Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-02-24
Countess NarOna.
 By WILKIE COLLINS.
CHAPTER ".

wood sat alone in the little drawing room of her London lodgings. burning the letters which had been written to her by Montbarry ill the bygone time.
 The countess maliciously smart description of her, addressed to Dr. Wybrow, had not even hinted at the charm that most distin- guisIed A-nes-the artless expression of goodne<> and purity which instantly attracted every one who approached her. She looked by many years younger than she really was With her fair complexion and her shy manner it seemed only natural to speak of her as "girl" although sie was now reall, advanc- ing toward 20 years of age. She lived alone with an old nurse devoted to her, on modest little income, which was just enough to sup port the two There were none of the ordi- nary signs of grief in her face, as she slowly tore the letters of her false lover ill two and threw the pieces into the small fire which had been lighted to consume them. Unhappily for herself, sine as one of those women who feel too deeply to find relief in tears Pale and quiet with cold, trembling fingers, she destroyed the letters one by one without dar ing to read them again. She had torn the last of the series, and was still shrinking from throwing it after the rest into the swiftly de- stroying flame, when the old nurse came in and asked if she would see "Master Henry"- meaning that youngest member of the Vest wick family, who had publicly declared his contempt for his brother in the smoking room of the club
 Agnes hesitated. faint tinge of color stole over her face.
 There had been long past time when Henry Westwck had owned that he had loved her. She had made her confession to him, acknowledging that her heart was given
  his disappointment; and they had met there after as cousins and friends. Never before had she associated the idea of him with em- barrassing recoections. But now, on the very day when his brother's marriage to an- other woman had consumrDated his brothers treason toward her, there was something vaguely repellent in the prospect of seeing him. The old nurse (who remembered them both in their cradles) observed her hesitation; and sympathizing. of course, with the man, put in q timely word for Henry. "He says he's going away, my dear; and he only wants to shake hands, and say goodty." This plain statement of the case had it's effect. Agnes decided on receiving her cousin.
 He entered tho room SO rapidly that he sur prised her ill the act of throwing the frag- ments of l. onJbarry's last letter into the fire She hulriedly spoke first.
 Ou are led'l'lS 4-OAoOu very suuoeL1y, Henry Is it business? or pleasures"
 Instead of answering her, he pointed to the flaming letter, and to some black asles of burned paper lying lightly ill the lower part of the fireplace.
 Are you burning letters"
 "Yes"
 "His letters?'
 "Yes"
 He took her hand gently.
 "I had no idea was intruding on you, at a time when you must wish to be alone. For give me, Agnes-I shall see you when I turn"
 She signed to him, with faint smile, to take chair
 were children" she said. "Why should I feel a foolish pride about myself ill your presence9 Why should I have any secrets from yous l sent back all your brothers gifts to me some time ago. I have been ad- vised to do more, to keep nothing that can remind me of him-in short, to burn the let ters. I have taken the advice; but own I shrunk a little fronl destroying the last of the letters No--not because it was the last, but because it had this in it." She opened her hand, and showed him a lock of Montbarry's hair, tied with a morsel of golden cord. "Well, we'll; let it go with the rest!'
 She dropped it into the flame. For awhile she stood with her back to Henry, leaning on the maltel piece and looking into the fire. He took the chair to which she had pointed, with a strange contradiction of expression in his face; the tears were in his eyes, while the browS above were knit close ill an angry frown. He muttered to himself:
 ''Damn him!'
 She rallied her courage and looked at him again when she spoke.
 "Well, Henry, and why are you going aways"
 II am out of spirits, Agnes, and I want : change"
 She paused before she spoke again. His face told her plainly that he was thinking of her when he made that reply. She was grateful to him, but her mind was not with him; her mind was still with the man who had deserted her. She turned round again to the fire.
 "Is it true," she asked, after long silence, ''that they have been married to-day"
 He answered ungraciously in the one nec- essary word: "Yes." "Did you go to the churcha" He resented the question with an:expression of indignant surprise.
 "Go to the churcha" he repeated. "I would as soon go to- He checked himself there. "How can you aska" he added, in lower tones II have never spoken to Montbarry; 1 have not even seen him since he treated you like the scoundrel and the fool that he isl" 1 She looked at him suddenly without saying a word. He understood her and begged her pardon. But he was still angry.
 "The reckoning comes to some men," he said, "even in this world. He will live to rue the day when he married that womanl" l Agnes took a chair by his side, and looked at him with gentle surprise.
 "Is it quite reasonable to be so angry with her because your brother preferred her to | me2' she asked.
 Henry turned on her sharply. l "Do you defend the countess, of all the peo- l pie in the worl g"
 1 "Why nota" Agnes answered. "I know nothing against her. On the only occasion when we met she appeared to be a singularly timid, nervous person, looking dreadfully ill and being indeed so ill that she tainted under the heat of the room. Why should we not dc her justicea We know that she was innocent of any intention to wrong me; we know tbat she was not aware of my engagement"-
 Henry lifted his hand impatiently, and stopped her.
 "There is such thing as being too just ano too forgivingw he interposed. II can't beai to hear you talk in that patient way, after the scandalously cruel manner ill which you