A CORSICAN VENDETTA.

Evening Star, Issue 7343, 15 October 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

A CORSICAN VENDETTA.

[Bv C. A. GI'NTER, the successful American playwright.]

CHAPTER XIII. BOKROW IT FKOM EARKKS ! The next morning Mr Barnes, who rises earlier than is his usual habit, strolls over to the Hotel dc Paris and iuquires for La Blackwood. He is informed by the clerk, with a shrug of his French shoulders, that Madame has gone. "She complained of malaria; malaria in the Riviera !" "And M. Ruggles?" "Ho has followed after her. He was very angry ; he was swearing !" Barnes wonders whether the proprietor, who has a kindly greeting for him, would look upon him with so much complacency if ho knew that it was to his kind offices he owed the loss of two of his most extravagant "ucsts. He goes over to the Grand Hotel and sees Enid and Marina come down to breakfast once more together; the two young ladies having discovered, perhaps, that they are an excellent contrast: one dark and grand, the other fair and graceful. Miss Anstruther appears a picture of vivacious tenderness to all in the party, save Barnes ; she figuratively tickles Lady Chartris's fat side* by one or two little bon mots from the Parisian newspapers, and compliments Maud on a new dress, till that practical and outspoken infant says suspiciously: " What do you want me to do for you, Enid' You can't bribe me with words; I m not Mr Barnes. Why haven't you spoken to him ? he's been looking at you for five minutes!"

Thus compelled, Miss Anstruther says " Good morning !" to the object of her displeasure, in a frozen voice and with a glacial glance; then, not waiting for his reply, rushes into an animated conversation with Marina that lasts through breakfast, trying to show how excitedly happy she is ; and, in this, being easily distanced by the beautiful Corsican ; the real article beating the sham, as for some mysterious reason Marina is to-day a creature of joy. Barnes imagines it is because Enid makes her feel Edwin is near her. They have hardly finished the meal when old Tomas3o enters, and, with respectful reverence, announces to his mistress: " Signorita, the carriage for you is at the door!"

At this both the young ladies go to their rooms for their hats, some expedition apparently being in their plans for the day. Mr Barnes walks out and posts himself by the carriage, determined to see if Miss Anstruther will stick to the lino she has taken through breakfast with him. Marina comes down first, and as he places her in the landau, she gives him a little squeeze of tho hand and says : " Thanks, Mr Barnes, for your pleasant acquaintances; you have mado my life, that was lonely here, very happy. But what have you done to Enid ? She is extremely angry with you !" Reply is hero interrupted by Miss Anstruther, who coldly accepts Mr Barnes's assistance to step into the carriage ; but her manner indicates that it is under protest, and instead of thanks she gives him a very ugly flash of her eyes. Marina, apparently anxious to palliate her companion's coldness of manner, says: " We are going for a li ttlc drive towards Mentone, would you " Here she pauses with a little gasp of pain, for Enid has given her a cruel pinch, and before she can complete the intended invitation Miss Anstruther remarks cuttingly : " We would ask you to join us, but fear to take you from your other lady friends." With that the carriago drives off, old Tomasso sitting gravely on the box beside the driver, and the two girls engaged in a feminine dispute about something. " I don't envy poor Marina her ride with my angel this morning. What a fiendish pinch she gave her to cut off my invitation," thinks the American. "I suppose other lady friends means La Belle Blackwood. Whut a cursed dull place Monaco is !" and he gives a sigh and a longing look at tho carriage that is just getting out of sight. Then "goes in to do the agreeable to Lady Chartris and family; but, making very poor work of this, he wanders off to the Casino, where he meets some men from New York, who have come therein a yacht; and they have a very wild day of it, though perhaps not a merry one for poor Barnes. The two young ladies came back from their drive, better friends if possible than before, and soon go arm in arm to the Casino, where Miss Anstruther rather shocks her companion by the desperate manner of her play; wins an amount of money that astonishes her, and comes back to dinner with a reckless triumph on her face that makes it look very beautiful and rather naughty. Mr Barnes being present, she displays her luck by giving Miss Maud Chartris a couple of twenty-franc pieces for a present, and telling that infant prodigy of her wonderful fortune and the great profits of her play, until Maud's eyes grow very large with greed of gain and lust to win herself. And Enid has raised up a spirit in the little girl that ultimately turns upon and rends her, and strikes her to the earth upon a later day—for she has made that juvenile prodigy crazy to gamble. After bolting her meal in an eager sort of way—for she is anxious to get back to her occupation agiin ; and has a vague idea of winning some fabulous sum and flaunting the gold in Mr Barnes's face, to show him how wise she is and how foolishhe icas— Miss Anstruther seizes upon Marina again and drags her off to the roulette tab!c3, attended by old Tomasso. It i 3 night; the lights, the surging crowd of people, the music from the far-off band —all excite this wild young lady, and she plays with a feverish energy that alarms Marina, who cautions her, and gets snubbed for her advice. The luck, after one or two little fluctuations, settles against her, and Miss Anstruther goes home in a very angry mood against fate, and the world, and Mr Barnes. Consequently that gentleman the next morning gess a genuine astonishment: not from Enid, but from Mademoiselle Paoli. He doesn't see Miss Anstruther—she has a headache; but Marina greets him at breakfast with marked coolness ; and a few minutes after, happening to see him alone in the hall-way, this peculiar young Corsican UOines to him, a great flash of anger in her eyes, and says sharply : " A word with you, Signor Barnes." " A hundred, if you are kind enough to talk to me, Mademoiselle I'aoli." Here he stops and looks at her in astonishment, for her great brown Spanish eyes are like coals of fire.

