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LIVER MARLOWE; i OB, GRAPES…

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[Copyright.) LIVER MARLOWE; i OB, GRAPES FROM THOBNJ, ¡. BY RICHARD SAVAGE LLOYD. ¡I -0- CHAPTER LXXI. "T«U me your name-let me have something .\1 Oftll you by ?' For daf. he had looked and longed for her. Daily he had puscd up and down the centre avenue of the gardens, hoping once more to see the girlish form. To-day had brought him happineu again: once more, In the doak, like a aplrit of the woods, she glided to his side, and breathed comfort into his soul. She comforted him as though she knew his need. She let him gaze Into her eyes and reverently touch her hand, while she stood fearlessly beside him. She seemed unconscious of timidity, and only filled with a. great love, which bound them as by a bond of old affection. "Tell me your name—let me have something to eall you by ?" "Call me Pearl," she answered, smiling; and al- most Immediately afterwards she left him again. Her movements were so light and f wift, that in the dim light she always seemed to vanish. He made no effort to follow her. He knew it was useless. She was not like a human being, who might be followed and cntreated-she had so much decision in her movements that he felt when she turned away she would not turn back again. She was like a vision that came and went .And which could not be called back again save by the' spirit of the seer arriving at the same state. He walked slowly home, full of subdued happiness. He told Lottioe all he could that night, and only left tier more perplexed. She could not understand whether be had seen a spirit, or only made a sympathetic friend. Some days passed after this, with nothing to mark them fare the ordinary dull routine of life. Yet that routine had lost its Intolerableness to Oliver. A softness of hope had mysteriously crept into his soul; 1111 faculties seemed keener,he felt as If his long buried powers were re-awakening. A new vitality seemed away to spring up within him, an unexplained look- Jog forward rise within his soul. A week or more passed, and no Tearl re-appeared, .though he of ten lingered till late In the gardens where .tefoMhehad met her. f One day he resolved not to go there. Probably, he said to himself, she was not often there; and perhaps be lost the chance of meeting her by always spend- ing his idle hours in that one place. So he went to the church of which he played the organ, thinking to pass a little while In its company. It had been one of his beat friends; for he could there express what he had no power to put into words. He enteied the silent church, after a last look up ittid down the road, and went up into the organ loft. Onee there, he let himself loose, tried to ease his eouL He played some of the saddest music he could neolleot; and then-he strayed on, through some wild dim chords, Into a strain both deeper and highar-iiub. tilted yet hopeful. ft grew dark at last, and he rose to go. As he tttrnedlrom the organ he noticed in the body of the church s figure scarcely perceptible in the twilight. Yet to did not hesitate, but instantly went down and sought It out among the shadows. Did you know 1 was here "Oh, yW sbe answered with her childish candour, "I heard the music, and i came In, for I knew it was jou." And how did you know!" he asked, woaderingly. "IctMottea," eho said, simply, "but it seemed do It your soul spoke to mine. I heard your voice call- lot to me In the tones of the music." He looked at her with wonder yet without surprise. Be reverenced her simple manner; yet It did not sur- prise him to hear her speak as she did. It seemed quite natural to him that this beautiful child should utter My poetical thought. "Why 1" he exolaimed suddenly, here are tears- your tears, Pearl I Who are these for! Surely you have so IOrroWI 2" "No," she said, I am happy. But you—oh how fimeh you have said to me just now. I grieve for you —I grieve for yon," she said, with a strange earnest. okas "I know life is so hard and difficult to those who have to bear ita brunt, and I know you have had great troubles." "Dear Pearl," he said, very gently. "Ah, but you have hope now, have you not?" she went on, with an angelic smile you look forward to a new life of strength and happiness." "Where is it J" he asked. "I have no strength. lilj powers are lost." "Canyouaay that!" she cried "nothing is ever lost, Nothing can die. No I you will regain your powers—you will work and be strong. Ah—believe 1118-1 know It-I see it! You are In reality full of undying fife and strength-is it not so!" "I believe you, Pearl," he answered. t "And do you not believe God?" she went on earnestly tI will He not give us all we can receive ? fiiuffi we not have all powers and all life that we are Capable of retaining! Wit do but Deed to turn our face and stretch our arms towards Him, and He will 811 no with strength. If He takes a gift from us, it put be that we could not gralplt-our soul, too imper- fect, let go its hold." "Where do you learn such wisdom, little Pearl?" he said, very gently, as he leaned towards her and listened, in the gathering darkness. She passed her hand over her forehead, and looked puzsled. "What do you mean?" she said. "I only say what t feel." » X never heard but one woman speak like you," he went on, in a scarcely audible