MADGE'S MISTAKE.

Tuapeka Times, Volume XX, Issue 1342, 13 April 1887, Page 6

MADGE'S MISTAKE.

'We start for Egypt on Thursday, old fellow. I have not yet broken the news to Madge, poor girl L But it will have to be done without loss of time, although I shrink from the idea.'

The speaker was a tall, handsome man of perhaps five-and-twenty, with bright eyes, and a dark, resolute face. He looked every inch a soldier as he stood beside his friend on the platform of the crowded London terminus, where they had met each other after a seDaration of nearly 18 months.

'Madge!' said the young officer's friend ; ' surely you are not engaged ? You, who were always so proud to proclaim yourself a woman hater !' 'Not engaged,' returned George Enfield, with a slight flush on his bronzed cheek. ' Not engaged, Le Eoy, but married. Where have you been all these months not to have heard the news ?'

* I had forgotton how time passes,' said Le Roy, hastily. 'Of course, the world has not been standing still since I left England with the firm determination not to open a book or newspaper until I had regained the health and strength I had exhausted in long hours of study.' ' And you have gained your object,' said George, with friendly solicitude. * You are quite yourself again ?' Le Roy made no immediate answer, but turned his eyes away, that George might not see the look of anguish that had darkened them for a moment. ' I am better,' he said at last, with no trace of emotion on his fine face. 'I am better, or I should not have taken up the old life.' 'You have really come home for good,' said G-eorge, eagerly; 'you really mean to remain in England ?' 'Yes,' said Le Eoy, absently. 'A man cannot fly from himself. I have come to the conclusion that the man who seeks health in travel had better remain at home.' George felt that Le Roy was hiding something from him ; but he could not utter a word to break the barrier of reserve which his friend had allowed to come between them. *He shall tell me of his own free will, or not at all,' thought George Enfield. ' I will not wring the secret from him.' So there was silence between them for a time, as they strode up and down, each occupied with his own thoughts. George was the first to speak, and his ringing voice startled Le Roy, arousing him from a painful reverie. He looked up eagerly, meeting the eager gaze of his friend. 'What is it, George?' he asked, apologetically. 'Forgive me, but I scarcely heard what you were saying.' 'I was only telling you that my people do not approve of my marriage. They have been cruel and unjust, and I could not think of letting Madge go to them ' ' I am sorry to hear this,' . said Le Eoy. 'It must be hard for her and for you ; she will not be quite alone I hope. Of course, your wife has her own friends ?' ' She has one sister,' returned George, 'but the two poor children will be very lonely when I am gone, Le Eoy, and I want -you to extend your friendship to them.' It was a strange request to make, but George could see nothing strange in it. He loved his friend and had every faith in him; he knew that Wilfred Le Eoy was the soul of honour.' 1 How fortunate that I should have met you here,' he continued without giving Le Eoy time to speak. You must come to our villa, and let me introduce you to my wife. You have an eye for beauty, and will appreciate my good taste. Don't accuse me of egotism, old fellow, until you have seen my Madge.' They jumped into a cab, and as they drove quickly in the direction of George's home, the two friends fell to talking of old times, and Le Eoy was laughing quite merrily when the cab drew up before a pretty little cottage not very far from Hampstead Heath. A bright little maid, with dark eye 3

and rosy cheeks, opened the door in answer to George's ring, and Le Roy followed her into a quietly furnished parlor, where a young lady was bending over some needlework. c Mada;e ?' said George, putting his hand on her shoulder, ' Let me introduce you to tho best friend I have in the world— Wilfred Le Roy ; Wilfred, this is my wife.'

They looked at each other, and a sudden ghastly pallor came over Le Roy's face, while the young girl seemed about to faint. Then with a warning glance as quick as a flash of lightning, Le Eoy held out his hand to his friend's wife, and expressed his pleasure at making her acquaintance.' ' Where is sister Bertie ?' asked the unconscious George. 'In the garder , as usual,. I suppose. I'll go and look for her.' And he hurried out of the room, leaving his wife and Wilfred alone together. Madge leaned back in her chair, white as the lacework that had fallen from her slender fingers. 'You won't tell him?' she said pileously, lifting her beautiful eyes to Wilfred's face. Wilfred was silent just for a moment ; be could scarcely trust himself to speak. But he controlled his anger by a mighty effort and calmly said : ' Let the past rest ; it has gone for ever. I wish to remember only that I am your husband's friend.' It cost him a great deal to speak these words, for Madge had treated him very badly in dtjys gone by. They had been engaged, and she had jilted him on finding that his prospects were less bright than people had led her to imagine. It had been a secret engagement, and he had never told the wrong she had done. The worst of it was that he loved her still, although he felt that she was very unworthy of his love. Weak and fickle as she had been, he could not help the memory of the sweet past coming back to him, when he looked at her beautiful face. 'Then you will keep my secret?' she said anxiously ; George has such : strict ideas. He would be angry if he j knew that I had been engaged to you. I don't think he would ever forgive me.' 'You can trust my word I hope,' returned Wilfred, coldly— all the more coldly because of the love he could not subdue. And then he held up his hand warningly, for he could hear voices in the hall, and in another moment George entered the room in company with a young lady whom Le Roy had never seen before, for she had been at school in Germany when he had first known Madge. George introduced her informally to Le Roy as his sister-in-law, and. left her to entertain his friends, while he took his wife out of the room to break the sad news of his speedy departure for Egypt. She cried a little, for although she did not love her husband very much, he had been kind to her when her father's failure and death reduced her and her sister to poverty, and had given them both a home by making her his wife. But for that she reflected with a shudder, they would have had to go out into the world and work for a living. Bertie would not have minded it so much, but Madge had recoiled from the prospect for working for her daily bread with horror. They went back to the drawingroom after a time, and Madge sat. down at the piano at her husband's request, and played for them ; but she could not sing— -not while Wilfred was in the room. She had liked him better than she liked George, although her husband was better looking than his friend, and the old fascination was creeping over her.