She doesn't keep him long in suspense, or beat about for any delicate expression, for she opens in these astounding words: •' What makes you such a villain ?" »X?_ a villain?" summers Barnes, who isn't quite sure he understands her. " Yes ; a villain ! What have you been doing to Enid ?" "I? Nothing." "That is not true. Why did she treat you coldly yesterday ?" " Why, really " "Ah ! you dare not answer. And what did you do to her last evening ?" "I? Nothing. I didn't see her." "Impossible! Last night we returned from the Casino; she was in feverish spirits. Half an hour afterwards I chanced to pass her room. Love has sharp ears; and I caught a sound of suffering. At first she refused to admit me; but I told her I would break down the door, and then I found her in tears. She passed half the night sobbing in uiy arms. I took the place that should have been occupied by you." , << "Ves—ah, of course, I should have been delighted to have been there," murmurs Barnes, who wonders which of them is an " And yet she said you had insulted her. You have led her on to love you, and now vou are breaking her heart." "I'm delighted to hear that," says Barnes, in rapture. "Ah' And you glory in it! But remember that I love Enid, and that if you Dlavwith her heart you shall answer to me, Marina Paoli." She leaves Barnes, but turning at the head of the stairs she hears a succession of shrill sounds, and then mutters to herself- " The heartless one ; destroying Enid's happiness and whistling joyously ° V For this communication gives Barnes as delight as it would have pmUiia Anstruther chagrin if she had known that he

reoeivedifc. He murmurs to himself t Th( roulette tables Me playing my & m \ tot s< with a vengeance-breaking her heart, mj i darling!" and goes about whißtling Uu merriest airs of the merrieet French operas even enduring with wonderful «/'°'f fearful stab with the eyes that Enidl give bim when she makes her appearance an horn , or so afterwards. , Miss Anstruther makes an the tables that afternoon and returns to he lintel a heavv loser; and at night, being d Z rate hi a mighty desire to compe Barnes to own that she is right and can take care of herself at roulette she puts in her satchel all the available funds she commands, except a little rouleau of gold that the one flash of reason remaining to her that evening counsels her to keep for an emergency, and, getting Marina to accompany her, goes to the Casino, not to woo fortune, but to con- " I will win," she hisses to herself, clenching her two rows of pearls together that serve her as teeth ; and whoever has said these unlucky three words knows that they are a spell against good luck. This i 3 the case with Miss Anstruther, and all through the evening she no sooner places her stake than it iB raked in by the croupier, whom she begins to regard as an imp of darkness. She can't lose for ever, she thinks, and makes a bold try for fortune by betting on a single number, and wins—-thirty-five times the amount of her wager. Marina, who has been astounded at the sums Enid has lost, whispers to her: " Come away; it i 3 luck enough for to-

night !" And so she will. She is holding out hei hand for her money when she sees Ml Barnes looking at her. "He will think his power drove me away," mutters Miss Hothead. She shakes off Marina's hand that would draw her from her fascination, and bets more recklessly than ever. And now fortune leaves her entirely; and goes from bad to worse until she must stop, because her last louis has been staked and lost. But Barnes is still looking earnestly at the girl—she thinks, with a lurking smile ;so she whispers hurriedly to Marina. "Certainly!" says the tetter, "you know what I have is yours; all English are rich, I believe; but you must be very wealthy to lose as you lose !" Enid borrows from the Corsican an amount equal to what she has left at the hotel. "This I can pay to-morrow ! replies the English girl, and will take no more. But this she bets very wildly, and in a few minutes says to Marina:" It is the last, and it is gone!" Then lookmg about for fear Barnes may be near and see her misfortune, she whispers: "Come, let us go home. I'm tired of bad luck." So the two walk to the hotel together in the moonlight, attended by Tomasso, who is like his mistress's shadow in this wicked place, though perhaps he may have had his orders from Count Danella, who never forgets anything.

