Rougegorge
page: (Cover) [View Page (Cover) ]SHORT STORIES I-RE -16 FOR . SPARE MOMENTS. BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, ALICE CARY, LUCY H. HOOPER, JANE G. AUSTIN, A. L. WISTER, L. CLARKE DAVIS, FRANK LEE BENEDICT, JOHN HAY, CLARA F. GUERNSEY, MARGARET HOSMER, ETC. PHLADELPHA : J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] ROUGEGORGE AND OTHER SHORT STORIES. BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, ALICE CARY, LUCY H. HOOPER, r JANE G. AUSTIN, A. L. WISTER, L. CLARKE DAVIS, FRANK LEE BENEDICT, ETC. PHLADELPHA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. page: (Table of Contents) [View Page (Table of Contents) ] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year -x1870, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Ir. the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. \ CONTENTS. ROUGEGORGE ..................By Harriet Presctt Sofford. 5 SAM'S SERMON ................ .......... ....... ......... y Watin Tuttle. 2 THE SHADOW OF FATE ......................... By Riter Fizgrad. 29 THE PRINCE'S SURPRISE ............ .. ........... ........... .............. 38 MY GRANDMOTHER--THAT MGHT HAVE BEEN..........By Alice Cary. 48 SNOW UPON THE WATERS ................ .......... y . ooper. THAT MAN. A ............ .... ............... ................ 69 HARNEYHOW'S HUMMOCK ............................By yane G. Austin. 74 MYRA'S MRROR ....... ...........................By ame Franklin Fitts. 83 DICK LIBBY ....... ..... .... ..................... Geoge es................... 88 DICK LYE'S FEE ....................................... By . Clarke Da2zs. 92 PETER CRISP'S SPECTACLES..... ..................... By Solomon Soberside. I06 ONLY NO LOVE.. . o...... .................. Translated by Mr, A L. Wtr. ... THE PRICE OF A DREAM ..................... . ..By Frank Lee Benedict. 134 THE -CRITIC. A Poem ......... ..... ........... ........ By.. Egaraett 148 page: -5[View Page -5] ROUGEGORGE, AND OT :EER- STORIES. ROUGEGORGE. THE Baron Rougegorge had a friend whom he loved with the sole pas- sion of which he had ever seemed capa- ble. The two had been associated to- gether in their studies through boyhood.; they had gone through a campaign side by side; they had traversed Europe- the byways of Bavaria, the highways of the Apennines-pouring their fancies, surprises and pleasures into each other's ear as if they had been two married lovers. There was something singularly pure and noble about St. Marc: he had a half-boyish beauty of his own; his win- ning manners made every one 'turn to do him favors; and Rougegorge used to say that he himself breathed through him; that he found in him his salvation; that it was St. Marc who kept his faith alive, for how could he disbelieve in miracles when here was the constant miracle before his eyes of such a man as St. Marc being the friend of such a man as Rougegorge? For the Baron Rougegorge was by no means' a precioso-neither a saint nor a hypocrite ; but the possessor of unbound- ed wealth, exposed to every temptation and unprotected since his early youth, there were stains upon his memory that used now and then to darken his face when he looked upon the fair and open countenance of his friend. One day, in a sudden fury, Rougegorge quitted Paris alone. St. Marc had become enamored of a woman who was breathing beauty, and about whom all the world was going mad just then-the more singularly mad since she was young and unmarried, and since it is no custom of Paris to ecstacize itself over youth and innocence. To St. Marc, Mademoiselle Ayacinthe de Valentinois became the cynosure of ex- istence; but to Mademoiselle Ayacinthe, St. Marc was merely one in a thousand: she sharpened her weapons on him per- haps, preparatory to entrance on her grand career. St. Marc, moreover, was poor, and Mademoiselle de Valentinois had no fortune but her name and that blood which blossomed out in such roses on her velvet cheek, which burned with such splendid fire in her dark eyes. Rougegorge had never seen her, but he forefelt what the end must be of such a love as this. Yet he did not know how to wait for it. He fled. Anger and hos- tile apprehension together goaded him on, and he did not pause till he stood under the fervid suns of the far East. 5 page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] For this inconsiderate flight of his he never forgave himself; and he had reason. The first mail which he opened brought him the intelligence that St. Marc had cut his throat. For a moment the blow crushed him into the earth as a thunderbolt might have done. The one thing he loved in all the world lost-lost, murdered, slain by a woman's whim, a coquette's caprice! The life which had been the universe to him gone out into darkness to flatter the vanity of a Valentinois! Dead for her holiday, to swell the purple of her tri- umpll! Suddenly Rougegorge rose and turned his face homeward. St. Marc was dead indeed, but he had left him the legacy of his vengeance. When the Baron Rougegorge reached his old quarters in the faubourg, it was at first more than -he could bear-the familiar rooms, the pipes, the foils, the music, the cushions where yet lingered the very imprint of St. Marc's golden head. Prostrate there, he wet them with tears that his eyes had never known before. Then he plunged out of the place and forgot it in a week's debauch. After that, as if the touch of fresh sin had strengthened all his purposes and given him a bitter delight in their fulfill- ment, he took life up where he left it; and no one would have dreamed that Rougegorge had an emotion who saw him lounging by on a horse that was only black fire obedient to his finger, or met him loitering, with his lazy repartee like a half-sheathed rapier, through the ele- gant salons, every one of which opened magically to receive him, and where a polished manner, an absolute indifference and mysterious rumors of wicked adven- ture - which latter -bewitch women as Terra Incognita does a traveler-made- him the hero of the hour. Poor work for a man of naturally proud and cour- ageous temper! He knew it well, but only smiled and bided his time. It was a few days after his return to Paris, .and before he had joined the gay rout which night and day kept its revel, that Rougegorge paused one moment in the lobby just as the carriages were be- ing called at the door of the opera house. He had merely paused to look about and see of whom the world consisted; and, glancing over the throng. it was some seconds before his glance returned and rested on a group beside him--a group of chaperon and gallants, a gray- haired nobleman wearing decorations of the African wars, and on his arm a lady in full dress, and with one end of the rose-colored gauze of a transparent bur- nous thrown veil-like over her head and face. For an instant, Rougegorge, startled by the bewildering beauty of that face, said half unconsciously to himself that so some spirit might look out through the sunset-tinged clouds of heaven. Then his eye wandered over the chevaliers beyond, and came back again to her just as the old nobleman offered a fur mantle, and, turning her head, her glance during one moment lay full upon the Baron and lingered there. No spirit certainly, for it was the beat- ing -blood that rioted upon that cheek, in those voluptuous lips; it was raptur- ous earthly life that shone from that long, languishing eye, where the darkness of iris and lash smothered radiance at its source-from that smile that thrilled the heart's core of the beholder. She seemed some incarnation of the Oriental rose with all its damask flushes, its in- toxicating sweetness. And in the same breath with these swift fancies a voice called from without, and the group moved forward at the words, ,d Monsieur de Valentinois' carriage stops the way." The crowd swung up round her as she went, and Rougegorge gnashed his teeth and followed after. It would have been well for Rouge- gorge if he had deigned to bethink him- self. He had seen the power before which St. Marc fell: better for him to have confessed its omnipotence and fled while yet he might. But Fate does not allow us to attempt her purposes with ours: he went -straight on. Had she been twice as unapproach- able in the attractile distance at which she held all men, had she been twice as foul as she was fair, indeed, that would not have hindered his formal request to the old African soldier, a 'month there- after, for the hand of Mademoiselle de Valentinois, but not until he had en- deavored to make himself-as past suc- cess told him, without conceit, that he well knew how to do-a familiar and pleasant thought to her mind. It re- quired some determination, but not much art, for him to become the central point around which all other events of her day revolved. The state of the Valentinois finances told better than any other historian could hope to do the character of the race, of the stream that ran in their veins-the rich red stream fed on old wines and lavish dainties-whose pride and pleas- ure had been pampered till estate after estate, vanishing beneath its insatiate desires, had left this generation nothing but the name it had inherited and the pension it had earned. When therefore the salons heard that the Baron Rougelorge had made his proposals of marriage for the Valen- tinois, , Ah, well," said the united voice there, ,dukes require a dower-princes flatter, but hesitate. Rougegorge is of an old house, and his fortune is immense. -He is made of gold. Voila!"No one there ventured for a moment upon -such an absurdly romantic thing as to imagine that Mademoiselle de Valentinois loved the Baron-loved him with all that pas- sion and abandonment with which her race had always loved and hated. Rougegorge did not find the time that intervened between the day of his first success and of his nuptials hanging at all heavily upon his hands. There were countless places where he had the op- portunity of being constantly beside his betrothed, and of endearing himself to her by the mere fact of presence-on the drive, at the theatre, at fete champtre, in the. drawing-room at her uncle's house. There was nothing in all that to warn him of any accident: it had been, on-the contrary, a part of his plan. To win her love, he said, he must at least first make her acquaintance. It pleased him that she should see him gallant, gracious and followed after. His good-fortune, thus far, gave him a buoy- ant humor, which shed a sort of lustre upon his face, his manner-that made him, where he chose to be so, irresist- ible. They were always in the company of several, saying little to each other: he had never seen her yet alone. He had not uttered a tender word, she had confessed no love; but he was as sure of the emotion in her bosom as the di- viner is of the ore beneath his quivering hazel-rod: eagerly he trod forward to- ward the completion of his purpose- already he saw his friend avenged! One day le met her just issuing from the church door, and joined her in a half dozen steps, while her servant discreetly fell behind till the carriage drove up. She had been at the confessional-for the last time before her marriage: there was on her face such a grave sweetness, such a simple air supplying the place of all her archest witcheries, that Rouge- gorge forgot everything else in the brief moment he stood by her side. A strange tremble vibrated through his heart, and told him in a muffled way to beware lest he loved her. "This woman can mean nothing but good," said he to himself. "Too young to be anything but innocent, it is not her fault that men blow out their brains at her feet. If St. Marc chose an impossibility, so much the worse for St. Marc." So much the worse for Rougegorge! With the thought his brow darkened: that muffled tremor disquieted him again. Another thought flashed after it upon him-a sense of danger in the air. He had turned toward a lapidary's before the carriage, with its happy burden, rolled from sight, and the great diamond, which he had worn upon his finger, blank for so many years, after that carried a death'si head engraved upon its. table,. the better that its every lance of light might prick him to his purpose-might pierce him with remembrance of the debt behind, of the work before-might call up that gold- en head, .that pure white face of St. Marc, and her voice-dealing him death. If ever any single drop of any proud old ancestor's blood ran cold at the vio- lence he did it in this, lie which he was living, mounted to his forehead with shame of flbwing in,the veins of a hypo- page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] crite and dastard, Rougegorge ha/d but to remember that one dread moment of St. Marc's desperation to drown it in a hot and hating torrent of his own-to find himself more keenly attempered to his deed than he was before. ' On the'night before the day appointed for the bridal the two were alone together momentarily ere Rougegorge departed,- and standing by the first door of the suite. ,Adieu, mademoiselle, until to- morrow, and then no more adieux," said he. She hesitated a moment, looking up, the blush deepening in her lovely cheek. while she tangled her fingers in the shadow of a heavily-dropping tress. *, Monsieur," she said, half under her breath, "I have not known how to ap- proach it-you have not given me op- portunity before - but I have feared lest-" , Lest I hurried my marriage too much?" he said, gayly, yet with a cer- tain haughtiness. , Because, monsieur," she went on in her simplicity, , I fear that you may not know me--that you are but imposed upon by what is called my beauty--" ,Fear nothing less," he answered, bending above her as she leaned her hand on the console, so that the fra- grance of her mouth swept over upon his. Her eyes fell, her lips trembled. , Since I can imagine no destiny more melancholy, more maddening, than for a woman to receive the caresses of a man who does not love her," she mur- mured. , Fate that cannot be yours!" he ex- claimed. He meant no falsehood then: he meant a threat. But in the same moment she had lifted her face, with its still drooping eyelids, where he bent. All her love loaded the virgin lips: he bent lower. and they clung to his one instant, while a thrill of heavenly fire seemed to shoot from them through his brain; and Rougegorge knew that the fruit was ripe to his hand. He went out without a word: the house was stifling him. Had a Rougegorge lied? or why was his heart beating so strongly beneath his breast?-not beating, but shaking, flut- tering and shaking like a leaf in the wind? The civil contract had been already signed, and the next day all the world walked in orange blossoms and myrtles, and the Baroness Rougegorge went home. Not 'down to the old Burgundian es- tates, the ancient castle whose stones were almost hidden with the clambering white roses-whose demesnes lay in leagues of sunshine and the shadow of thick forests. Without acknowledging it in as many words to himself, Rouge- gorge spared that abode for the bliss of some future day: at present he had work on hand, and in his fancy of the future the first Baroness Rougegorge was to be a short-lived woman. They went to the house through which Haussman cut an archway the other day in making an alley from the Street of the Empire into the old Street of the Male- diction-an antiquated family residence, whose stone facade had been yesterday gloomily barred from the street with great dismal shutters, and one that had somewhat the air of a prison with its deep and heavily mullioned windows, even when thrown-open festally-a house familiar with revolutions and for ever on its guard; yet a magnificent mansion still, although the pleasure-grounds and shrubbery once surrounding it had been given up long ago, and palaces built in their stead. Within, its sumptuous suites were already caprices of luxury: at certain hours the sunshine fell in joy- ous illumination through the deep case- ments. There were pictures that brought all glories of earth and heaven to rest upon the walls, and statues that made it seem as if gods and goddesses yet wan- dered among us. There wanted nothing to complete its charm- except the happy face, the singing voice of this young and exquisite being now moving through i on the arm of her bridegroom, the silent Baron, already beginning to be tormented with a strange, unnatural struggle. To him it wanted something more-the face, the voice of St. Marc. Yet why not forget it. all? why not compassionate? Did she compassionate? They were alone-she, timid, tender, tearful; he, courtly, but making no protest of passion-strangely still indeed, whether with suppressed stress of feeling or from the nature of his kind, how should she say? She felt toward him perhaps a singular, new fear, half awe and half respect, that could but deepen all the rest-yearning affection and admiring faith. It was after midnight wlien the young Baroness awoke from her sweet deep sleep. For the first moment she imag- ined that she was alone. The light burned softly, moonbeams lay on the purple velvet of the floor, and tout of the lofty rose-window she saw the moon drifting through clouds of foam across the perfect sapphire of the night. Di- rectly afterward her eye fell upon the Baron sitting beneath the lamp, his face in white relief against the curtain tliat shut off the alcove-like room where they were from the larger one of the apart- ment. She suffered her gaze to rest on him with a trembling, lovely smile-no longer the secure,-assured radiance of the proud queen of hearts, but a blush- ing and beseeching smile on him from whom all the sunshine and happiness of her life must come. The Baron did not return it. He was gazing at her with a steady sternness that at first perplexed and then alarmed her. , You are not well?" she cried. , Perfectly so," he answered. , I