The Hillsborough Recorder

From Sartain's Union Magazine.

THE DISCOVERY, OR PLOTS AND COUNTER PLOTS.

Kate Carlton was something of a coquette, and her lover, Frank Ingleby, very jealous, which, of course, he had no good reason to be, for he knew perfectly well that there was no one so dear to the heart of Kate as he was himself, and that although she walked with one, rode with a second, danced with a third, and chatted like a little magpie with all the beaux of the village, yet, after all, when her eye met his, it was with a loving glance—such as she bestowed on no one else—and with a smile reserved for him alone.

No, he had no right to be jealous; but as he was so, he should have kept it to himself, and not been continually upbraiding poor Kate, until he had the cruel satisfaction of bringing tears into those beautiful eyes. For, to do her justice, she had no intention of being a coquette. She was a sprightly, good-tempered little soul, and it was as natural for her to do all she could to make people happy around her, as it is for a bird to sing in the spring-time. Yet sometimes when she least expected it, when, in the innocency of her heart—she was laughing and chatting with careless freedom, to make the moments pass pleasantly, to some chance visitor from village beau-dom—she would all of a sudden, find Frank's eyes darting anger and reproach into her very heart.

And then there was always sure to be a scene, as the French say. Frank would upbraid—Kate would smile sweetly, and try to reason—the idea of such a thing, reason with a jealous man—well Kate was young! Then Frank would work himself quite into a passion, and call her a flirt—at which Kate would pout, while her little foot beat time to the throbbings of her heart—still Frank would persist in his reproaches, and then Kate would begin to weep, which was sure to bring Frank plump down on his knees! Ah, now it was Kate's time to rule' sitting so dignified, with her little head turned scornfully on one side, while Frank begged like a sinner, as he was, for forgiveness. No—she would not forgive him—not she indeed—he was very cruel—of all things she despised jealousy—she had given him no reason to say what he had! And Frank confessed it, and swore he would never be so unjust again, if she would only forgive him this once—just this once. But no; Kate declared she would never, never, nev—. Ah did you hear that? it was only the adverb cut in two by two lips!

It was one of those beautiful evenings which seem made for lovers only. that Frank and Kate were strolling through the vine-trellised portico surrounding the pleasant little cottage of Mr. Carleton. It was in the rosy month of June, and the fragrance of sweet blossoms seemed floating on the gentle evening breeze, and on the rippling stream which ran softly murmuring at the foot of the terrace. The stars looked out brightly from their azure depths. Mars cast his most beaming smile upon the gentle Venus, and all the little stars twinkled their bright eyes roguishly. As for the moon, she was too busy in her own reflections, to heed the wooing of celestial or terrestrial lovers.

Kate, looking up very bewitchingly in the face of Frank, said:

"Now promise me, Frank, that when we are married, you will never be jealous again; for you must know that this unfortunate infirmity of yours sometimes makes me fear for our future happiness."

,"No, my sweet girl, I cannot doubt you then;" exclaimed Frank; "you will be my own, my own dear wife, Kate, and never again, I promise you, shall my foolish jealousy cause you regret."

d"Ah, it is so mean to be jealous, now is it not, Frank? it is so unworthy a generous heart; it betrays such a want of confidence in the one you love! Really, Frank, I have been more than once tempted to resign you to some one whom you could put more faith in."

The stars winked at this.

"Why, Kate, dear Kate, is it possible! 'and yet you have borne my folly so like an angel. I should be a wretch indeed if I ever doubted you again!" cried Frank.

"If I did not believe you—if I thought that if after we were married, Frank, you would still conjure up your jealous fears. I should be perfectly wretched" and the tears stood in the fine eyes of Kate as she spoke, which, that they might not be lost, Frank prudently kissed away.

Earth, air, and sky united to bless the bridal day; and on a bright beautiful morning, when the leaves danced to the merry song of the birds, Frank and Kate were married, and bidding adieu to the dear old family roof-tree, took up their abode in a pretty little cottage, nestling like a dove-cot,

"Down in a dale,

Far from resort of people,

and all hemmed in by shady trees.

"In which the birds sang many a lovely day.

Of God's high praise and of their sweet loves' teen,

As if an earthly Paradise had been."

