CHAPTER LXXIV.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 245, 10 March 1888, Page 2

CHAPTER LXXIV.

"THE LADY IN THE CASE.' 5 Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer. Shakespeare.

have no joy in this compact to-night. Ibed. Yes, there was a " lady in the case," as my readers already know ; but how deeply she had dived down into the case they have yet to learn. Geraldine had secretly sworn to win Gerald for her husband, coet what it might in truth, honour, or honesty. Her creed was that everything had its price, and her policy was to pay the price and take it. She had begun by casting to the winds every scruple of conscience. In the first place, she had recklessly lied to Gerald. (There is really no other term so fit as the strong old Saxon word to express the act in all its ugliness). She had lied to Gerald when she told him that Gertrude had perished from a chance blow of the plank, tUat had crushed in her skull at the moment it struck her from her husband's hold, and that ehe had not sunk from his mad abandonment of her. It had cost Miss Fitzgerald much mental pain and shame to tell this falsehood ; for, after all, she was one of the " high Fitzgeralds," and there is something in a hereditary* sense of honour ; but she had resolved to hold back nothing of the price she intended to pay for Colonel Fitzgerald's hand, and she paid down her truth as the first instalment. | After that she studied her part carefully and acted it well. She sealedup his mind's eyes, and put him off his guard by seeming never to wish to recall the past, and yet, i through all, to let him discover that) she secretly, though hopelessly, loved him still. She knew this would touch the noble and generous soul of Fitzgerald as nothing else on her part could. I But when Gerald, in his despair, procured I himself to be reinstated in the army, and i placed in command of a regiment ordered to California, she saw that she must modify her tacticß ; she must keep him near her if she was ultimately to win liim. Here was another heavy price in pride to be paid i down. She had ardent admirers in high positions at the national capital. She went secretly to Washington, and by dint of fascination, flattery, bribery she succeeded in getting Colonel Fitzgerald's orders changed, and his regiment sent to Wendover, in West Virginia, instead of to San Francisco, California. And Gerald Fitzgerald never knew, or even suspected, the reasoii for his change of orders. Miss Fitzgerald's, aiders and abettors kept her counsel most "honourably," as she kept theirs. '' * Ifc was, in fact, a financial transaction that would scarcely bear the, light. Geraldino.. retur,nqd, ; ,home, and;,spon { * learned, ' 'tnr'dUgh the newspapers 1 , "that" Colonel' Fi(szge>ald' *had r proceeded B l 'h\k •ne\v..< post, 'within forty miles* of her own hdine. , J . ,'- „ *„ ,•[ > But, though within such easy distance, he; nevei;came to visit her. . She knew that^ Gerald- belieyedsh^still 'Wed Him secretly, 'tfncl .that he' was toucjied s by thafc beliei-^tou'ch'tiil foVit'noVmdveef/ 1 14 was {.necessary luwrto'leacf hiftftd^b'elieve* ,|hfit h!]jp f was sporty- dyj^g for JninvMThis, , she pew. wp,uld soone^or 7 latw brine toftterfeei. *''',*"*,