have something to say to you." The tone of his voice seemed already to have said it. She listened in a dumb amazement. Just out of the rosy slum- ber of supreme happiness, this icy breath froze her, while she heard it, into stone. i, I had a friend," said the Baron. ,He was all I had: he was my life. His name was St. Marc." "Ah, I remember him!" she ex- claimed: then, as he paused, and half rising from her pillow, with a vague in- tuition that she was upon her defence- that she must answer, though to what she knew not---Ah, I remember him- St. Marc. He had the face of Guido's angel who slays the dragon," hesitating- ly; , yet he was like a woman-" "1 You remember him? He took his own life ;" looking at her with eyes that transpierced her, and made her writhe in a dreadful premonition of unknown dis- aster beneath their glance, despite her- self and her unconscious ignorance. The drops stood on his forehead. It was not so easy, after all; and this wo- man was so beautiful! ,They told me so," she-was saying, gently. , It made me shiver. It was dreadful. Some woman, they thought, was the reason." s, A woman was the reason! A wo- man trolled him on with her false prom- ises, her damnable wiles-lured him to his ruin, betrayed-him to death!" For suddenly the awful scene of that death grew real again to him: he felt the pangs St. Marc himself had felt-the empty earth, the black despair. , Do not speak so: you terrify me!" she cried, growing paler and paler with presentiment of evil. , It is cruel. She never could have known what she did. Is it not so? Ah, your eyes are like lightnings! Why do you look at me so?" she demanded, with the sob in her throat, and thrusting back her falling hair from her bewildered eyes. , Do not think of her, my husband: forgive her, since you loved him thus: for- give her as he must do, now that he sees " , Forgive her? I vowed vengeance upon her! I came with it from Assyria," he cried, rising and advancing with up- lifted hand, so that she cowered, but in a moment rose again. Death from that hand were better than the insane words he was uttering. "I found her, I won her-her love, her first love. I know what I say!" his voice swelling till it was like a groan. "I won her love that I might wither her with the knowledge of my abhorrence; that I might make the world as hollow to her as she made it to St. Marc; that she might suffer the same contempt, the same misery, the same despair!" , I do not-I do not comprehend," she murmured over and over again be- tween chattering teeth, pressing her hands tightly on her temples, and still surveying him with those wild eyes. , I page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] do not - I have lost - something has happened to me. Do you mean-" , I mean that you, you are his mur- deress," the syllables falling as distinct as the strokes of a thresher's flail. t That you love the man who detests you," he added-, that you love me, I know. And I have avenged St. Marc!" he said then, quite in his ordinary-tone, and turning on his heel to go, but paus- ing first, as if, greedy of distress, he would not lose one line, one shade of hers. ,I?" she cried, piercingly, and throwing up her arms as if -to ward off some descending blow--, I? Oh, is it possible? And you? Am I mad?" in a choking gasp. , Tell me, am I mad?" Her face began to look no longer like a face, but like a dead-cloth that has taken the impress of dead features from which the living presence has fled. "d Oh, you have broken my heart!" she cried. The Baron Rougegorge breakfasted and dined alone for some three weeks after his marriage. To say that he ex- perienced ennui is to make a mild state- ment of his condition. Strange to tell, in planning his little melodrama of break- ing the heart of a woman, he had never carried his ideas one moment beyond the grand cozp-the dealing of the blow: now he found that people still live, even with that delicate organ shattered, and practically and before the world he had a wife upon his hands. Somehow, in the obscure undercur- rent of his mind, he was not entirely willing to let the world in upon the truth of his late transaction; or it may be that, being a modest man, he preferred not to boast over his victory: he had a stately way of keeping up the appearances of affairs as they should be before the servants themselves, though how far those astute individuals were to be hood- winked is a matter for the philosophers; and thus he eked out his feuilleton in the morning, lounged with his books and maps and portfolios and siestas by day, took his exercise by night; and mean- while both Baron and- Baroness were denied to all guests, and by very simple means the Baron began to discover that, if he had ruined life for another, he had not created any great portion of bliss for himself. Certainly he was very uncom- fortable. He could not exactly deter- mine on a future. To- throw up his hand and quit the town-that exposed him to the jeers of old comrades; not was he sure that he wished to do so. To remain-there, in fact, the Baroness might have a word to say. Perhaps he found the situation piquant: at any rate, he awaited some event. It is possible, too, that he was the least trifle ashamed of the part he had played: it is possible that a morsel of pity, now that it was too late, weighed upon him as he re- membered the smile with which that woman had awakened, the woeful look with which she had fallen back among her pillows; the smile of rosy shyness -the look dazed and distraught with the creeping torture of shame and horror. He was disturbed, indeed, with a singu- lar sensation for a Rougegorge-a dim and misty shadow in his consciousness, the mere outline of a thought-the sen- sation that he had been a knave. But with all that, whenever, through the lonesome day, he chanced to glance up at the portrait of St. Marc, with all its eager brightness gilding it like a trans- figuring atmosphere, then again his heart would rise in his throat with an un- checked swift gulp of satisfaction. That woman had deprived him of St. Marc, the one delight and consolation of his being, his summer and his sunshine; with whom he needed nothing else, neither wife nor child ; without whom- She had stolen him, had destroyed him; and he in turn had destroyed her! It was toward the close of what was supposed to be his honeymoon that the Baron -sat delaying over his coffee one morning, now and then reading a para- graph of his paper, thinking he might yet turn his attention to politics-now and then pausing to examine the filtmy sheen of the wings of a dragon-fly that, wandering in its flight from some palace gardens, had darted in at the open win- dow, and still lingered, poised upon the edge of a crystal carafe. It was rather a welcome interruption of his monotony. He fancied himself becoming a natural- ist: he had already formed the friend- ship of an agreeable spider; and he laughed, a little bitterly, at himself, re- membering other prisoners who had done the same. He was just returning to his article on the ,Ancient Frontiers," after a microscopic sort of examination of the dragon-fly's complex eyes, when the door was thrown open: there was a soft rustle, and Madame the Baroness was announced. To tell you the real truth, he was for one instant delighted to see her. He sprang to meet her by his natural in- stinct of courtesy. Then, recollecting himself, although he conducted her to her place at the head of the table, it was without so much as touching her hand, and with a behavior that was not only glazed in iciness, but was ice itself. Then he resumed his seat and refolded his paper, while with a motionm rof her hand the' Baroness dismissed the ser- vant, and the two were alone again, save for the dragon-fly and the morning breeze that stole in and fluttered damask and drapery. , I have something to say to you," said the Baroness, upon that-quoting, perhaps unconsciously, his own words on the occasion of their last interview. The paper fell from the Baron's hands. The same rippling music as ever in the tones that thus addressed him; but this was not the voice of the woman who cried out that he had broken her heart. A single hurried glance at her, and he stooped to regain the sheet. It was not the same woman. To be sure, there was the oval of the cheek, to which the 'rich carnation just now came mantling; there were the eyes as velvet soft as the darkest petals of a pansy are ; there was again the waving shadow of that heavy and perfumed curl. But no longer were those the lips loaded with kisses, nor could lips ever be so again -that had learned to feel that faint constriction now wrinkling around them. If absent at this moment, there had been flame behind that eye. Was it the least fine trace of scorn in the quiver of that chiseled nostril? The Baron Rougegorge could not in that instantaneous glance gather and as- similate the whole sense of what he saw --the same being, yet another. He had come once in his travels upon a landscape lying in the sun with golden distances and violet hazes: he had returned to that landscape after an earthquake had disturbed it, ever so slightly, and it had settled down again as of old, encrusting its central fires. It was unaccountably to himself that he recalled that scene now, with the one black fissure seaming' all its sunlit azure, as he gazed at his wife. In effect, there was something as peculiarly'fearful in this young and fault- lessly fair creature-could he but have detected it-whose bloom-bathed flesh, whose dissolving outlines, whose fresh and dewy color and sparkle were all but the mere mask of youth and sweetness above a soul from which the wine of life had been wrung--as desiccated and juice- less and hard as substance that..has lain between the upper and nether millstones. In future, as she moved among one and another again, unless her artifice rivaled the power of Nature, she would scarcely be as alluring as of old: there might be a dazzle about her, a cold glitter, the brilliancy of a thousand facets. -She said once that that .was because she had been cut and ground upon the adamant of Fate. Until her marriage day she had been joyous, careless, conquering: if afterward she should become a dia- bolic thing, it would be as much the guilt of Rougegorge as her own. Ad W-hy not?" she said. is In these three weeks I have already known the. tortures of the damned. There can be nothing worse." The Baron, however, would have needed to be as penetrating as he was impetuous to have imagined the begin- ning of all this. He only saw that the youthful Baroness had experienced some curious and intimate change, the probable result of that operation known as break- ing the heart-a seal and recognition of his vengeance. But he- had had that vengeance: he was satisfied, per- chance satiated with it; and lie felt no longer any vivid and unbroken animosity toward the lovely lady who laid her white page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] hand so quietly along the table and re- peated, silverly, , I have something to say to you." , I shall be pleased to listen, madame," responded the Baron, graciously. Looking over at him, she smiled an unconcerned and disengaged smile, such as she might give to the bluebottle buzz- ing ill the window. One would hardly believe how much that simple smile an- noyed the Baron, such are the incon- sistencies and contradictions of human nature: it seemed to tell him that he had not done his work effectually. But if he even dreamed that, the dream was presently dissipated. it Monsieur," she said with gentleness, , I am not come to bandy reproaches -with you. I will not tell you that you judged me, sentenced me, executed me, without allowing me a defence; nor that, since my execution has taken place, a disem- bodied spirit would be addressing you with as much interest in the affairs of life. Certainly, if it is a ghost, it is one that came out of hell," she said, in a slow, reflective way. ,cYou see, monsieur, that I am frank with you. I do not conceal that you dealt me a dreadful doom. It was dreadful indeed," with a shiver, and fastening her eyes on the Baron : , did you ever realize how dreadful? You outraged me, you robbed me, you murdered me! Well-I am not crying for mercy: I know well that the race of Rougegorge has none. Nor can I say a word," she exclaimed, with a sudden flash: it neither have the Val- entinois! As for me, it is true that I loved, I trusted, I confided: I will not take from you a tittle of your vengeance. I believed my bridegroom was nobility itself-was manliness and courage and honor impersonate." The Baron moved uneasily in his chair, across which too much of the warm sunshine fell. -, He was an ideal," continued the Baroness, "and I was idolatrous. It is -some- thing to destroy- one's husband, but what punishment," she cried, hotly, , is sufficient for him who destroys one's god?" The ejaculation of Rougegorge was checked, half unuttered, by her gesture; and directly afterward she had resumed as. calmly as before. , I shall not speak of my shame, either," she murmured- , of the mortification I have suffered while the blush seemed burning into my bones; nor of my loss. I was reared in the country, in a home-I am per- haps sentimental, but such a home was always in my hopes-a charming home, a man who loved me and whose happi- ness I was; dear children. Well, all that you have made impossible, you see; and, more than all, you have taken my youth--youth, love, hope." The Baron rose and walked across the room, pacing up and down its length in a somewhat agitated way. - Do not think that I am imploring you to recon- sider what is done," she said, following him with her melancholy eyes-, to give me still a corner in your affections; for- listen, monsieur-I no longer love you! I struggled with my sick heart, I over- 'came it: I am used to conquest, you know," with another smile. ,If I do not hate you, it is a part of my folly and of the simplicity that made me so easily your dupe. And, besides-I am too old. You are young still, a young French no- ble with a career opening before you; but H came into this house a child- now my hair ought to be gray. I have lived, in this month, a longer time- than you will ever live, monsieur-than you will ever live," she repeated, with the sad cadence in her voice, as he started and paused in his walk. - I have lived and died," she breathed. s- Yes, yes, Ayacinthe de Valentinois is indeed no more. The Baroness Rougegorge is another person. Monsieur," she con- tinued in a moment, which seemed an hour to the man whom she so skillfully arraigned, and during which he had re- taken his seat opposite her-",Monsieur, fancying we might hardly care to recur to this subject for some time to come, and feeling it necessary that everything should be clear and our future relation determined, I came here to speak with you this morning, and also to justify myself, if that might be, in some mea- sure. I do not mean to upbraid you that, being a man, you took revenge upon a woman, nor that, being a noble- man, you took it in an ignoble manner and with the aid of a false oath-" , I will hear no more of this!" cried the Baron, springing to his feet. She did not raise her voice, but she went on, and the Baron found himself compelled to hearken. -"All that is understood, of course," she said. , But I would vindicate my- self in one particular. I am perhaps a coquette. Being an orphan and the mis- tress of my uncle's house, I have had more freedom than many have: I may have deserved some rigors. But not from you; for of the crime of which you- accuse me, and for which you de- stroyed me, I am innocent. Monsieur St. Marc asked my uncle for my hand, and was refused by him so contempt- uously as to annihilate hope. I never knew it till, learning by accident that you were usually absent at a late hour, I sent for my uncle to see me, and then discovered it, but without betraying you. Had St. Marc spoken to me, I should assuredly have taught him his rashness more kindly, and have left him with something to live for. Had you taken one step in that investigation which should be made where life is the penalty, you would have blundered less blindly: you might have challenged the old sol- dier, who would not have refused to whet his sword on your vengeance. So, Baron Rougegorge," said the lady, rising and leaning only her finger-tips on the table, "I do not say that I despise you, but you have done a pitiful piece of work for nothing. For nothing? You have paid the price of your freedom! Now that I am your wife, monsieur, what do you intend to do with me?" She was assuredly more beautiful now than he had ever seen her, as she stood, during the last sentence of her extra- ordinary harangue, with the flushes of a proud indignation sweeping over her. But he was only sentient of the fact-- not distinctly conscious of that or of anything else. He was tingling with a species of humiliation from head to foot, and by an antagonistic necessity he must assume a brazen front. "s Madame," he replied, , I do not in- tend to ask you to forgive me." "As you please," she said, lightly. , We both have perhaps been un- wise," began the Baron-- you, in speak- ing with vehemence; I, in acting precip- itately. Since, then, we have ruined life for each other-" "We!" she cried, in a smothered tone- , we!" "We have only to endure the remnant together," he said, without noticing the brief outhreak. ' As for the world, our secret is our- own." "Our secret is our own," she said, her head drooping forward on her breast a little. "You are a Baroness Rougegorge, my wife and the' head of my establishment.. Make it all it should be. I will not weary you with too much of my society. Meanwhile, we will issue the cards for our first dinner. Have you any names for my list?" Perhaps the Baron would be able to carry this high