Ah, what harmony within the dove-cot! what peace! what felicity! Had Frank a hundred eyes he would have failed to discover any fault in Kate, and not all the microscopes in the world could have betrayed a single flaw in Frank. And then such perfect unanimity of opinion. Why, if, like Petruchio, Frank had declared the sun to be the moon, Kate, though not the vixen Kate of Padua, would have sworn the same. They "discoursed sweet music," too, for Kate sang like an angel; and if ever angel played the flute, then Frank had certainly got the knack of it, and although music is said to be the food of love, our happy pair pretended to till a little garden where less ethereal viands might be found; the little flower plat, Kate took under her more special care, but its roses were no brighter than her cheeks, nor the violet bluer than her eyes.

Now, in the second honeymoon there came a letter to Kate from a young friend and schoolmate, announcing her intention of passing a few weeks with the new married pair. Kate really loved Sue, that is, she spared her just as much as she could from Frank, you know, yet she almost dreaded the interruption to the charmed life she was leading; and as for Frank he was so much disturbed at the idea of a third party in love's tete-a-tete, that he was ungallant enough to consign this young lady over to a certain gentleman unmentionable.

In due time, Susan May arrived, the very personification of fun and mischief; a round merry face, large black eyes, which seemed to have caught their inspiration from the goddess of Mirth herself, red, pouting lips and a little nose—ah! excuse me—the nose, to be sure, is a very striking feature, but has never been immortalized by the poet, I believe; and therefore, I will only say of Sue's nose that it turned up a little, just a very little, and seemed a very arch, knowing nose.

Frank and Kate received their visitor as if they were truly delighted to see her, and really undertook to be very agreeable. As she was a stranger, of course it was incumbent upon them to invite other guests into their dove-cot solely for her amusement, and to say the truth, Susan would else soon have tired of the cooing of these tender pigeons.

And now a little cloud, a mere speck, "no bigger than a man's hand," arose on Love's horizon. Kate was just as bewitching as ever to her old admirers; it seemed so natural to hear her sweet voice again in the songs she used to sing them, so pleasant to hear her merry ringing laugh, that all paid her the tribute of their gratitude for thus reviving old associations, by bringing her books, flowers, or music, and then, as Susan's captivating charms, and her versatile powers of pleasing broke more fully upon them, it followed that the cottage became quite a scene of gaiety, and Kate never once dreaming that she was arousing the "green-eyed monster," whose approach she had so much dreaded, welcomed and entertained their several guests with her usually sprightly tone and artless manners, yet always happier when she could steal a few moments with Frank.

She was one evening singing a merry little song, in which Sue and several of the company joined the chorus, and quite a little knot of listeners were gathered about the piano. Kate played and sang with more than her usual spirit, and as the theme of the song was the misery of a bachelor's life, she archly addressed it with her laughing eye, and a nod of her head to one of the gentlemen present. A general laugh marked the applause of her well aimed jest. Kate sprang up gaily; as she did so, she saw Frank leaning moodily against the mantel-piece, and ah! the plague-spot was on his brow!

Poor Kate, she saw it at a glance, and the tears came flooding up from her innocent heart.

"We have been so happy—but it is all over now!" she mentally exclaimed with a deep-drawn sigh, then quickly forcing a smile, she joined Frank, and linking her arm with his, tried to win him to himself again.

Frank had something in his throat to say to Kate the next morning before he went out; he had been trying for a long time to utter it, but he could only hem, and choke like a frog with the whooping-cough. At last, with a desperate effort:

"I really think, Kate, that for a married woman, you indulge in a little too much levity; I wish you would be more dignified."

Kate had not once thought about the dignity of a married woman of eighteen! therefore the heinousness this oversight struck her so forcibly that she burst into a merry laugh, at which Frank slammed the door, and then Kate's mood changed to weeping.

"Why Kate, dear, what is the matter with you?" cried Sue, suddenly entering the room, "are you sick? have you heard bad news?"

"Oh, no—nothing—nothing of any consequence!" sobbed Kate.

"And you are crying so! I don't believe you; what is it, Kate, do tell me?"

