LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2153, 19 January 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MBS. FITZPATRICK’S DIAMOND BING. [From '‘Chambers’s Journal.”! Twelve months ago last November, I ran down into Warwickshire to spend a few days with my cousin, Horace Mason. It was an odd time of year to choose for a country visit; but as a matter of fact I did not choose it—it was chosen for me. Until that year I had always managed to get away for an eagerly snatched and greedily enjoyed holiday in Anguat, and had generally been lucky enough to secure some good grouseshooting or pleasant yachting. But all at once the Fates turned perverse, and that particular August had brought with it a throng of professional engagements, which could be neither dismissed nor delayed.

Of course they were welcome in a way ; for I was near the bottom of the ladder, and was glad of any chance that would enable me to racunt one or two rungs higher j but I certainly thought that the fickle goddess Fortune, having apparently forgotten me so long, might have postponed her visit for another month without any marked impropriety. The worst of it was that when September came I was as busy as ever, and even October found me still in the whirl of that maelstrom of work.

Not until the morning of the first day of November did I waken with the blessed consciousness that the load was gone from my shoulders, and that I was once again comparatively free. I lay awake in bed, feeling serenely happy, wondering whether I ought to celebrate my emancipation by having my breakfast brought up to me, and vaguely speculating as to how and where I should give myself the holiday I had so fairly earned. I decided against the sybaritic breakfast in bed ; rang my bell, and Informed my landlady that I should be downstairs in twenty minutes, and on entering my snug little sitting-room fonnd on the table a solitary letter. I digested the kidney and it together, aud they were both satisfactory. The former was perfect—Mrs Higgins had been a cook—and the latter was equally to my taste.

It was from Horace Mason, who said he was completely bored—Horace is always complaining of being bored, though no one enjoys life more than he—and that he would be eternally grateful to me if I would sacrifice myself by coming to share his boredom for two or three weeks.

This was the very thing. Winthorpe, though only a bachelor establishment, was a most delightful house to stay at; and as it was surrounded by other houses almost equally delightful, the inhabitants of which understood well the great art of enjoying themselves, I need hardly say that I accepted the invitation by return of post. Three days later, shortly after six in the afternoon, 1 was met at the door of Winthorpe by Horace himself, who ss usual assured me, in tones which seemed symptomatic of perfect health and spirits, that he was more bored than ever, and that he would never, never forget the good turn I had done him by coming so soon. Of course, as “ Pinafore ” was then in the ascendant, I was bound to raise my eyebrows and inquire ‘ What, never ?’ and he, to show that bis boredom was tempered by nows of the great world, was ready with the orthodox reply, ‘ Well—hardly ever.’ These highly intellectual greetings being exchanged, I was escorted up to my room and then down to the drawing-room, where I found Mrs Patton, Horace’s lady housekeeper—his duenna, as he was wont to call her—and Mr Fitzpatrick, the rector of the parish.

Mrs Patton I knew well. She was a most amusing compound of dignity and jollity, and we were the best friends in the world, though she always declared that I did nothing but make fun of her. Mr Fitzpatrick I had never seen before ; for during my previous visits he had always happened to be from home. He was a tall, portly, elderly gentleman, with a rather florid complexion, and a magnificent head of perfectly white hair, the effect of which was increased by a pair of bushy and perfectly black eyebrows. He greeted me very cordially; and as soon as we were seated at the dinner-table I discovered that his forte was conversation and his foible monologue. |I have heard some good steady talkers in my time ; but I urn prepared to back Mr Fitzpatrick against any of them.