hand triumphantly to the close! The newly-married pair swept out again on the full tide of the world after having arrived at this understanding. According to the part which he had ordained himself to fill for a limited time, the Baron was seen in constant attendance upon his bride-at operas, at balls, sometimes in her carriage. Men envied him his felicity: women envied her her diamonds. One person even reported that he had seen the romantic creatures wandering through the flower- market together at sunrise, but then no- body believed him. Nobody believed him, yet nevertheless it was-true. The Baroness, in throwing open her house, had sportively declared that it was patent it had been a haunt of bachelors and cigarrettes, for the conservatory was a desert, with neither moss, nor vine, nor blossom unwithered by gas and smoke and the exhalations of absinthe; and she gayly proceeded to refurnish the little " dominion with all the sweet, old-fash- ioned plants which the first blush of morning might-find exposed along the stalls, till its new wealth fairly overflowed page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] into the adjacent rooms. Rehearsing her adventures one day to the guests at her breakfast-table, they had a little sun- rise party on the next to visit the place and behold what they never had seen before; and on another morning the Baron dismisslel the groom, upon her invitation, and went with her himself. s It is an imposition upon the good- nature of one who does not care for flowers," she said as he handed her down some steps--, as if the martyr should pile his own fagots." She was buying hyacinths that morning. Blue and blush-colored and golden, white as a lily, single as a jasmine, double as a rose, purpler than nightshade; and the dark, mysterious bulbs without number. , They are my patron saints you know," she said, laughingly. A My mother named me from the stem of flowers my father gave her when he saw her first; so I surround -myself- with them by right. And I am starved for them, since my. uncle would not have them in the house. Moreover, it is a charming little drama- the planting of the bulb, the shooting of the first spire, the wonder and conjecture concerning the final flower. One would content me were I in a prison cell. Ah, I am never in-the future without hyacinths!" After that, there were birds to be had -canaries, a blind greenfinch, a night- ingale. , Shall my name be Rouge- gorge, and I not have a red-breast under my eaves?" she cried in that new and joyous manner of hers that seemed as natural and as unvaried as her breath, but which yet made the Baron, remem- bering what he did, pause and turn more than once to look at her, as if she were a sphinx. i, It is the crest of the house, is it not?" she said. , Those ancient barons never could have been but gen- tlemen of the road, and Rougegorge the noble for cut-throat!"And she tossed the lory on her wrist, and sent it sail- ing and screaming over to its. perch on a bust of Hecate. In fact, with her pets apd her flowers she enchanted the whole place, and the Baron himself, who had but slight horticultural tastes, confessed, when all was done, that this gush of bird-song, these brilliant blossoms, these clambering vines and myrtles, these hang- ing baskets of orchids with the sunshine making their gorgeous tissues look like living flame, and with the long-tailed paroquets clinging to them, as gorgeous as themselves, all gave his house a charming sort of radiance, a' warm, gay atmosphere, that told one, on entrance there, that here a woman held her court, admired and sovereign. For if Ayacinthe de Valentinois had ever ruled a province, this woman's sway was imperial: her artifice did in- deed rival Nature-her gladsomeness was like the pure upgushing of a sunny identity. It was varied with now and then a melancholy moment, with now and then a swift passion of anger: all seemed the unforced freedom of a child of Nature. She enslaved the hearts and souls of men; her salon was a region of delight; she herself was f6ted and fol- lowed after; and wherever she went she dragged captives in her chain these vanquished by her wit, those by her sweetness. Apparently she enjoyed her life to the lees of it-none better. Some. times her voice bubbled up, as she passed from room to room of her own abode, in an irrepressible warble ; some- times, as if too trivial to remember long any bitterness that she could forget, she would even shed a smile upon the Baron, disturbing his stately quiet with a capri- cious kindness: all the time, with her gay extravagances, her happy sallies, her sunbursts of smiles, she seemed to fairly sparkle. All this puzzled the Baron at first, excited his attention; and he could not escape from the perplexity it oc- casioned him; and when one day, upon entering, he saw the Archduke Max sit- ting by her side, an old field-marshal, whose gray locks lay along his shoul- ders, kissing her hand in departure, and a younger Lothario securing the rose that had fallen from her breast-knot to the floor, then he was enraged with him- self to find that, instead of being any longer puzzled by her inexplicable joyous- ness and heedless acceptance of her mis- fortunes, he was exceedingly displeased with this scene,-discomposed, annoyed, oppressed. He sat down presently with a feeling as if he had heard some ill news, but could not remember what it was. The Baroness saw his disturbance, as a quick color hung out its treacherous signal on her cheek to testify; while over her face gathered the smile out of which a sudden look leaped like a dead- ly creature from its lair. -"Ah, mon- sieur," she said to herself as she sur- veyed him, t the philter begins to work -presently the, incantation." It was nothing of the kind which she said -to him, though, when happening by and by to pause for one lingering instant at his side, and forgetting her glove upon the table near at hand. It would be hard for one to say what idleness it was that made him lay his hand upon that glove and gather it into his palm, and hide it away like a treasure. He did not find opportunity to speak with her till some days thereafter, when she sought him in crossing a hall, and said simply that she regretted she had not known that the alcoved apartment was a favorite one of his, since he might have resumed the use of it so much earlier, as she had long ago vacated it for one in the opposite wing, where the sunshine did not trouble her at so early an hour of the dawn. , It must have pleasanter remembrances for you, mon- sieur, than it has for me," she said, with a strain of pathos in her voice. The -sunshine was falling then where she stood on the Egyptian marble of the hall, making, with its reflection in the shining floor, a halo of separation around her: a flitting damask stained her cheek and stayed there; her down- cast eyes shed a shadow round them; her half-parted lips seemed trembling as she spoke. The Baron was mad at that moment. "It, can be no memory but a bitter one for me'!" he cried, and seized her hand and would have raised it to his lips. "Alas, monsieur!" she murmured, sad- ly, , such compliments are unnecessary between you and me;" and then was gone again. When the Baron installed himself in his former apartment once more, it was with a singular desire and dislike to do so. It struck him a little oddly at first that the gaunt bloodhound, who had been wont to stretch himself at ease there in the old days before the Baron took des. tiny into his own hands, now absolutely refused to cross the threshold, but lay with his nose along the s'j giving forth such dismal howls that he had to be taken down and chained in his kennel. The Baron forgot about it shortly in noting the aspect of the place, familiar yet unfamiliar; for the Baroness could not have dwelt there what time she did and not have left some trace of her love- liness behind her; and here a shutter that had not been unbarred for the life, time of a generation, slurred a new light across the ancient panel-painting of an avenging Dian and her dogs! and there a windowful of sunbeams nestled around the blossoming plants that she had suf- fered to remain there-remain perhaps as mementoes of herself. He sat down beneath them, and for a time drew in deep breaths of their satisfying sweet- ness; and it seemed to him that her shadow in flying from the place, bleak though December whistled without, .had left only summer within. Events moved quickly for the Baron Rougegorge now. He had forgotten St. Marc, and sometimes, when accident led his eyes to the portrait, he found him. self looking on it only with a shudder. No Rougegorge had ever bent aside from a purpose, yet the fire and impulse that had propelled this one to his re- venge lasted barely to its consummation, and then there had been a vicious strug. gle which made that issue cost him some drops of his heart's blood. Now hatred had died in him, and half his being with it, one might say: pity had surprised him; wonder and perplexity had awak- ened scrutiny that became pleasure;-and then Regret, a dark-robed shadow, had laid her finger on his heart and bade him follow her. He followed, but looked still behind, for down that other way- The Baron indeed was in a strangely fevered condition at this point. A thou- sand emotions tore him, as his own hounds tore Actmon. He had reached that period where he could not live withb page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] out the music of this woman's voice, yet he heard it only addressed to others; he needed the sympathy of her thoughts, yet doubted and disbelieved their expres- sion; he dared not trust himself to live alone with her, yet he could not endure to see another approach her; she was his, yet only by a fiction of law ; he was as indifferent to her, he declared to him- self, as the wind is to the rose it rifles, yet he knew that his whole nature was corroded by jealousy. It was perhaps the mood induced by all these attractions and repulsions, de- sires and denials, that caused him one night, as the doors closed behind the last guest of their grand ball, where the young hostess, beaming on all who drew near, had danced almost as wildly as a Maenad, sweeping along like a meteor in the flash of her jewels, her gauzes, her blushes, her glances, and shining on him only from the arms of other men-caused him to accost her as she delayed one second, gathering up her drapery at the foot of the great staircase. ,Madame," he said hoarsely, just beside her, ,do you remember that you have my honor in your keeping?" ,Monsieur," she answered him in the gay malice which the subsiding spirit of the revel lent her, ,do you remember that you put it there?"But with an after-thought she lifted her head haught- ily. t Do not fear that I shall not guard it more carefully than you yourself have done," she said; adding softly in a mo- ment, , Monsieur, you forget that your honor is my own." And she went slowly up the stairs, the long train of frosty lace and rosy silk creeping serpent-like behind her, as regardlessly as though, instead of a living being, the Baron were nothing more than the bronze effigy of an ancestor. He stood as motionless there for a long time as though indeed he had been cast in metal, and gazing at the place where she had vanished, while the light of dawn came stealing silently in around him. And during all that time the Baron- ess Rougegorge herself was standing as motionless, leaning before an antique mirror that for more than a century had reflected the proud ladies who had con- tinued the line she-extinguished. So some witch might have incanted her familiar, for it was a sort of demoniac beauty gleaming back at her from the depths of the mirror into which she gazed. The wreathing smiles, the bloom, the blush were gone; the sweetness had been stripped off like a mist: only the eyes, fierce, fatal eyes, blazed from the shadowy sphere as if they but gathered the rest of that white and cruel face about them that they might themselves be visible. , Thou art the only friend I have," said the Baroness to this famil- iar. , Do not fail me!" And then, as she gazed, her heart began to beat against her side like a bird against its cage, and the familiar smiled upon her a wicked, splendid and triumphant smile, that promised and performed at once. Had some Asmodeus of the household but disclosed that little scene to him, the Baron might have inhaled less ardently the perfumes that swept out to meet him as he opened the door of his own apart- ment- that curled swathingly around him in welcome as he lifted the curtain of the alcove and saw the early daylight welling through the leaves and blossoms that veiled the great rose-window of the place which once had been an oratory, and now was only an oubliette. As it was, he lay with open eyes, watching the first sunbeam come staining a white petal into fire, exalting a crimson one to airy ruby, filtering a purple into pure azure, intoxicating himself with the rich. odors that always there replaced the freshness of the morning air, the dewiness of the evening breeze; until at last he fell into a brief, uneasy drowse, in which the nee- dle of the great dragon-fly that the Baron- ess had captured from the carafe on the morning of her reappearance, and had transfixed here upon the wall, seemed to be piercing his brain. There had been a change lately in the appearance of the Baron-gradual and slight perhaps to all but a single pair of eager eyes: if one had looked at him as he lay in his troubled dream, it would have been as apparent as Death's im- print. A deceitful hectic illumined his countenance at other times, yet even then, whenever he moved, all strength seemed to have left his lagging gait and he scarcely held himself erect. The Baron was far from well, in fact. He measured his own pulse and believed himself fevered by his folly, and said that his disease, if such it were, was not one that medicine could minister to. A strange lassitude weighed him down, mind as well as body; ambition seemed an idle word; the grasshopper had become a burden; evil dreams pursued him till he ceased to sleep at all; he lived only upon stimulants, which did but feed the internal heat; and lately the unfelt lux- ury of the breath had grown to be a pain when now and then there followed with it a sharp agony in the side, that made it seem to him as if the earth might feel the same when some branching thing were torn up by the roots. All this, however, made but slight difference in his going and coming, for there is a season when absorption in another causes one to forget one's self; and wherever the Baroness appeared, there, by fell sorcery, sooner or later was the Baron drawn. And who, indeed, could have helped it? Who could have resisted that charm, that summery warmth of man- ner, that spontaneous kindliness given to him as to all - sometimes to him more than to .all? To-day she shone upon him in sweet forgetfulness: to- morrow a fitful memory chilled her and kept him on the alert; and always, when she passed, the faint rose deepening into damask on her cheek, the dimples creep- ing into smiles around her mouth, the dark eyes glowing softly from the shad- ows of those heavy rings of fragrant hair that floated about them, a pride of pos- session thrilled him-thrilled him and angered him, and set his heart on fire. One night the Baroness was standing I with the Abbd Marforio opposite a new picture of Judith, where the artist had E painted according to modern ideas of in- i terpretation, and had terribly wrought a out the wrestling love and sacrifice. ,s A a tremendous thing," said the Abbd. I "In paints and pigments," replied the t Baroness. , But for the rest, it is false." t 2 , How is that? You join issue?" he asked. ," For the sake of womanhood only," she responded, with more earnestness than she usually employed in speech. ," Can love of country outweigh all other love? But a woman has no country. Her country is her lover. Will she abandon him for the sake of other wo- men's lovers? This Judith has slain one to save the others. But the action is simply impossible to the woman lov- ing as she does. Slay him? She will rather slay herself! She lives for him, she is his, both soul and body--she gives him her present, she pledges him her eternity!" i Ah! with her whole being in one emotion. That is the way such a wo- man loves?" , And hates, monsieur," she answered, covering her earnestness with her radiant smile again. "Ah, madame," said the Abbe, pleas- antly, , it is the happy wife that speaks. Rougegorge," for the Baron was dallying in the neighborhood while he bent over the chair of another lady-t, Rougegorge, you are a fortunate fellow!" ,'A fortunate fellow," repeated the Baron, lifting his head, and only his wife knew the bitterness hidden in the tone. "And I have thrown away-great Heav- ens!"