But Kate was a jewel of a little wife, and would not expose her husband's folly: however, Sue's great black eyes weren't made for nothing, and they looked directly into the business.

"Um! these men! Well, now. I should like to pull Frank's ears, breaking the heart of such a dear little soul as Kate!" thought Sue.

Well, it was a pity, but Frank adored his little wife to such a degree, that no sooner did he hear the creaking of a pair of boots, or see a gentleman's hat in the hall, than the enemy returned in full force.

Not so prudent as Kate, however, Frank confided his troubles to his friend Fred Starr.

"Now, I believe on my soul, Frank, you are wrong," said Fred, after listening patiently to the detail of his friend's grievances; "nay, I know you are."

"I will not deny that Kate loves me," returned Frank, "but not as I want to be loved. I would have her smile only on me—think only of me!"

"Nonsense, Frank! I am sure you must make yourself perfectly ridiculous to your wife, you are taking the very measures to bring about what you so much dread. Kate has no ears for your love, I'll be bound; perhaps it would be well if she had."

"What do you mean, Fred?"

"Why that it would be very well if you paid your court to some other fair lady, and not be for ever following your wife round as you do—this might, in turn, excite her jealousy, and draw her more exclusively to yourself."

"Ah, a capital idea, Fred; thank you for the suggestion—but with whom shall I commence my flirtations—let me see—suppose I begin with that witch, Sue?"

"No, Frank—some other lady if you please."

"Ah—ah! you are caught in love's net then, are you, Fred?"

"Fact, Frank! but I tell you what, if I ever do win Sue, I will give her liberty to paint me as black as Othello, if I ever make myself so perfectly ridiculous as you do, Frank! There is my sister Annette, she is just the one for you; and poor little innocent soul, she will never suspect she is in league against the most charming woman in the world, save one."

"I am going out this evening, Kate," said Frank carelessly as he rose from the tea table.

That was something new, to be sure.

"Are you, Frank? where?" asked Kate, looking up in some surprise.

"I have promised Annette Starr I would bring over my flute and play some duets with her: she is a splendid singer."

"Dear Frank, I would go with you, only you know I cannot leave Sue," said Kate, following him to the door, and putting up her rosy little mouth for a kiss.

"O, it is of no consequence—no consequence at all—don't sit up for me, may be late," and away swaggered Frank with the air of one who has done a good thing.

Kate looked after him a moment, opened her beautiful blue eyes in some wonder, and then joined Sue in a stroll through the garden.

The next morning as Frank took up his hat to go, Kate said:

"By the way, dear Frank, shall you be at leisure about 10 o'clock? we want you to take a ride with us."

"Thank you," he answered, twirling his whiskers with a most provoking air; "I am going to ride with Annette—Miss Starr, I mean."

Kate's colour rose, but she answered with her usual pleasant smile.

"Are you? well, then, we will defer our drive until after tea."

"O, go this morning, by all means, girls, or I shall probably take tea at Mr. Starr's—good-bye."

Kate stooped down, and began to pull the dead leaves from the sweetbrier, but Sue saw large round drops like dew glittering upon them as she cast them to the winds.

"Well, Kate is an angel," thought Sue, "and Frank is—"

She did not say what, but she shook her little white hand with an air of defiance at the retreating form of that redoubtable husband.

As for poor Kate, she could not tell what was the matter with her; she never felt so miserable in her life before. Sue rattled on, and Kate tried to join her, but her heart was heavy, and in spite of all she could, the tears would come. Sue took no notice apparently; and, finally hoping to beguile her thoughts, began reading aloud.

They were soon interrupted, however by the sound of horses' feet cantering up the avenue, and voices in gay conversation, and the next moment, galloping up the shady little path, came Annette Starr, on a beautiful white pony, looking most bewitching in her little black riding-cap, with long waving plumes, and her dark green habit displaying to so much advantage her fine graceful figure. Mounted on a noble, spirited steed, Frank rode at her side, his countenance all animation, and his fine eyes too much absorbed apparently in the charms of his companion to heed the pale face of Kate at the window above.

"Dear me, Mrs. Ingleby, how can you stay in the house such a fine morning as this?" cried Annette, snapping off the top of a beautiful rose with her riding whip as she spoke; "it is so lovely—why don't you ride?"

