LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 3435, 15 April 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

TWO YEARS LOST,

(Concluded.) And the time went on. It went on so smoothly aDd gradually that Edgar Mervyne himself could hardly say when the soft, ever true hazel eyes of his old love vanished from his dreams ; and the dark orbs, full of fire or languor, usurped their place, But this new passion was a thing apart ; ifc came between him and all other ties, filled him by turns with bliss or lormont. The man was bewitched. Ab for Miss Mortimer, she was floating with the tide. Determined to interest, she had herself grown interested. She studied him that she might charm more wisely, and was herself charmed by the strength, the unselfishness of his nature. When to draw him out she paraded her own views only to hear them combated, she said to herself, "This is a man! He iB earnest, noble, true." Ere she was aware, she had slipped boyond her depth. New and delightful feelings awoke within her, the reality of emotions she had so often simulated. And the next thing she asked herself was — what was to be the end of it ? There ensued a mental struggle. She thought of the little cottage home, the old fashioned mother, the humdrum of country life. Of courao she should not sink to that— but sho would have to lift him out of it. Marry him !— a rustic JSsculapius! What a finale to her grand career — whioh she had always intended should terminate in a marriage of splendour ! She refused to see Mr Mervyno the next time he called, and then spent the evening regretting it. After that she said, "no matter." Her

night of torment ovpi-, in which she debated the point with herself, tossing on her uneasy pillow, and found that ambition must yield to love, she rose up comforted. " I have plenty for both, if it must be so," she said alluding to her large income; "he has talent to get on, and we will make him a career. But I doubt if it ever come to that in reality ; he will think of that first before lie think* of me. He is fascinated now; but — well let the future take care of itself. We are in our summer— let it have its way. Perhaps the autumn winds will end it." And so gave herself up to the bliss of the passing moment.

Thus came Maria Leigh's unhappiuess. Judge what it was for her to watch these two, pride forbidding her to show a trace of what she felt. Do not blame Edgar Mervyne too harshly. He had never told his love'; diffident of his power to please, he had never presumed that it would be accepted ; or, at any rate, that he would be accepted by Captain Leigh. And when this flood of tide of passion overwhelmed him he found it stronger than he was— and he strove to comfort himself with the hope that Maria had not cared for him. And so the weeks of the summer went on, and on, and so undemonstrative was her lover that Sophia Mortimer repeated over and over again to herself, " I doubt if it ever will come to that."

It did " come to that."

When the harvest moon was filling tho nights with glory Edgar had spoken. All Sophia's doubts vanished in a wild whirl of delight. She surrendered absolutely, accepted him unconditionally, and confessed how much she loved. Another week ov two of lovera' bliss, during which the engagement was madn public, and then Miss Mortimer had to gt. back to town, recalled by her aunt, with whom she lived. The young *lady had no parents living, and her fortune was* already her own. Mrs S trail an had heard a rumour of he niece's doings at Candclford, and sent her b peremptory summons. Her son, Hubert, a dandified young fellow, vain and well off, with whom Sophia had enjoyed many a day's flirtation, opened the ball as soon as they were nlone alter her arrival.

" What's this we have heard about you, Sophia ? — that you have gone aud got bound hand and foot!"

" Why not I as well as another ? she lightly answereJ, with a rush of colour."

" Because it always seemed to be your fate to lime the twigs for others, rather than to be caught yourself.

"'Well, it's true, Hubert." " But surely not that tho fellow is a village apothecary !"

" You must choose your own terms ; Mr Mervyne is a young medical man, with talent to carry him to the top of tho tree." "Oh!" sneered the handsome Hubert coolly ; " does he patronise a Saville-row tailor, or some rustic Poole ? Who makes his boots? What perfumes does he prefer? Professional ones, such as rhubarb and peppermint ?"

" Hold your tongue ; you can't ridicule him ; he is superior to it ; superior to you." " Thanks ; it's gratifying to know (hat." " I am glad you think so."

"You m;an to carry it oil', 1 see, with a high hand ; but I am not blind."

" Blind !"

" Yes ; you aro repenting alreudy ; oh, Sophia, I blush for you ! What a sequel to all your previous conquests!— think how many desirable men you might have had at your feet! It must be a savage country down there, or you never would have done it ; if I had known you were so hard up for proper, suitors, I would havo taken compassion on the plnce and come myself."