--it said, ,i a love like that!" That night was the same night with one of the workmen's riots which occa- sionally break out in Paris like lurking scrofula in the system; and it was just as the Baroness was driving out of the -courtyard that a large mob of reckless wretches emptied into the street, their torches and their wild cries terrifying her horses, who began to prance in the tossing light which glittered on all their costly caprison. Instantly the carriage- lamps, the golden bits, the leaping horses caught the eye of the .mob, and as in- stantly afterward the beautiful aristocrat, who had thrown open her carriage-door and stood hesitating whether to spring; and a paving-stone flew through the air, grazing her forehead and felling her upon the spot. Not more instantly, though, than a form had started out of the dark- page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] ness with a command to the cowering servants, and gathering a residue of strength, had caught her and flung him- self with her into the coach, which wheeled about and was beyond -the B reach of all assailants in less time than it takes to tell it. And yet too swiftly for the Baron, who saw her, by the light of the street-lamps that flashed in upon them as they dashed along, lying white across his breast-who, unforbidden then, was covering her lips, her cheeks, her eyes with passionate kisses. Moment of wild stolen rapture, let him have it: he would never know another! Her eyes- slowly opened, and he looked into -them as he might have looked upon two great drops of frozen ink-a stare of utter scorn, an icy blank. The Baroness was well enough next day: she was perhaps a trifle paler, though her slight wound was hidden by her hair, and she remained at home. But the Baron was worse. The mo- ment of rapture and of pain, the suc- ceeding moment of unmixed anguish,. like an electric shock had aroused him to a truth he had feared to look upon- to the fact that, at last and after all, he loved with infinite yearning one as in- sensate as a star. Baron Rougegorge was ill. As he entered his apartment that night, the pungent air of the hyacinths, wantoning through all the spacious suite, seemed to rasp like a black frost, and presently a sudden surge of blood had overflowed his mouth. Sifice the Baroness re- mained at home. he himself no longer went out: a deadly physical reaction had followed upon his late exertion, and he lay much of the time in his alcoved bed-chamber, soothed by the odors of his hyacinths, that resumed their snake- like fascination-growing every day more languid and listless, his heart stirring to suffocation when a lifting curtain, an openiag or closing door, gave him the sound of her voice. The frequenters-of the house had long since noticed a- change in him-+the spare hand, the hol- low temple, the cquick breath. . The Baroness herself had summoned his physician, who, ,tith .a 4glane,- had or- dered him away from Paris into purer air. is The trouble is malarial," said the man of science: , a change is all we need." But the -Baron rejected the ad- vice and remained at home. ,4As well die by the sword as the famine," said he, and clung to his calamity like a limpet to its rock. Then, when the Court began to concern itself with the Baron's health, his physician, vexed with an inscrutable difficulty to which symptoms afforded no clew, prescribed a chaos of remedies to- gether; and at last, looking about him in his bewilderment, ordered such a wil- derness of flowers' to be removed from his sleeping-room. "There is no oxygen left for you," he exclaimed. , No won- der that you are shrinking into an anat- omy. Toss them into the street!"This the Baron refused, to do. , He is an insane man!" cried the physician. Then the Baron dismissed the physician. Rougegorge had grown singularly fond of those hyacinths. He knew well that they would never blossomr so richly with- out the attending and replacing hand of her who first planted them; he was sure he should surprise her some day bending over them; he grew envious of them, as if they were living things. And indeed they seemed to grow like living things, with their fresh, sharp spikes of flowers, making the room splendid with -their color and its air heavy with their breath. A light frame hung on high in the great rose-window, knotted in a-hundred intricate windings of the lithe bamboo, and in every loop a bulb was set, its leaf springing up rankly to the light, and the whole reticulation of blossoms swung there like a brilliant bubble in the sun; while in the outer room the deep windows seemed stained in vivid hues where, lined with these translucent stems, they let the daylight' fall through them only in gold and ame- thyst and emerald. And every hyacinth among them all seemed to dart toward the light with swift purpose, to bristle with eager life of its own, to toss off its cloud of oppressive perfume and suck in the unsoiled air, to throw-it back again in poison. Now and then, when the Baron found himself light-headed for a moment, he fancied that he saw tiny images, fierce faces, wicked eyes and pointing fingers-once a bat's wing, again a dragon's claw-clustering round every bract 'and blossom : then he would smile at himself, seeing the loveliness of some cream-thick petal, the precision of one constantly-recurring curve, to think his sick fancies could have conjured up anything freakish or venomous in things whose every vein was subject to the pure law of beauty. Nevertheless, when any draught brought to him a stronger waft of their scent, a gust of cloying incense, his head began to swim as dizzily as though he had long been breathing the noxious vapor of a miasma; yet other air seemed barren and dead to him, and after any absence in the salon where the Baroness entertained her guests, or a loitering stroll through gallery and billiard-room, he sought again the stim- ulating deliciousness of this, which the hyacinths distilled from vases on the tripods, from shells upon the brackets, from a bed of moss that covered the table beside his couch, where they over- topped the innocent ferns and maiden- hair that had been planted with them, and seemed to gather courage and strength from their multitude. .,They are her namesakes," said the infatuated man, and he went and bent over them, himself trying idly if he could detect the fabled characters written on their leaves and syllable them into any exclamation of his own sorrow. One day, as he stood over them, leaning more and more heavily upon his staff-for he seemed now to have lived his life and to have become an old man already doting-he reeled and fell senseless to the floor, his brain at length stupefied with their fumes. 'When the Baron Rougegorge regained such consciousness as the atmosphere of the room, steaming with sweetness, allowed him, the Baroness was standing beside him, offering him no help, but looking down upon him with a fixed quiet. There was something peculiar about her. It was not the Ayacinthe de Val- entinois whose heart he had broken, nor yet the woman who had taken the dragon- fly from the carafe and pinned it to the wall; but rather, in woman's shape, a beautiful fiend filled with satisfaction over some evil fruition. Dark yet lustrous, and lovely in tempting flesh, she stood just above him, and he lifted an implor- ing hand that fell back ungrasped and powerless. , Do you know that you are dying?" she said. It had never entered his thoughts. Instantaneously with -her words the whole pitiful drama flashed before him. Then the rich and heavy air seemed suddenly corrupt with foulness: he would have given the universe for one gasp of the fresh breeze playing without the lattice; and at the same moment the courage of all the Rougegorges came back to blaze in him with a final flash of the expiring race. He looked up at her and never asked for quarter. - It was in this room that you dealt me my doom," she said then, gazing ab- sently about her. ,c I recall it well-the purple shadow, the moonbeams through that window full of hyacinths, your piti- less face. It is in this room that I have destroyed you. I pinned that fly to the wall that I might remember that so you had transfixed me upon your purpose- remember to have no mercy upon you. These flowers that you worship, regard them : they are all the subtle spirits of death, each one of them an agent of mine and of destruction-slaves doing my bidding, tiny devils clogging pore and duct, poisoning your breath and your blood, till, though you live this- hour, the next you shall be a mass of mere decay. You have thought the at- mosphere here was fragrance? It is the air of a- charnel-house. Presently ,you will be dead. and all your lineage with you: the name of Rougegorge is known no more-its honor and its valor gone for nothing, since you transmit to no one the memory of a noble deed. Once there was a Rougegorge who flung himself between death and his king, and the ballads sing of him to-day; once there was a Rougegorge who died in a dungeon sooner than betray his queen, and his statue stands in the market- page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] place yet; once there was a Rougegorge who pledged castles and jewels to build a fleet for France; a Rougegorge who slew a tyrant; a Rougegorge who fought a mob single-handed and back to the wall, that others might find time to flee. What proud action do you add to the list? Ah, this - that you broke the heart of a woman! Now they are shad- ows: they no longer live with the strength of their great right arms in the right arm of some descendant-they are shadows, and you are nothing more. Yes, presently you will be dead;" her cruel voice was tolling out like a bell. it Nor is the work altogether mine. For, look.! When you threw away a wife, love, children, happiness, home-in the hour when you made me a fiend--you began to die by your own hand. And here," she cried, striking -her breast, , look again, and see what your hand has done here! I was a young and happy girl, as innocent of evil as ignorant: why was I chosen for this lot? I should have been a faithful wife, a tender mother, a. good woman, my heart warm toward all the world, for I loved you- then I loved you!" He raised his faint hand again, and drew the fold of her dress across his lips. She plucked it away and looked down on him with a nauseous disdain. (, Once your fangs met in me," she cried, it and still, you hound, do you fawn?" The sunshine that poured through the great rose-window covered her as she stood there, her hair glistening in it, the purple and azure and blush of the hya- cinths laying flakes of their color around her: she seemed ensphered in a sepa. rating atmosphere like some terrible en- chantress, beneath whose will his soul was impotent. His eyes burned upon her and grew dull. ,i Dying," she said, , and I do not re- pent me. No destiny can pursue me ill as that I escape. Shut me within pris- on walls? This house and your name have been bondage darker and more stifling. Chain me in the galleys side by side with a murderer? I am chained side by side with him now. Ah, it is that from which presently your death sets me free! Remorse? You crushed my heart between your fingers. If I live a thousand years, when I think of how I served you for it, my soul will bubble to my lips with joy." And She laughed as she looked at him. The Baron rose on his hand, the fire relit in his eye, the death-rattle arrested in his throat. ,Death is not all," he said, in a hoarse and horrible tone, as if he had come up from the mould of the grave to say it. , And H-was right in avenging St. Marc!" And then, as a suit of empty armor clashes down, he fell back again at her feet, and if the Baron Rougegorge had a soul, that soul had flown. When the Abbd Marforio paused once at a cell behind whose grating, stripped of name and title and splendor, and even of her tresses, a woman sat weaving straw in plaits, he made her a mock reverence. . And is this the way she lives for him, gives him her present, pledges him her eternity?" he said. ,Is this the way such a woman loves?" She looked up with the old dazzling smile, of which they could not strip her. ', And hates, monsieur," she answered, quietly, and went back to her weaving. HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. SAM'S SERMON. A COLLEGE student, although pos- sessing many points of resemblance to the human family, is yet of as distinct a species as any of the , races" which have puzzled ethnologoists since the world began. It often happens that young mnen whose parents were respectable and went down to the grave without any gray hairs, from the mere fact of their being connected with an institution of learning begin to show symptoms, early in life, of being college students. They wear high hats, fondly but erroneously called ",beavers ;" they wear canes; they sys- tematically reverse all preconceived ideas of the normal position of the human frame; they invent new theories of study, founded upon experience they utterly lackk; are aggressive iconoclasts in regard to the cherished idols of their elders, and persistent reformers in what- ever ought not to be reformed. That the Darwinian theory of devel- opment has any bearing upon the sub- ject, inductively or otherwise, I do not think. Nor am I inclined to the opinion that it can be solved by the doctrine of inherited tendencies. Whatever, may have been the antecedents of the indi- vidual, in every case the result is iden- tical. Ternpora mutantur, et nos muta- tur in illis, is a saying which age has ripened into an axiom. But the college student is entirely exempt from the ope- ration of this rule. Time, place and circumstance have as little influence upon his essential characteristics as has the failure of the grape-crop in Europe upon the supply of imported wines. If I might be allowed, in this connec- tion, to imitate high-priced writers and advance a theory, I should say that the species in question was , developed" on the plan very successfully introduced by one Dr. Procrustes many years ago. The system is what does it. Whatever I have said or suggested concerning the class-individuality of the college student may with equal correct- ness be predicated of the room in which he lives. Differing, like the students themselves, in minor points of develop- ment, the rooms are always identical in their general plan. Exefimpli gratid: Most prominent to the eye, on entering, is a huge gilt paste- board emblem, fastened on the wall be- tween the windows, of the' secret society to which the occupant of the room be- longs. By the aid of an ingenious jack- knife this device is oftentimes carved on the outer door; and the apartment thus consecrated to. ,. Chi-Phi" or , Psi-Up- silon" is held by the society in a kind of tenancy in tail special, by what might be called an inchoate right of door. On the side wall sometimes- hangs a pair of foils, suggestively crossed, with pendant masks, and perhaps a set of boxing-gloves; two or three large en- gravings also, with frames, and half a dozen smaller ditto, without; a few country-made photographs of mild-eyed damsels impaled on nails, and a more 2I page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] pretentious one of , my brother the Captain." It being facetiously claimed that col- leges are instituted for purposes of study, the college student is always pos- sessed of from twenty to one hundred books, which, collectively, he calls his library. This varies very- much with the character of the student. If he has the reputation of being lazy, a full sup- ply of the classics is ostentatiously dis- played, the -translations to the same being preserved from the dust in the lower bureau drawer. If his standing for piety is represented on the books of the faculty by the algebraic symbol x = an unknown quantity, you will notice that ,the selection of theological works is ex- tensive and-borrowed. In all cases three or four big lexicons may be found lying carelessly on the centre-table, ready for immediate use, while in the midst of this philological barricade is a neat-looking cigar box, which promises Partagas to the eye, but fulfills only Killikinick to the taste; and flanking it are half a dozen dirty pipes, each one the dirtiest of the lot, like the various superlatives of the Greek AyaOo;. In a room substantially answering this description, at Aristotle College, in a May twilight of the year 1862, a group of half a dozen Seniors was gathered to smoke a pipe apiece and discuss their approaching graduation. Four were seated around' the table, with their feet thereupon, their chairs tipped back and hypothetical meerschaums at their lips, diligently offering burnt sacrifices to their patron saint, and mounting in pro- spective on smoke-wreaths to unattain- able castles in some ever-receding Spain. At the window sat another, upon whose face unctuous good-nature seemed striv- ing with a certain sanctimonious gravity for the controlling expression. The last one of the party lay stretched out on the bed, with his feet elevated on the foot- board and his eyes fixed soberly on the ceiling. Smoking is a serious business with students, and there was silence in the room for the space of half a minute. , I say, fellers!" abruptly exclaimed the loafer on the bed, rolling over so as to face his companions, , where are we all going, and what are we going to do with ourselves: that's-what I'd like to know?" ,Answer for yourself, Sam," said a voice from out the smoke, ,and then pass it round." , Very well," began Sam, , I am not going to do anything-" ,s You never did," interrupted the smoker. , Dry up! I mean this summer. In the fall I am going to New York to study law and practice it in that city." In turn each pronounced his horo- scope, and last of all the one by the window was called upon to speak. , Now, Dunning," said he on the bed, who had been called Sam, ,let's hear you prognosticate. Will you devote the learning attained from our Alma Maler to keeping a faro-bank or running an ice-cart?" it I would devote myself to the task of reforming you, O incorrigible joker'! if there was the slightest chance of suc- cess," replied Dunning, in a rich, mellow tone, in perfect keeping with his unctu- ous aspect. - 4In the mean time, I am going-to enter the Theological Seminary next October, and when I graduate from thence I propose to preach the gospel." E"A healthy old preacheryou'll make!" said Sam. , I could preach your gown right off of you!" it You!" retorted Dunning, derisively. cWhy you are nothing but a universal skeptic, making fun of everything." " I'm not," said Sam, indignantly. is If everybody who likes fun is a skep- tic, what are you yourself, Frank Dun- ning? The trouble is, you study the- ology more than you do religion, and you get as narrow-minded as a Jew, and won't admit that anything good can come out of Nazareth;" and he threw himself back on the pillow with a wrath- ful grunt. , Don't tear your coat-sleeves out, Sam," said Dunning, laughing gleefully, , or I'll think I hit you pretty hard." ,C Hard!