LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2578, 12 July 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

HUB FIE3T A PPE AK ANCE. It really was ‘quite too awfully vexing,’ after all her preparations were made, that now, nearly at the last moment, such a contretemps should occur, and the more she thought of it the more was Mrs Stowait Allenby in despair. And with good reaeon, for she had issued cards for a morning concert —a matinee mu Scale, as she called it on the invitations ; the first she had ever given ti ice she moved to the groat house in one of the most fashionabe reads in South Kensington and the particularly detired that It shouli be a success—and now Signora Belcore had gone .and fallen sick at the eleventh hoar, and the programme wonld be too short unless some one could be found to sing the cavatina from ‘ Linda de Chamounix ’ ‘Pnt in a oomlc song instead,’ suggested Mr Allenby, whose taste was not educated up to cone.rt pitch, ‘A comio song indeed,’ echoed his wife with a roomful laugh, ‘George, you are a fool!’

But as Mr Allenby had heard this brief statement a good many times before, he was not at all di compo «i by it. At that moment the door opened softly. Mrs Allenby started up. ‘ Williams,’ cried she to the footman, * I’m not at home ! * Didn’t I tell you 1 could sea nobody this morning 1’ ‘ Yes, madam,’ the footman answered, conghiug behind his hand ; but it Isn’t company madam—it’s the vleitlrg governess, ” ‘ Oh!’ Mrs Allenby was visibly relieved. ‘Come in. Miss Ashton. Williams, call Mits Constance at once to her lessons ?’ Ma-garet Ashton came quietly In, a little, gray dressed creature like a nun, with soft hazal eyes, a complexion as pale as ivory, and mended gloves upon her small hands. • You are not well, Mrs Allenby, I am afraid V she said, gently, as she seated herself.

‘I am well enough!’ said Mrs Stewart Allenby, petn aotly—‘only I’m in despair. Yon don’t know of any one who could slog that cavatina for me, do you. Miss Ashton Y ‘ Perhaps—l could,’ said Margaret. ‘ Yon ?’ Mrs Allenby stared as if the visiting governess had stated lhat she could construct a sentence in Sanscrit. ‘ I could sing a little once,’ said Margaret; ‘ and that cavatina was one of my favorite pieces

‘You darling 1’ she cried, *ll only you could help me out of this dilemma, I’ll be grateful to you all my life long.’ Margaret went back to the humble little suburban cottage where she rented three rooms—a cottage where she supported a fretful valetudinarian mother, and a pretty widowed sister, whose life had been a failure all the way through. ‘ Charlotte,' she said to the latter,’ ‘ I’m going to sing at a concert next Wednesday !’ ‘Yon I’ echoed the widow. You’ll fall, for a certainty.’ * I can try, ’ said Margaret, with a fluttering sigh. ‘Your voice is well enough,’ said her sister disparagingly; ‘ but it has no volume. And you will never have the confidence to sing before an audience.’ The tsars came into Margaret’s eyes. ‘I must do something, Charlotte,’ said she. ‘We cannot live on as we are living now. We are in debt everywhere; and since the doctor has prescribed dainties for mamma I haven’t known where to look to for the money to buy them with.’ ‘ Perhaps I shall get something to do soon,’ said Charlotte. ‘ But, in the meantime,’ said Margaret, with a sorrowful uplifting of her eyebrows. She was a magnanimous little thing this hard-worked, pale-faced visiting governest, or she would have reminded her elder sister that sitting all day with curl-papered locks and dog’s eared novels was no way to obtain a lucrative situation of any sort. ‘lt’s very hard on me,’ raid Mrs Ashton, who sat with a devotional book in her lap and a bunch of grapes on. a obina plate be side her. *lf Margaret had been like any ons else she would have made a brilliant match long ago.’ Margaret did rot remind her mother how she had discarded Basil Hepburn long ago, because be was not sufficiently aristocratic and wealthy to suit Mrs Ashton’s lofty ideas—and how Mr Hepburn had had since become a rich man, and a man of mark. ‘lf he knew how very po:r we are,’ said Margaret to t era elf, with a sigh, ‘ I think he would be sorry. But I could not tell him ; and now that he has gone to travel in Egypt and np the Kile, it isn’t likely I shall ever sea him again, ’ ‘ You haven't any more voiee than a sparrow,’ said Mrs Ashton. ‘ You have never cultivated what little you have,' said Mrs Charlotte; ‘ and the idea of your standing np to sing among those professional vocalists Is limply preposterous ! Bat Margaret stood valiantly to her colors, and when the eventful night arrived she stood there on the velvet covered platform, in her well worn black silk, softened by bunches of pale pink rose buds and drapery of misty black lacs, a spray of rose buds in her hair, and an intent look in her soft brown eyes. ‘Now don’t fail,’ Mrs Allenby had whispered as the portiers of crimson velvet were lifted for her to pass upon the mimic stage. ‘ No,’ she answers!, quietly, ‘I shall not fail.’