" You were not needed ; there wore several facsimiles of you within reach."

" How amusing ! And when will this princely cavalier be trotted out for the benefit of admiring friends ?"

" Hubert, you are very disagreeable. What havo I dono that you should treat me bo ?"

His manner changed. " I beg your pardon, Let us be serious then. Are you really engaged, Sophia ? — irrevocably ?"

" Yes, I am." "And can it be that you have thought of what you are doing ?" " Yes, again."

" I am afraid you have made a mistake," he said, and she had hardly ever heard him speak so seriously.

"I think not," she answered— but somehow she did not feel so bravo as at first. It was far easier to be bravo by Edgar's side than to have to light his battles in his absence, and amidst this covert condemnation; " I know there is nothing in his circumstances to recommend him. It is only himself !"

" Himself ! The personality must bo of weight."

"It is. 'Tis for that I have cboseu him."

" And are you willing to givo up fashion and place — to give up caste." " Perfectly willing. But I don't know what you mean by caste."

"Poor 1 ttle woman!" said Hubert, not unkindly ; indeed there was a strange depth of compassion in his tone ; " you deem all sacrifice so easy now— but how soon you will find that you have not the strength for it. But 1 suppose it is of no use to talk to you at present ?"

" Not a bit," she answered, laughing, as she left tho room. But the laugh was forced. Alone, a shade of sombre thought stole on her mood. This was the way that everyone would take tho news — with wonder, pity, sarcasm. She had foreseen it beforo ; but somehow it had not come home to her in all its _ disagreeable reality. " Well, let them," she said, defiantly, remembering Edgar Mervyne's farewell look. And taking out some notes ho had written to her, blio forgot her vexation in them.

"Egad, but it's a pity!" ejaculated Hubert Strahan, as she left him ; " how handsome she was a-i aho stood up for the fellow — what flashings from hor magnificent eyes ! But she will be miserable if slio marries him - and so will he be, if he has the sense to see it ; she will eat out her heart with chagrin. A common village apothecary !— Good heavens! If tho folly does not come to- an end of itself, wo must intervene."

The world and hia wifo came back to town, winter approached, and the usual gossipping and gaiety ro-comineuced in the set Mr° Stralmn lived in. Sophia, courted as ever, went hero, there, and everywhere. It seemed that her whole heart's life lay in society's toils. Yet the summer romance was not forgotten. There were quiet morning thoughts, tender evening reveries. Delicate missives sped to tho distant village and brightoned Edgar Mervyne's winter. Ono solo cry seemed to comprise their purport— that he should come and establish himself in London. A call more oasy to hear than to comply with to a young surgeon whose guineas were of tho scantiest. However, Edgar accomplished it at last. A friend whom he had known at Guy's Hospital got him a place witli a doctor in practice near Ilolborn, and who wanted an assistant in his work ; in time it might load to a partnership. Now, Sophia expected lifo was to bo once moro an ideal, as during tho past delicious summer. She had felt herself, of late, getting back into tho old way, monsuring things and persons by tho old standard. Edgar's coming was to rescue hor from all this, and bring her up again to nobleness and belief, and tho boaufcy of a hearty purpose, ne came to Mrs Stmhan's as often as ho could— as often as tho exigencies of a very largo practice allowed him. Ho was introduced to society. Society, though civil, gave not the least evidence that it was enchunted. Somehow he did not assimilate well with the artificial society of fans and protonce and drawling tones ; atid society did not assimilate with him ; onco or twice society indulged in a covert laugh at his expense. No ; he would attain eminence in his calling, but he was not fitted for the drawing-room hero. Sophia, disappointed, chid he-Bclf. And there were other troubles.

"Edgar," she said to him one evening, " do you know that you are pledged to Mrs Fitzhugh'e to-morrow night ?" "Aml ?" Who has pledged mo ?" " I have, sir,— who else has a right to dispose of you, pray?" she added, with pretendod arroganoe, giving him at the same time one of those glances which he could never meet without a thrill of ecstacy. It tpok a mr.nute or two to calm his pulses down. " No one, certainly," he answered, "no one but you. But I do not think I can go Sophia." b '

"You mustgo." "If my engagements allow me. There's a good bit of sickness abroad ; and Mr King is not very well himself."