-as your head," said Sam, who had worked himself into quite a state of indignation. i"I can write as good a sermon as you, and every bit as orthodox!" is Well, if you will, I'll preach it," said Dunning, laughing heartily. , You will?" asked Sam, sitting up suddenly. i I'll hold you to that. If I write a sermon, you will preach it, eh?" , I am to have the privilege of over- looking it, to see that you don't put in any slang or quote Co-ca-che-lunk? Yes." ,c When shall it be?" asked Sam. , Not till I take orders, at any rate," replied Dunning. , Suppose we leave it to George Graves, and when he appoints the time we will both abide by it." ,Agreed!" , Will you act as umpire, George?" it-If one of you will stop talking long enough to let the other tell me what you are blowing about, perhaps I will," said the smoker addressed. ,c Well, then," said Dunning, , the case is this: Sam Tickler thinks he can write as good a sermon as I. I doubt it, and in order to give his undiscovered genius a chance to soar, I promise, if he will write one-original, orthodox and twenty minutes long-that I will preach it. He accepts this offer, and we pro- pose to make you referee to decide when the sermon shall be finished by him and preached by me; and we pledge our- selves, when you notify us, to fulfill each our part of the arrangement." "Amen," said Tickler. ,All right," said Graves; and the. conversation turned on some other sub- ject. Imperceptibly the noisy raillery died away and the jesting relapsed into silence. Thicker and faster the smoke- wreaths rise till they become veritable pillars of cloud, through which no eye can see; and the room and the students slowly fade away, to take their places amid the ghostly memories which haunt the catacombs of the brain. II. WHAT a convenient and ever-present subject for pathos is the illimitable flight of Time, as it sweeps, past suns and stars and planets, into the receptacle prepared in intangible space for immate- rial verities! Many a Pegasus that has sought :to soar above the Aonian mount till he dwindled it to a molehill is fain at last to halt for a brief nibble at this luxuri- ant pasturage. It has furnished the peonies and sun- flowers of rhetoric to many a barren pen. It has fired with eloquence many a lover's tongue when wooing a tardy mis- tress to name the fatal-I mean, happy- day. And it enables me to state, with the epigrammatic perspicuity of the play-bill, that ,five years are supposed to have elapsed between the first and second chapters." The venue of this chapter is laid in a lawyer's office in New York, where the reader is subpoenaed to appear and wit- ness. The most interesting thing to be witnessed is Sam Tickler, sobered down from the student to the man, industri- ously laboring in the labyrinth of the law. The frosts of five summers have not silvered his brow, though we will hope the practice of three winters lv: greenbacked his pockets. To him enter- ing, a form darkened the doorway, like unto himself in point of transformation and maturity. t, Hello, George Graves! Old chum, I'm glad to see you! Where do you hail from?" , From Buffalo," was the reply, as Graves returned the cordial grasp of the hand and repaid with warmth the wel- coming sparkle of the eye. The meeting of two college class- mates in the great vast of life is like that of two ships at sea on a long and lonely voyage. Business and discipline are forgotten. For a time they drift idly from their course. Thoughts of home and old companions make the air fragrant. Eager questions are asked and answered. Memories of bygone days stir up the warm depths of the heart, and leave it green with the old-time freshness for many a day to come. The reminiscences of Graves and Sam page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] Tickler would not bear repeating. One by one, old companions were resurrected, and information concerning them ex- changed. At length Dunning's name was mentioned. -i He is settled for the present," said Graves, ,cat a little village in the Che- mung Valley, which goes by the eupho- nious name of Ratville. I saw him about a month ago. He is just as jolly and undignified as ever-only a trifle more so--and growing fatter every day ." , I haven't seen him," said Tickler, "for over two years. I would like to take a look at .his countenance." , He told me," replied Graves, c that he expected to be in New York the middle of May: this is the first week in April. You know he's got a flame here? Nice girl, I guess-daughter of Rev. Dr. Somebody, up town. Frank is going to spread himself in pa-in-law's pulpit. Sam, do you remember the agreement you and Frank made about a sermon you were going to write for him? You left it to me to' say when it should come off. Now I've got a nice rig on both of you. , By virtue of the authority in me vested,' I appoint the occasion when he fills the Doctor's pulpit." ," For Heaven's sake," said Sam, :4 don't talk such nonsense." ; But it isn't nonsense," persisted Graves. , You pledged your word not to back out, and I'm going to hold you to it." "You're not in earnest?" said Sam, imploringly. ., I can't write a sermon." di You can now as well as you could then," said Graves. 4 No go, old fel- low! I'll write to Dunning this instant." So he sat down at Tickler's desk, took a sheet of the office paper and troduced the following epistle i "AW OFFICE OF TICKLER & STUPHEN, No. 2o Nassau street, NEW YORK, Apiril 4, 1867. ( DEAR FRANK: ,Do you still remember the com- pact you and Sam Tickler entered into just before we graduated, by which he agreed to write a sermon, which you agreed to preach; the time and place of performance to be designated by me? I have notified Sam of my decision, and he cheerfully (?) accepts it. I appoint the occasion of your visit to New York next month, and the day that on which you are to preach for Dr. What's-his- name. No backing out. They tell me you are rather tender on the Doctor's daughter, eh? By-by, old boy. Sam sends his love. , Your old friend and class-mate, "GEORGE GRAVES."* We must remember that ministers- especially young ones-are but mortal, and excuse the carnal wrath which Dun- ning felt on receipt of this letter. I do not believe he found language adequate to express his feelings. As Graves had suggested, he was very tenderly disposed toward the Doctor's daughter, and had hoped to improve this opportunity very much to his advancement. Animated by this' desire, he was already glowing with inspiration on the efficacy of sacra- mental grace--one of'the old gentleman's hobbies-and nightly spouted well-turned sentences to imaginary auditors in the silence of his room. But here was a ruthless invader who smote all his fine air-castles -to smithereens! This ser- mon which might make his fortune must be thrust aside for a dish-water produc- tion, that would be an insult to the audi- ence and ruin him for ever with the crit- ical and exacting divine. With all his worldliness, however, Dunning was too conscientious to break his word; and though he felt as if he were signing his own death-warrant, he wrote Tickler that he would keep his pledge. Although he had no personal interest at stake, Sam was as much disconcerted at the turn of affairs as Frank Dunning himself. ," Thus it is," he exclaimed, ic that the follies of our youth rise up and sit in judgment on our maturer years!" (He was just twenty-seven.) Once in a while the thought entered his mind of backing squarely down and confessing a failure. But pride held him fast, and the thought of Dunning's triulmph ban- ished the idea. ,4 What shall I do?" be asked him- self, argumentatively. c How shall I begin? I am not posted in doctrine. I don't know anything of theology. I wish I could think of some way to solve :he question!" But while he tried to think, time passed and the month of May came. Next week Dunning would be in town. But one Sunday intervened before the fatal day. - A cold chill ran all over Sam. It was Saturday night. The shades of a dull May evening were settling over the city, but he still sat in his office brooding over his skeleton, as he called it, and fairly getting desperate. Some- thing must be done, and that forthwith. Picking up a pencil, Tickler put his disconnected thoughts on the paper be- fore him in the same idle spirit which often tempts men in perplexity to do something with their hands. He did not write out his ideas, but jotted them down in short-hand, and the-queer little figures, in the gathering gloom, seemed transformed into grotesque gymnasts performing all manner of fantastic feats. He had partially learned the art in col- lege, and afterward, finding it very use- ful, had perfected himself therein. In many a tight pinch phonography had helped him aforetime, but it could not aid him now. Why not? With the question came the solution of his difficulty. He was out of the woods! Short-hand for ever! With a wonderful change of feeling, Sam jumped up and went home; first, how- ever, carefully stowing away in one pocket a box of pencils and in the other ,his note-book. The next morning Sam sallied forth to purloin a sermon. I may as well confess the truth at once that his pretty intimate knowledge of New York did not extend to its churches. He had a vague idea of the various denomina- tions, but, if questioned very closely, would have been compelled to ,give it up." Without knowing where to go, he strolled down Broadway, and, un- consciously turning into Twenty-third street, paused before the brown stone sanctity of St. Vitus'. ,This is as good as any," he said to himself, and entered its sumptuous por- tals. Modestly seeking the gallery, he found a quiet corner near to the pulpit, and there, in due time, he transferred to his note-book the sermon which -the venerable pastor pronounced. It was flat burglary no doubt. and should be classed among offences punishable without benefit of clergy; but success, like the mantle of charity, covers a multitude of sins in our day, and nobody is a criminal till he is found out. * By the next afternoon he had it copied off. On Wednesday, Dunning made his appearance to demand Sam's sermon, hoping devoutly in his secret heart that he would be justified in de- clining to preach it. Sam handed him the manuscript with a triumphant smile. Dunning sat down and read it through attentively. When he had finished, he drew a deep breath and looked his com- panion straight in the eyes. , Sam," he said, i" did you write that sermon?" , I did," replied Sam, promptly- ,' every word of it;" adding an aside to himself, ,That's only a white lie: he didn't ask if I composed it." , t- Well," said Dunning, honestly, , I own up. It's a better sermon than I can write, and I have devoted five years- to studying theology exclusively." it That's just where you fail, my dear boy," said Sam, with dignity. , If you would study something else-human nature, for instance-you would gain far more catholicity in your ideas and be able to preach a better sermon." Dunning shook his head with a du- bious look, and took the sermon and his leave.' Tickler was quite elated at the success of his ruse, and anxiously looked forward to the finale. While dressing for church on Sunday morning, he stopped suddenly and exclaimed, , Now, that's funny! I don't know where Frank is going to preach. I never heard the Doctor's name. I won- der who can tell me? 'I guess Gibson can." He met Gibson on his doorstep. "Certainly I know," said he; ,I am page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] going there now. Come along--we're late." They walked rapidly down town, in animated conversation, Sam paying no attention to their route, till Gibson said, , Here we are," and Sam looked up and beheld with horror the exoteric magnifi- cence of St. Vitus'. it Not here!" he exclaimed, catching Gibson fiercely by the arm. ,i Yes, here," said Gibson, shaking him off. i"Why not?" Tickler sprang up the steps three at a time and ruslied into the church. He must see Dunning before the services began. Alas! it was too late! Frank stood at the desk, reading the lesson for the day. The benevolent Doctor sat beaming on him from behind, while his blushing daughter beamed on him from in front. Sam felt as if there were beams in both his eyes. "Is your friend ill?" whispered the sexton to Gibson as he gave them a seat. ,Something seems to be the matter with him," replied Gibson, isand I should say he's got it bad." What the services that day consisted of, Tickler never knew. He was con- scious of but one petition: ,From all evil and mischief; good Lord, deliver us!"And he made the response so fervently that he startled the entire congregation. i"Only get me out of this scrape," he murmured inwardly, ,and I solemnly vow I never will play another practical joke." At length the hymn was ended; the choir resumed their interrupted flirta- tions; the congregation settled down to be interested or edified, and Dunning, with grave dignity, ascended the pulpit, announced and read his text. The pas-, tor, sitting in the chancel, allowed a faint smile to flutter round his lips as he thought inwardly, is If the boy knew that was my last Sunday's text, he would not be so willing to preach on it." Utterly oblivious to all this, Dunning plunged into the merits of his discourse boldly and with confidence. As one fa- miliar sentence after another fell from his lips, the smile faded from the Doc- tor's countenance, and he bent his head to assure himself that he was not mis- taken. Then he grasped the arms of his chair and leaned slightly forward, listening in breathless attention. In a few minutes the sexton recognized the familiar style, and compared notes with his assistant. One by one the pillars of the congregation made the like discovery, and whispered it to their wives, and nodded an affirmation to the inquiring look of the brother across the aisle. The Doctor's daughter, too, sat in blank amazement, her whole face crimson at the inexplicable fraud, while Dunning, in happy unconsciousness, thundered into the ears of the congregation the saving lessons of his sermon. Not one of these things escaped the eye of Tickler, to whose pricking con- science the shirt of Nessus was incom- parable. And when Dunning wound up with the Doctor's powerful peroration, Sam mentally ran over all the quotations he could think of having reference to hiding-places, beginning with the it rocks and caves " that he desired to fall upon him, and ending with an application for the lease of ,a lodge in some vast wilderness." "I. THE congregation took a long time to disperse that day, for each one had something to say on the general subject, for surely it was as mystical as the veriest gossip could desire. The more Tickler thought upon his freak, the more uncomfortable he felt at its possible con- sequences. Even if Dunning should tell the truth as far as he knew it, it was doubtful if the Doctor would believe him. Looking at it which way he would, the only feasible plan seemed to be to go to the Doctor and confess the whole thing at once. Tickler and his companion had been walking in perfect silence since they left the church. When he had fully made up his mind, Tickler looked up and found they were near the Reservoir. 