Kate answered in the same gay tone, and then bending still further from the window, she began to praise the beauty of the animal Frank rode.

He made her some careless reply, and at the same moment Annette said with a merry laugh, as she turned her horse's head:

"Now, Mrs. Ingleby, you must not be jealous, and think I am running away with your husband."

"No, I am running away with you, allons!" said Frank, gaily. And with a slight wave of the hand to Kate, off they galloped, the sound of their happy voices ringing through the shady grove like a knell at the heart of Kate.

Jealous! ah, that was it. Now Kate knew what ailed her. Jealous; yes, that was it. Could it be that she was really jealous of her dear Frank. Poor Kate many bitter tears she shed silently and alone, but making no complaint, and appearing just as kind and gentle as ever to her more than half repentant husband.

"But it won't do to give it up yet—no, indeed—the game is but half won!" said Frank. And so for two weeks longer he labored hard to make his wife miserable and himself too.

One morning Kate was found by Fred Starr sitting in the summer house bathed in tears.

Fred knew in a moment what the matter was, and felt as if he deserved to be hung for being instrumental in causing them. He was determined to make a clean breast of it.

"Mrs. Ingleby—ahem—Kate!"

"Mr. Starr," exclaimed Kate rising quickly to make her escape, and to hide her tears.

"Stop a moment—ahem—Mrs. Ingleby. it's only a joke."

"What is a joke? I don't understand you," answered Kate, still averting her face.

"Why Frank and—and Annette."

"Indeed I must go—indeed I must, Mr. Starr" said Kate.

"Now, I'll be hanged if you do!" answered
Oh Fred, you must hear me, my dear Mrs. Ingleby—I tell you it is all a joke—Frank is no more in love with Annette than I am with you—excuse me—it is only to make you jealous, because the foolish dog thinks you don't love him well enough!

To make me jealous! Ah, is it really so! cried Kate, a smile lighting up her sweet face.

Yes, it is really so, and I am one of the greatest rascals in the world to have connived at such a deception. There is one comfort, however; Frank has suffered as much as you have, for all he carries it off so bravely, ha! ha! ha! I can't help laughing; but you must know, Mrs. Ingleby, all those evenings which he has pretended to spend with Annette, blowing the flute, have been spent in the little back room of his office, puffing cigars!

And the walks, and the rides!

All mere pretence! He has never rode with Annette but once, and, as for the walks, bless your soul, they have been confined within the range of his study.

It was now Kate's turn to laugh, and she did, so merrily, too, that the little swallow sitting on her nest within the summer house put out her head to see what the matter was; and the robins, and the bluebirds, flitting about the old elm tree, joined in the laugh with a burst of bird-like glee.

Away skipped Kate into the house, and bounding into the sitting room, where Sue sat snugly ensconced upon the sofa, enjoying her favorite author, she threw her arm around her neck, and, for the first time, spoke in her present joy of her past unhappiness, and then gaily told the discovery she had just made, of Frank's plot against her.

Sue laughed right merrily at the joke; and now if we look upon the picture which the artist has given us of the scene, I think we can detect in her arch face as she listens to Kate, that she is already devising some counter-plot to revenge her friend. Kate, too, seems ready for any mischief, although there is a slight shadow on her lovely countenance, as if she felt somewhat grieved after all by Frank's suspicions.

At the dinner-table, Sue announced her intention of leaving her friends the next day; it was very sudden, to be sure, but something important called her away.

Frank's heart leaped with joy at this, for now Kate would be all his own again; still he managed very politely to express a thousand regrets she should miss her exceedingly, etc.

Yes, said Kate, looking very sorrowful, I don't know what I shall do without you!

Why don't you invite Miss Starr to pass a few weeks with you? asked Sue, as demure as a kitten Frank is so fond of her, too!

Shall I, dear Frank! I will if you say so; for it will be very pleasant to have her with us, said Kate.

Yes, added Sue, and you can practice your duets here, you know, just as well; why it will be delightful!

Frank looked from one to the other, but there was such an air of naive innocence about them that he could not for a moment imagine that anything more was intended than met the ear.