" Will you come up to my room ami got your moncv, Marina," says Miss Anstruther, " or shall I pay you in the morning ?" " At your leisure, mia amiga!" And the Corsican girl kisses the English one; then, after a little, murmurs: " You are like your brother ; he is reckless also." . „ „ " Oh ! my losses are a mere bagatelle, replies Mi3s Anstruther airily, for she has a fearful pride in her this night; and goes up the stairs very haughtily. But, getting to her own room, this mere bagatelle makes her sigh and shudder and give a little groan. She has squandered her quarters allowance; she has drawn every franc of her letter of credit. She remembers she has unpaid bills. When she has given Marina her money in the morning she will have to borrow from Lady Chartris, and Lady Chartris, she knows, is a most uncomfortable woman from whom to borrow. Then she thinks of the cause of all her woe. Oh, if he had not said cruel things ro her about her passion for gambling—but sho forgives him; it was that awful woman. And she imagines La Belle Blackwood as a kind of female dragon, devouring innocent youths that look like Mr Barnes, and cries out to herself: " The horrid monster ! I could kill her!" and clenches her fist as if to do it. , . But here this chivalrous feminine hatnt George utters a suppressed shriek ; her doubty knees smite together, and sho nearly faints; for in the subdued light of the room, concealed under the clothes of her bed, she sees a hidden form—a burglar, or a man, or something—and is about to let forth a cry that will raise the hotel, when Maud Chavtris puts her curly head from under the sheets, and in a pathetic whisper says: " Enid ! don't shriek ; it's only me ! Don t scream, but forgive me ! " . , , , " What are you doing here ? you frightful child ! Get out of my bed ! " " Not till you swear you won't tell ma ! Here Miss Chartris begins to sob, and Enid can sec the child is-really in earnest. " Tell your ma—what!" •'Tell her that I stole—l borrowed all your money." " My rouleau of gold ?" gasps Enid, rushing to her drawer and opening it tremblingly. . , ~ "Yes ! You needn't look there ; its all gone." "Wretch! you have stolen my honor! Oi'ieß Miss Anstruther in a voice like Lady Macbcth'a, and seizes the child who has brought despair upon her and drags her to tlio floor, where she lies grovelling for mercy among the bedclothes she has carried with her, for her victim's face and manner almost paralyse this youthful culprit. " Where has it gone ? How have you lost it?" "I played it away at roulette ; you bragged to me last night how you won money, and I thought I could win too, and so I borrowed it, and—and lost it tonight after dinner, and swear you won't tell ma. She'll kill me—she'll—!" Here Miss Chartris becomes inaudable for sobs. "My Heaven! I must have that money tomorrow. I must borrow it from your mother." " Borrow it from ma .'" a howl of apprehension on the last word. "It'll all come out! If she knows she's got to pay back money I stole, she'll—l darsen't think—l shall be sent back to England ! Oh, Enidmercy ! Don't tell her don't don't!' And' the frightened criminal goes into another convulsion of despair.

A moment's reflection shows Enid that Maud is certainly correct as to the pains and penalties that will come upon her if her mother discovers; for if there is one breach of the Decalogue that Lady Chartris would visit upon her guilty offspring in a fearful manner, it would be the one that compelled her to pay out money for that fault. Even in all her own misery Euid can't help pitying the miserable child, whose crime, she grimly thinks, is not much worse than her own, as she looks at her sobbing at her feet. She takes her in her arms and soothes her, and says: "Maud, darling, you need not fear ; your mother shall nevei know." " You promise ?"

"Yes." "Then you're a brick I" She has learnt this slang from Mr Barnes. And Maud, becoming smiles again, for she knows Enid a word is her bond, takes to kissing that young lady, who is very miserable and sits in a stunned way, giving little gasps of despair. After a little Miss Anstruther begins to sigh, and to say, " What shall I do—l must have the money!" " Must you have the money to-morrow, Enid!" "Of course I must-why do you bother me ? " says the young lady helplessly. "Well, then, I'll get it for you!" cries Maud, who has hiddon herself in the bed without removing any article of her dress, springing eagerly up. " Get it for me 1 What nonsense ! How ? asks Enid, only half heeding her. " Borrow it from Barms!" screams Maud, and darts from the room. These fearful words fly through Miss Anstruther like an electric shock! There could be no shame, no degradation like that. She rushes after the girl calling to her wildly to come back. It is only ten o'clock and the grounds are pretty full of people, and Miss Anstruther cannot catch sight of the child, though she even leaves the hotel to do bo ; for the horrible thought of what Maud means to do makes every nerve in her body tingle with an agony of humiliation. " Borrow it from Barnes! Borrow it from Sanies .'" sings in her ears, and every throb of her heart brings a flush of deeper shame to her face. So it comes to pass that Enid, after

wandering about the grounds for a few minutes, returns to the hoviße to find herself confronted by Maud, who has Mr Barnes by the hand, and has just been explaining something to him in a very eager and excited manner. Miss Anstruther comes straight up to them. There is a high color oh her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye as she says very angrily to Maud: "Do not dare to speak another word—go upstairs and go to bed, or I shall forget the promise I made you." The object of her speech gives one look at her, collapses, and shrinks into the house, and the young lady turns to Mr Barnes. That gentleman, as he looks at her, has a kind of an inspiration that his fate will be settled within the next five minutes. He knows, if he wounds her pride in the slightest, Enid Anstruther will never speak to him again ; so he waits for her to begin, wondering if this is the last time he will ever hear her voice.