4 Where does the Doctor live?" he asked, abruptly. ,What doctor?" asked Gibson in return. , Why, where we've been to church, of course," said Sam, testily. s Oh! Dunning's doctor? He lives in Twenty-ninth street, near Lexington avenue. Why?" s, Nothing particular; only I want to see him." , What for? Hold on!" s, Can't. Good-day!" -and Tickler turned and disappeared down the avenue. Although the direction was somewhat obscure, he soon found the house, and was informed that the Doctor was in his library. it Please show me up immediately-- my business is important." The scene which met Tickler's eye was not calculated to make his task any easier. In the centre of the room stood the Doctor, his tall. form appearing Titan- like in His majestic anger. His face, tired with uncommon wrath," was set with unrelenting sternness, and his eyes flashed with a very unpleasant light. In front of-we might almost say beneath -him, sat his pretty daughter in a timid, shrinking way, trying feebly to stem the torrent of her father's displeasure. ,isWhat concern is it of yours, H should like to know, that you are trying to-excuse this piece of knavery?" said the Doctor, severely. Tickler walked boldly into the room. , I beg your pardon, sir," he said, ,'for this intrusion, but an occurrence took place at your church this morning which needs explanation." i I quite agree with you," said the Doctor, icily. ,Pray, sir, has Mr. Dunning sent you to me to palliate his offence?" it Mr. Dunning is not aware that I am here, and is equally ignorant that he has committed any offence," said Sam, calmly. ,cAnd as I am the only person who can explain the affair, with your permission I will do so." If Sam had needed any inspiration to make him ingenuous, the pleading looks of the young lady had been enough. The Doctor, with unrelenting dignity, motioned him to proceed. Beginning, as has my- narrative, with the account of the sportive challenge in college, Sam made a clean breast of the. whole!matter, not sparing himself, but telling the whole truth; at the same time presenting as strongly as possible the ludicrous side of the picture, and giving a very graphic account of his startling discovery at the church door. When he had finished he stopped. The Doctor mused a few momerls, with an impassive face, it Yours is a very improbable story, sir," he said at length. "What arguments can you offer to attest its credibility?" "The still greater-I might say, the utter-improbability of your sermon be- ing taken intentionally to be preached in your pulpit," said Sam, eagerly. The same shadow of a smile which we saw before on the Doctor's face swept over it again. He was evidently begin- ning to relish the joke. , This is cer- tainly a very singular explanation," he said. , So singular an occurrence neces- sitates it," replied Sam. The servant knocked at the door: -"Mr. Dunning is in the parlor, sir, and would like to see you." it Show him up." -c I am confident," said Sam, anxious to speak a good word for his friend, " that Dunning has come to tell you he did not write that sermon. He is too honest to deceive any one." i Suppose you step behind that cur- tain," said the old gentleman, his sense of fun beginning to overcome his dis- pleasure, ,and let me hear what he has to say for himself." Dunning entered, and, just casting a glance at the young lady, addressed her father : "Ever since the service, Doctor, my mind has misgiven me, and I have come to ask you if I have done wrong. The sermon I preached this morning was not my own." , Not your own!" said the Doctor. is May I inquire who did write it?" ,s It was the -result of a foolish chat page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] lenge when I was in college," replied Frank, , and was written by an old class- mate, now a lawrer in this city." , Don't you .hink it displayed re- markable knowledge of doctrinal points for a layman?" asked the Doctor. , Yes, sir," said Dunning, ,but my friend was always noted in college for his brilliant talents, and he, knew a little of everything." The Doctor greeted this remark with a hearty laugh: c Now, Mr. -- (I don't remember your name), let us hear your views on this subject." Thus commanded, Tickler, looking very shamefaced, made his appearance. Dunning fell back a step in mute astonishment. , Now, sir," said the Doctor, in a slightly ironical tone, , will you oblige me by informing Mr. Dunning who did write that sermon?" Blushing deeply, but without uttering a word, Tickler pointed to the elder clergyman. Dunning looked at him in blank be- wilderment. , The explanation of all this, my young friend," said the Doctor, , is, that your friend couldn't write a sermon; so he visited my church last Sabbath and took mine, which he gave you as his own. When he found out what had come of it, to save you, he called on me and ac- knowledged it, like a man." , I am very sure, sir," said Dunning, looking at Sam reproachfully, c that I didn't do it from choice, for I had a ser- mon prepared on the efficacy of sacra- mental grace, which I pledge you my word is original." , Well, well," said the Doctor, , I don't blame you for what you couldn't help ;?" and he turned to speak to Tickler. Meanwhile, the young lady, whose nerves had been much wrought upon by her father's anger, gave way to the re- vulsion of her feelings. The tears would come, and she walked to the window to conceal them. , Dunning followed her quickly. ,c We had a stormy time before your friend came in," she whispered. it And I am sure father suspects something about us, but it wouldn't do to tell him now.." Dunning glanced over his shoulder: they were partially hid by the curtain, and the Doctor stood with his back to- ward them; so he gently stole his arm about the slender waist of the daughter and whispered words of encouragement and hope. The old gentleman seemed to have recovered his good-humor amazingly. , You young Americans are tod fast for me," he said, laughing: -,you steal my sermons, and you"--he turned toward Dunning--, well, I should say you were stealing my daughter." "It's too late: he has seen us," whispered Frank, catching her by the hand. , Come, let us speak out." " I did not mean to steal her, Doctor," he said, , though I confess I am but a poor equivalent, anid this is not perhaps the time to ask so great a boon at your hands; but"-his voice choked a little- , we couldn't help it." The Doctor shook his head with a quizzical expression. 6, I sha'n't give my consent," he said, ,c till I know what view you take of the efficacy of sacramental grace. In the mean time," as a bell tinkled below, , come down, both of you, and take din- ner with me." S. WATKINS TUTTLE. THE SHADOW OF FATE. "H ORRIBLE! horrible!"I ex- claimed, folding the paper and fanning myself. ," What is the world coming to? and why doesn't the stage- coach arrive? Dear me! why did I buy this abominable paper?"I looked at it remorsefully. It was an illustrated affair that I had purchased in mistake. One might imagine, from a glance at its fero- cious wood-cuts, that one half the world was murdering the other half. There was Miss Sinclair stabbing her false- hearted lover, St. George de Vivian; Mr. Snaggs throwing his twelve children down a well, with Mrs. Snaggs loom- ing up in the distance in an attitude of prayer; Herr Boldy, the bigamist, drown- ing himself to save his body from the onslaughts of his six wives, who stand on the bank of the river; Miss Amelia Snoggin poisoning her aged mother to get that yellow bardge dress; Miss Ann McRay, shooting her third husband for. turning up just after she had married the fourth; Miss Poldoody butchering her entire family with an axe; tw6 aged ladies blown out of their bed by a charge of gunpowder, placed under it by their ungrateful adopted child, etc. All this' and a great deal more served to enchant rme at the little inn while awaiting the arrival of the stage. I was in no enviable frame of mind. I had just left the grave of a friend, and was hastening home to rest, for I was not strong, and the scene I had, passed through affected me considerably. I felt nervous and unwell: I could not banish from my mind the particulars of my un- fortunate friend's death. He had been murdered- handsome, warm-hearted, accomplished George Her- bert-just after he had been married six months and retired to the family estate to devote the rest of his existence to his wife. I was sitting one day in my office in New York, thinking of George-for we were dear friends-when suddenly he entered. \ "I thought you were at the Grange?" I said. it I left there two days ago," he replied. "What are you doing here?"I asked. -I My wife's birth-day will occur next week," he said gayly, , and I have come to New York to see you and buy her a present-something handsome," he add- ed. -c I have drawn a large sum from bank, and-" At this moment I was called away, and George, seeing me busy, passed out, saying, ,I will return directly.'.' He did note however, return, and the next morning I received the news that a dead body had been picked up in the North river. It was George Herbert, robbed and murdered! No clue to the murderer could be ob- tained. I took the body to the broken- hearted wife, and remained a day after the last sad services had been performed; and now, with a heavy heart, I was leav- ing the lonely house and returning to New York. I felt that the impression of the scene would never leave my mind. The cursed newspaper seemed to be- wilder my already over-excited imagina- tion still more, and I took a drink from my pocket flask to revive my drooping spirits. ,What can keep the coach?"I muttered. The day was exceedingly warm, the sky painfully blue, without the vestige of a cloud to give it motion. The silence which prevailed filled me with melancholy. A crow (bird of evil omen!) flew croaking over my head. Every- thing seemed to contribute to depress my spirits, and I turned with an impa- tient sigh and began walking to and fro. The dusty, yellow, rutted road stretched vacantly out of sight, and the trees seemed to languish under the oppression of the cheerless brightness of the day. Again and again, notwithstanding my efforts to avoid' it, my thoughts would return to my -murdered friend. His page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] death was enveloped in mystery. My only solution of it was, that he had been seen to draw the money from the bank, had been decoyed to some lonely place, where he was, robbed and murdered, and his body thrown into the river, The de- tectives could not discover the perpe- trator of the deed. d"It is too late now,!' I murmured: t the murderer of George Herbert will never be discovered." The crow, which had perched upon a tree, seemed to comprehend my words, for with a contemptuous croak it flew off, leaving me to watch it until it be- came a mere speck in the sky, when I resumed my meditative promenade, until at last the sound of wheels attracted my attention. ,ithe coach at last!"I murmured, and my eye fell upon the paper-fell upon this paragraph, in an- article de- scribing the murder of George: "At the same time the hearse arrived, and the body of the unfortunate man--" I read no farther. i Psh aw!"I exclaimed, and thrust the paper into my pocket. But as I listened an indescribable something in the sound of the distant wheels remind- ed me of the hearse which had yester- day borne my friend to his grave. I am not superstitious, but I am easily im- pressed, and the idea was unpleasant. I endeavored to shake it off. A moment after the coach turned the bend in the road. As it approached, I looked care- lessly at the driver. Surely I had seen that face before; but where? The coach stopped at the inn. ', Good-morning," said the driver, with a grim smile: , down our way?" My heart jumped into my throat. , Don't remember me, do you?" con- tinued the man. di It was my day off, yesterday-" I remembered all now. This man was the driver of the hearse which had taken my friend to his last rest. t Is there--is there-no other stage to-day?"I stammered, instinctively re- coiling. cNo." I--I suppose, then--" , What are we waiting for, driver?" asked a voice from the coach. it Whoa! whoa!" exclaimed the driver, excitedly, for his horses seemed exceed- ingly restless. , jump in, sir, if you're coming: we haven't a moment to spare." I obeyed, but in doing so was thrown violently against a passenger by the sudden starting of the coach. , Pardon, sir," I murmured as I en- deavored to straighten my battered hat. "All right, all right!" said a jovial voice: , accidents are common. Yours, sir?" and he picked up the newspaper, which had fallen from my pocket. i"Yes." it Will you permit me-?" ,uCertainly." He glanced over the paper, smiling as he read. it Nothing new, nothing new," he said. I paid little attention to him until I heard his voice, reading, in a half-laugh- ing tone, ,4At the same time the hearse arrived, andthe body of the unfortunate man--' I laid my hand on his arm. , No more," I said, nervously. - I have just left the grave of a dear friend who was buried yesterday, and-" A harsh laugh frobm the driver caused me to shrink back and close my eyes involuntarily. As I did so, the funeral cortege glided before me as in a dream, so vividly that I could not disabuse my mind of the belief that I was not in a stage-coach, but in a hearse. As rapidly the idea passed, arid I heard my com- panion apologizing for his thoughtless- ness, as he called it. "Will you permit me?" he said, drawing a flask from his pocket and presenting it. ,Thank you, sir, and, in return, allow me to offer you mine. Going to New York?" He laughed merrily. - Oh; no," he replied. c I am going to- That is, I shall turn off and make a tour in an opposite direction." ,You look like a New Yorker," I said. He was a' medium-sized, well-built man, with that peculiarly dashing, showy appearance which seems to specially be- long to New Yorkers. , Yes," he said, with an air of easy familiarity, it I was born there, but am going abroad--going abroad for my health," he added, laughing at his jest. He laughed particularly well, with a mirthful look that was contagious. , How long will you remain?"I asked. , I don't know," he replied. , I am desirous of leaving at once, but I may be detained-I can't say," shrugging his shoulders, , but I hope not. America is a charming place, and I hate like the devil to leave it; but a change of air and scene will do me good; so I make the trip." He paused for a moment, and then added: , Your face is familiar. I beg pardon, but is not your name Hawkins?" , No; Rawdon," I replied-, Henry Rawdon." , You are evidently a physician?" , I am." , Have you resided long in New York?" , Yes, a number of years. What is the matter with your thumb?" It was wrapped in a piece of cloth, and several times, when the coach had jolted over the rough road, he had ac- cidentally struck his hand against the panels, and uttered between his teeth some formula which sounded like an oath. He smiled at my question. He smiled continually, and seemed to be very fond of it. ,A dog bit me," he observed. , Let me see," I said, unwrapping the cloth. ,4 Oh," he cried as I touched it. ,Ah!" I said, on beholding the thumb severely bitten and much in- flamed--, a dog-bite?" He smiled as usual, and said, , Yes." ,Are you not mistaken?" , Mistaken?" , Yes. These marks of teeth don't look like those of a dog." He drew his hand from me with his everlasting smile. ', Wrong, doctor, wrong!" he said. I looked at him in surprise. , My dear sir," I began, , I beg to assure you that I am-" The coach stopped. , All right, ma'am!"I heard the driver say, endeavoring to restrain his restive horses--, plenty of room." I opened the door, and assisted a: lady in black, deeply veiled, to enter. c, Mr. Rawdon!" she exclaimed. ,-My name!"I ejaculated, " Yes," she replied, raising her veil. It was Mrs. Herbert! c, I thought you were at the Grange?" I said, for after the funeral she had left the lonely manor- for the farm, some miles below, with a friend. , I have been," she answered, "but I received this letter from the detective, requesting me to start immediately for New York, and, knowing you would pass this afternoon, determined to ask you to accompany me." ", With pleasure," I replied, and was about to examine the letter she had given me, when she laid her hand upon my arm. , We are not alone," she said in a low voice. I half turned and regarded the stran- ger, who, with his back toward us, was looking carelessly out of the window. I thrust the letter into my pocket, saying I would read it hereafter. The stranger, who had been using the newspaper I had lent him as a fan, now turned and politely offered it as such to Mrs. Herbert. She thanked him and took it, but as she did so paused: her eyes seemed riveted on the paper, and in an inarticu- late voice, with her hand pointing, she whispered, i"See! see!" I loolked, and, as if fatality itself iiad indicated the paragraph, I read- '4At the same time the hearse arrived, and the body of the unfortunate mant-" She cast the paper from her with a bitter cry: i"George! George!" "Madam, H-" began the stranger. ,c Hush," I said, softly: it he was her husband." , Murdered?" he exclaimed, evident- ly much shocked.' page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] is Yes." is And the murderer not discovered?" "Not yet." it But soon will be, I suppose?" , I hope so." ic And the letter--" he continued. I looked at him in some surprise. , Not having read it," I replied, "I do not know its contents." He drew back, and after a moment's hesitation, remained silent. I turned to Mrs. Herbert. , We shall reach the station in time for the eight o'clock train," I remarked. -"When shall we reach New York?" she asked with feverish impatience. it We have a good day's journey." "So long?" she murmured - " so long?" Silence fell upon us. Time and the coach rolled on rapidly. The road was rough, and as evening ap- proached the driver's voice grew louder and louder in expostulations with the horses. Our speed gradually became slow- er, and, on my looking out to ascertain the reason, my companion informed me we were ascending a steep hill. The sharp cracks of the whip repeated themselves among the surrounding ridges. The wheels creaked, the horses labored, the driver encouraged. The summit was reached, and we commenced the descent. The heavy coach now rolled on with hardly an effort from the horses. Re- lieved of their drawhack, they became capricious, then the brake gave way, and it required all the driver's skill to prevent their dashing off in a mad race. I was about to question the rapidity of our descent, when, with a sudden lurch, the coach overturned. When I became conscious, I heard the driver at the coach-door inquiring if I was hurt. i No," I murmured, scrambling out: , where is Mrs. Herbert?" i"Safe," he replied. She was seated upon a rock near by, the stranger beside her. is Where are the horses?"I asked. "They're off, sir. Snapped the har- ness before I'd time to pick myself up and stop 'em, and the next inn is two mile from here. You'll have to walk, sir, as there'll not be another team to- night." sc Let us hasten, then," said Mrs. Herbert, overhearing our conversation. ,The sun is sinking rapidly, and it will be night before we reach the inn." ,tHere's your paper, sir," said the driver. , I don't want it," I said, hastily. He thrust it in his pocket, and, secur- ing the mail-bag, remarked, , Follow me: I'll take the shortest way;" then hur- ried on. Obtaining our portmanteaus, and offer- ing my arm to Mrs. Herbert, we silently followed. The golden skies gradually deepened to the tender blue of a summer night, and the first rays of the full moon glinted through the shadowy trees, and made luminous the forest path, while the wind, low and sweet, murmured amongst the foliage, adding to the mystery of the scene. "How lonely!" murmured Mrs. Her- bert, clinging to me. , Courage, courage! We will soon arrive at the inn," I said. "Do not fear," she answered; , I am full of courage. I am firm in the belief that the murderer of George will be dis- covered. Something tells me that he cannot escape. Last night I dreamed- oh, so vividly!