voice, "and she is dead." t "Not dead," she answered. Uh, do not say that. Co wean she be dead ? No, she Uves-is living—for all ere living that have been wise or have loved!" "Child I" he exclaimed, with one of his old sudden transitions of manner and feeling-" what are you— Whence do you come-where do you learn these words ,-whlre have you got Margaret's eyes and Margaret's gpeech Tell me—what are you ?" She trembled and gazed silently at him. t "Nay," he said,gently as before, do not try to an- twer me. I do not want to perplex or startle you. Dear Pearl, forgive me." "Whathave I to forgive?" she answered, "I do Hot know what you mean. There are many things I 40 not understand; but, oh, if we have faith and patience, light will surely be given us when we are &Osdy for it. We must wait patiently until we are fit to bow more." Then you must teach me how to grow fit, dear Pearl." "Your life is teaching you, Oliver. I cannot teach." "I Yes, you can; you can shew me how to be pure end simple and good. Let me but observe you, dear Pearl, and I shall learn more than the wisest books could teach me, Let me be with you somatimea—that ball I ask." "How could I refuse you?" she said simply; you know I love to be near you, but now I must go." Let me go with you"—he exclaimed, hurriedly, as away* • W," sne SfLlCJj nO-l "WOUICI ntwici gu aivuu, Good bye." She never gave him any chance of following her, or of making any arrangement for another meeting. Yet he did not doubt but that they would meet again at the right time some mysterious attraction seemed all- powerful to draw them together. He lingei d in the dim church, where he appeared still to perceive her presence. "Ob. Margaret!" he exclaimed, where are you ? I seem to speak to you-I seem to know that you live. Are you indeed alive in the spirit ? Are you here- you surely are very near to me, for the finger of love has touched my heart and stirred it into life. I am beginning to live for you! I look onwards, Margaret, to meeting you. Surely I am spirit also-surely I am Immortal-elae why does this undying love dwell in my heart? .Ind Pearl—little Pearl, who speaks with your voice—what and who is she ? What strange world of shadows and mysteries am I moving in ? Yet I feel that a hand from some far off, partially perceived life Is stretching itself towards me,—I fancy that I grow conscious of a great and wonderful reality which is only obscured from me by clouds and darkness. A hand eomes through the darkness, feeling for me—stretch- ing towards me—hoping to grasp me. Can I trust that hand! can I cling to it and give myself up to it? Almost I think I can, now. What is it, this hidden realty ? I cannot tell. Is It Life, or Love, or Wisdom? or is it what Is called God. including all these ? I cannot see. But It seems too vast to be harmful. Sureiy it is possible to trust a power which is so great ? Shew me the way.Margaret, to grasp this hand—to learn to trust it!' CHAPTER LXXII. [Extract from a letter from Lettice Marlowe to Muriel Assheton.] "I wish I could give you any idea of the state Oliver is now in. I am full of foreboding, although he appears so happy. It is because of my foreboding that I tell you all this, for I have a strange idea that we are on the eve of an event-of what kind I cannot guess. "He appears to be more his old self than he has been sinee Margaret's death-and yet that is not right, for he is more than his old self. He is changed in pur pose and will, indeed in everything, save that buoyancy of spirit and keen activity of life, which is returning to him, and which incessantly reminds me of the old, old days before Margaret had left us. It is de- lightful to be with him now—he makes the world rose- eoleured, and when he is at home I cannot but forget the perhaps foolish forebodings which haunt me when I am alone. And the cause of all this ? Ah, that is the strangest part. I can only trace it to the influence of this child whom he calls Pearl. She appears to exercise a mysterious power over his mind. She is quite a child, yet she carries conviction to him upon subjects which Mr. Mannering has talked to him for hours about with. out producing any effect. But it is not this side of the affair which puzzles me most: this seems to me stran- gest, that though Pearl is constantly with him, and indeed pervades his life, yet it is of Margaret that he oftenest speaks. He never mentioned her to me until lately, but now he frequently does. I could almost fancy he had been with her, sometimes, when he comes to me, so full is he of her spirit. "I am very anxious to see Pearl; but no oppor- tunity has as yet occurred. He has told me that her eyes are like Margaret's; but it is very difficult for me to believe her to be a real being. Mr. Mannering has helped me to sell some of my pictures, which is very kind of him, and very pleasant for me. He is still in Paris, and does not speak of going elsewhere." The summer grew deep and full of beauty far away In the forests and by the sides of cool water courses, while in the cities it grew hot and dry, and the air was still and lifeless. It was the evening after an intensely sultry day that Oliver and Pearl again met. He was walking about the gardens, absorbed in thought, when he law the slender figure, all in white, with a broad white hat sheltering the delicate face, coming down the