A haughfcj shade stole over her face. She was one of the last to brook contradiction. "Mrs Filzhugh will never forgive you if you Btay away ; I promised you should be there.

" I hardly think she is to vindictive " " Well, then, I never will."

" Little despot ! But listen to reason I have so much to do ju B t now ; a doctor's time, you know, is never his own."

Sophia's frown grew darker. "1 think there is always some excellent excuse provided whenever I want you to do anything, Mr Mervyne."

Edgar looked at her astonished. " Do you call that just?" he inquired, gravely.

" Yes," she answered, recalling three or four evenings when he had been unable to nieet her ; "I hove spen it this long, long time. You don't euro to be with me "

"Sophia!"

" It is bo," she said, nervously pulling to pieces the beautiful rose she held, which he had given her; " you don't wish to meet my friends, or to gratify me. Your profession is a great deal more to yon than I am !"

" Think what you are saying, Sophia ! My profession is one thing ; you are another. Ail the time I can spare to you, I do. Do you see how you pain me by these accusations'?"

"I don't cave;" and the mood ended in a burst of tears.

What, could a lover do but kiss them off, protesting against the folly of her suspicions, soothing her with vows of unfailing affection. But, having once assured her that only duty could stand in t»e way of her commands and wishes, Mr Mervyne expected to be believed. Incapable, himself, of wounding her, he knew not how reckless pride and vanity can be of others feelings. These difficulties generally ended as the first had— with semipenitence on her part and reconciliation ; but the peace that followed grew briefer and briefer.

" You are unhappy, Sophia ?" said Hubert one morning, as she sat with her white hands crossed listlessly, dejection written in every line of her face ; " tell me what it is ?"

" It is nothing I can tell to anyone.!' " Not, to me ?" he asked with meaning;. " You and your lover are at variance, my dear. Can I help you ?" "No, you can't. And if you could you shouldn't. Just please to take yourself away."

Hubert smiled. The breach he had anticipated was coming. Was it? Perhaps. Sophia sat on, sulky and sad. Things were turning out so differently from what she had anticipated. Edgar was different j not what she had thought him, not what he was at first. Her shallow, impulsive nature, changing in a moment from petulance to tenderness, could not understand the quiet strength of his affection She was miserable that it did not overflow in passionate words, endearments, constant attendance. Another thing their tastes and pursuits were so dissimilar. Tlie*e bails and kettledrums and iusano gatherings, which made her life, ho hated. The social, sober parties at Candelford, whero every lady knew each other, were quite different-. People went home to bed at eleven o'clock there ; here, it was thought early if they met at that hour. And as Mr Mervvne once remarked to her, how, if he sat up half the night, could ho be fit for his duties in the morning. During the course of the summer, Mr Xing, who was ill, had to go away for a long rest, and Edgar could not often get up at all to Kensington-square. Sophia grieved ; but resentment mingled strongly with her grief. Her reflections were rebellions. There were some men she knew who would have given her all tlio idolatry she craved ; and who was ho that refused it ? She had condescended—by this you may know that lovo was far in its decline to a man whom ovcrybodj Jiought beneath her ; and how was she rowarded ?

" It is hard to sooyou so unhappy," Hubert remarked to her, and there was true sympathy in his tone ; " and yet you condomu mo to silence."

" Speak then," ehe answerod ; "I have not so much sympathy given me, that lean afford to refuse a kind word."

" Not much sympathy ! This from you, so beautiful, so beloved !"

" Once," she said bitterly — " not now." "Why not? What has wrought the change ? "

" 1 don't know," she answered drearily, In truth she did not fully understand.

" I could tell you if you would bear it. You avo trying to acbievo iuipoasibilitios — to kindle fire in ice — turn the veriest prose to poetry. You have made a choice unfit for you. The man ia a worthy person in his way, I acknowledge, sterling and true ; but lie is about as unsuitable to you as an owl would be to a humming-bird. Neither can he expect to comprehend you. Tlio greatest kindness to him, as to yourself, would bo to break the tie between you."

"No, no," sho said hurriedly, "I can't do that. Not yet, at any rate," sho added to her secret self. But the idea came up somotime?. It flattered her vanity that Hubert believed her uncomprehended where she ought to be.most understood, most admired. And that simile of the owl and the humming bird caught her fancy; her own gay, airy, sunny, tripping nature would never ma'e well with Mr Mervyne's solid, steady-going virtues.

