LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 198, 27 January 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

AN UNINVITED GUEST. ( Concluded) ' O mamma!' she cried, ' here's a letter from poor Charlie to say he can't possibly come here to-night! Isn't it provoking ? And I want to consult him about so many things.' 1 Well, my dear Isabel,' said the old lady placidly, 'you'll have enough of his company after to-morrow.' From which I judged that my surmise as to the wedding was correct, and that Charlie was the bridegroomelect. ' By the way,' she went on, ' here's a gentleman, Isabel, who insists that we know a Mr Charles—l forget the name now.' ' Thrapstow,' I interjected. ' A Mr Charles Thrapstow. You know of uo such person, Bella ? ' I know of no Mr Charles, but Charles Tempest,' said Isabel. ' It is singular, too, that the initials of our friends should be the same. May I ask if you have given your portrait, taken by Blubore of Kensington' ' Upon my word,' said Mrs Maidmont, rising, and sounding the bell, ' this is rather too much from a total stranger. We don't know your friend, and we don't know you. —Susan, shew this gentleman out.' 'But a gentleman,'l cried, 'with blue eyes, and yellow beard and moustache, and turned-upnose.' ' No more !' cried Mrs Maidmont. ' Am I to repeat once more, we know nothing about him?* What could I do under these circumstances but take my lea\ e ? In Susan, however, I found an unexpected ally. She had heard my parting words of description, and she turned to me, as we were descending the stairs, and said : Miss Isabel's young man is exactly like that.' Half-a-crown and a few blandishments, which, under the circumstances, I think even my worthy spouse would have condoned, put me into possession of the facts. Miss Maidmont was really going to be married to-morrow morning at St Spikenard's Church to a Mr Charles Tempest, a very good-looking young man, whom they had not known long, but who seemed to be very well off. My description of my friend tallied exactly with Susan's of the bridegroom; but the coincidence might be merely accidental. • Had Miss Maidmont a photograph of her lover ?' I asked. She had, in her own room, it seemed. Susan couldn't get at it now without susEicion; but she promised to secure it, and ring it with her, if I would meet her at nine o'clock at the corner of the street. I was punctual to my tryst; and at nine, Susan made her appearance with a moroccocase containing an excellent likeness of my friend Charles Thrapstow, massive pin with topaz in it, and all. Now, what was to be done ? Should I go to Mrs Maidmont, and tell her how she was deceived in her daughter's lover? That would have been the way best adapted to spare the feelings of the Maidmonts; but would it bring back the five thousand pounds? I thought not. 'Miss Maidmont,' I soliloquised, 'will find some way to warn her lover. Even robbing a bank may not embitter a girl against her sweetheart, and no doubt she's overhead and ears in love with Charlie.' No; I determined on a different plan. I rose early next morning, dressed myself with care, put on a pair of pale primrose gloves, donned my newest beaver, and took a cab to St Spikenard's, Notting hill. The bells were jangling merrily as I alighted at the church door; a small crowd had already gathered on the pavement, drawn together by that keen foresight of coming excitement characteristic of the human species. 'Friend of the bridegroom,' 1 whispered to the verger, and I was forthwith shewn into the vestry. The clergyman was there already, and shook hands with me in a vague kind of way. ' Not the bridegroom?' he said in a mild interrogative manner. I told him that I was only one of his friends, and we stood looking at each other in a comatose kind of way, till a little confusion at the vestry door broke the spell, ' Here he comes ! ' whispered some one; and next moment there appeared in the vestry, looking pale and agitated, but very handsomo, Mr Charles Thrapstow. I had caught him by the arm and led him into a corner, before he reeognished who I was. When he saw me, I thought he would have fainted. ' Don't betray me,' he whispered. I held out my hand with significant gesture. ' Five thousand,' I whispered in his ear. ' You shall have it in five minutes.' ' Your minutes are long ones, Master Charles,' I said. With trembling fingers he took put a pocket-book, and handed me a roll of notes. ' I meant it for you,' he said. Perhaps he did, but we know the fate of good intentions. It didn't take me long to count over those notes: there were exactly five thousand pounds. ' Now,' said I, ' Master Charlie, take yourself off!' ' You promised,' he urged, ' not to betray me.' ' No more I will, if you go.' ' She's got ten thousand of her own,' he whispered. ' Be off; or else' 'No; I won't,'said Charlie, making up his mind with a desperate effort; ' I'll not. I'll make a clean breast of it.' At that moment there was a bit of a stir, and a general call for the bridegroom. The bride nad just arrived, people said. He pushed his way out to the carriage, and whispered a few words to Isabel, who fell back in a faint. There was a great fuss and bustle, and then some one came and said that there was an informality in the license, and that the wedding could't come off that day. I didn't wait to see anything further, but posted off to the bank, and got there just as the board were assembling. I suppose some of the directors had got wind of Thrapstow's failure, for the first thing I heard when I got into the board room was old Venables grumbling out: ' How about those Damascus bonds, Mr Manager ?' I rode rough-shod over old Venables', and tyrannised considerably over the board in general that day, but I couldn't help thinking how close a thing it was, and. how very near shipwreok I had been. As i or JhxM&tow, I presently heard that, after all,: arranged with but creditors, and made it -up' sJs#moat. , H©

had a tongue that would wind round anything, if you only gave him time, and 1 wasn’t much surprised at hearing that hie wedding-day was fixed. He hasn’t sent me an invitation, and I don’t suppose he will, and I certainly shall not thrust myself forward a second time as an uninvited guest.