LITERATURE.

Patea Mail, Volume I, Issue 7, 14 November 1887, Page 4

LITERATURE.

UNDER THE SHADOW. CHAPTER lll—Continued. Montacnte, I don’t doubt your sincerity for a moment. I believe that you think you ove Iris ; but I want to ask you tins. You have s -cn her al her best, surrounded by luxury, in a home which has been as ;■ most favourable setting for tier. Supposing that you had met iter under different circumstances, supposing she had be one of the girls from the factory at Beverley, a poor girl of humble birth be stopped and frowned, and seemed for u moment lost in thought ; then went on, Montacnte, are you sure it is Iris herseif. and nut Iris Knighton, the heiress to tbRevels, whom you wish to many? Clarence Montacnte crimsoned. It—it isn’t necessary that I should marry an heiress, sir, he said, with quiet dignity. The squire shook hia head. You misunderstand me, Montacutc, he said, with a sigh. Ami I can scarcely hope to make myself understood. No, 1 did not mean to infer that you were marrying her because she would bo mis tress of when I am gone—far from that- I meant he stopped again and, sinking into hia chair, covered his eyes with his hands. I don’t think I can speak more piaiidy, he said at hint, as il something where weighing heavily upon his spirits ; then be ooked up, and rd led quickly, Don’t misunderstand m - iii another way, Moutaeuto. Iris will be the mistress here, and I am, as you know, what the world considers a rich man. It would be a suitable match ; and yet —he paused, and then looked at the young man with a steady fiovvn, —and y>, i I cannot give yon my consent. Clarence’s face fell. His hopes had been growing at cadi moment, and tin c> nAnsion fell upon him uko a thunderbolt. Yon—yon forbid me to speak to IrisMiss Knighton, sir? he faltered. F'TOid is too hard) a word, Montacutc, said the squire. No, no ; I don’t forbid, but I ask you most earnestly not to do so At pieß*nt.. Let—let ns wai l . Heaven knows there is plenty cf time. Iris is only a girl as yet; and you—you are young enough to change your mind I shall not change my mind if I live to he as old as Methuselah, s id Claret.ce. finmbtng and almost forgetting to lis >. I I«v« Lis with oil my In-art, sir, and I shall go on loving her. Yon—she—couldn’t prevent that As to loving her because she is Miss Knighton of the Revels, that doesn’t count with me. I would many her if sh" were without a penny and was a plain Miss ! The squire looked at him steadily. Montncote, he said, you are a good fellow. If you knew wbut it coat mo to say wait, you wouldwympatbiso with me. Rut you don’t know, you do not understand, and,—he paused as if irresolute, and the frown deepened —No 1 I cannot tell you ! , All I can say is wait for awhile. Indeed, ho added quickly, in any case I should say that. Iris is—rather a peculiar girl. It is as likely ns not if you were to speak to her that she would say no, and that would bo worse for you than my wait, for Iris is not a girl to change her mind. I Clarence turned his hat round and looked hard at the tm.ker’s in name the crown. It was a heavy blow to him, and he felt half stunned. And—and while I’m waiting, he s oil, perhaps someone may come Tito equiro interrupted h'm quickly and steadily. If it is any consolation to you, he said, I will toll you that whatl have add to you I should nay to any who came to mo and aekod mo for Iris, bo he whom ho may ! Clarence rose and sighed. Well, sir, I suppose I must be content with that, be said. I—l think I’ll go now. The squire held out his hand, Montaoute, ho said, the time may come—will come—when you will know and acknowledge that I have acted rightly. I can say no more—even to you 1 I won’t ask you to stay: it is better that you should not ! I—l suppose 1 may come here as usual? said poor Clarence dolefully. Certainly! Why not? assented Mr Knighton. Because Ido not accept yon on the spot as a sub or for Iris, is no rearm why wo should lose a friend ! Monta. cute, I will say this, that if I had to choose a husband for my daughter I should i choose you before anyone else, The young man’s face brightened. Thank you. sir, ho said. I’ll do exactly aa you say, I’ll wait—and hope, and ho got outside. The squire did not accompany him to the ball Hour ns he usually did, but sank Into the chair, and, shading hia eyes with his hand, seemed lost in thought ; and though he was by no means ah old man, be looked, ns he sat there, ns if ho woie broken down by premature old ago. Ho may have eat ihere for an hour without moving, when the doer opened and Iris came iu. He looked up s« her light step fell upon his ear, and, used as he was to her presence, her extreme beauty seemed to strike him with greater force than it had ever done before ; something else scorned also to strike him. There was a different look upon her face to any he had seen there ; a certain vague shyness und confusion utterly novel to her. Father, she paid in her musical V itco, is anything the matt r? No, no! ho said. Y*.u have be n for your rido ? Yes, she said, and a faint co’oar stole into Uur face, and her eyes fell. She hail never concealed anything from him : she would toll him about her adventure, I hough she felt a strange reluctance to do so. Yea, ami I mot——~ Lord Montacutc ; I know, ho said. He has been here She stopped ; there was an expression In his face she did not understand. Yee, he told me ho was coining, she said with a smile, as she recalled his nervous manner and slurred r’s. Did he tell you—no ! Did you guess why he was coming, Iris V She shook her head carelessly, and, taking off her hat, pushed back a few tendiila of th* soft, black hair. No ! To ask you about, the ball, 1 suppose? she said, with a smile. No, said the gq*m ill eyeing her nervously'. He came us: .-ek about you, Iris. ? About me? she said, wuh hj r pendve smile. Really ! Wind could he haw to say about me ? Tns, bo wants you to be his wife, bo said, after a piow. Her cheeks flushed slightly, then her blows ci at meted. with a faint copy of Its own frown. And what did you say, father ? Wh ,t should I have said, liis ? he replied ? the looked at Him for a moment, then went to the window, ami ’unking OU', dropped tae word from her lips, JO!