" What has that child been saying to you about me?" The question is put most uncompromisingly, and Barnes knows it is best to answer it truly. So he gives a little account of what Maud has told him, which is simply a statement of what had occurred in her room. "As I understood her," he adds, " Maud had taken, unknown to you, a sum of money which you were in need of tomorrow ; if you asked Lady Chsrtris to lend you the money, she feared her mother^ would discover her fault, and you being anxious to save the child from punishment had promised her not to apply to her mother, and so she came to me !" ~.,,. i,. " Of course you know 1 did not send her on such an errand." "Of course not!" says Barnes promptly. " Certainly not—after the way you have 'treated me!" continues Enid with a reproach in her voice. She has opened the argument; Barnes knows she hesitates and that he has her, and disarms her with this speech: "You are right; I apologise for the injustice I did you the other evening. I reproached you because in the Casino you spoke to a woman unworthy of your notice. Your innocence could not know her by sight, my wickedness did; but, like most men of the world, I have been perhaps a little careless, for I have had nothing to anchor me to goodThis is very cunning, as Barnes says nothing of his warning Enid against her passion for gambling, in which he was all right, and only speaks of the La Belle Blackwood side of the episode in which he was all wrong. Ho gets the advantage of this in the girl s reply : " Yes—but men have so many temptations !" "So we have !" says Mr Barnes ; "if I had been poor I might have been better." " I do nob regard wealth as such an evil!" says Miss ABstruther. "Nor I, at present!" echoes Barnes, "■for it enables mo to do something that will make me very happy if you will permit it. Won't you tell me exactly how I can aid you in this matter, iu which you have treated Maud so nobly ? Come out for a little walk, we will be more alone on the grounds." Miss Anstruther finds it hard to be very angry with him, and they go off together. "Now," he says, "you consented to accept a service from me in Lyons, when you knew me not as well as you do now ; will you hesitate to do me a like honor this evening ?" . This reminds the girl of his consideration for her during the embarrassments of her railway journey; she grows very tender towards him, and tells him all her troubles of the last two days, and he arranges her money difficulties in an easy off-hand manner that takes all embarrassment from her. She is to writo to her brother; and when he sends her the funds—as he is sure to do-she will repay Mr Barnes. This agony being off her hands, her spirits seem to leap from bondage, and she is more charming than ever she has been to him before, perhaps because she is a little more Eelf-conscious in her manner, and blushes once or twice when she looks at him as they come back to the hotel. " Then," says MiBarnes, " you prefer being under obligations to me rather than to Mademoiselle Paoli ?" " Y—e—s, a little !" bashfully. " And you like me better than you did the other evening ?" " Very much !" " And why ?" " Because you haven't scolded me—when to-night I really deserve it; for I have been a gambler for the last two days, and was in awful trouble if you hadn't helped me—oh, why arc you so kind to me ?" _ And desperately fearing an answer to this question, Enid runs upstairs ; but before going to her own room opens softly the door of the wicked Chartris infant, and stealing up to her gives that sleeping criminal a most affectionate kiss. Barnes looks out of his window and wonders why Monaco is such a jolly place, and says: " To-morrow !" as if he meant it to be a very important day in his life.

