CHAPTER XLVII.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 229, 19 November 1887, Page 7

CHAPTER XLVII.

geraldine's mapxess. ' T was grief no more, or grief and rage were one wiihin her son] ; at last 'twas rage alone : Which, burning upwards, in succession dries The tears that stood unfallcn in her eyes ; Her colour changed, her face was not the same, And hollow groans from her deep spirit came ; She started up ; convulsive rage possessed Her trembling limbs, * ulheav'd her labouring breast. Dryben. Colonel Fitzgerald was not far wrong when he said that Geraldine was mad. There are many varieties and degrees of madness, and Geraldine, sane on all other subjects, was certainly mad on one. That is the only palliation that can be offered for her indelicate, undignified and unwomanly conduct displaj r ed in her interview with Gerald Fitzgerald's child-wife, Gertrude. Firmly believing in all the principles in which she had been educated, and holding her betrothal with Gerald Fitzgerald to be a sacred bond, indissoluble except through sin or death, she considered hia marriage with Gertrude Haddon a sacrilegious union, fraught Avith perdition to them, as well as with misery to herself — a union, therefoie, which it would be not only meritorious but obligatory to bieak by any legal means whatever. And she resolved to shrink from no means of breaking it. One of those strange accidents by which the devil tempts to their destruction those already tempted to sin by their own evil pa&sions, afforded Geraldine the opportunity she longed for of making her first desperate attempt to sunder the newlywedded pair. On the erening of their arrival in Washington city, Geraldine and her party had not at once left the hotel, as Gertrude supposed from their non-appearance in the office. They had, on leaving the stage-coach, gone directly up to the public parlour, where the two ladies waited an hour, while Father Dubarry walked out to see a Catholic widow who was the proprietress of a very select private boarding-house, and to ascertain from her whether she could accommodate his party for a few days. It was while Geraldine and her companion waited in the shadow of the halflifjhbed room that she saw Gerald Fitzgerald enter hastily, accompanied by a young lady dressed in mourning and closely veiled. He did not see his late fellow-travellers, who were the only occupants of the room, and who, from their dark dresses and their position in a shaded corner of the window, were invisible, and so he naturally supposed the parlour to be vacant. He tenderly placed his companion in a chair, saying : " Sit down here, Imogene, and rest and calm yourself. Of course I will go with you, but I must first step into the readingroom and write a note to let my wife know that she need not expect me home before some time to-morrow." " Oh, for the love of inej'cy !" pleaded the veiled girl, clasping a pair of small, white, ungloved hands — "for the love of mercy, do not stop for that ! One minute of delay may make us too late ! Oh, hasten ! hasten 1" And in her eagerness she threw aside her veil, revealing a face of marble whiteness and of great beauty, notwithstanding the visible ravages of some awful sorrow. He paused for an instant, and then said : , " Very well, my poor girl, I will go with you this moment. I can find a messenger and send a message or a note. I suppose. " " Oh, yes, yes 3 I will find one myself ; only come at once ! Come quickly !" she panted, in her eagerness. Gerald Fitzgerald took her quivering, i white hand in his, raised her to her feet, and supported her from the room. Just then Father Dubarry entered and told them, in answer to their anxious inquiries, that Mrs St. James would receive them into her house with great pleasure. He added that the carriage was at the door to convoy them to their new lodgings. ! Geraldine said nothing of the strange conversation she had overheard. She scarcely even wondered what it meant, for her mind was completely occupied with planning how it might be turned to her advantage, and made to Berve the one purpose of her life. 'Firfct of all, she resolved to seize the opportunity of Gerald's absence from his little wife to go to Gertrude and work upon her heart so as to produce an estrangement or a total separation between the pair, • The next morning, after an early breakfast, Geraldine ordered a carriage and drovo to "Fuller's," resolved, if possible, to see Gertrude, and induce her to fly before the return of Colonel Fitzgerald. And giving her card to the porter who opened the door, she asked if Mrs Fitzgerald was in. , Oh, how it galled her pride to be compelled even once to give this title to Gerald's ;child-\vife. The man answered, however, that ho ■believed the lady was in, and he called f the waiter whose duty ib was to take up f cards. ,

