ONLY A GIRL'S HEART.

Taranaki Herald, Volume XXIII, Issue 2335, 25 August 1875, Page 4

ONLY A GIRL'S HEART.

BY MRS. SOUTHWOETH, Author of "Self Made," "Brandon of Brandon," "Fashion and Famine," "Eudora/'&o. CHAPTER XLITX # HEALED.. As soon* as -her fierce tormentor had departed and left hor alone, tho firmness which Gertrudo had kept up so long, and at such a cost to her nervous system, suddenly broke down, and she bowed her face upon her hands and wept bitterly. While weeping sho examined her heart without mercy. Had sho been too hasty in accepting tho marriage offer of Gerald Fitzgerald ? Was she selfish in resolving to hold her position as his wife ? Would her persistence in doiug so really destroy his happiness and ruin his prospects ? Wonld he really como to hate and scorn her ns an ignominious obstacle to his happiness and prosperity ? Whilo she sat thus, she felt a pair of caressipg, hands laid.arorfnd her bowed shoulders. She looked up in surprise, and saw Geruld Fitzgerald standing beside her, bending over her. " W,hy» what is the matter, my poor little girt?. You have been crying," he said, in a' gentle tone. "Oh', Gerald I oh,' Gerald !" she said, '$with a little sob. " Why, what is the matter ?" he inquired, seating himself beside her, and taking, her hand. His .kindness made her weep again. "Is it because you hove been left alone here ?•" he asked. "Oh, no, no, not that," sheauswered, drying her tears aud tryiug to compose herself. " No, of conrse ; for l yon must have got my note of explanation." "1 got no note or message, hut I knew you must have been called away suddenly, and that you would return as soon as you could." " Not get any note of explanation ? That must have been from gross neglect on the part of the people down stairs. I must see to them. You were not frightened or distressed at being left alone through the night, you tell me. What, then, was it that grieved you, my child ? " he inquired, tenderly smoothing her dark hair away from her forhead. "Oh, Gerald, Miss Fitzgerald was here this morning !" she whispered. "Geraldine ! Good Hea7eu !" * Gertrude shuddered, as much at his look as at her own recollections. " Why did she come ? W hat did she want ? What did she say ?" Now Gertrude did not mean to accuse Miss Fitzgerald, nor to "make mischief" between Gerald and his cousin ; but it never entered her loyal heart to keep a secret from the husband she loved so truly. " What did she say ?" repeated Col. Fitzgerald, shortly. " She told me, in effect, that you had married mo during a transient fit of madness; that you bitterly repented the marriage ; that it was considered a sacrilegious union ; that it would ruin your bappiueßS and blast your prospects ; that if I loved you, and cared for your honor and welfare, I ought to steal away and hide myself whero you could never find me, so that after a proper time, you might procure a legal dissolution of what she called your unholy bonds. She said if I did not do so, you would grow to loatho and despise rao ns an obetacle in your path of life." " How did you answer her ?" " I said, of course, that I could not for a moment think of such an. act as. to leave your protection without your knowledge and consent." "What said sho to that?"

" Well, then, she showed impatience, but still urged me to follow her counsel." "And then?"- " Finally I told her that I wonld refer the whole matter to iriy husband, and bo ruled by his will." " Ha ! ha !" laughed Gerald. Gertrodo gazed at him in bewilderment. That this grave and stately man should break into such mirth at such a time 'was incomprehensible to her ; besides, she had never heard him laugh before. ' He took her little hand in his*; shying—"My sweet little girl, I had no idea that yon wore so wise." " VVns I wise ? I thought I was only dutiful," murmured Gertrude. " Why, little one, if instead of being tho simple, innocent child that you are, yon hai been the deepest diplomat that ever confounded the councils of a nation, yon conld not have answered Miss Fitzgerald better. What, next ?" "She was very" angry, and she hnsried away, saying that she would find some means to brook this unholy marriage." " She is mail, Gertrude, simply mad. Well, she went away ; and ns soon as she was gone* yon indulged in what women call 'a good cry.' " ".Yes, Gerald, I could not help it." tr But yon sljould not have cried after that last stroke of yours. You unhorsed your antagonist by that, and came off victor. Now, Gertrude, you havo only given mo tho 'heads' of your interview with Miss Fitzgerald. I want yon to begin and give me n regular circumstantial detail of all sho said and did from tho moment of her entrance into this room until tho moment of her departure from it. I have a particular reason for wishing to know." j

Gertrude gavo him the story as ho naked for it, adding, "Oh ! Gerald, if it be indeed true, what your cousin said — if onr marriage i<s li6ld to be sacrilegious ; if I am to bo an obstacle to your happiness and prosperity ; if you wish me to depart, Gerald, send me away. I am willing to 1 go,' she

said, with an effort to bo firm ; but ho could hear the half-suppressed sob in her voice.