The next morning the stage was early at the door. Kate and Sue took an affectionate leave of each other; and then, after a privileged kiss upon her tempting lips, Frank handed Sue into the stage.

And now, said he, as it turned from the door, folding Kate to his bosom, and forgetting Annette, and now we are once more by ourselves, how happy we shall be!

Yes, perhaps so, answered Kate, with provoking coolness; but I shall be so lonesome, heigh-ho, I do not know what I shall do!

Frank was angry, and turning on his heel, walked off. Kate ran after him with a beautiful bunch of flowers.

Here, Frank, will you give this to Annette?

Frank muttered something in connection with Miss Starr's name, which did not sound very polite, and, unheeding Kate's request, tossed the flowers over the fence!

Frank went home to dinner with a light heart, for he had made up his mind like a sensible man, to confess his folly to Kate, and vow as he had done, a hundred times, never to indulge in jealousy again. As he sprang up the portico, he was surprised to hear the voice of Kate laughing and chatting gaily.

Now I wonder what company Kate has got! and Frank walked leisurely through the lawn; keeping his eye on the half open door of the parlor, to ascertain that question. Ah! It was no wonder that the blood came up into his temples, for, there on the sofa, just think of it, on the sofa, with his arm around Kate's waist, and one hand playing with her long glossy ringlets, sat a very handsome young gentleman!

Frank, is that you? Won't you come in? cried Kate.

And then, as Frank rather awkwardly made his entrance, she exclaimed, Cousin Harry Lover, Frank; my husband, Harry.

The young man shook the unwilling hand of Frank very cordially, vowed he was particularly glad to see him, said several very expert coxcombical things, twirled a very fine pair of whiskers, and glanced at the mirror with a very self-satisfied air.

Never was there anything so opportune, Frank; I was thinking how very lonesome I should be, when who should arrive but dear Cousin Harry! and saying this, Kate looked so tenderly upon the youth at her side, as made Frank jump up from his chair and bounce out of the room!

As the dinner table poor Frank was but a secondary object. All Kate's attentions were given to Cousin Harry, who seemed to take it quite coolly, as a matter of course.

You used to like this dish, Harry, or Pray, dear Cousin, let me send you this, or Do, Harry, taste this jam—it is my own make; do, Harry.

And Cousin Harry made himself perfectly at home, called Frank Ingleby, and then, as soon as they rose from the dessert, twirled Kate round and round into the parlor, and opening the piano, begged her to sing one of their old songs. So Kate, pulling on a very sentimental air, sang, I never loved but thee!

Um, this is really pretty doings! exclaimed Frank aloud, and rising to leave the room.

Stop a moment, Frank, cried you? cried Kate, looking over one shoulder?

I want to ask you if you have any objection to taking tea with Annette, Miss Starr I mean, for I have promised Cousin Harry I will take a ride with him. It will be such a fine moonlight, we may be late—don't sit up for me, Frank!

Two or three days passed on. Frank was miserable at home, and could not endure to stay there, so much was he annoyed by Cousin Harry; he was miserable at his office, and could not endure to stay there either; or still Cousin Harry haunted his thoughts. Kate, meanwhile, seemed perfectly happy: she walked, rode, sang, and flirted with Cousin Harry, and, in short, made him the oracle of all her plans.

Frank thought he was, without exception, the most consummate fop he had ever met with: such an off-hand, easy air of impudence; why, hang the fellow—Frank was provoked beyond all patience, and one day took the liberty of expressing his opinion to Kate—but she only laughed, and said:

Now pray, dear Frank, don't be jealous of Harry, he is such a good fellow!

Ingleby, come play us something, said Cousin Harry, taking up Frank's flute.

But Frank rather ungraciously refused.

Ah, do, Frank, interposed Kate. He is a most delightful player I do assure you, Harry; why there is Miss Starr now thinks she can scarcely get along with her music unless she has Frank's flute accompaniment. Come, Frank, play a waltz.

Thus urged, Frank received the flute from the hands of Harry, and, as Kate requested, struck up a waltz. The next moment, the cousins were sweeping around the room in graceful measure, and the next, down went the flute, and up jumped Frank, leaving Cousin Harry and Kate alone.

