton as good looking? hesitated, and ho laughed.

Y r our hesitation is r.nswcr enough,” ho said. Out of womanly charity you are reluctant to go on. (Shall 1 reply ior you ? If you like, sbe said. Well, then, —but please remember that I base my mental picture upon your manner and your reluctance!—M'ss Knigh on is short and—plain ! I am afraid she is, said Iris. He smiled triumphantly. With—shall we say red hair ? It certainly is not yellow, said Iris, keeping her face well under control. Mhe has freckles,—freckles always go with that coloured hair !—and, oh, "she is altogether plain ! Am I right ? You aro as right as moot people who guess are, she replied. And in addition to her plainness, lie said carelessly, but still wb hj a touch of cmiosity in Ids voice, she has—what shall I say ?—a spice of temper ? liis paused, as if reluctant to make the admission, then said, — Kho is not the best—tempered girl X have met. 1 know, lie said. 1 have always heard that her father, Godfrey Knighton, was iho proudest man in England—or ouf of it —and I suppose she tabes after bim ! Plain and proud. And—yea are no friend of hers 1 1 can understand that!—yes ; I can understand that I Is that a compliment? said Iris, her grave eyes resting on his face. No ;it is truth , (To bo Continued A -wiMiUMaima— lW ii ui—-