CHAPTER XIV. THE TELEGRAM FROM CIBRALTAK. The next day is a very bright one at Monaco ; the sun rises gloriously in all its Mediterranean splendor, perhaps a little too warm when not tempered by the gentle seabreeze of the Riviera, but in the shade of the olive trees and the ilex the temperature is perfect. It would be romantic to any one not dead to all the charms of nature ; but to Barnes, as he dresses himself, looking out of his window on the quiet scene, it seems an inspiration. He mutters "Today!" to himself; then looks at his hand to see if it is as steady as usual, and proudly says, "Mot a tremor!" though what he means by this it would be difficult for anyone but himself to tell. Miss Anstruther comes down to breakfast. She has no headache this morning, and gives him one or two flashes of the eye and several little blushes in a curious, wistful, pathetic sort of manner, though she sterns in a kind of half fright and doesn't eat very much. Towards the end of the meal Lady Chartris says : " Vou have lost your appetite, Euid !" " Yes! and I know what caused it! This last comes from Maud, who has regained her spirits over night. '' It's because of that letter you got this morning, ma! That tells that' the other one' is coming !" " The other one ?" says the girl's mother. " I don't understand—oh ! ah ! yes ! Lord Ferris!" And then, seeing she has made a slip of the tongue—for Miss Anstruther is a very red color, and Barnes is cutting his beefsteak as savagely as if he were operating upon 'the other one' in person—Lady Chartris turns upon her too candid offspring, and, in a voice that carries dismay to that young lady, remarks: " Have I not told you, Maud, never to read my letters ! Go upstairs and go to bed !" " Ma, I haven r t had any breakfast!" " Go upstairs ! " " Ma! I haven't " "Obey me!" " Ma—a— ! " This last is a wail of anguish in the distance. Barnes looks up and finds Miss Anstruther gone also. Arising, he steps out on to the balcony, and lighting a cigar, after a puff or two, says to himself, " No time like the present!" then walks into the garden of the Casino. Here, after looking about for some little time, he sees the fluttering of a dress he knows on the most retired part of the terrace; and, following it, throwß away his weed, and says very gently " Enid !" ***** Thus it comes to pass that half an hour afterward Maud Chartris bursts into Marina's room and whispers to her in a hoarse voice : "Don't cry out! Ma thinks I'm in bed ! But go down and save Enid !" " Save Enid ! Prom what!" cries the beautiful Corsican, springing up, her eyes brightening at the thought of danger to one she loves. " Prom that fearful Mr Barnes! He's making her cry behind the olive trees on the terrace!" " What do you mean ?" " I mean that he's engaged to her ! It's awful! I—I" (the child is panting from excitement)—" I had never seen a girlasked to marry before—l knew he was up to it; and so, instead of going to bed, I—l sneaked down the other way and followed him, and oh ! they frightened me !" At this Marina laughs a little, and then sighs. , , ~ , " Whon I first saw them, from behind some rose-bushes, he was a little way from