--that George appeared to me, saying, Follow me! follow mne!' And in my dream I arose and went after him, until we came to what seemed to be a dark, lonely house. , Enter: he is there!' he said, and I was about to do so when I awoke." : In the dim moonlight I could see her eyes were filled with tears. , You must not allow such dreams to work upon your feelings," I said. , Re- member, they are simply the results of an overexcited mind." , It was so vivid, so real!" she said, shuddering with uncontrollable emotion. , O George, my poor murdered husband, my own love, my life! I will search for your assassin, yea, though long years pass before he is discovered." The cheery voice of the stranger, striding ahead with the guide, burst into merry laughter, which echoed through the silent woods. -t Who is that man?" asked Mrs. Herbert, suddenly. it I don't know," I replied, ,but he is evidently a light-hearted, clever fellow. Calm yourself, dear Mrs. Herbert: do not give way to this useless agitation. Everything possible will be done to dis- cover George's assassin ; but I must tell you, frankly, that I fear there is no hope. The mystery in which the affair is en- veloped seems impenetrable." She did not reply, and seemed buried in reflection. A half hour's walk brought us to the inn, a small wooden house, irregular, picturesque and covered with ivy, and surmounted with a sort of cupola, in which- hung a bell. The occupants of the house-the landlord, his wife and daughter-were at the door awaiting our arrival. Our driver hailed him. He came forward, saying he expected us, having seen the horses dash past. it Supper is ready," he added, leading the way into the house; ,and if the lady- Your wife, sir?" i"No." , Perhaps the lady would like a cup of tea? Your sister, sir?" , No." i We can give the lady some muffins or pancakes, and- Your cousin, sir?" ,Not my cousin. Bring some tea and toast." t Will your niece have green or black, sir?" ". Not my niece.-. Mixed." ("Perhaps," said the landlady, with a touch of malice at my refusal to satisfy curiosity---,perhaps your-your mother would like something warm?" "Bring us a good supper, and be quick about it," said the stranger. The voice of the driver in the kitchen was heard calling for something to eat. The landlord and his wife departed, while the daughter, a pretty girl of eighteen, removed Mrs. Herbert's bonnet and shawl and ministered to her comfort. The stranger stood by the door in the 3 clear moonlight, evidently wrapped in contemplation of the scene. ,What is the meaning of a bell up there?" he asked, addressing the land- lord, who was passing, and pointing to the belfry. ,i It was here when I came," the land- lord answered, ,and we use it for various things--principally to ring the -cattle home. The rope runs down into this room," he added, pointing to an apart- ment opposite the one in which were Mrs. Herbert and myself. ,Ah, yes," said the stranger, and the landlord passed on. Mrs. Herbert sank' wearily in a chair. , I have.- a presentiment of evil," she said. ," Why?"I asked. , I know not, lut I am strangely low- spirited." cWhat has become of your boasted courage?"I said, smiling. She shook her head sadly. ,Gone, I fear: my heart is heavy, and I feel like one in a dream. Why did the stage break down? Why did we come to this lonely place? There seems to be something strange, some- thing ominous in it all, as if some in- visible Power had brought us here." ,cAre you superstitious?"I asked. , No," she replied; , but since my husband's death I feel as if I were sur- rounded by invisible beings. They do not terrify me, but seem to be leading me on, as if directing my steps in search of George's murderer." , This is folly," I exclaimed, losing patience. ,Let me feel your pulse. Whew! I don't wonder you talk in this wild way: your pulse is running like a race-horse. This won't do at all: you must compose -yourself and give up these fancies. A cup of tea and a night's rest will do you good." , Would that morning were here!" she murmured. , Then I -" She was interrupted by the entrance of the landlord with supper. The meal was soon over. As the large, old-fashioned clock Ain the corner struck nine, Mrs. Herbert said to me, in a low voice, page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] , I must speak with you before I retire." The room was empty. The landlord was in the kitchen adjoining, talking with the driver, and my companion of the stage-coach was walking in the moonlight at the front of the house. , Read the letter," she continued. ,c What letter?" it The one I gave you this morning." I put my hand in my pocket. The letter was gone! There was a moment of suspense. it I have lost it!"I exclaimed. it Lost it?" it Yes. In the overturning of the coach it must have slipped out of my pocket. Why are you so agitated?"I asked. ,Because it contained a description of the murderer." ," You can get another copy on your arrival in New York. It was simply sent for your information: of course you could make no practical use of it." She did not reply. I regarded her earnestly. is Why do you not speak?" -, Because-" she answered vehe- mently, then paused. ,But no: since the description is lost, it is useless." , What do you mean?"I cried. , To-morrow I will tell you. And now, good-night." , Stop!"I said. - I cannot let you go thus. Explain your meaning." , Wait till to-morrow." ,i If there is anything I should know, why not tell me at once?" , Because -" Well?" , Do not urge me. I will not speak until to-morrow." She turned to the landlord's daughter, who had entered, and they left the apart- ment together. ,You and the -other gentleman will room together,"' said the landlady at my elbow; -,and whenever you want to retire-" ,c I will go now," I interrupted. - This way, sir," said she--, this way, sir. I hope your---your mother enjoyed her tea?" ,She is not my mother," I said, sharply. 't Oh!" uttered the landlady, completely mystified. I gave a parting glance at the solitary figure in the moonlight, and followed the woman up the stairs. , This is your lady-friend's room," said the landlady, maliciously, as we passed a door marked No. I. , Yours and the other gentleman's is No. 2, right opposite." She opened the door as she spoke, and ushered me into a neat, pretty little room in which were two cots- one behind the door, the other -beside a window which overlooked the court- yard. Placing the light on the table, she bade me good-night and retired. I gazed around wearily. I felt ex- hausted, yet I knew I could not sleep, for the excitement of the day had been so powerful that I could not compose myself sufficiently to rest. Still, I re- solved to retire, and, extinguishing the candle, was about to throw myself on the cot, when the sound of voices from the room beneath attracted my attention. The window was open, and the moon- light, streaming in, filled the apartment with its strange, uncertain radiance. I listened, and as I did so a feeling of superstition crept over me, for the words, and the only words I could dis- tinguish, were- , At the same time the hearse arrived, and the body of the unfortunate man-" I drew back trembling. I knew that it was only the driver reading the account of the murder from the paper I had given him-reading it probably to the landlord-yet there seemed something supernatural about its repetition. With a vain effort at composure I threw myself on the bed and closed my eyes. Sleep would not come. I tossed restlessly and felt feverish and agitated. I arose and sat by the window, looking wearily out at the moonlit courtyard and the spectral trees, which nodded in the night breeze and seemed to murmur mysterious words to me. , Poor Mrs. Herbert!"I thought it Can she also be wakeful?" Then I recalled her strange conduct- her refusal to explain what she meant by her wild words until morning. , Her imagination has been worked up to such a pitch that if she does not have rest she will be ill," I muttered. Then I thought of George, of the funeral of the day before, until the idea became so vivid that I aroused myself with a shudder. , This will never do!"I exclaimed: ,let me make another effort to sleep." With almost a groan of weariness I again stretched myself on the cot and closed my eyes. As I did so I heard a step approach- ing, the door opened gently, and the stranger entered. ,Are you asleep?" he asked. I did not reply, as I had no desire for conversation. He advanced to the cot and waved the light he carried before my eye*. I did not move. Evidently satisfied, he went softly to the table, put the light upon it, and a moment after I heard a slight rustle of paper. I cautiously opened my eyes. His back was toward me. He was in his shirt sleeves, and as he bent over I saw he was reading something. He laughed softly and held it near the can- dle. The light flared up, and must have burnt his fingers, for he dropped the half- consumed paper on the floor, trod on it angrily and kicked it under the table. A moment after the room was dark and he was in bed, soon breathing heavily. For a short time I lay undecided what to do. Why did the apparently simple proceeding of reading and destroying a piece of paper fill me with a suspicion that something was wrong? Who was this strange mnan? He had learned my name, yet I had not discovered his. There was but one way to satisfy my suspicions. A por- tion of the paper lay unburnt under the table. I resolved to possess it. Breathlessly, I arose and glided noise- lessly to the table. Another moment and the fragment was in my hand. Yet how--how could I examine it properly without lighting the candle? Perhaps the moonlight-? I knelt by the window and eagerly scrutinized the paper. One side was blank, the other contained the following: "... florid, with a hearty laugh, .. pleasant manners. "Here the paper was so blackened that only the following could be discerned: .... derer . . . supposed . .. Canada ..." It was the lost letter! Overcome, I clung to the window: at the same time I heard the driver's voice again. It was thick, and he spoke inarticulately: he was evidently drunk. , No, sir," he said-"-i honest man, honest man-mail-bags! I know there's a heap of money-" Somebody, doubtless. the landlord, said something which irritated him, for he replied in a loud voice : "Well, what if I did! He ain't a thief! He's a gentleman! He told you to give me as much liquor as I wanted-". There was a slight pause, after which a disturbance seemed to arise. I caught the words- i I'll sleep where I am-mail-bag be- side me ;" then followed a door-shut- ting, the reflection of the light thrown on the courtyard vanished, and all was silent. I waited a few moments, and then, scarcely knowing what I was doing, be- gan dressing. The folly of the proceed- ing caused me to stop. , Pshaw," I muttered : -t why should I exaggerate the danger?" I was about to throw myself upon the bed again when the stranger tossed rest- lessly, and then spoke. Had a thunder- bolt entered the room, it could not have had as much effect upon me as his words. , Fools!" the man muttered. is Catch me, indeed? . . . Description. Murdered George Herbert! Well, what if I did . . . Struck me . . . Life, life, life! .... O Heaven! -.." He turned over with a groan, and after murmuring indistinctly, relapsed into silence. The blood rushed to my brain, and I thought I would stifle. page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] Gracious Heaven! the murderer of George lay before me! I was alone, at midnight, in the room with a criminal escaping from justice! I was unarmed. What should I do? Quickly and silently I approached the chair on which he had thrown his coat. Yes; as I suspected, I found a pistol. I was armed now, and did not fear him. I would descend, arouse the landlord, tell him all: the assassin would be cap- tured and George avenged.' Yet to reach the door I must pass his cot. What if he should wake? Even while murmuring those words I heard a movement from his bed. Instantly I shrank back to my cot. The man rose stealthily. What was he about to do? Would he murder me? Had he seen me take the pistol from his coat? If so, there was but one course. Grasping the weapon, I lay watching his movements. He dressed partially, and, advancing to the centre of the room, paused and seemned to listen. I breathed with the regularity of a sleeper. He appeared satisfied and moved toward the door. Instantly his intention flashed across my mind. He was about to murder Mrs. Herbert! He opened the door and passed out, closing it after him. I crept from the cot, and had almost reached the door when I heard a sound which chilled the blood in my veins. He had locked the door! There was not a moment to be lost. I must escape from the apartment. The only means of egress was the window. To leap from it to the ground might be fatal. What should I do? With a rope I could easily descend. The bed-sheets would mnake me one. With the strength of despair I tore them into strips, and, as fast as my trembling hands would allow me, fastened them together and tied the rope thus formed to the heavy bureau. A cold prespiration stood upon my forehead, and I breathed like a cat. "- God grant that I may be in time!"I IT VL' V I'- A L whispered, and, jclinging to the rope, I slid down noiselessly into the courtyard. The window of the room beneath was open, and the room bright with the moonlight. I looked in. Lying on the floor was the body of a man; it was the driver, drunk, the mail-bag and an over- turned bottle by his side. It would be impossible to rouse him. I climbed in and glided toward the half-open door which led to the entry, but had scarcely crossed the room when I heard the breathing of some one ap- proaching. I shrank into the shadow, clutching the pistol, and beheld the stranger enter. He advanced to the driver, laughing softly, and seemed to assure himself that the man slept. An instant afterward he held something up in the moonlight. It was a key. Rapidly he opened the bag, picked out letter after letter: at last he came to one which he tore open. There was money in it: another, more money, which he crammed into his pocket. Sud- denly he paused-for a moment remained motionless, and then approached the door in the shadow of which I was con- cealed, and closed it. The moonlight fell upon me. The man recoiled. I raised the pistol and pointed it at him. ,( You are my prisoner," I whispered. He drew a knife. ,i I mean to kill you," he hissed. , May God forgive you!"I said: s- your last moment has come." I pulled the trigger: the pistol did not fire. The man laughed. ( Fool!" he said. , you've taken my pistol. Now receive your reward!" The knife glittered wickedly in the moonlight as he crept toward me. With a stifled cry of anguish I unconsciously put one hand behind me. It touched, something: I gave a scream of triumph. My hand was on the bell-rope! , Back, villain!"I cried-" back! You are in my power!" And with superhuman strength I pulled the cord. Instantly the bell in the cupola pealed forth wildly. Clang, clang, clang it went, clear and sharp in the stillness of the night. The man seemed paralyzed. - Murderer of George Herbert," I said, , hear your death-knell!" Clang, clang, clang, went the bell. Speechless, the man glared at me like a hunted tiger. Clang, clang, clang! Clang, clang, clang! Clang, clang, clang! Without a word, with knife raised, he sprang at me! I caught the weapon as it descended, and closed with him in the struggle of life or death. He was much stronger than myself, but in that supreme Moment I seemed to be endowed with more than natural strength. i Help! help!"I called. I heard the sound of hurrying foot- steps. ," Help! help! help!" I clung to him with desperate tenaci- ty, but my strength was beginning to give way. -c He will kill me," I thought. - They will not come in time." With a rapid movement he caught me in his arms and bore me to the floor. Not a sound was uttered, but as I looked into his eyes and saw his lips writhing into a devilish smile, I felt that my last moment had come. My strength departed-my brain reeled-I beheld the knife raised-when the report of a pistol shook the room, and my opponent, with a cry, relaxed his hold and fell heavily to the floor. I turned and beheld the driver--he who had driven the hearse which con- tained the body of George Herbert to the grave-with the pistol in his hand. In the ghastly moonlight, to my excited imagination, he seemed like Death the Avenger. At the same instant the door flew open, and the landlord, followed by the people of the household, entered with lights. , What is this?" he cried, beholding the body lying on the floor. -I The murderer of George Herbert!" Mrs. Herbert stood within the door. She advanced slowly into the apartment. " Is he dead?" she asked calmly. The man raised himself with a violent effort, his fast glazing eyes endeavored to fix themselves upon the wife of his victim, his clenched hand went up wildly in a movement of agonizing -entreaty, and he made an awful effort to speak: "d God-" A shudder passed over him and he fell back dead. , Kneel," said Mrs. Herbert, her eyes, yet dim with tears for her murdered husband, filling with divine pity-i, kneel with me, and pray that his sinful soul may be forgiven." We knelt, when my eyes, as if obey- ing an invisible mandate, fell upon the hand of the corpse, which lay upon a half-opened paper, the index finger pointing. A thrill of superstitious ter- ror crept over me, for I read- ,At the same time the hearse ar- rived, and the body of the unfortunate man-" RITER FITZGERALD. page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] THE PRINCE'S SURPRISE. THE city of Canard-aux-Bois, which is the capital and chief town of the kingdom of Courcanale, was agog with excitement. Up and down its broad streets rolled stately carriages with gorgeous footmen behind and sleepy coachmen in front, oblivious under