LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 123, 22 October 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE BITER BIT. By J. A. St. John Blythe. (Co nii n ncd.') This was information enough, and we drove on. The “yellow-haired ladyc” was clearly Miss Fairlcigh; and her father’s retired habits were quite sufficient to account for our never having met her in the neighbourhood. She was pretty freely canvassed all the way home. How on earth did she come to have such queer colored hair ? The question, in these days, would have been easy enough of solution, but at that time there was no doubt it was natural. _ Hairdye was too palpable then to admit of a question on that point. The only one of the party who said little or nothing was Herrington himself. He sat smoking a cigar in silence, save when specially addressed; but I felt certain he was revolving some scheme in his mind, and I had not much doubt upon what subject it bore. If I had known Miss Fairleigh when I first heard of Herrington's propensities, I should have instantly fixed upon her as a girl certain to attract his notice ; and as I thought of her appearance and manner a strong suspicion began to creep over me that it was highly probable she might turn out to be fully his match, in his own particular line. Chatter 111. I was not wrong in my impression, at least as far as Herrington was concerned. A day or two after he came to my quarters, soon after luncheon one afternoon. ‘ What are you going to do this afternoon, Haddon?’ he asked. ‘Nothing in particular.’ ‘ Then come and ride with me. ’ ‘ Where are you going ?’ ‘ To Hillington.’ ‘ Hillington,’ I repeated. I had never heard the name. ‘ Where is that ?’ ‘ About six miles from here. It is a small out of the way sort of village, where I want to make some inquiries.’ We started for our ride. It never occurred to me to think what Herrington was after, until he turned down the lane which led to the gate of Mr Fairlcigh’s house. Then it flashed across mo all of a sudden, and I pulled up. ‘ What arc you after, Herrington !’ I asked.

Ho laughed—a laugh I did not like. ‘You’ve begun to suspect, have you?’ he asked. ‘Come along. I’m not going to imperil your character as a quiet-going man to-day. I only want to find out a little about the yellow-haired divinity. ’ ‘Ho you consider her a divinity ?’ I asked.

‘ Any woman with mettle in her would seem a divinity contrasted with the washy set about here. I’ve seen women I admired a great deal more, but I don’t think 1 ever saw one who attracted me more ; if you can understand the distinction.’ Nemesis ! from the moment ho uttered that remark I felt certain I heard the halting step gaining upon him ; and I determined, that though I would have nothing to do with his proceedings, I would watch the result. 1 gave him one warning, however, and 1 have often since felt glad I did.

‘Look here, Herrington,’ I said, ‘I see see what you are after. Now you arc an uncommonly handsome fellow, and I should say about as dangerous a one to women as ever existed ; but you take my advice. In jest, or in earnest, let the yellow-haired ladye alone.’ ‘Why?’ ‘ You’ll get the worst of it, if you don’t.” A look crossed his face, half smile, half sneer, giving it an expression 1 can only call diabolical. If I had ever had any doubt about his being, at heart, as bad as he had been represented to me, it would have vanished then, lie was evidently about to make some retort, and, I believe, from the look on his face it was something which could not have been written down, but he checked it. Whatever his immorality might be, it was not on his tongue. In all the time I knew him I never heard him make a loose remark.

‘ I doubt it,” was all he said.’ ‘ Very well. I have warned you. We shall see.’

We soon reached a retired little village, and then Berrington coolly remarked : ‘ Now, my dear Haddou, what I wanted you for was to hold my horse, while I go and have a little chat with the old woman who keeps the post-office, and, perhaps, inspect the church. I’m fond, as you know, of ecclesiastical architecture. 1 _ hope it won’t bore you, but you see it didn’t suit me to bring a servant.’ He dismounted as he spoke, and, giving me his bridle, walked into the little shop, which was post-office and everything else, leaving me to my own reflections* I did

not quite like being dragged into the business in this way, but having gone so far 1 determined to carry it through, for that dav, at least.

Barrington stayed a long time in the postoffice, and 1 was growing rapidly very tired, when I heard the sound of horses hoofs approaching, and, in another moment, Miss Fairloigh herself appeared, attended, this time, by a groom. 1 don't thin v sue recognised me, for she had almost passed, with a careless look at the horses, v non again I saw that peculiar gle :i,n cross her face, which gave it such a cruel look, aim she suddenly pulled up.

‘Hold my horse a moment, Robert,’she said : ‘ I want to ask about a letter.’ She was off her horse before her servant had time to dismount, and passing me, still without the slightest sign of recognition, she entered the post-office.

She must have stayed there about ton minutes, and when she came out she was laughing and talking merrily to Herrington.

‘Yon sec T am properly attended to-day,’ she said. ‘lf I had only been the same last Thursday, you would have been saved many scratches, I am sure.’ ‘I did get somewhat scratched,’ ho replied, ‘hut T did not find it out till afterwards. Will you allow me the pleasure of putting yen on your horse ?’• ‘Thank yon;’ and placing her foot—a remarkably beautiful one—in bis band, sbo sprang lightly into her saddle, and rode away.

