LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 125, 24 October 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE BITEIt BIT.

By J. A. St. John* Bi/vthe.

(Continued}

Once fairly on the road to recovery, Berrington improved steadily. Before very long he was able to sit up for a few hours every day, and then, in a little time, to be wheeled into the drawing-room, to bask in the sunshine of Miss Fahieigh's kind and gentle attentions. Dearly as he had paid for his rash exploit, I do not believe he repented for a single moment, having made the attempt. She was very kind, was it cruelly kind '? I was there a great deal, but I could not come to a decision. I floundered about among three alternatives: she was either blind, which I could not believe —-returned the passion, which I did not believe—or was playing him, as he had played many another, which I did not like to believe. I began to turn my thoughts to getting Berrington away as soon as possible ; knowing, as I did, that his love had grown up in those hours of pain and weariness, when generally the best side of a man's nature gets uppermost, I could not rejoice in the thought of vengeance falling upon him. I told him one day I thought he could epiite safely return to his epiarters. He made no answer; but the following day, when I went over, Miss Fairleigh herself introduced the subject. ' You and I are at issue now, Dr Haddon,' she said, ' on the subject of your patient.' ' How so ■;'

' Capt lin Berrington tells me you have been urging him to return to barracks, and I am sure it is bad advice.'

• I think he is quite equal now to being moved,' I replied. 'I am sure you will lend your low pony carriage, and in that he could go quite well.' ' But I am sure he is much better here. He sees his friends quite often enough to prevent his being dull ; and while he is still so much of an invalid I am certain it must be better for him to be here, where he is quiet, and can crawl into the garden when he likes, or go for a drive in my pony carriage, than to be shut up in your dingy dreary barracks.' Berrington was watching her as she spoke with eager hungry eyes. There was no cold steel about them then. She was calm and smiling as ever, but 1 fancied the smile was a thought malignant; and 1 answered very gravely : " I admit, Miss Fairleigh, all the advantages you describe. .Still 1 think it will be better for Captain Berrington to return to barracks—and safer." She shrugged her shoulders. ' Isn't he a horrible tyrant, Captain Berrington ?' she asked.

' Horrid ! but I swear I won't be ruled by him. Come, Haddon, you can't say I'm fit for duty yet, so you've no right to put on the screw, and force me back into barracks ; and I declare I won't go if Miss Fairleigh will let me stay a little longer.' ' Just as long as you feel inclined to remain, Captain Berrington,' she said. ' You know I lay the blame of your accident on our gardener's carelessness, and you do not know what a consolation it has been to me to be able to make you the only reparation in our power.' There was no use in interfering, so I mounted my horse and rode home, ieaving Berrington to his fate ; and wondering if he now ever thought of that unhappy girl in the lunatic asylum. Chapter V. At last Berrington was obliged, for very decency's sake, to leave Witham Lodge, and return to barracks ; having, in truth, outstayed every possible excuse for remaining there, but without Miss Fairleigh showing the least sign of a wish he would go. I had been very little there during the last few weeks of his stay. He was not in a condition to need my care, and I had no wish to be in any way mixed up with whatever might be impending. I heard enough of the subject, however. Every man in the regiment knew that Berrington was winged at last, and there was much laughter aud many bets over it. None of them, save myself, knew his real character, I believe, but he had the name of being rather a lady-killer. He was a changed man when he returned, and he altered more and more as time passed. He was moody, irritable, restless ; for ever riding over, on one excuse or other, to Witham Lodge, and returning sometimes in the wildest spirits, sometimes plunged in the deepest despondency. To the dregs was he quaffing the cup he had so often filled for others. I was at the house sometimes, and saw at last, clearly enough, what was going on. Ida Fairleigh was playing him just as he had played many a hapless girl in his day, and she was doing it with a skill bad enough in a man, but in a woman almost too horrible to contemplate—raising his hopes to the highest pitch one day, only to sweep them all away the next, with maddening coldness. And what could be her motive? She intended to torture him, and to torture him to the utmost of her ability, there could be no question a'out that. Yet she was no mere vain coquette, delighting in showing her power. She would not act as she was acting without some object, but what that object could be was an inscrutable mystery. This state of things lasted for about three months, and during that time I believe a full vengeance was poured upon Berrington's head for all his sins. He had almost better have shared the fate of the unhappy victim whose reason his cruelty had overturned, than have lived the life he did, consumed by a maddening, hopeless passion for a woman Avhose power over him was only equalled by her skill in torturing him. I almost thought at times of remonstrating with her, but it was a difficult case in which to interfere, especially where such a woman as Ida Fairleigh was concerned. Neither did I know that Berrington had declared his love, and been put off with an evasive answer. At last I saw a change come over Berrington. He began to wear a fixed, dogged sort sort of look, which made me suspect he had taken some rtsolution. The subject had long ceased to be mentioned. The name of the ' yellow-haired ladye ' was never heard in the barracks, at least openly. It was clear enough it was no subject for joking. More than once I heard the opinion, privately expressed, that Berrington would be in a lunatic asylum before long if things did not change. One morning, soon after I noticed the change in Berrington, I received a note from Miss Fairleigh, saying she wished to see me, and asking whether, if I was not engaged, t would lunch at Witham Lodge the next afternoon. I had just despatched a note of acceptance, when Titzgerald came to my quarters, and, rather to my surprise, I found he had received an exactly similar document. " What on earth can it mean ?" I asked. " Don't you see, my dear fellow ?" Fitzgerald gravely replied. "She wants to speak to you ; probably to ask you to proscribe for some rheumatic old pensioner, and knowing the exceeding looseness of your general conduct, she has invited a steady, quiet fellow like me to come too, on the score of propriety. She is a remarkably sensible young person, T must say.'' If she had asked me to come alone, I could have fancied she intended speaking to me about Berrington, but her including Fitzgerald in the invitation puzzled me not a little. We were the two of whom she had seen the most, and she treated us both in a very easy, friendly manner. Still it seemed a strange request. I watched Berrington that night at mess with some anxiety. He looked terribly haggard, and he drank deeper than I had ever seen him drink before. He was in general a temperate man, as far as wine was concerned ; but I had often feared, of late, to what he might be driven. And as I marked the effect upon him, as he swallowed glass after glass, the deadly gleam in his eye, and the hectic spot on each cheek, I resolved I would hold back no longer, but would either seize or make an opportunity for speaking to Miss Fairleigh about him, and warn her what would be the probable results of her continuing her present line of conduct ; regardless of what vials of wrath might be poured upon my defenceless head as tho reward of my interference. Tube continued,