But for an instant, as she faced the brilliant audience, the flutter of fans, the flash of diamonds, the glitter of the footlights seemed to blind and dazzle her; a suffocating sensation arose in her throat, *1 am going to fail,’ she thought, and the recollection of Charlotte’s dismal prophesies occurred to her, her mother’s prognostications of evil, her own tormenting doubts. * I will not fail 1* she said to herself, and advancing boldly Into the little arena, she faced the circle of the intent eyes and began to sing. Sweet and clear, like the liqnid notes of a lark, her voice soared up, until, forgetting her own identity in that of Donizetti’s Swiss heroine, she became almost inspired ; and at the close a perfect shower of boqneta ra ned down upon the stage at her feet—an ovation of voices rang np again and again in defeaning applanse. But Margaret was conscious only of one thing—she had not failed, Mrs Allenby welcomed her rapturously to the pretty little 1 green room,' ‘My de'.rMiss Ashton,’ she cried, ‘you are a genius—a second Jenny Lind! Who was to suppose that you had such a divine Voice ? Yon are the star of my little concert—the prima donna of the evening ! No, don’t take yonr bonnet,’ as Margaret mechanically stretched out her hand for it. ‘Yon mast ome into the drawing-room. They are all wild to know you ' ‘ But I cannot,’ pleaded poor Margaret, with a downward glance at her dress. lam not prepared.’ IP‘ Yon are perfect,’ said Mrs Stewart Allenby, with winning despotism. ‘ Besides, one of my gmsts says yon are an old acquaintance of his—Mr Hepburn, who has jnst returned from Palestine and the Holy Land.’ So Margaret was led Into the midst of a glittering throng, and introduced here and there, until like one moving in a dream, site found herself leaning on Basil Hepbnrn’s arm.

' So yon are a great singer,’ he said, ‘ I never sang id public before in all my life.’ ‘ Yon will be prouder and more haughty than ever.’ ' I was never humbler In all my life,’ 'Margaret.’he uttered softly. ' Well, Mr Hepburn !’ ‘Mr Hepbntn I that sounds cold. Suppose yon say, as you used to say, Basil.’ ‘But things are not as they used to be,’ said poor Margaret, her heart beginning to beat unevenly in her breast. * Can they not be so again, dear little Margaret ?' he whispered, bending his tall head to the cluster of rose buds in her^fiair. 1 Can we not go back to the initial chapter of our lives, and begin it all over again. lam a rich man now, but all my money cannot bay me any treasure half so sweet and priceless as your love. Dearest Margaret, tell mo that you, too, have not entirely forgotten the past.’ b4®d Mias Ashton went home from Mrs Stewart Ailenby’s matinee mnsicale an engaged you’SJf i&dy. ‘I didn’t iv** l after all,’ she said tradiaotly. * And bed half a dozen applica-

tions to slog aga'n at private concerts, and Mrs .Allenby’a money wll just buy my wedding dress. ’ So the current of true love was running smoothly again after all.