" You need not take up my card, however. If the lady is in. just* show me up to her room. I ani a near relative," said Miss JTitzgerald, with the easy assurance that enforced obedience". ' The waiter bowed to the viaitor, and politejy requested her to follow him. Miss Fitzgerald complied. As they passed the door of the office, however, a young man came out with a letter in his hand, and delivered it to the waiter, saying, sharply : " Carry this letter up to Number 202. It ought to have been delivered last night. It was unpardonable neglect. " " I wasn't on duty late last night, sir," answered the waiter, apologetically, as he took the letter and passed on. When they got near the door marked 202 Miss Fitzgerald inquired : " Is not that note for Mrs Fitzgerald ?" "Yes, madam." "Give it to me, then, I am going to call on her, and will take it in. My name is also Fitzgerald. There, you need not announce me. Just open the door," said Geraldine, with confidence, secretly rejoicing in what she called the happy chain of events that had taken Gerald Fitzgerald suddenly, unexpectedly, and without a woi'd of adieu, away from his young wife, leaving her alone in a strange hotel ; that had made her-, Geraldine, a witness to his departure ; that had detained hife note of explanation ; and that, finally, had delivered the noto into her hands ; tor the unsuspicious waiter, without a moment's hesitation, gave her the note and opened the door for her to pass in. "How easy to persuade the girl now," thought Geraldine, "that Gerald has left her for ever — that she will never see him more. And if she will listen to reason, she herself will make my words good. She will never see him more." With that interview and its total failure, through the young wife's simple fidelity, wo are already acquainted. After leaving Gerald that morning, she returned to her boarding-house in a. sbafce o£ mind bordering on insanity. She had scarcely settled down bofoic there came a rap at the door. "Come in," she said, wondering who could have any business with her in a strange city to which she hud only arrived the night before. A servant entered with a card upon a small waiter. She took it up and read : "Madame la Baronnh de la Valjjitji." Her surprise increased as she answered : " This cannot be tor me. I know no lady of that name. " " But, yes. Pardon me. I think you do, ma belle," said a sweet, bird-like voice at the door, as a beautiful, little blonde fairy fluttered into the room. " Veronique ! Is it possible?*' exclaimed Geraldine, eagerly lising and advancing to welcome the visitor, whom she now recognised as her favoui ite schoolmate in tiie convent of the Benedictine nuns at Paris, where they had both been educated, and where they had shared one room for a dozen years. "So you ' did not know any lady of that name.' You did not remember Veronique de l'Ande under her new name ?" gleefully laughed the little lady, when the longsevered friends had joined hands and lips in a warm embrace. "I did not even know that you were married, dear Veronique," said Geraldine, as she placed her visitor in her own easychair and kissed her again. "Ah! then you did not get my letter ; and I wondered why you did not answer it. But alas ! You are in mourning ! I am grieved," said the baroness. "For my uncle and guardian. He was an aged man," said Geraldine, as if throwing off useless condolence. "Ah, yes! I see! Bub Monsieur the Fiance ? The brave and handsome Colonel Feezgerald ?" rattled on the little lady. "Veronique, it has come to nothing between us. Ho is wedded to another woman," replied Geraldine, with an assumed air of supreme indifference. Madame la Baronne shrugged her pretty shoulders. "Oh, well," she said "you do such things in your country. With us it is unknown to break a betrothal." " This is a land of liberty, you know. But tell me about your own marriage," said Goraldine, anxious to change the subject of conversation. " Was it a lovematch 1" 1 ' A love-match ? What is a love-match ? I know not yet all your Engleese," complained the little beauty, shrugging her shoulders. "Never mind, tell me all about your marriage," "Very well. What would you have? Monsieur le Baron saw me at my first ball at the Tuileries in June. The next day he attended Monsieur my father, and these two arranged the marriage. On the third day madame my mother told me that Monsieur le Baron de La Vallette was to be my husband, and in the afternoon she presented him to me. The next