LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 924, 11 June 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A WOMAN’S VICTORY.

Danbury News {Concluded.)

And Mr Brooke Powerscourt, lately re turned from his continental tour—Mr Brooke Powerscourt, eldest son and sole heir to the vast family estate—Mr Brooke Powerscourt, who had once sent such a cruel, such an insulting note away, did not know it was the pictured face of his brother’s widow upon which he was looking ; nor, when he leaned eagerly forward in his box, a few niglits later, to feast his artist on Lenorc’s magnificent brunette beauty, and regale his aesthetic senses on her exquisite voice and faultless manner, did he know it was his sister in-law who was the idol of every heart she thrilled. But Lcnore knew. It was for s-'me such time as this that she had been waiting for years —long, patient waiting, while she toiled and drudged and wept and persevered until the great natural talent heaven had given her was made her fortune —her slave. Lenore knew it was he whose letter had never once left her possession, which she had road and re-read in moments of trial and moments of triumph. She had asked of her agent at once if Mr Powerscourt were in the house, and when she saw him she knew him from his resemblance to her dead husband.

She was loyally magnificent that night she had a well-defined object in view, and all the art of her splendid toilet was brought to the air of her matchless beauty. And Brooke Powerscourt, looking at her with eyes in which admiration changed to eager delight, and warmed into something deeper still, made up his mind that of all women he ever had seen, that this starryeyed, ebon-haired, graceful Lenore was his choice.

And Lenore sung, and smiled, and wept, and enchanted every heart, and Brooke Powerscourt, after the opera was over, sent a most courteous note to her, begging the inestimable honor of an introduction through his fortunately happy friend, Frank Ormonde. And for reply he received a daintily-written note on a tiny violetodonrcd, cream-tinted sheet, bearing an intricate monogram, which assured him that Mdlle. Lenore was not in the habit of receiving strangers!

It was presumptuous—to Brooke Powerscourt of all men, with his grand old family name, and entailed estates, and tremendous rent-rolls, and embarrassingly large income ; and that gentleman ground his droopingblonde mustache, and just what Lenore had intended he should do—persevered hotly until he should succeed in meeting her.

And he met her, and was introduced to her in strict accordance with the most rigid rules of etiquette ; and if she had charmed him at a distance, she enchanted him doubly now, with her bewitching ways and her lovely smile, and her bright intelligence. Men began to envy him in his good fortune—it was on every one’s tongue that Powerscourt and the prhna donna were engaged, and Lenore neither denied nor admitted the truth, but Hushed and smiled, and Powerscourt was too genuinely in love to dare do either.

He fairly worshipped her. He was at her side whenever it was possible for him to be ; and she seemed to enjoy his society as well as he did hers —so well, that there was not a shadow of a doubt of his acceptance on his

heart when he told her one evening that he loved her so, and wanted her so, and pictured the life of luxury and ease she v. ould enj"y as his darling wife. And Lenore seemed to he enchanted with what he said, and made him feel that he was already in die seven h heaven. ‘You talk so exquisitely,’ said she, with one of her bewitching little laughs, ‘ I think you should tell it t'> mo so I can retd it whenever I wish. Write me a letter, Mr Powerscourt ; I do so love h tters. ’

And Brooke Powersconrt wrote his passion down as best he could, as he would have done anything his siren bade him ; and he pleaded with all the ardor and eloquence of which he was master that she would take him for her own. And Ellinor Powersconrt read it with glistening eyes, in which was not one gleam of pity. * My time has come now !’

And for answer she sent him hack the pencilled note he had sent to her, and beneath it she wrote

‘ Lenore,’ otherwise Ellinor Powersconrt, the widow of your brother Rupert.’ How he took it she never know —never cared, for the very next steamer took her away from where her victory was won, and a year later she was happily married. But it was a bitter drop in Brooke Powerscourt’s enp - rather a cupful of bitterness, which lasted his whole life long ; but he had no one to blame but himself !