If she had been a wise woman she would have objected to* be left under Wilfred's guardianship; but, unfortunately, she was a very foolish one, and it seemed to her a very pleasant arrangement. 'It will be so nice for us to have a friend to look after us while George is away,' she said. ' Will it not, Bertie ?' 'Very,' returned Bertie, rather dryly. "Girl as she was, she thought Le Roy altogether too young and handsome for the responsibility he had undertaken.

Bertie was very sweet and girlish, with soft blue eyes and a closely cropped head that gave her quite a child-like appearance. Not so brilliantly handsome as her sister, perhaps, but, nevertheless, a very pretty girl. When- George was on his way to Egypt, Le Roy called daily at the cottage, often staying to partake of afternoon tea with the two sisters, who always gave him a warm welcome.

' He is very handsome,' said Bertie, as she watched him riding down the street on his brown mare, after spending the afternoon with them. Something in* the tone of her voice and the way she looked after Wilfred aunoyed Madge, who had never noticed how pretty her sister was getting till that moment. -

'Yes,' she said, 'he is handsome, poor fellow!' And as she uttered these last words Madge heaved a sigh. ' Why, poor fellow ?' asked Bertie, quickly, turning to look at her sister. ' Because he will never marry.' 'How do you know that?' asked Bertie, colouring. ' Has he told you so?'

' No ; but I happen to know. He loved some one long ago, and will never forget her.' ' What can you know about Wilfred Le Roy?' incredulously. 'We have only known him a few weeks.' 'I knew him before father died,' said Madge, playing with her rings to avoid meeting her sister's steady gaze.

' And you let George think you had never met before,' said Bertie, slowly. 'You never loved him. If you had loved him you would Lave true to him in spite of his poverty. Months passed on, and, on taking up the ' Times ' one morning, Wilfred came upon his friend's name in the list of the slain. It was a terrible blow for him, as he had loved George with quite a brotherly affection.

Madge went into hysterics when she heard the news, but soon calmed down, showing admirable resignation to her loss. Bertie, indeed, seemed to feel it most. Le Roy came as usual to the cottage, and one day when he and Madge were alone rather abruptly alluded to the past. 'He can't be going to propose already,' thought the pretty widow, and deciding in her own mind to put him off for a twelvemonth. ' Madge,' said Wilfred, ' when I came here and found you the wife of my friend, I thought I should go mad.' Madge muttered something about it being too soon to think of such things, but he did not appear to notice her. ' Yes,' he went on, f I loved you still. Forgive me. It was very wrong, and I couldn't help it. And now — ' He paused for a moment, and Madge coloured hotly, forgetting her bereavement, and knowing only that the man she loved was, metaphorically, at her feet. ' And now,' she said, softly her eyes to his face. 'And now,' he returned in an agitated voice, ' now I love — your Bister.' Mrs Enfield's complexion had never looked more lovely — her cheeks were like roses ; but her eyes ! well they had rather an angry sparkle, and her lips were slightly compressed. ' I am glad, very glad indeed,' she said, with emphasis. 'If I were Bertie, I should not care for a man's second love, but, of course, everybody to her taste.' And with this parting taunt she went out of the room just as Bertie entered it. The girl could not understand the meaning of the angry look her sister gave her. She did understand it, though, a moment later, when Wilfred caught her in his arms and told her of his love. After all, it was fortunate for all i parties concerned that affairs had taken this turn, for a short time later on it was found that George Enfield's | name should have been among the ' missing,' and not the killed. i Madge, to do her justice, was genuinely glad when she heard that her husband had turned up, safe and sound, and welcomed him as warmly as if she had never thought of being his friend's wife.

So all ends happily, and, for George at least — where ignorance is bliss it is folly to be wise, (