But to effect this she would have to pay down a heavy price in health and a heavier one in pride. But she did not hesitate. Had she nob. said that she would bring Gerald Fitzgerald to her feet, let the cost be what it might, even her soul ? (She did not hesitate. Her will was ikon. While dwelling in the seclusion of her mountain manor-house, with only sentimental, romance-reading Miss Sue Greenleaf for a companion, she secretly began to practise on her own health, until, under her system of very low diet, in which acids entered largely, and by the daily use, in quantities that were not fatal, of an emaciating medicine, she so reduced her condition that her. colour Jaded from her face and her flesh wasted from her form. While this was going on her friends were growing painfully anxious, as she intended that they should. The Greenwood family came often to see her, begged her to sec a physician, bu the refused, saying that no physician could do> her any pood ; and she further declared thab if anyone presumed to send a doctor to her against hci'e\pie«s orders .-he would neither sec nor speak to him. Miss Sue and Mrs Doy were greatly tumbled and honest; Roy was at his wits' ends. "What war. the matter with her ? No one could tell. Mis Doy said that any-one might see that she was going into a consumption. Mr Roy objected that she had no cough at all, and no fever. Miss Sue shook her head mysteriously, and hinted that there \\ ere maladies of the mind much harder to cure than those of the body. She had her own theory of the invalid's illness; and being mentally "a icaky \e."-cl," she soon let it 00/e out that their Geraldine was dying of a broken hearb fiom disappointed affection, and that it something was not done, she would certainly die entirely dead, and then it would be too late, and so forth. When t iiis idea had got through the thick skull of Royal Green leaf, ho, being the most p-actical person in the sentimental family, began at once "to do something.'' And he did it with more tact than any-one would have believed him capable of exeici.sing. He went on a friendly visit to Colonel Fitzgerald, as we have seen, and in the course of that visit was naturally led to speak of Mi^a Fitzgerald, and her failing health and spirits ; but never betrayed that h« or any-one else suspected that Geraldine was pininir of unrequited love. " He'll find that out fast enough for himself," reflected sagacious Mr Greenleaf. And he was quite right. The next day. when he was taking leave, he drew a promise from Gerald to spend the Cl)i istmas holidays at Greenwood : but he »e\er mentioned the intended visit to Geraldine, who was, at that time, still at her Mountain Manor House. We have seen how the news of Geraldine's declining health troubled Gerald, who belie'ked, as others did, that a morbid adection for himself was preying on her spirits. Royal Greenleaf never let the subject entirely drop, but in every letter to Gerald Fitzgerald he spoke, as we have seen, of Geraldine's fast-failing health, telling him toward the last that Geraldine was dying of some obscure, incurable malady of mind or body. And all this auccted Gerald Fitzgerald as ie was meant to do. Miss Sue and Mrs Doy, acting in concerb with their brother towards the dug end of bringing Gerald and Geraldino together,, planned the visit of Miss Fitzgerald to Greenwood to spend the Christmas holidays. They never hinted to Geraldine that Gerald would visit them at that seabon. Nevertheless Geraldine knew exactly all that they were doing. Had she not planned for ib all ? The Greenleafs were only the blind in» strumentsof Miss Fitzgerald's unscrupulous will. We have seen how fche pair met at Greenwood : how shocked and grieved Gerald was to find Geraldine so fearfully changed — so> fi agile, so delicate, so transparently pale ; dying, yet so beautiful in death ; and withal — and this was her greatest charm for him — so meek, so gentle, so resigned — a ' martyr to unrequited love ! j As I asked before— what could a gentle- ( man do ? He did not love her. He loved only his. little lost angel, Gertrude ; bufc he pitied her ; he sought to comfort and cheer her. Finally lie asked her to be his wife, and she accepted him, as we have seen. Their engagement was announced to the delighted Greenleafs, and Thursday, the ! fifth of the ensuing February, was fixed for the wedding-day. Gerald Fitzgerald then took leave of his betrothed bride and M r ent back to his regiment, the most unh&ppy man of men. His proposal of marriage to Geraldine had been an act of the most perfect sacrifice that ever man performed. He felt that he did nob, and never could love Geraldine as his wife. Ho could so love only the little angel who* had become as the soul of his soul, now lost) to sight, yet nofc altogether lost since even now, at times, she seemed to float dow» upon his bosom, a white dove, breathing o£ peace to the tossed and troubled spirit. Geraldine, on her part, was triumphant,, exultant, jubilant. She had won ; she had succeeded ; she had conquered. She had paid down truth, honour, health, pride — almost life— but she had got the prize. It was not until her excitement calmed' down a little, after* tho departure of hen captire, that she recollected one little humiliating incident in her'courtship which,, in the delirious joy of her conquest, she had forgotten.' It was this: ' Gerald Fitzgerald had never uttered one,- - word of love or admiration for her when asking her to marry him, nor one syllable of satisfaction at her consent to do so. She remembered well the occasion, and the terms of his proposal. She recalled the scene now. It was the last evening of Her stay at Greenwood. They were seated on. the sofa of the "big parlour," where they had been purposely left alone. After a long and thoughtful silence, he said : " Geraldine, I shall rejoin' my regiment to-morrow. We were long betrothed to. ' i each. other in, the old times by the will of | our fathers. ,We have had many fierce and bitter quarrels ; but we are the, last of our race. W Hat do you "say ? Before I leave you will you. consent to bury the hatchet) for ever, and clasp hands with me? Will ** you be my wife ?" She answered by placing her hand in his. • He pressed that-hand arid raised ib u> hi& „ lips. Ib seemed ratbe'r an act of, oourtesy^than an act of love. , . . , That was all. '- ' "['/ * She redalled the event with humiliation and pain.. She remembered, too,vhow<shfr .1 had scornfully taunted hjs pp s por» little fl <meel£ iV vfirßt" wife" -with, the, fact that" ColoneL ' v . Fitzgerald haWcvV even l pHtptm tcHoW uc her* ,; And<now^bh,dagradirig^n6uglit !-^$ jShie wasiorcedlto.ad.mifc that Gpralcbin&yAn*;". Effected ! to Jove herself .CJeariy^lje^of^d •>* m&rry nor only in .compassion. /,* V t%t n No Matter— he ! would marry her ! , "She 1 " ■* * had paid fhigh for t^>ttftaili»HPjatfl< &*•<'& ,'^yould have ib. ", ,'-<jf, u m>ie f H ' H)> ' )ser health improved rapidly, for she, .ceased her deleterious practices upon it and ! .cpmmenQed ?an, opposite* Qgftro; *whjbh, . .in I

happiness, soon restored her to more than lier pristine brilliancy of beauty, and caused the honest old ladies of Greenwood to nod to each other, as much as to say : 11 You see we were right ! She was dying for him, and now that she is to liavo him, look at her !" She commenced rapid preparations for her wedding, which she was determined should be celebrated on tho fifth of February, in the moat costly style and with grandest eclat. And fco on tho very Monday, February ■second, when Gertrude was to start tor Virginia, wo find Geraldine, in her elegant boudoir at the Mountain Manor House, surrounded by all tho paraphernalia of her .bridal pageantry, and anticipating with pride and delight her bridal day so near at hand. And Gerald ? Now chat lie was again betrothed to Geraldine, he resigned hhnselt to the prospect of his mairiago to her as a duty, lie corresponded with her punctually ; but. his letters expressed no more than he felt— simply the compassion that veiled itself in delicate, brotherly aftection. He never went buck to Greenwood or to the Mountain Manor House to visit her. He wrote an explanation that he could not properly ask leave of absence so soon ; or, -indeed, before the first of February, when he should apply for a short furlough to go upon their warriatre tour. On the lirst of February, Gerald Fitzgerald shut him>elf up in his room at his headquaiters, and remained there through all that dark day— a day that he said to himself must ever be accursed in his memory since it had snatched from him his Gertrude by a sudden and horrible dikister, and had left in her place an incurable sorrow, darkened by remorse. But even then, in his deepest gloom and heaviness, as often before, his do\ c seemed to flutter down upon his bosom and whisper peace. His wedding-day with Geraldine was fast •approaching. But—so was Gortrude ! So was his saving angel !