LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2580, 14 July 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

IRENE’S EEVBNGE, * Yes, Harry, a wife with money is now become a necessary evil. Therefore, behold your humble servant prepared to turn Benedict. Nay, more, 1 have found a wife. ’

‘ Found a wife ? You are surely joking ! You have not the look of a married man.’

‘Nor am I, You dragged the fullest meaning out of my words. I merely mean to eay that I know the young lady whom I intend shall figure as Mrs Clifford Getty—a pretty name, rather, la it not ? and not such a bad-looking possessor ot the title, eh? But a trnoa to joking. Irene Forrest is at preient in this very hotel, and it is Irene Forrest whom I have come down here to marry. By Jove! I hate the word, and ham the sentiment; hut what else is to be done ? lamln no end cf debt and trouble ; besides, I was brought up with the idea that an heiress was my destination, and why should I swerve from the path of duty ?’ ‘ Clifford, old fellow, this tilk does not sound like Iron. H -ve yon forgotten our college days, when, between puffs of our cigars, we two would discuss love and its probabilities, while between us and the pages of our * Euclid’ pretty faces were always fl tting, to the serious detriment of the lines ?’

’Yes, I remember,’ slowly yawned the other, leaning lazily back in his chair, and sending a great puff of smoko through the open window. ‘ But I put away all that nonsense when I pat away ‘ Euclid,’ One hears of falling in love ; 1 don’t think it is a practical ides. Bat to return. Yon have been in the field some time. Do you know Mias Forrest, or must I look elsewhere for an introduction V

‘ Yes, I know her ; but it would be a little too bad if, with your handsome face and winning ways, you stole the prize, to whom other men with less attractions could offer a heart I’

‘ What! sentimental, Harry 7 Am I poaching on your manor ? If so, I will renounce my plans and take the oarlkst train out of temptation to morrow. ’ ‘ That will be unnecessary,’ laughingly retorted his f iend. ‘ I have already sueoumbed to another fortress ; but— ’

‘No huts, Harry. Give me the introduction ; or, if you won’t, doubtless some one else will. You don’t suppose if I marry her I would treat her like a brnte, do you ? No I no queen should receive greater homage. Good night, old feUow I Think it over.’

And Harry Saxton did think it over, remembering the great and noble heart he knew Clifford Getty to possess—the wonderful tenderness he had seen him show a wounded dog—the princely generosity with which the man’s nature was replete; bat failed to reconcile It with hia outspoken intention to marry for money. But some one else was thinking it all over, loo—some one to whose ears the spoken words bad been wafted through her open window on the clouds of tobacco smoke the wind had brought her—some one on whoso cheeks the bright scarlet burned, and whose eyes flashed as she heard all—no leas a some one than Irene Forrest herself. She had not meant to listen ; but each word had been borne to her, clear and distinct, on the evening air as she sat, still in her evening dress, flowers In her hair, and jewels gleaming on her throat, a rarely pretty picture in the moonlight, *My money ! Is it to be always my money ?’ she thought, tears springing to the dark, beautiful eyes she would have scorned any bat the moon to see. ‘ Cther girls are loved for themselves —la no man to love me P’

And with this thought ringing its changes she at last laid her tired head upon her pillow to find forgetfulness In that welcome visitor sleep. Hal she sought it in vain. Certainly no trace of indignation appeared when, the next morning, her friend, Mr Saxton, bronght ap Mr Getty to present him—a permission she had graciously ao-

ooided bat a few momenta before. It was the beginning, the sounding of the tocsin for the fray ; bat none cf the gay crowd who made up the number of pleasure seekers at the momtala retreat knew or dreamed of what they saw —in the girl, with her ex qaiiite beanty, lifting her eyes to her com panion with snoh melting softness in their dark bine depths, and in the man, tall and young and handsome, looking down npoi her while he talked on, with the wonderful fasoinat/on of manner nature had lent him - two combatants for the first time met face to face. Who would gain the victory ?' Days merged into weeks, and Dsme Rumor declared that Clifford Getty had won the seas m’s prize. But somehow, in these ater days, a war was raging in the man’s seal. What had he done ! How small, and mean, and contemptible his purpose looked, now that these weeks had taught him a lesson he had not meant to learn —the lesson that the heart at which he had scoffed was beating bard and fart in his breast, crying oat to lay itself at the feet of the woman who had won it.