‘Thank you, my dear fellow,’ Berriugton said, as he mounted. ‘I hope I haven’t tired out your patience. You’ve no idea how put about about I was when she came in, to find an excuse for being there. However, I managed it very cleverly, I think.’ He said no more, and I asked no questions. T had no intention of being anything more in the affair than a passive spectator. T fancied, however, from the expression of his face, he was well enough satisfied with his afternoon’s work.

T heard no more of the matter for nearly a fortnight. I only knew that Herrington was out a great deal hy himself, generally on horseback ; Imt what mainenvres he was executing I had not the most remote idea, until, at last, one day, Fitzgerald came to my quarters in a great state of excitement. ‘Oh! T say, Haddon, here’s such a lark!’ ‘ What’s up now?’ ‘Herrington’s going in for “the yellowhaired ladyc’ in right good earnest.’ ‘ How do yon mean ?’

‘ Why, he’s positively going to risk his character as a horseman, in order to improve his acquaintance.’ ‘ What do you mean, Fitzgerald ?’ ‘Oh, it’s an awful joke! I’ve suspected, ever since we met her that day, he was after her, and it’s my firm belief he has been riding about and trying to meet her, and can’t get any encouragement; but he’s so confoundedly close, there’s no getting anything out of him. However, at last, lie’s been obliged to come to me for help. And this is the way of it. You know what a devil that black mare of his is ? Well, we are to go out riding together, and go past the dove’s nest. Then Herrington is going to pick a quarrel with the mare, and actually allow himself to be thrown, and.get such a shaking he’ll have to go in there, and wait while I go in search of some conveyance to take him back to barracks. It ain’t half a bad idea, is it? Hut 1 say, Haddon, Herrington must be very far gone, before he submits to the ignominy of being spilt, in order to further his views. ’

‘ Is the idea his, or yours, Fitzgerald ?’ I asked.

‘Oh his, entirely. I’m second fiddle altogether.’ ‘ I’m glad to hear it, I said.’ ‘ Why ?’ ‘Because it’s a mad scheme. ‘ I think it an awfully good one.’ ‘I daresay you do, but 1 don’t ; and 1 warn you I shall do my best to dissuade Herrington from attempting it.’ ‘ You won’t find that easy, I can tell you,’ was Fitzgerald’s answer. He was right. Herrington was not to be moved from his determination, and, by his manner, I judged Fitzgerald was right; that he was piqued, and determined to carry the thing out in right good earnest. In vain I represented the danger of picking a quarrel with such a vicious brute as his Hack mare. Splendid horseman though lie was, he could hardly tell where it might land him. ‘ It’s no use your preaching prudence, you old muff!’ he said at last. ‘ I tell you 1 will do it. I’m not going to be foiled by a woman. ’

He was piqued, there was no question of it, and it was useless to remonstrate. But so convinced did I foci of the danger, that I resolved not to be out of the way the afternoon the design was to be carried into effect.

‘ Hang it, Haddon!’ Fitzgerald said, when I told him of my resolution, ‘ I wish you wouldn’t be so deadly serious over, this you’ll make me as nervous as a cat. Why Berringtou has thrown himself off scores of times ; he’ll be sure to get safe out of it.’ ‘ We shall see,’ was all my answer.

The next afternoon they set out. I don’t think I ever saw Berrington looking handsomer, but it struck me, as they rode out of the barrack square, that his mare did not look as if she was by any means in a humor to be trilled with. Almost involuntarily 1 looked up surgical instruments, and things of a like nature, and then sat down to read, determining not to leave my quarters for a moment, until Fitzgerald returned. About two hours after they set out I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs approaching, and started up. If all had turned out as they intended, Fitzgerald would not be riding at that pace. He dashed at full gallop into the square, and was in my quarters in a moment, as white as a sheet.

‘ Quick, Haddou !’ lie said. ‘My dogcart will 1)0 out in a moment. You were right. Berrington has come to awful grief.’ ‘ What sort of injury ?’ ‘ Smashed his right leg all to nothing, I’m afraid. He’s got into that house with a vengeance, and there he’ll have to stay.’

I hastily collected all I required, and then, as we drove rapidly towards the scene of the accident, Fitzgerald told me what had happened. It seemed the marc had resented violently her master’s attempts to pick a quarrel, and, in the end, Berrington, unable to make her do what he wanted, had lost his temper; the quarrel had become a real one, and at last the mare, plunging violently, had 1 ■ >st her footing, and came violently down on her side on a heap of stones, crushing Barrington’:-; leg under her. It sounded as nasty an accident as I ever heard of, and my mind misgave me as to the probable consequences to him. To he continued .