The next morning, as Kate arose from the breakfast table, Frank saw a small folded paper drop from her lap upon the carpet, and although he felt it was very mean, he slyly picked it up, and put it in his pocket. He sauntered leisurely into the garden, and there, free from observation, untwisted the little slip of paper.

Alas, poor Frank! What were his feelings when he read these lines!

I love thee still, my darling Kate! Shall love thee, dearest, ever; Not e'en the stern decree of Fate Our hearts, dear Kate, can sever! And though another claims thy hand, Thy love, sweet Kate, is mine, Blessed

The remainder of the verse was torn—but no matter—Frank had read enough—too much.

Poor Frank!

With a very grave air he walked back into the breakfast room, and addressing Kate, said:

Mrs. Ingleby, I wish to speak with you in private.

O, don't mind me, Ingleby: Kate and I have no secrets, said the little coxcomb.

What is it, Frank? cried Kate.

I have requested a private conference, Mrs. Ingleby; will you follow me to the library?

Take care of yourself, Harry; I will soon be back—and skipping lightly from the room, Kate followed her husband to the library, where throwing herself carelessly into a large comfortable arm chair, asked Frank what he had to say.

Catharine, (he never called her Catharine before in all his life, and Kate almost started, it sounded so strange) Catharine, this cousin of yours, this Harry Lover, must leave the house this very day!

Leave the house—what do you mean, Frank? cried Kate in astonishment.

Exactly as I say: I cannot put up with his presence any longer: and as my wife, Catharine, I think the license you give this young gentleman, even though he may be your cousin, far exceeds my ideas of propriety!

How strange you talk, Frank; why Harry is the most inoffensive person in the world!

Yes, I should think he was! retorted Frank, snappishly.

And I don't know that you have any right to turn him out of doors like a dog, poor fellow! added Kate.

I have a right, and I shall use it, too! said Frank. Has he not destroyed all our domestic happiness?

You talk very strangely—I am sure I have not been so happy since we were married—ah, those were happy days, Frank! Frank winced at this. No, I have not been so happy since we were married, continued Kate, as I have since Cousin Harry arrived here; for you know after Sue came I did not see much of you. You were so much with Miss Starr; and I am sure I don't blame you, she is so beautiful and has such a fine voice—

Kate, she is not half so beautiful as you are, and her singing cannot be compared to yours, interrupted Frank.

Why, you really surprise me, I thought you were quite in love with her.

No, no, Kate, I have never loved any one but you; no one was ever beautiful in my eyes but you! and then forgetting all his own grievances, Frank pressed his wife to his heart, and confessed the motives of his attention to Annette.

O, Frank, how could you? cried Kate.

It was very cruel, I know, my dear Kate, but you bore it like such an angel! And then, after Susan went away, I meant to tell you all; but then came this Cousin Harry, and—

And you were jealous of him! Fie, Frank!

Kate, I have no reason to be so; but I will not reproach you, for I feel I have myself been in error; but, Kate, he must go!

And then you do not really like Annette, after all?

No, dear Kate! Say, then, will you forgive me!

Yes, Frank; I love you better than all the world!

And will you send your cousin Harry away?

Ye-es, poor fellow—and yet I cannot be so cruel; you must, Frank, only be gentle, be polite; don't hurt his feelings!

His feelings! He has none—coxcomb! exclaimed Frank, beginning to get angry again; I will soon get rid of him; where is he, Kate?

In my dressing-room, I dare say, answered Kate; he is there most of his time; but now be civil, won't you, dear Frank? Poor Harry, don't wound his feelings!

The probable whereabouts of the young gentleman, did not tend to lessen his indignation; and it was with a slow, determined step, that he passed up the stairs, and threw open the door of Kate's dressing room; and there—could he believe his eyes—there sat Susan May, with the same arch, saucy smile! while thrown over the back of the lounge was the identical frock coat; yonder stood the well polished boots, and here the sleek beaver of—Cousin Harry.

Frank was speechless with amazement; while Sue, springing up and placing the hat jauntingly on one side of her clustering black curls, cried,

Eh, Ingleby, what's the matter, man?

At this moment a little white arm encircled his neck, and the smiling eyes of Kate looked up roguishly into his face.

Ah, Frank, never again attempt to outwit a woman!