Reminiscence succeeded reminiscence, and anecdote jostled anecdote ; and, though he web {undoubtedly very amusing, I began to think that if one lived in his parish one might possibly have for him some of the feeling that Sinbad the Sailor had for the Old Man of the Sea. I have forgotten moat of his stories ; but one of them had a certain ghastliness, which impressed me a good deal at the time, and makes me think worth telling again. I had noticed during dinner that, as is the habit of some widowers, he wore a wedding ring, which had presumably been his wife’s ; and over this another ring, of the kind usually worn by ladies, in which were set three very handsome brilliants. After dinner, when Mrs Patton had retired, the conversation somehow or other took a turn in the direction of precious stones, and Horace, who at last managed to get in a word or two, said something abont the difficulty of distinguishing, in the absence of tests, a true stone from a really well executed imitation, and took from his waistcoat pocket a manufactured diamond which I certainly should have pronounced genuine. For purposes of comparison, Mr Fitzpatrick slipped from his finger the ring of which I have just spoken ; and after it had been examined and replaced, he said—- • There is » curious story connected with that ring, Mr Mason. I daresay yon have heard it.’

• I’ve heard something about it,’ said Horace, ‘ but I jdon’t know all the particulars ; and I don't think my cousin has heard anything of it.’ ‘ Well," then,’ said Mr Fitzpatrick, * I may as well tell it you, if you care to hear it. The story begins and ends a long time ago. ‘lt is forty years this very month since I became engaged to be married. I was then a curate, and had not much money to spare ; but I had just received a legacy of rather less than £l6O, and in a fit of extravagance, hardly excusable even in a lover of fivo-and-twenty, I spent the whole of it and a few pounds more in purchasing a ring for my future wife.

We expected the engagement to be a long one, but the rector of this parish died suddenly, and my great uncle. In whose gift the living was, presented me to it. The rector's death took place in February. ‘I read myseif in on Faster Sunday ; and and on the Ist of June wo were married. I suppose that every newly-married husband and wife think themselves the happiest people in the world ; but I honestly believe that we really were so. ‘Wo had not only each other, but we had everything else that we could possibly d«tire a larger income than we needed, work that was thoroughly congenial to both of us, a few real friends, any number of pleasant acquaintances, and an utter freedom from all anxiety. ‘This unalloyed happiness lasted for six months, when my wife’s health failed in a mysterious manner. ‘ She began to be subject to strange fits of languor, physical depression, and drowsiness, which gradually became longer and more frequent. ‘I had advice at once; but the doctors seemed completely at sea. he organs, they said, were perfectly siund ; and, though the action of the heart was not quite so strong an it r.ught to bo, there was absolutely nothing to account for the symptoms. At all events, they could only recommend tonics, gentle open-air exercise, and an orca sional stimulant.

‘ In spite cf them all, however, my wife grew worse and worse. At last she took to her bed; and she had not baen in bed a week, when one evening I left her, apparently much the same as usual, and went Into my stu’y to spend a couple of hours ov- r my next Sunday’s morning’s sermon. * I had been dowmtairs only about threequarters of an hour, when my wife’s sister, who had been sitting with her du'ing my absence, tnvst into the roim and threw herself upon me, exclaiming, *0 James 1 she's dead ! Our darling Kate’s dead 1’

‘You can imagine the shock she gave me ; but it never occurred to me to imagine that what she said was really true.

I thought nothing but that the Bin in o an bad been too much for the poor girl, ta- j at: B * le tem P orar ‘Jy lest her reason. best to calm her; aud soon buooeeded, for she began to talk so lucidly that 1 was compelled not only to listen but to need.

Sbe said that she and one of the servants had been watching by my wife, /who was apparently sleeping peacefully, when they had both been startled by a peculiar change in her countenance. 3 ‘They listened for the sound of her breathing, but her nothing. ‘ They had then held a hand-mirrer to her month, bat It remained unclouded. They had felt for the pulsation of her heurt; but it had ceased to beat, and her body was deathly cold. ‘The servant had gone to tell one of (he men to saddle a horse and ride hard for the nearest doctor ; while she had come to me to tell me the terrible news aud bid me be calm. * Calm was ont cf the question. I tore myself away and rushed up-Uira. They were idiots—they wore demented ; but still there was a haunting fear which I must dispel for myself. <To he continued.')