her, ftnd she was shooting suoh flashes from her eyes at him that I thought she would frighten him away. But he is very brave, he is, and he came near to her and said three words, ' I love you !' and they nearly knocked her down ; for she got all limp and would have fallen, but he caught her and held her to him. And then she began to say ' How he astonished her ! '—which was a lie and he whispered something I couldn't catch, but it seemed to knock her out of time, and she sneaked at him just one look that seemed to set him crazy." "And Enid said nothing?" asks Marina, excite cllv» " How could she open her lips when he was kissing her so? Then he asked her something about a month, and she cried: ' Oh, no ! not so soon !' And then he said: ' Two months !' And she said : *Do as you will; you have robbed me of my heart —only don't break it by giving it back to me.' I learnt that last sentence coming up here ; I thought it would be nice to say myself, someday.'' But here Marhia suddenly quiets the loquacious Maud with this astounding invective : " Not another word, you miserable one ! Yoti have desecrated with your eyes the holy mystery of a woman's life, and told me of it." "I_a—thought you wanted to hear. Why, you were pumping me." "Of such a secret? Never! Get to your apartment, and if I see your face again to-day your mother shall know of your atrocity. Away!" And she sends the infant prodigy sobbing to bed with a fierce glance of her Corsican eyes and a majestic wave of her hand. Marina has a woman's curiosity and a woman's conscience ; Maud had tempted her curiosity, and she did eat, but, having gorged herself, conscience reigned in her once more; and she turned upon the creature who had tempted her, as Eve, the first woman, did upon the serpent. The child's last sob having vanished in the distance, Marina sheds a little tear herself. Her eyes are still read with this exercise when Miss Anstruther walks coolly in; though there is a blush on her face and her hair is a little out of trim, as she says " Why did you not come with me for my walk after breakfast?" "So you went alone?" asks Marina, gazing at her curiously. " Yes ; but at the last, Burton—l mean Mr Barnes—took pity on my loneliness, an d—why do you look at me so ? Heavens ! whose been telling you?" This last is given almost hysterically. "Maud!" " Maud ? How did she know ?" "She saw!" " Great Heavens ! She did not see him kiss—? Oh! Marina! I—that fearful child! I must find her? She'll tell the hotel. Oh! what shall I do !" Tears of mortification and shame arc in Enid's eyes ; she is about to run from the room to seize upon this female Peeping Tom and bribe her with kindness or terrify her with threats, when Marina puts her arm round her and says : " I've silenced Maudshe's in bed for all day ; and now tell me—you love him, Caristima ?" " Love him ? Do you suppose I'd marry him in two months if I didn't ?" " Two months would be a long time for me to wait, if I were you." " Yes ! You're a Corsicau; you'd marry him in a month, as he wanted me to do; you'd be as impetuous as he—you'd suit him." With this Miss Anstruther gives her a second-hand kiss of Mr Barnes, saying : " I have to leave you now; I must write a letter telling my brother— Oh ! how shall I do it ? It is an awful thing to be engaged !" and runs away. Meantime Mr Barnes has walked up and demanded the attention of Lady Chartris, and got it, from the very depths of her soul. "My dear Madam," he opens, "would you do me a favor; just write to Lord Ferris—you know where he is at present ?" "Yes," murmurs the matron, "he is in Nice to-day ; to-morrow he will be here." " Precisely," continues the American ; "write to him in Nice, and incidentally mention in your letter, in a sort of casual, off-hand manner, that Enid is engaged to marry me." '' Engaged to marry you ? " Lady Chartris repeats these words after him in a scream of astonishment. " Yes—within two months !'' " Within two months!" "I thought it just as well that Lord Ferris knew it, as it might Bave Enid some embarrassment, and that gentleman a useless journey, with disappointment at the end of it; besides it was a duty to you as Miss Anstruther's chaperon to tell you at once !" "And Enid preferred you to a lord?" gasps Lady Chartris, for a lord is a big thing in her eyes, as her dead husband had only been a knight. " She had that peculiar taste ! " " Very well! I presume you have enough to support her in the stylo in which she has been accustomed to live ? You will excuse my asking the question, but Enid is very young, and I feel responsible to her brother for her not making a mistake under my charge!" " Certainly," says Barnes. " You have a perfect right to be answered on that point." "Very well"—here Lady Chartris becomes grandly important—" What are your expectations?" "Expectations? Ah !—Oh, of money I suppose you mean ? I haven't any." "No expectations ? And you come here to marry a girl that was the belle of the last London season ; whose family is one of the oldest in England, and who might make a qrand match." " I've something better than expectations, I've the cash," says Barnes, slowly. " What is your income ?" says the matron, curiously. " About sixty thousand a-year." " Pounds f almost screams Lady Chartris. "No, only dollars, I am sorry to say; but it's enough." "Enough! I should say it was. Well, Burton—l suppose I must call you Burton now—you know Enid is my cousin. You've got the best girl in England, and I hope you'll make her happy Sixty thousand dollars; that's twelve thousand pounds a-year—of course, you'll make her happy. If I wasn't so young I'd kiss you; but it might make your fiancie jealous ! " and she shakes his hand very cordially. Mr Barnes is well pleased that Lady Chartris is too young to kiss him, but it sets him to thinking of his betrothed, and he says: " Lady Chartris, would you be kind enough to send Enid to me, here ; and give us the use of your parlor for a little time? I wish to speak to her on a matter of business !" "Of course—on a matter of business ?" and the frisky widow gives a little laugh. " Yes '." echoes Barnes sternly, " Business ! " I want to tell her we have your consent!" This deference to her authority makes L%dy Chartris his ally at once, and she says " You can have my parlor as long as you want, dear Mr Barnes ! " then goes off to do his bidding. As he waits the coming of his love, that gentleman reflects that having got his own affair pretty well in hand, he had better settle his doubts in regard to Enid's brother, and goes to speculating on that mystery. His reverie is disturbed by a small hand being laid upon his arm, and a soft voice whispering: " What do you want me for ?" He imprisons the hand, asking: "Have you the letter written for your brother ?" " Yes ; here it is," and Miss Anstruther hands it to him. " I sent mine off half an-hour ago," remarks Barnes, " for we've got to be rushing things." He rings the bell and gives the epistle to the servant to post. "And now I suppose that is all—Burton?" It is the first time she has ever called him by his Christian name. Though thegirl blushes and hesitates, she lingers over it as if she loves it; yet, having said it, turns bashfully and makes a show of going to the door. "Not by a great dual," cries Barnes, catching her in her retreat. " No ?" "First"—he laughs a little—"tell me why you stammered so over my name; don't you like it?" " Oh! what makes you ask such questions? Don't you know it was the first time—Burton ?" here she gives a tremendous blush. " Yes— you said it much better the second time !" says hp meditatively. "Do yon

