LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 4942, 5 March 1884, Page 4

LITERATURE.

"FOR AULD LANG SYNE." Chapter I. THERE IS NO LIMIT TO A WOMAV S EXPKCTATIONB. "Ralph Oldcastle is overdoing it. He'll "break dovrn," one barrister remarked to nnothor, as the tall, gaunt form of a wellknown Queen's counsel passed out of the Temple. "He works all day and writes all night, and no man can stand that sort of thing very long. He looks positively ill to-day." "No wondor. I haven't known him to take a holiday for fifteen years 5 if he don't take care he'll 'cave' suddenly, It's a miatako for a man to pursuo two professions when ho can live comfortably by either 5 " and the speaker sighed regretfully. " Besides, Oldcaatlo is a rioh man, lie has no need to work at all, and as a matter of courso evory good tiling falls- in his way. I hear he's retained in tho great Clifton swindling case." " Yes, he's certainly lucky, but lie's uncommonly sharp, too. However, judging by his appearance to-day, he won't last loug— he'a breaking fast— fast;" and the speakers, who had been standing under the Temple gateway from a heavy Bhowor, nodded complacently and wont their several ways 5 the removal of even one successful man from among them would give each, a chance of filling hia place. Ralph Oldcaatle meantime walked hurriedly cityward unmindful of the drenching rain. At the top of Ludgato Hill he wheeled round suddenly and walked back again — a tall man, round shouldered and gaunt, with thin, straggly, gray hair, and bright, deep set eyes ; a keen, honest, repellant man, with a hard mouth that never ainilod. Ho was intonsely respectable and respected, but ho had few friends and fewer acquaintances, and no amiable weaknesses. He was charitable, never behind in subscribing to legitimate "relief" fund's," never refusing a donation when demanded in due and proper form, but no one ever saw him buy a penny flower in the street or a " fifth edition special " of an evening paper. He never went home encumbered with useless "notions" or "novelties." Stockbrokers and bankers might purohaso dancing dolls and terra cotta monstrosities, live mice and patent purses, as every one knows they do, else why. should tho vondors of such wares multiply and flourish outside the Stock Exchange and the BankP Ralph Oldcastle never even oast a passing glance on such trumpery, nor was he ever seen with a bass basket containing fish or fruit, or a fern in a pot ; he never thought of such things, never carried loose ponnies in his overcoat pocket for oinergenoieß, never overpaid a cabby — in short, he had no visible weaknesses at all. His inner life was as hard, cold and unsyinpathotic as his outer. He had chambers in Pump Court, close to whero " a white stone flashes over Goldsmith's aahes " — a stone, whito no longer, but smirched and stained with the grime of the city — but the lawyer never gave it a passing glance. Had you mentioned the name he would possibly have turned to the Law Lißt to see who Oliver Goldsmith was. , Thore was nothing in Mr Oldcastle's rooms save their riativo pioturesquo inconvenionce to redeem them from utter ugliHf;fi9.' They were solidly shabby, with heavy leather-covered/mahogany furniture, dull merino curtains, and colourless, echoless Turkey carpot. Books on two sides of tho sitting-room from floor to ceiling, but not a gay cover or page of light reading among them — not a pioture or photograph even ; not an ornament of any kind save two bronze Lord Chancellors and a marble and malachite clock, that ticked aggressively on the discoloured marble mantelpiece. In one of the windows there stood an old fashioned inlaid bureau, that looked as if it might possibly contain aeoretß of a sentimental nature ; but externally it was grave and prim, brass bound and brass locked; it gave no Bign, if it contained anything, of the past of Ralph Oldcastle. Thoro were many who wondered why the successful lawyer* and legal writer continued to reside in Pump court. Less wealthy and les3 important men had their suburban villas and kept their carriages j but ho had lived in London for nearly twenty years. He loved to feel the throb of its mighty heart, the vibration of its ceaseless pulae 5 he could not have existed away from it. His only pleasure wa3 to watch tho ebb and flow of humanity in Fleet ntreot ; his reoreation waß a solitary ■walk at miduight from Temple Bar to Charing cross. Too accustomed to crime in all ita aspecta to be grieved or shocked at the vice that flaunts or crawls up and down the busy highway, still he scanned every faco with cold ouriosity, and sometimes sighed like a man haunted or oppressed by some horrible foar. Ho was not looking for any ono ; still for years he had taken that midnight walk, and had he observed ono faco amid " the pallid and pitiful throng," he would scarcely have been surprised. Returning from his hurried, aimless walk up and down Fleet street, Ralph Oldcaatle entered his sitting room and rang a boll. It iraß answered by a clerk, a slim, dark-^yed, obsequious youth, whose history, ■waa a romance. Born in vice, cradled and nurtured in iniquity, educated among a gang of thieves, he miraculously escaped being either a housebreaker or convict. Oldcaatle pioked him up one day (when bis heart was softor),fed him, clothed him, took him into his service, expected nothing in return and waa paid by the •warmest gratitude and esteem. Edward Little could not love his master, but he nearly worshipped him ; he had served him faithfully for seven years, and would serve him to his life's end. The lawyer smiled grimly — he did • not believe in gratitude ; and some day, when it suited him, Little would turn round upon h im; " but he cannot hurt me," he said to himself, with his hard dry laugh. "No one can do that now. Ive 1 given Little nothing but the bread he has earned, and I expect nothing in return." Tho dark-eyed clerk looked at his master attentively, and waited his orders in silence. " I shall be occupied all the afternoon, Edward ; do not allow mo to be diaturbed on any pretence whatever," he said shortly, and Edward withdrew puzzled, but silent ; he never answered his inaater— no one did. Left alone the lawyer sat at his writing table and took a letter from his pocket. After a few moments' hesitation he read it, reluctantly, as if it was a thing ho was constrained to do in spite of himself ; then he smoothed it out carefully on his table, and, selecting a key from one of his drawers, unlocked the bureau, and from a seoret receptacle drew forth a piicket of letters and laid them beside that other 'on the table — Btill, as a man acting in spite of himself. His face was horribly pale, his eyoa flashed and sparkled in their sunkon sockets, and his hand 3, slight und whito, with well tended nails, quivered nervously. One by one ho read tne letters over — and there were many of them— once or twice ho laughed savagely at some expression, and when he had got through them he pushed them aside with a scowl. " Twonty years have I waited for this — lived for it, worked for it, hoped for it ! I knorr it. would conio, and it haa," he sni'l, nloud : "now, to make tho most of it." • TPov a lonjr time. Ralph Oldcastle sat silent rogarflnit; the correspondence before him. On tho right, two dozen of loose letters, written in a slender girlish hand, and overflow ln!» with girlish expressions of unalterable li.>v«» and undying devotion, beginning " My own denrest Ralph," ending " Your over loving Connie." On the left x Dlnrred tm<\ blotted note, containing a few lines in :■■ woman's hand, heavy with sorrow and '.suffering. " Dear Mr Oldcastle, lam in sore distress ; I know no ono iv the wiilo world to turn to for advice and aaaiatauf.o save you. I wronged you once, but .Heaven knowa I have been bittei'ly punished— all my life. Will you help me for Auld Lang Syne ; you were my husbanrlV. friend, and something more than mine. We aro both friendless and holpless now, und have only you to turn to.— Constance Wilton." " I wonder if she has been as constant to him aa aho haa been to mo," Mr OlddusMe said, as he locked up tho letters. " I wonder if haß axailed on him with that tender trustfulness sho practised on me I won-