Goof.' y Knighton drew a breath of relief. Are yon sni e ? he said. Am I sure? she echoed, still with her faced turned from him. Yes, lam quite 6 u re ! Think !he said. He; is a peer, of pood both on Ins mother's side; be is nch, hoiu st, young. Plca-e! sin- murmured. Ho is all you any, lather, and more, and 1 like him very mudi ; but 1 do not, want to marry him. I do not want to marry anyone, she added quicaly. The fquire’s face cleared, and grew as cheerful as it was possible for it to grow. You are vmhf, Ins, be said. It was whai I told Montacutc ! You are young—too young! There is plenty of time, is there not ? Ages! Ctn'nrics! she murmured. lie ruse, and going to her, put his arm round her and ki-sed her brow, still with the same air of rcihT. You are a good girl, Iris, he said slowly’ and gravely. You have said just what I wished. Lord Montacnte is a capital fellow, every way desirable, and if 1 wanted a husband for you I could’m choose a better, but, he added quickly, the frown reluming. Ido not. 1 said to him, wait

film locked round quickly. Why should you have said that, father ? It would bo of no use his waiting ; no use! IK looked al her with a swift anxiety.

Why 7 do you speak so certainly ? There is no one eisc, I; is ?

Ah he spoke, them rose all unhidden tinvision of the young man hee ding beside the stream, —an nubihieu, and ail u .welcome. With a lla li of annoyance that she should think of him at that moment, she au3?/ered quickly,— No ;no one else. Whom should there be, fa’her ? He sighed and noded. Wh in ; indeed ? lie said. Then tint is all right. You have removed a weigh: from my mind, Iris ; a weight that has been crushing it he stopped suddenly as if regretting what he had stud, ami moved to the table. Go, now, dear, 1 have Home letters to wiite. She went and touched his fornhead with her lips as he had touched hers, and left the room. Her own apartments were in the south wing, and consisted of boudoir, dressing room und bed room. Godfrey Knighton’s habits ami wants were an simple as the late Duke of Wellington’s, and his own rooms almost as barely furnished as were those of the Iron Warrior’s ; but for Iris nothing could he too good. The boudoir was a marvel of luxury and taste. The walla were lined with fluted satin of a dark inurono, upon which the few pictures, gems of water co-ours, rested like gems indeed. A semi-grand Broadwoud stood in an angle of the wall, and some choice exotics upon one of the tables. There was a (Jhippemhdo bookcase with soma standard works in fine bindings, and an easel upon which stood n half finished head. Beside a small table sat a woman of middle age, und of that peculiar swaithiness which proclaims the peasant of the south. This was Iris’s maid. Her name was Felice, and she had come over Horn Italy’ wiili Mr Knighton and his daughter. She was a strange woman, and, unlike most of her countrywomen, remarkably' quiet am. ivserved. On Iris she bestowed a devotion and passionate love of which it is said only an Italian peasant is capable. Bhe hau been >i member of thu household so long, and in such an intimate connection with the young mistress of the Revels, Unit she was considered as something superior to thu other servants, and spent most of her time in iris’s room, to which her own bedroom adjoined. fcdie looked up quickly us Iris entered, and her dark eyes seemed to run all over her like a ilasit of tightening, then hid themselves behind lashes almost as long, and quite as d irk as Ida’s own. (To be Continued.)