j know that Lady Chartrls has loaned me this parlor for an hour, and you're to spend j the whole of it here !" " As I am to be your slave in twomonths, I presume I'd better learn obedience at once !" She says this with a very resigned expression, and permits him to seat her on the sofa beside him. " And now I wish to speak to you very seriously, Enid!" Here her eyes open in astonishment, as she turns them on him in a pathetic way that sets his heart to beating, and cries: " Speak to mo seriously ! I—what have I done ?—you're, you're not going to scold me! —Oh ! you must have enchanted me !—I, who but yesterday was proud—l—oh, if you ever treat me unkindly !" Now, this kind of mood requires consolation, and after Barnes has consoled his fiande, until they are both in the seventh 'Heaven of happiness, he remarks: "Afropot of obedience, I want to ask you a very serious question !" "Yes!" "I want you to tell me what you meant by making love to a man in Marina's picture at Paris, and then saying it wa3 a ruse ?" He asks this with intense earnestness, and receives a scream of laughter for reply. After a minute Miss Anstruther manages to gasp, "Why ! you're jealous of that creature on canvas !" '•' Not a bit! but all the same, I've a curiosity to know !" " Well, Mrs Vavassour was teasing me about my—my affection for a certain gentleman—Lord—you know—' the other one '— he's her nephew, and as she is a most persistent woman, I stopped her by telling her —my heart was gone—selected the most harmless individual I could find to throw away my affections upon—and it was the ugly man of the canvas ?" "Was that all?" "Oh! now you are jealous !—this is delightful ! Do you know that at times," here she looks at Barnes closely, " you rather remind mo of him !" " Much obliged for your kind compliment! —May I ask you another question ?" " VVhat; not satisfied— still jealous?— I'm afraid you will be my Bluebeard !" «l No, lam not jealous ! Some day you'll know that I could not be jealous—of Mm ! But you were interested in the picture before that—what made you so ?" The laughter leaves Enid's face; she hesitates a moment and then says : " I know I ought to have no secrets from you—Burton! but it is not my secret, it is another's." " Very well, tell me what you can without compromising any one," says Mr Barnes. Believe mo, I don't ask without a reason." " What reason ?" asks Miss Anstruther, who has now become curious herself. Hero the gentleman counters her with : " I know I ought to have no secrets from you, Enid, but it hj not my secret, it is another's." "Ah," cries the young lady, "a secret; tell me all about it." " First answer my question." " Well, it was a letter from Egypt that interested me in the picture. It described a duel with a lucky penny episode in it, something like the one on the canvas ; but the encounter in my letter did not end fatally for either combatant." "The letter came from your brother, I suppose." «I_yon see, I hardly like to tell you. "Oh, then it did not come from your brother ?—From some other man I've no doubt!" " Yes, it did come from my brother, you jealous creature," s.iys Miss Anstruther with a little laugh. "Do you know the principal of the d»el?" . , t , "No ! Edwin did not tell me—in fact he asked me to say nothing about the affair; as if it were known, it would bring the officer to a court-martial. You know he couldn't get his comrade into a scrape." " Of course not." " And now why do you want to know ?' "I v/as jealous," says Barnes, telling a story, for he is now more than ever certain that his suspicions in regard to Edwin Anstruther are correct; but he feels he cannot tell Enid her brother has the blood of a fellow-creature on his soul; and decides in his mind that Edwin and Marina must never meet again. "Jealous!" says the girls; ]ealous, first of a canvas man, then of a man in a letter! Oh, what a life I shall lead you. Don't you know I'm a flirt ? " "I've no doubt you used to be !—but now," replies Barnes, attempting an Othello expression of the face, "you have reformed." "Perhaps!" remarks Enid; "I havent got tired of you yet—l've only known you a week." "Yes. just a week ago you were cutting me in the most severe manner on the railway train between Paris and Tonnerre," says Barnes looking at his watch. "A week ago I didn't know you ! and yet was happy. Now, if I didn't know you, life would be a blank to me ! " " Oh ! there would still be 'the other one !'" laughs Barnes airily. At this he receives a glance of such reproach from Enid's eyes that he feels he owe* her reparation; and there takes place between them a little poem of sentiment at which cynics would sneer, but that they enjoy so thoroughly that Lady Chartris finds Mr Barnes's business interview with hisfiancde a very long one. A week, shortened by happiness, soon flies round for these two lovers, when, returning one evening from a drive with Miss Anstruther, Mr Barnes finds waiting for him a letter from that young lady's brother. The minute he opens it he knows that it has been written by a thoroughly nice fellow. The communication reads as follows : H.M.S. Sealark, Gibraltar, May 14, 1883. Mv Dear Barnes,—You ask ray consent to your marrhge with my Bister. 1 grant it for three reasons: First, har lettar to me of the same date says she is in lovo with you ; and that you are the one man in the world that can make her happy—which is all I ask, as she is very dear to me. Second, if you approach rewonablv near to the idea of manly perfection that I know Enid holds, in regard to the being worthy to be her mate, you must be a very fine fellow : and, I am | sure, I shall ho nlcased with you when I meet you, which will be in England fn about two weeks', as the Sealark is ordered Home Now, in regard to business: Enid has L 20.000 sottled on her. I am sure you will wish this settlement to ronriain unbroken. I have no objection to my sister's marrying an American, who is rich enough to visit England with nor; and, from your statement of your means, you and she will be able to live pretty well, how, and where vou please. The financial arragements you propose are mora genorous than I or my sister ought to expeot or aak. a.s your letter indicates that you both are apparently anxious to sail in company an soon as possible, you had bettor, on rocoipt of this, leave at once for London, and them boo H. Mortimer, solicitor, No. 14 Oornhill. He has been our family man of business for a generation or more. I have wiitton to him in regard to you, and any settlement satisfactory to him will be the same to me. Enid will return to Eagland under tho charge of Lady Chartris, who I believe goes homo in about three weeks'. Wishing you all happiness, and congratulating you on having won the best girl in all England and the dearest of sisters to me. I am, Yours moßt aff e itionately, Edwin G. Anstruiiier.