month we were married. Monsieur le Baron's presents were magnificent. There was an India cashmere shawl that had been made for an empress, and there was a set of enierairte'*"" Here the voluble little lady launched out in a full description of India shawls, jewels, velvets, silksj etc, " But, my dear, tell me how it is thatl have the happiness to meet you here in Washington ?" inquired Geraldine, who had grown weary of the descriptive catalogue. " Oh, well, Monsieur le Baron was sent out as bearer of despatches to our ministers here in Washington. We left Paris on the first of August, arrived in Washington on the twenty-third. So, you perceive, we have been here a month. Monsieur took a furnished house near La Fayette Place, but ' only for a short time. We return in October. I looked in the papers this morning. I see youv name, in the list of arrivals, 'I am here. That is all." ' "And you are welcome !lam so rejoiced | to meet you, dear Veronique !" said Geraldine, kissing her visitor with effusion. , Other explanations followed. Geraldine had told her friend that she had reached her majority about three weeks previously ; that she was now mistress of her own fortune, with liberty to go where she would and do what she would. Veronique expressed much surprise at this. "It is never so in France," she said. "A demoiselle is never free until she is married." "lam sure she is not free even then, here," sneered Miss Fitzgerald. The little baroness lifted her eyebrows, but said nothing in reply. " And now perhaps you will wonder to see me in Washington ?" said Geraldine. " Ah, well ! They say it is not the season until your — parliament — " "Our Congress," amended Geraldine. Yes ! "Your Congress, in December,convenes." " Well, I did not come here for the season. I came up with a religieuse, who is about to enter the Convent of the Visitation in Georgetown, in oi'der to become a nun." Veroniqus shrugged her shoulders. " We got enough of the convent in our school day," she said. "Did we nob, my .dear?" " Yes," said Geraldine, forcing a smile. " Very well. You are not going into the convent with the holy madame, and jou

[ are not going back ■to the country. You are frcejto go where you will. Is this notso ?"' "Certainly/ . "Good! You will como to me. lam cnnugee in this dull city. You will come home with me, and stay with me until we return to France. And we will talk of the convent and the nuns and our school-days in' Paris. That will be happy. You will not say no. You will say yes. You will say yes. You aro free, yon know. You will say yes. Say yea !" eagerly implored the impetuous little lady, as she seized both Geraldine's hands and fazed into her eyes. " Yea, then. Yes, I will go to you," promptly replied Miss Fitzgerald, who quickly made up her mind that this would be the most convenient and agreeable arrangement that she could make. "°Well, then, at two o'clock I will be hero to take you back to us. And, ah, perhaps you will go back to France with me ?" pleaded Vevonique, looking long and wistfuliy into the eyes of her friend. "Perhaps I may. It is quite possible," : said Geraldine, smiling. When Geraldine was left alone, she wheeled her chair up to a table where writing materials lay ready for use, and she wrote a hasty letter to Mrs Doy Fitzgerald, enclosing one to Dcsirce Labbic, requesting that the French maid should be &ent to Washington, charged with all the wardrobe left behind by Miss Fitzgerald. Then she rang for a waiter and despatched her letter to the post-om'ce. " Yes,' 5 &he eaid, as &he reseated herself in her easy-chair, " I will go to Madame do La Valette's and try and amuse myself as well as 1 can in new scenes, lest I grow melancholy mad over all this. Afterward, 1 may accept her invitation, and go with her to Europe. That depends. If Gerald Fitzgerald, my perjured betrothed, should remain heie, 1 shall stay as long as he does, If he should go abroad, I shall accept Veronique's invitation and go also." Geraldine explained the invitation &he liad received from licr friend. "This lady to whom I shall go is as I told you, an old schoolmate, educated with me at the same convent, where we spent more than a do'/.cn years together. She is> a dutiful daughter of the Church, too, as you may judire." So the no\L day the good priest took his sister to the Convent of the Visitation to enter upon the postulate. He returned to Geraldine about half-pa&t four, and after a slight luncheon, waited with her t3 see Madame de La Valctte. The priest gave them both his benediction, and so dismissed them. Geraldine Fitzgerald went home as the guest of Veroniquc, Madame la Baronnc de La Yalctte.