At the close of summer Mrs Strahan wont vn the Continent, carrying her niece with her. Hubert went also in their train. The young doctor had to stay at home and take care of liis patients ; there could be no holiday tours for him. J3e you Buro that Hubert Strahan, who liked his cousin fairly well, and her fortune rery much, took euro to improve his opportunities. In November they were back again ; but— sho had been a whole week at home before she let Mr Mervyne know of it. Ho came up on the following evening, and the old intercourse was renewed. But it was not what it had been, on either side. He would come in late, often weary, pre-occupied with grave cares ; sho was more frivolously worldly than ever, and sho flirted openly before him witli her cousin Hubert. Nothing loth was Hubert Strahan to show his power; to let the country doctor see that lie had become moro to Sophia than ho was. He had admired Sophia always ; her wayward impulses, her litful grace, her charming fits of petulance stirred his dilettante nature to enthusiasm ; ho fancied himself in love with her. The matter was brought to a close by Mr Mervyno.

"Do you think that things aro going on satis! actorily with us ? " he asked Sophia one morning in spring when ho had called purposely to speak, and had found her alone. "No" she briefly uaswcrod 5 "iris your fault."

" Nay, I think it is not my fault, Sophia." " You are so much changed from what you were."

"And you aro changed," he r- plied; " perhaps the truth lies in the fact that wo now know each other bettor than wo used to."

" If you wish to five ino up, you should say so."

"It is for you to say that, Sophia. It may be that you have discovered that wo aro not suited to one another; that a union between us would be for the happiness of either."

lhat is enough ; I sec what it implies," she said, rising haughtily ; " then we part, M v Morvyne. Wo will say farewell, now." " Lot; us not blame ourselves too much," ho suid, kindly as he put out his hand j wo made a mistake, but wo have been fortunate enough to find ito'it in time; let us part in peace and pleasantness."

Sho could not resist the steady blue eyes Lhat wee gazing into hers with all their honest earnestness, and sho put both her hands into his.

" It has been my fault, Edgar," she confesssed in one of her quick impulses : "do forgive me."

" I do, indeed ; and I wish you every happiness with your . ousin," he added in a lo* tone ; " wish it sincerely." A blush rose t o her face. " What makes you say that ? There's no cause for it."

"No ? Then I think tlieiv will bo ; I have not come here with my eyes elmt, Sophia, and could not fail to see. Farewell. May God bless you."

So they parted in peace ; and that samo week the wedding-day was fixed between herselt and Hubert otrahan.

But Mr Mervyno had received a pill that was bitter to swallow. The fault was his, ho told himself, not hers. Whether he would have gone back to Candelford of his own accord, remains unknown. But there came an opistlo to him from Dr Danford, a«kin c him to go, and holding out the inducement ot a half share now, and the full practice later. Mr Mervyne leaped at it, metaphorically speaking ; more thankful than ho would ever tell to get away from that place of his mortification, London. Aud the old doctor welcomed him witli open anna, and the sick m Candelford held a jubilee. He and Maria Leigh met once more. She was unmarried jot, and protticr fchan over. He had not dared to think of her again— but— the deep blush, the trembling tones told a tale. Old memories came back, old fancies, old feelings « and somehow they fell at once into their old intimate, confidential footing. Mrs Leigh waa dead. The captain, finding himself aoine*

what solitary, and growing infirm besides, would have had tho young doctor always at his house; so that he and Maria were more together than ever the j_ used to be. He, Edgar Mervyne, grew to wonder whether she would think a heart worth having that had made itself a football. And wondering, he lingered with her amid the garden's shade, and in the drawing-room twilight. And at length he grew to think that, -with bis improved prospects, with tho good practice that would shortly bo his, he might dare to ask her. He answer was a happy blush and a rush of tears ; Captain Leigh's answer was of a more pi actical nature.

" You rascal"! I saw what it was coming toj I've watched you both ; look here you shall only have her upon one condition — that you come here to live. The house and everything else will, you know, be hers when you've got rid of me ; come ! shake hands on the bargain."

Thus it all came right at last ; which is niore'than can be said of lovers' strayings every day. Edgar Mervyne, happv in the brightest home, with the dearest wife in the world, tells Maria that he can never forgive himself for the two years of delusion, and calls them two years lost. — Abridged from the Arffo.ll/.