The Penn's Grove record., 1885-08-15

This, then, is the secret of his staying
always by her side. The fend jealousy
Is rampant. Never have Ihated a mar
as | hate MacPhoole.
But | will see for myself. Every
look, every expression Of hers will
mark. Can she love HIM, a wind bag,
a red haired Radical Scotchmanp But
no, | comfort myself, after a careful
study of his hateful face; that would be
impossible.
Suppose the ever to be accursed mon
ster has given an unwilling, helpless
maiden to himp This is too likely.
Wildly do | make plans for rescuing a
captive damsel from the foul enchanter.
No knight Grant was so truly pledged
to ones service and n mistress as |.
None of them ever burned so valiently
against oppression.
1 meet a glance from Evelyn's eyes,
which, read by the light of this new
idea, says: Deliver ne. My heart burns
fiercely with scOrn and rage against
Duncan Rufus MacPhoole.
And yet perhaps Mrs. Latimer was
wrong after all. Reports are always
false. But still she always knows every
scrap of gossip, and is generally right.
At this moment he is handing Eve
Ign a menu card, My jealous eJ es eager
ly look to see if their hands linger in the
exchange. Yesl Surely he might have
loosed the card quite half a second be-
fore he did. l seowl with meffetual
rage.
BY this time the fish has gone away,
and / have not spoken to Miss Fortes-
cue yet. Here she takes the matter into
her own hands.
81 have bought anew pug" she says,
''and Evelyn is coming tomorrow to
see it. OF course you admire pugs?''
How is it every n can read my
precious secret so pIainly2 l have never
mentioned 1t to any one but Chalmers.
Without the slightest hesitation or
conjunction do l perjure myself by de-
claring to her, basely and untruly, that
[ adore pugs, whereas there is nothing
! hate so much, except. perhaps, Mac
Phoebe and the monster.
For fully five minutes | talk to her
out of pure gratitude.
Then l fancy 1 hear MaePhoole say,
Trevor" and he and Evelyn beth
laugh. l long for the old times when
a look. a tone, was ~provocation enough
for a quarrel. Would that my foot
were on the neck of the enemyl Gladly
would 1 spring to claim my bride over
the reeking bodies of the monster and
MacPhoole.
With feverish persistence l watch
every movement of Evelyn's, A flower
in the front Of her gown becomes loose.
She takes it off and lays it on the table.
McPhoole picks it up plays with it a
moment, appears to make n of his
sickening jokes on it, and finally sticks
it in his button-hole. How 1 restrain
myself l dont't know. l long, L burn.
to punish him as he deserves. But some
last remaining sparks of sanity keep me
in my place. Jealousy has always been
my bane, but never, never have | suf-
fered the agonies [ now endure.
"You aren't a bit like yourself to-
night. Mr.. Trevor" lisps Mrs Lati-
mer; ''you have hardly spoken to me. :"
l say something | don't know what.
81 thought, perhaps, you were think
ing of some difficult casep"
The youngest, the most playful kit
ten can scratch. l am a brlefiess harris
ter! Not that there is the slightest
doubts the briefs will pour in some day,
only-the shower has not begun yet.
Having seen her little shart pierce
home, the innocent, babyish thing goes
on: AREN'T there some stories about
the old chambers you men live IMP"
| tell her one of the stories that made
Mr.. Pickwick's blood cold, clothed
in my most narrowing language, well
suited to my gloomy state Of mind.
Her sweet smiling, artificial face
changes-would change color If it could
as | tell the story, but as | finish she
says, with a little shrug: ''Those ghast-
ly creepy stories are rather bad form,
aren't they?"
Evelyn and MacPhoole are talking all
the time. Why on earth can't he speak
to the girl on the other side of himp
Doesn't the fellow know that common
politeness forbids him to monopolize his
hostessP If only l could have kept my
place at the end of the tablet
The glare of the lights, the rattle, the
chatter of my overwhelming rage de-
spair and jealousy, make me quite sick.
81 think there is going to be a thun-
der Storm" says Miss Fortescue: 81
can see the lightning through the cur
tain, and l am ashamed to say l am
afraid of it,"
"WhyP" / say, moodily. 81 shouldn't
care if | were killed, should your"
81 would rather live than die," she
returns slowly.
Evidently she thinks l am mad. Per-
haps l am. l feel like it.
| am consumed with impotent rage.
The trammels of polite society bind me
down. l may not rush away. l may
not poison MacPhoole's wine, or stab
him; and either of the last two would
be unmixed Joy to me. But the very
thought of acts 80 congenial brings com-
fort TO my bloodthirsty soul. / revel IN
CORY dreams. Alas for the days when
men won their brides by the shedding
of bloodl Those were the times to live
IN. What is mar now but a phlegma-
tic animal, laborlous and luxurious,
according TO circumstances | am out
af all patience with my times.
Just as | reach this point there is a
loud clap Of thunder, followed by a
vivid fash of lightning.
Evelyn starts violently, and Mac
Phoole lays his hand on hers, with
which she has elasped the edge Of the
table.
Mad, unable to contain my jealous
rage, | sprang wildly from my chair.
How dare hep
1t all passes In Instant.
Evelyn draws away her hand. Some
one, l believe it is Miss Fortescue,
touches my arm. | sink into my seat,
blind, choking with passion.
Somehow haven't the least idea
how-Mrs. Latimer's glass has over.
turned, and the wine is running all over
her gown. Very likely it is my doing.
| have enough sense left to offer my
services, and Jenkyns rushes to the
But l have no remorse. l am glad |
have spoilt her gown. Why should a
woman of her age wear such a babyish
With Joy l remember having
heard that port stains will not wash
a xuau