This letter is exactly what Mr Barnes wishes. He takes it to his lady-love, and hands it to her without comment. As she reads, she says impulsively, "The dear fellow !" and "then, after a little pause of consideration, " You notice he takes it for granted that you are worthy of me; I think he must have met you before." This is precisely what has been in Barnes's modest mind also. " I agree with you; I suppose you've lots of his pictures in England." " Yes!" "Tell me where I'll find one—so I may know if you are correct." "You are awfully impatient; but, if you are at Bcechwood, look in the large photograph album in the drawing-room, and you'll find his face the third picture in the book !" " Very well; I'm going to England tomorrow —I'll have a look at him ! " " To-morrow ?" Miss Anstruther gives a gasp. "Yes! I've got no time to lose; only six weeks now to our wedding !" he replies, with a longing look which makes the young lady blush. "Then this is our last evening together for—for two weeks!" the girl says deepondingly. "I suppose you couldn't get Lady Chartris to come on at once ?" suggests Barnes eagerly. " I'll try !" cries Enid, and runs off, but shortly returns pouting, and mutters with a sigh: "The selfish thing i < She doesn't want to go home till the first of June; she has painters and plumbers in b,er ; .house."

" Well, I don't blame her for fleeing from plumbers," laughs Barnes, "so let's make the best of our evening on the terraoe. And the two wander off. The thought of his leaving her makes his sweetheart even more tender than she has ever been before. She entrances Mr Barnes with one or two little views of the inner sanctuary of her heart; and on parting says: " I am to meet you to-morrow at breakfast, so I ahan't say good-bye !" But as he takes her in his arms to kiss her she gives him a sensation. Enid Anstruther has permitted his caresses ever since she accepted his love, still, up to this moment she has never kissed him ; and now, with a great rush of tender passion, she places two fairy lips upon his, then breaks from his arms, runs upstairs and disappears, leaving Mr Barnes alone on the balcony in such a blissful state of mind that for five minutes he hesitates to destroy the remembrance of that kiss by desecrating his own lips with a cigar. He has hardly done this, however, when two great passionate eyes glare at him in the darkness, and a soft, Southern voice, made hoarse by anger, whispers in his ear " You cruel one!" ... "I—l beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Paoli," he says with a start; " I scarcely understand you !" " But you shall! You have stolen from me my friend. I never see Enid now ! You have caused her to desert me when I am alone and desolate !" This accusation is true. Mr Barnes has prevented Miss Anstruther giving Manna during the past week more than a few hasty words. He has diplomatically arranged his fiancee's days so that the two girls come but little together; for, though he has said nothing to Enid, he has feared an intimacy that might lead to Marina's once more meeting Edwin Anstruther. Before he can answer, the Corsican bursts out again: "Is it because lam not worthy to associate with your Northern love? Would I do her a harm because I am unhappy ? Have I ever said anything but good of you ? Or do you look upon me as one accursed because I have that vow upon I my soul ?" I The American considers a moment, and then says slowly: "While you have the, passions of an assassin, you are noteworthy to associate with the woman that is to be my wife. Your brother's last wish upon earth was that his death should not ruin your life. You are better fitted to love and be blessed than to hate and be accursed !" "God knows," she murmurs, "how I have tried to think as you do. How I have watched you and your dear one, who love and are so happy, as a lost spirit has looked on a paradise that she can never enter. You are one of the blessed; be merciful tome, an outcast, and do not rob me of the only friend I have on earth." " You have Danella,"says Barnes shortly, for the girl's despair and loneliness affect him, and he is anxious to end the interview. " Danella !" cries the girl. " That devil whose one hope is my despair. He who knows that until I have no other refuge upon earth will I turn to him and his love. I cannot understand him. I loathe him ! I dread him !" Her voice is tremulous with Borne unknown fear, and her beautiful form shudders with apprehension. "Then let me advise you," says Barnes, more tenderly, for no man could look on such despairing loveliness unmoved, "to destroy Danella's hopes at once, by giving up a pursuit in which success means greater misery than failure!" "Ah ! You would have me go back to my dear native island to be the scorn of my neighbors; to have them sing the 'Rimbccco' to me; to hear them cry: ' A Paoli line forgotten she is a Corsican ! Her brother is murdered and his slayer lives!' No !no ! I could not endure that! Go your way! I will go mine ! Your Northern lily shall not be sullied by contact with a woman who has murder in her heart!" And she leaves him proudly ; but, on getting from his sight, begins to pant with despair, and finally staggering to her room, finds a telegram waiting for her that reads : You may have hope! Danrlla. " Hope ! there is no hope for me ! Others may love and be happy, but I, who hate, am accursed!" cries the girl, and she throws herself down and struggles and writhes in an agony of despair, until sleep, which is kind to those who suffer, comes to her and gives her peace. (To be continued.)