path to- wards him. He could not see the eyes nor the smiling mouth when he recognised her but he could never mistake the form, the walk, the air, which all carried such bewildering remembrance of Margaret to his soul. He had asked her once how it chanced that he so often met her alone in the Tuileries Gardens. My friends live very near here," she answered, "and they will let me come here alone sometimes." He had never seen her with any one else but he forbore to question her further. He hesitated to pene- trate the delicate mystery that surrounded her. This evening, after they had wandered about awhile together, and had ceased talking to enjoy the sweet coolness in happy silence, she said rather sadly, I think we are going away very soon." "Going away—my little Pearl—going away from Paris? do you mean that ?" Perhaps," she answered. Oh, no, it cannot be. Why should you have been given me if you are but to be taken from me again? Is all my life to be one history of disappointments ? Am I never to retain anything I love ? Pearl, I cannot do without you; nay, I did not mean to startle you— don't be terrified, my deux little Pearl. My old passions are hard to keep down sometimes, but I will keep them under foot-trust me, little one, I will. Oh, Pearl, tell me how I am to do without you-ÍI it not impossible ?" "I do not know," she answered. "I think-I think It will not be for long." You will come back soon ?" "No, no, we shall not oomelback soon, but I think we shall not be separated long; that is what I mean." Where do you go ?" he asked. I do not know," she answered, I would follow you if I knew," he said, gloomily. Oh, Pearl, try to find out and tell me I cannot be good without you to help me I-and I had something to tell you to-day, but if you go away it is diffioult to care for it; for, little Pearl, you are the only creature living on this earth that I love and I do not care for power or fame now." Tell me what you mean ?" "My voice is coming back to me,"he answered it haa been growing stronger of late; I believe, with care, it will once more be itself again." "I knew it," she cried, with a beautiful smile. Did I not tell you that I could see that your powers would return to you ?—whether in this life or the' next I could not tell. Ah, I am so glad." But how shall I care to persevere—how can I work or live when you are gone? Pearl, what Makes me love you so ? Who are you-what are you ? If Margaret's spirit does not look from those sweet eyes, what is it that thrills me in their gaze ? Am I mad that I say such things ? Am I mad that I terrify you with such insane imaginings ?" "You do not terrify me," she answered, smiling, I myself wonder at the bond that seems to hold us to- gether." "Pearl, tell me, why do I love you so? Are you only a child, or are you a woman that you look into my face with such deep meaning in your own ? Whence eomes the peaceful wisdom that lies on your brow, and compels my almost worship? Wheace come the whis. perings of your soul that always sj^.alc to me of an. other life and a future hope ? Dear ajjgeUc ohU'l, tell me the mystery of your being-tell me what ouvluv* is -tell me whether you will not one diy ba mi.ts own, mine own utterly, to love utterly ?" He had caueht her shoulder, and held her fast wnne fie plunged his eyes deep into hers. She smiled, and answered in a low voice. "Don't think of this life, Oliver-look up anti on." He released her, and turned away. "Ah, yes," he said, a little bitterly, "I cannot see beyond the life I have; while my hope of happi- ness is always held out to me far away. I cannot be grateful for such far off satisfactions. "Hush, hush!" she exolaimed, "oh, dear Oliver, do not let that tone enter your voice-oh, do not speak like this." "Forgive me, dear Pearl. It is a sin to let shadow ereep in upon the sunshine of your sweet nature. I do believe, Pearl, and I do hope 'do not fear for me." I do not," she answered, for you are strong. And listen-there Is happiness for us—oh, yes !—but not just yet. Now I must go—good-bye." She was gone. He did not see her again. Day %fter day he looked for her and did not meet her. Her presence had departed. Gradually the fact dawned upon him that she must really have gone—have left Paris for the days passed until a longer interval than had ever occurred between their meetings had dragged itself out. The magio had fled from the Tuileries Gardens. The trees were hot and dusty, the air was dead and burning. The streets grew loathsome to him. He hateA the paths that daily he had to traverse. His daily work grew more intolerable again and Lettice became distressed in the extreme at the rest' lessness that possessed him. He began to long for familiar objects he thought with yearning of the Thames, and the scenes amidst which Margaret had moved. At last one day he told Lettice that he could en- dure Paris no longer. He must go back to England, and see if the change would calm his restless spirit. She knew him too well to harass him by wonderings or questions, so, in silence, she began to pack. Oliver threw up his engagements; he could not endure to bind himself to returning to them. And so they left Paris and started for London, leaving Jack Mannering disconsolate behind. He had scarcely the face to follow them at once. (ft be eontinuedJ

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