He put his arm-around herwaist, and drew her head upou his bosom while be questioned her.

" Are you sorry you married me, Gertrude ?" -

" Oh, no, no, no ! lam glad ; I have beon so happy even in this little while. I will always have it to rotuember," she earnestly replied.

'"Then why do you wish to leave me ?"

" Oh, Ido not ! Ido not, unless yon want me to go. I only think of you, Gerald. I know it would bo so wrong for a littlo thing liko I am to spoil the life of a man like you. So, if you wish mo to depart, I am willing to go." "My pooi' child"! Where' could you go ? What would be your fate — your future. •• - "Oh, I do not know! ' That is uothiug- now. I could think of that afterwards. I only want to see your life go on happily, prosperously, gloriously to its earthly end." " And then, Gertrude — yon ? " " I ? Well, perhaps t up there in that higher life 1—?"..1 — ?" .. ' '■' •■ He stooped and kissed that beautiful and beaming face, gazed on it with a Btnile for an instant, and then drew her close to his liearbr- //-^ ;-% /•'••%• "Ah, now", Tttiiulc^- 1^" murmured" Gertrude in low music. *' What do you think, darling ?" "I think — oh, indeed I do! — that some day you will really know me and love me. I am so young now, and so little. lam not what I shall grow to be by 1 yorir side. ' When I slmlf be, youwill love me," she murmured, blushing intensely at her own words. " I Jove you now t my little angel ! How can I help it ? I love you now." CHAPTER XLIV. gebaldine's madness. Colonel Fitzgerald was not far wrong when he declared that Geraldine-- was mad. There are many varieties and degrees of madness, and Geraldiue, sane on aU other subjects, was certainly mad on' one. " ' " That is the only palliation that can be offered for her indelicate, undignified und unwomanly conduct displayed iv her. interview with -Gerald 'Fitzgerald's child wife, Gertrude. Her monomania cannot be wondered at when - her circumstances are considered. We have seen that when an orphan of five years old she had been betrothed 1o her handsome cousin, Gerald, who was even then the first object of hor baby-love ; and how, from the time of that betrothal, she had been placed in a convent to be educated, and brought up in the thought that her engagement was as sacred as a marriage, and only to be broken by death or sij. She bad grown up in the love and worship of her affianced • husband, every visit he made her deepening her devotion to him. And with all her faults, or rather with her one monster fuult of morbid jealousy, conjoined to violent temper, Geraldine had the one groat virtue of a perfect fidelity. When her jealousy was awakened, her temper, aroused — in a word, when the fiend took possession of her — she might abuse, insult, and outrage her betrothed past all forgiveness ; but when she came to herself, she was ready to cojifdda the wrong Inideep^trow and coatniti&n, and sue for pardon. She had always found ready forgiveness and sweet reconciliation, and sho always confidently expected to find them, for was she not hisiown ?° Could anything part them ?

She could not understand' that her 1 ' lover, however. forbearing and faithfnl he might be, must at length < tire of these scenes ; that they would be repeated once too often ; that in common self-respect the man must at length break the bonds that bound him to tho beautiful fury, or rather accept the I insulting 1 dismissal that she in her savage rage hnrled. at him. Therefore when the announcement that Gerald Fitzgerald had taken the desperate remedy by marrying Gertrude Hatklon, to raise an impassable barrier between himself and his beautiful tormentor, the news was a thunderbolt to her, nearly overwhelming her soul with amazement, sorrow, and despair! ' When she recovered from the first great. shocks aud reviewed the circumstances with w hut calmness she could command, she looked upon tho marriage of her own long-betrothed husband with another woman as a shameful crime, which could only have been committed under a paroxysm of temporary insanity. Firmly believing in all the principles in which blio had been educated, aud holding her betrothal with Gerald Fitzgorald to be a sacred bond, indissoluble except through sin or death, she con- ; sidered his marriage with Gertrude Hnddou a sacrilegious union, fraught with perdition to them, as well as with misery to herself — a union, therefore, ! which it would be not only meritorious but obligatory to break by any legal, means whatever. And she resolved to shrink from no means of breaking it. One of those strange accidents by which the devil tempts to their de9truu-> tion those already tempted to sin by their own evil passions, afforded Geraldine the opportunity she longed for of making her first desperate attempt to sunder tho newly-wedded pair.

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