dor if sho softened his heart and turned hia head with her witcheries and then drove him mad by her coldness ; Bent him to tho devil by her. heurtlessnesH, as sho might have sent me had I not been made of sterner stuff than most men. I wonder what she expocts me to do for Henry Wilton, the friend whom I lovi'.d and trusted, and who repaid me by treachery and doceit ; I wonder what in reason and common justico she expects me to do for him ? But there is no limit to a woman's expectations, and she knows nothing of reason and leas of justice. However, let her coiuo and see me by all means and tell me her history. It cannot fail to bo interesting to me after patiently waiting twenty yeajs for it. Oh, yes, I will hear tho history of Constance and Henry Wilton by all means, and try to forget that sho was once my promised wife and he my dearest friend, and that both played mo false. It is perfectly truo that everything comes to him who knows how to wait, and revenge is not the worst thing in lifo worth waiting for." * Hard, stern, uncompromising, was Ralph Oldcaatle's face as lie wroto a few lines on half a sheet of paper :— " If Mrs Wilton will call on Mr Oldcaatle at three o'clock on Monday he will be pleased to learn in what way ho can be of service to her." That was all he said, and ho smiled with almost fiendish malignity as he thought how it would mislead her ; yes, he would be pleased enough to know how he could help her, but knowing how, would he do it, was a more doubtful matter. If a man like Ralph Oldcastle waits twenty years for revenge for a real or imaginary injury he is not going to forego it at a moment's notice. It was foolish of Constance Wilton to appeal to him for Auld Lang Syne, for the memory of those days was still sore in his heart. (To be continued.)