LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1392, 1 August 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MRS FITRGUReLD. By Frank Barrett. ( Continued.) ‘Hero are some more rings,’ he said to her one day ; ‘ put them away; you will wear them when wo are married. Caught my eye as I was passing a jeweller’s—couldn’t help buying them.’ ‘You are an extravagant spendthrift, and a dear, dear boy !’ ‘ When I have money I must spend it. I shall bo poor always until I have a little wife to take cure of my money. By the bye, why shouldn’t you take care of it now ? Bright idea—put these notes away with the other things, or I shall buy more rings than your fingers can wear,’ The prospect of being useful to this man was more delightful to Mary than the wearing of jewels and glorious silks. She could hardly sleep for her anxiety for the safety of the wealth intrusted to her care. He gave her other notes, telling her he did so because of the pleasure ho saw she had in providing for his future welfare. Not until ho had procured the marriagelicense did he withdraw her from school, and even then he could not fix the day for their union. That agent could not settle the affair definitely, but it would certainly bo concluded before many days. Mary was to hold herself in readiness. The marriage would be strictly private, and they would depart immediately for the Continent. She had not been introduced to any of his friends, and she was as unwilling as he to expose herself and him to invidious remark by her ignorance of the etiquette of society. The requisite manner she would obtain by copying her husband in their two or three years of travel. The excitement of preparing for departure, and the constant expectation of immediate marriage, occupied her mind, naturally diverting her greatly from other considerations. Nevertheless she was conscious that Reginald was unusually restless in those days ; his agitation he attributed to business transactions, which women could not understand. Ho was flushed and excited when he announced that at length all was settled satisfactorily, and that he would call the following morning to take her to church. ‘ You will have everything ready,’ he said, ‘ so that when the ceremony is concluded wo have only to call for our boxes on our way to tiie station.’ He was no less uneasy on their way to the church. He spoke little, and kept back in the corner of the cab, glancing furtively to the right and loft as they rattled through the streets. He looked up and down the road before he stepped from the cab, and took Mary quickly into the building. The last words of the ceremony were scarcely spoken when a boy ran quickly down the aisle and put a letter into Fitzgerald’s hand. He caught Mary’s hand and hurried her into the vestry, saying to the astonished curate, ‘ If there are any papers to sign give them to me at once. A matter of life and death calls me away immediately.’ Ho signed his name, threw down the pen, and went to the church door. ‘All right!’ said the boy, who stood outside the door. When the husband and wife were again in the cab, Fitzgerald said, ‘ Mary, I have given you |to-day a convincing proof of my integrity, and now, as my wife, it is your duty to obey implicitly my commands. Listen: this note tells me that I am accused of a crime.’ ‘ Crime !’ ‘ Well, it is called a crime. It is said I have committed forgery, and at this moment the police are pursuing me. I am entirely innocent. Do you believe mo ?’ ‘ Of course I do, my husband. But if you are innocent why do you—--11 will tell you,’ he broke in ; ‘I will tell you when I have time for explanation. At present my safety must be in flight. Every moment I waste jeopardises my happiness. Now I believe the law cannot touch the money I have given you, nor the jewels and dresses; but that my accusers may nob have the chance of extorting them from you by misrepresenting the means by which I procured them, I desire that you will at once leave your present lodgings, and take others in Fulham, say, or Brixtou. And to avoid traces even through our marriage this morning, you must take the name of —well, Fox ; Mrs Fox. Yes, that will do, Mrs Fox ; and keep your knowledge of my existence secret from every living soul. Q-o to the post-office at Brixton —yes, Brixton, Brixton, Brixtou ’ (he repealed the name emphatically, as if impressing it on his memory)—‘ for letters from me addressed to Mrs Fox. Remember, Fox, Brixton. I will send you the address where you shall presently join me, and where together, my dear wife, we may concert measures for rebutting this foul charge. At present I could not with safety meet examination ; it is a complication •which I cannot now explain ; but of this be certain—l am innocent. It is in your power to save mo or to ruin me.’ She took his hand in hers and said—- ‘ You need say no more. I am your wife, Reginald ; all you have desired I will do. Nothing on earth shall wring this secret from me. God grant it be soon no secret at aH !’ ‘ Q-od bless you, my wife !’ said he ; and, after looking carefully from the window, he opened the door without stopping the driver, and springing out, ran down a side street, The next morning the newspapers told how certain tradesmen and bankers had been imposed upon by means of forged cheques, presented by a young man of gentlemanly exterior, member of a West. End Club, and of aristocratic connections ; and before the end of the week Mrs Fox, on her way to the Post Office at Brixton, saw upon the noticeboard of a police-station a portrait of her husband, with an offer of £IOO reward for the apprehension of Leonard cle la Caeur, alias Byshe Crawley, Spencer Malcolm, and the rest. Chapter 11. ‘My darling Mary,—This letter must necessarily be short, as I write in haste and in fear that this may fail into other hands than yours. I leave here as soon us your answer to this arrives—before, should you not write by return post. Let ran know your address, and fell me if any incident has occurred since my leaving you which leads you to suppose that you are the subject of inquiry. I am in communication with a worthy solicitor, who hopes before long to be in possession of facts which will enable me to return and proudly proclaim my innocence. It appears that a villain, bearing a remarkable resemblance to me, has made himself acquainted with my position and habits, and, personating me, has committed a series of atrocious frauds. Until he is run to earth I must keep out of the way, for so closely his lie copied me in every particular that it would bo almost impossible to disprove to a dense-headed juryman my identity with him —in his absence. How 1 suffer in this cruel separation from you, you only, who knows me so well, may imagine. ‘ I left, without money, and am greatly distressed for f lie want of common necessaries. As soon as I obtain your address I will send a friend to you who will give yon, as a pledge of his identity, thoidrar ring you gave mo on my birthbay. Ah, how I remember that sweet clay, my darling! To him you will give the box containing the jewels, trinkets, &c., I gave you in my prosperity. I know you will make this merely temporary sacrifice to pre vent your husband starving. In the present complication of affairs I dare not even draw upon my banker. The bank-notes I will beg von to keep for me, although nothing now will tempt mo into extravagance ; but I beg that you will not attempt to change them Unfortunately there is one amongst them which I received indirectly from the very man who has impersonated me and involved mo in this unhappy dilemma; the number of the note may be known, and might lead to your apprehension as the accomplice of the wretch who stole it. Oh !’ . . . . [here several words were smudged and illegible] ‘lo stem them; but the bitter tears will flow us I thii k of the unhappiness to which I, who love you so passionately, have brought you. I can say no more than farewell, my beloved wife.—Your unhappy starving husband. < P.S. —Have everything packed in wool and

in a strong box. On no account attempt t<J pass the notes until I writ e.’ A few days after Mrs Fitzgerald received a a second letter, brought her by a young man also of ‘gentlemanly exterior:’ * Munchen. ‘My dearest Wife, —The bearer of tlfs will bring me the box. lam dving with grief. I have eaten nothing but bread and sausage since I left England—dear old England ! My friend will eive you the ring; but oh, return it, for though it is not, mayhap, worth more than eighteen shillings to you, it is more precious than my life’s blood to your poor sundered husband.’ 'lh's sidy, blind, infatuated little wife kissed the rirg and put it in a letter that breathed only her sorrow for him, her words of comfort, her vows of eternal love and trust And she took care that her flowing tears should not drop upon the paper to wound his heart with the knowledge of her wretchedness. She asked many questions of this friend, who had seen him lately. He was prepared to take a dying oath that Fitz had eaten nothing but sausage and bread, crying the while like a child. Fitz choked as he tried to gulp down the miserable bock, ar d went to sleep breathing the name of Clam, Clara —Eh ? Oh, ah, yes : that is—of course—yes—to be sure it wa* not Clara, but Mary. Yes, he distinctly heard h f m say Mary before be began 'o move. The friend also said, in reply to her inquiry, that she would certainly have to join her husband in a few days—a week at the very outside. Fitz waa only waiting for money to provide necessary comforts. And the journey would cost her under a pound if she went third class and by the cheapest r-rate. Mary left him, and going into her bedroom, she opened, the box' which contained all that her husband had ever given her, except the precious notes she was to keep for him. She looked areund to see if anything was left out. Thera was only one other treasure to send. She took from her portmanteau a little toy house, which opened with a key. It had been given to her when she war a child to put her first pennies in. She emptied out the money she had accumulated —all her careful savings—• and subtracting three sovereigns as amp e to cover her expenses for the next few days, she wrapped the remainder in a ribbon she took from her throat, and kissing it, Lid the little parcel in a corner in the box There was a a veet pleasantry in her mind, and she wrote on a scrap of paper, which she laid o the top of the wool-covered packages, ‘ Peeo well in the corners,’ and smiled, thinking her husband would be plet.sed to hunt for the presea —poor fool ! ( To h,<>. p.ontinned. )