Standing in the door way of the ball room on a warm Summer night, he watched her, surrounded by a group of admirers ; then, wording his way slowly toward her, he saw the sudden smile of welcome in her eyes ar, one by one, the other men fell back, to make place for him. ‘ This is my waltz, is it not ?’ he said. * Yes !’ she answered, ‘Let ns take a stroll on the piazza, instead. Are you willing ?’ * More than willing, ’ she replied. *lt 1s too warm for dancing.* He had meant to speek the decisive worls tc-night—to ask this girl to be his wife. How could he doubt his answer ? Had she not betrayed it ? Bat looking down on her pure loveliness, his purpose failed him, and stern and harsh oame the words, instead, ’ Miss Forrest, I must thank you for a very charming Summer. Had you heard I was to leave to-morrow? Ihe train goes at so early an hour that 1 feared I should not see you to say good-bye.’

' Good-bye ? ’ she qnestioningly faltered. ’ls not this a sudden determination on your part V * Somewhat ; but a retrieved honor and a restored manhood depend upon carrying out my resolution ’ The girl’s face paled. Had this man but mooked her, after all? Was she to be robbed of the one sweet revenge for which she had lived since she had first heard his voice breathe his name—the revenge of leading him on to the step ho had declared himself about to take, then with bitter scorn reveal to him that she had known all from the first. But what meant this sadden pain ! In playing her part she had forgotten it was not reality P Was her heart the penalty of his crimo ? All her pride, all her womanhood, came to her rescue, as she courteously murmured her regrets, and then placed her little hand lightly in his, with a hope that they might one day meet again. * Some richer woman has come upon the scene,’ she thought, as she at last gladly hailed the solitude of her room. * May sha be warned, as I have been!’ But even with the wcrds came a bitter bnrst of sobs.

There was gentle bustle and excitement and terrifi d confusion in the hotel next day, for the early morning train bad met with a serious accident but a few miles distant, and the wounded passengers were brought back Among them was Clifford Getty. It was some internal injury, the physician said. They could not state the extent just yet, but they feared for the worst. la the afternoon, Harry Saxton, coming to Mi-s Forest, told her that Clifford beggad to see her.

Without hesitation, she accompanied him ; but at the door of bis friend’s room be drew back, and closed it after her as she entered alone. Very white was the handsome face which looked up with a smile of welcome as his eyes rested on her. ‘lbis is kind,’ be said. * I had something 1 wanted to say to yon. I have a bitter confession to make I The doctors say there is little hope for me, and perhaps it is as well, Life has suddenly grown worthless to me, and I have made it so. Listen, Irene. A month ago I came to this place (oh, my darling, how poor and miserable a plot it all seems now 1) to ma-ry you—or, rather to try to win you for my wife. Not that 1 'had seen, or known, or loved you, but because I thought I would win you and your money. Why do you not start from ma in scorn ? I meant to be a good hnsbsnd, bnt I saw no resson why I should not try for the heiress. You wonder why I did not. Because, Irene. I lost sight of her in the woman ; because I learned to love the beautiful girl whose face haunted my sleeping moments, and whose voice was the music of my dreams; because, beside her noble womanhood, my purpose forth base and contemptible, until I knew I had Slain my own happiness, slued I had made myself forever unworthy. Darling, I meant never to tell you, bnt, in case things turned out for the worst with me, I thought I would die happier if your lips told me I was forgiven.’ But, in answer, Irene fell sobbing on her knees beside the bed.

‘Live, Clifford, live I’ she moaned. ‘I, too, bave been acting all these months. I was sitting in the window next to yonrs on the fi at night, snd heard all, I determined than to have my revenge, and tried to make yon love me only to scorn yon. Bat I forgot that, in teaching the lesson I might learn it. Ah ! Clifford, though an heiress, I have been poor all my life ! Make me rich !’ And Clifford, folding her close to his heart, prays for the life now rendered so full of sweetness— a prayer whioh is answered ; and when restored to health he claims his bride, of whose fortune ho refuses a penny.