their white capes of all but their horses' ears. Officers of the court galloped by in bril- liant uniforms, raising white gloves in military salute to the groups on the side promenades, who lounged expectant. People even came occasionally to the windows to look out - a thing unprece- dented in Courcanale. Before the gates of the Crown Prince the greatest commotion existed: large vans encumbered the streets, and a stream of people poured in and out through the wide jiorte cochere; while at the upper windows figures passed rapid- ly to and fro behind the panes, showing that within reigned bustle and commo- tion. The sentinels at the gate were in gala costume, and at every corner the royal banner of Courcanale floated proud- ly, for it was the twenty-third birth-day of the Crown Prince, which, according to the law of the realm, was that on which his majority was to be celebrated. In honor of that illustrious event his Royal Highness was about to give a grand ball -such a ball as Canard-aux-Bois had never dreamed of in its sleepy propriety; and the crowning feature of the enter- tainment 'was to be a surprise. To this were bidden all the dlite of the kingdom, while in the open squares booths were erected and amusements prepared for the populace. Hither thronged the peasantry in picturesque costume, wearing the scarlet ribbons of the royal family in honor of the day. The grand carriages with the portly footmen rolled to the great gate of the palace, with the lords and gentlemen of the court hastening to inscribe their names, according to custom, in the guest- book of the Prince, while the more fa- vored members of the court, in magnifi- cent uniforms, approached the audience- chamber to offer their homage in person. Among the stately equipages of the diplomates could have been seen a mod- est brougham, whose footmen wore the green and yellow liveries of Italy. From this alighted a young man in the court- dress of a secretary of legation, who was proceeding up the broad staircase of the palace with a preoccupied air, when he was suddenly arrested by the voice of a young officer of the king's household, who was mounting rapidly behind him. it H4la, Carrazzi!" said the new-comer in a low tone: "I have something to tell you-a history of this morning. I come from the club on the Place Royale, where I heard Konigsmarck say that he knew surely that the little De L-bron- celle was to marry General Bornstein, that her father had given his consent, and that the lady had deigned to smile on her warlike suitor, whom I have al- ways suspected her of favoring ever since- that summer day at Iseul, when you lost your heart to her so complete- ly. Beware, my friend! She is a will- ful little witch, and her toils are hard to escape from." , Bah!" said the young Italian, care- lessly. ,Vienna has hardened me too thoroughly to make a demoiselle of Courcanale dangerous, however piquante I acknowledge the pretty countess to be. Madame de Resole has offered to wager me a hunting-horn against a jeweled riding-whip that I shall be in love with her before the season is over, but Made- moiselle de Ldbroncelle is not to my taste. She is too cold a beauty: her face is like a cameo, and her tongue is too sharp. We have had some lively passages-at-arms already, and she is too ready with repartee for a young girl. We always quarrel." , Qui se querellent, s'adorent," laugh- ed the other, with a curious twinkle of his blue eyes. i For my part, I have beeli at her feet this twelvemonth in vain, and would remain there another if I had time; but youth is passing, and an officier d'ordonnance cannot waste it all at the feet of a court belle. But I am on duty to-day, and we shall not meet until the ball this evening." "Au revoir, then, D'Ivry: remember to find her a vis-a-vis for the quadrille, since you cannot dance to-night, and I will take your place by the charming countess." By this time the two had reached the top of the staircase, and found themselves in a broad, carpeted corridor, hung with large mirrors, and furnished with luxuri- ous couches, upon which a few gentle- men in uniform were loitering. Carrazzi joined the group and accompanied them to the audience-chamber of the Prince, while D'Ivry disappeared through an- other door, and went to take his place among the members of the household, shrugging his shoulders as he passed along and laughing to himself at the con- founded conceit of the young diplomate. D'Ivry looked like one to laugh at, rather than resent, the follies of the world. His large, clear blue eye was full of good nature, and the frank, open face won confidence at a glance. His mouth, whose ample size was atoned for by its brilliant white teeth, seemed al- ways breaking into a smile, and the care- less toss of his yellow hair showed that he was indifferent to, rather than uncon- scious of, his fine personal advantages. His complexion was clear and white, showing the Danish blood that came to him from his mother, but his broad shoulders and towering height, joined with rare muscular development, took from him any appearance of effeminacy that his delicate coloring might have suggested. , That little Tuscan needs a lesson," thought he, as he strode through the long passages; , and if I'm not mis- taken, the Countess Fdodore de Ldbron- celle will have a chance to help him learn it. She is not going yet to give up her liberty for Bornstein's fame: she cannot be so ambitious, so unscrupulous. A man twice her age, with no attractions for a young girl!" He pushed open the door before him with impatience, and strode unexpected- ly into the presence of a short, thick-set man, with close-curling black hair, and dark eyes of extraordinary brilliancy. it You here, general! They spoke of you in the club this morning, but I scarcely expected to meet you so early in the -day. How have you left the Schleswig-Holsteiners? Are we to have another war in the north this winter?" t I am glad to see you, D'Ivry," said the General Bornstein, as he grasped the cordially-proffered hand of the young man; ,(but I can scarcely answer your questions fairly. My mind is too intent on home matters for me to give you any satisfactory information." Then it is true," said the other, flushing. ,i Permit me to offer my con- gratulations: you have won a prize for which many of us have been striving. Mademoiselle de Ldbroncelle,-" i ,Has nothing to do with the ques- tion," said Bornstein, dryly. , I imagined your congratulations had reference to quite a different subject, and one which gave some foundation for such express- ions; but of course you could not have known. I have been offered by his Majesty, this morning, the portfolio of the Minister of War." ,The devil!" ejaculated D'Ivry, so heartily that the stern countenance of the general relaxed a little. ", A thou- sand pardons, general! I felicitate you most sincerely. Excuse my leaving you abruptly, but the service-the king- I have the honor to wish you a very good-morning;" and the embarrassed officer hastened to hide his confusion by mingling with the group of gentlemen in the ante-chamber adjoining the small cabinet in which he had encountered Bornstein. The latter looked after him with an angry flash in his black eye: , So they gossip about my love-affairs at the club? It is time this matter was brought to a conclusion. This new position will help me well, and this evening I will try the last issue. What-a coward I am! To page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] think that I, who have been a soldier for thirty years, should dread to face a pret- ty girl! Egregious folly!" II. FEODORE DE LEBRONCELLE was handsome and witty. She had been ed- ucated, like the other young ladies of Courcanale, in foreign languages, man- ners and the Almanach de Gotha. She spoke French like a Parisian, German like a Viennese, and English with a slight-but musical accent. To hear her lisp the gutturals of the Courcanalian tongue you would vow that it was a sweeter language than the Italian. She could tell you the exact date of the ac- cession to the throne of every reigning monarch in Europe, from the Emperor of Russia to his Serene Highness of Pumpernickel-Swarzein, and the history of all- the royal families, with the col- lateral branches of the same, and their intermarriages. Her breeding was fault- less. The court of Courcanale is re- nowned'for the strictness of its etiquette, and of all the subtle laws which govern that augast circle she was an accom- plished mistress. She sang with some skill, and played the piano with elegance and correctness. She was an intense loyalist, and scorned everything bour- geois with aristocratic consistency. She had an ardent and affectionate nature, a kind and generous heart, and a will im- patient of control. Heiress to a comfortable fortune, countess in her own right, and an or- phan whose guardian was an uncle of whom she was the spoiled darling, she enjoyed an independence unusual to the unmarried ladies of Continental circles, even in the pure and sensible society of Canard-aux-Bois, where, as yet, the laxity of French morals has failed to penetrate. She was twenty-four, and had passed through several unsuccessful love-affairs -into which she had been led by hei natural love of excitement-with a whole heart. She had therefore made up her mind that love-matches were delusions, and that her aim in life should be to make a brilliant alliance, in which she was warmly seconded by her ambitious uncle and his mother, the old Countess de LUbroncelle, whose age prevented her from chaperoning the gay Feodore in society, but who kept a sharp eye upon her suitors, and had been the means of bringing the above-mentioned courtships to untimely terminations, causing her willful little granddaughter to regard her with a wary eye. , I have said, Cateau, that grandmam- ma shall spoil no more matches for me," F6odore often declared to her intimate friend, Catherine de Marslan. ,She has thwarted me before, but now I will have' my way." On this morning of the ball the two young girls were sitting together in the chamber -of the countess, a beautiful room whose windows commanded a view of the fine gardens of the chateau, and discussing, as is the manner of maidens in Courcanale, their costumes for the evening. a"You will be enchanting, Feodore," said the enthusiastic friend as the other turned herself round before the' mirror. , Those white lilies in your hair are as beautiful as those in the parterre at Iseul, which General Bornstein used to call the Little countesses.' Do you re- member that day he came, with D'Ivry and M. Carrazzi, to your uncle's fete? Ah, what a sunny, delicious day it was, and that row on the lake in the moonlight, how like a dream it all was! Adolphe d'Ivry was the only steady one in the party. Carrazzi was aflame, and the general had no eyes for any one but you." , Lieutenant d'Ivry is always cool enough," said Fdodore, a little haught- ily: , that easy, merry tone of his vexes me. Life is only play to him-such a carpet knight! But he is brave, they say. Baron. Kloppenburg tells me he is a perfect lion in battle. As to Carrazzi, he is like tow: any match can set him in a blaze, and he burns out as quickly." , General Bornstein is not tinder." , No, but you only need to look at his eyes to know that he can be fired; and I am strongly tempted to try the experiment of laying a fuse to this mine. Do you dare me to try the explosion?" , Feodore, you would not-" ,Catherine, but I would. Do you know I have made up my mind to ac- cept him if he asks me to-night?" i How can you talk so recklessly? He is double your age, and hideous, with a horrid temper." , The maiden drew the lion's teeth, you know, child. As to ugliness, that is distingud, and the age is no obstacle: a man of fifty is often a more ardent lover than one of five-and-twenty, and far more likely to be faithful. A young man soon tires of his wife, but an old one renews his youth again in loving. Cateau, I would rather be a man's last love than his first." , You might combine the two." it Impossible, my dear: we have out- lived the age of the Round Table, which was not so much better than our own, after all. I intend now to marry to be adored." ,Suppose you reverse the proposi- tion, Feodore?" " Folly, my dear Cateau! A woman's affection is pretty sure to respond to a devoted husband, but too much tender- ness rather repels a man. You see, I have studied this matter. I am ambi- tious and affectionate. Let my lover give me position and make me proud of him: in return, I will allow him the privilege of loving me, and will make him happy by kindness and faithfulness." , But, Fdodore, you do not understand yourself. Suppose that you are capable of more than- this-that too late you dis- cover that there are depths in your na- ture that are unsatisfied by this one- sided devotion: suppose you find that you too can adore, and that this emotion is excited by another than your husband? Think, dear Feodore: have you never seen any one whom you might fancy would inspire you with another feeling?" , My dear Cateau," said the countess, with a slight flush on her cheek, , it is childish to argue this question. I have made up my mind. Compare, for an in. stant, the position of General Bornstein with that of the other men who are pre- pared to offer me their hands, and what they imagine their hearts. He is neither a fop like Carrazzi, nor a worn-out worldling like M. Kirchlowe. Count Lieberoff's manners and accomplish- ments far exceed those of the general, but I mistrust these Russians: one lives in continual fear of scratching up the Tartar under the skin." it You have forgotten one in your enu- meration cf lovers-M. d'lvry." ,General Bornstein," said Fdodore, coloring more deeply, ,"can offer me a brilliant position and a fine fortune: his career has been distinguished: he is held in high esteem at court-" "Adolphe--" Why do you talk of M. d'lvry as if he were a lover of mine?" said the countess, impatiently. ,As if the idle compliments of a man of the world were to be reckoned as gold, when they are but the counters of society! Catherine, I am the last person to believe a man is in love with me because he tells me I am beautiful, or because he begs three waltzes an evening of me. D'Ivry, with his mocking phrases and his eternal good nature, enrages me. Sometimes I fairly hate him: he is incapable of an emotion." it Fdodore, you are unjust to M. d'Ivry," said AMad'lle de Marslan as she rose to leave her. , It is vain to argue with you on this point, but pray take heed what you do. I know what a fer- vid nature underlies your worldly wis- dom. I cannot think that you will sac- rifice your heart to your ambition." , My heart is in my ambition, Cateau," said the countess, kissing her softly: , there is no sacrifice. When you see me at the- ball to-night you will not imagine me a victim ;" and with a light laugh'she waved her hand to her depart- ing friend: ,' Wise preacher, I need no sermons." "I. THE lamps were lighted in the palace of the Crown Prince, and again the stream of carriages wended its way to- ward the entrance-gate. Broad carpets, stretched before the open doorway, kept page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] white sandaled feet from contact with the cold pavement. Throngs of servants in gay liveries of scarlet and gold saluted the entering guests with low reverences. The broad staircase fluttered with tarle- tan and gauze, and rustled with moires and velvets. The light click of dress- swords was heard as the gentlemen mounted the stair, and now a spurred heel rang upon the flags of the hall as some officer in full uniform alighted from his carriage. A long train of ve- hicles stretched from the Prince's gate to the Place Royale, blocking up the in- tervening streets, and affording great en- tertainment to the uninvited populace, who, grouped upon steps and curbstones, gazed eagerly into the carriage windows, admiring the brilliant toilettes of the ladies and the scarcely less gorgeous costumes of the gentlemen. It was a gala night, and every man wore a court dress - some simple and unadorned, others sparkling with crosses and gay with the ribbons of the orders with which their owners were decorated. As Mademoiselle de Ldbroncelle shook out the airy clouds of her tulle dress, while she was relieved of her long er- mine mantle by an attendant footman, her eye fell upon Carrazzi, who was watching for her in the ante-chamber. "M. d'Ivry will be in despair, count- ess, when he sees this divine vision. You have eclipsed yourself to-night. The poor lieutenant! he is beside himself at the thought of being unable to dance with you, since he is de service this evening, and must follow the king about like his shadow. He has charged me to convey to you his regrets." i( Has M. d'Ivry lost his power of ex- pression, as well as his wits, that he is obliged to entrust you with his mes- sage?" said the countess, demurely. s I wonder that you ever remembered such a trifle, or that you should not forget the ball entirely in the brilliant memories of- your glorious past. After the grand entertainments of Vienna, our poor fetes of Canard-aux-Bois must indeed seem- trivial and tiresome. Did the surprise the Prince has promised us stir you from your apathy? Possibly you are in the. secret: tell me-I am dying to know what it can be." " I should be too happy to persuade you to live for me, mademoiselle," said the secretary, bowing gallantly; , but I can only share your impatience. Prom- ise me your charming society for the supper at least, and we will try to solve the mystery. I am prepared to be astonished to-night." ,Then I will not aggravate that un- usual condition of mind by yielding to your persuasions. I thank you most pro- foundly, but I have another engagement. Here comes the English minister with his pretty daughter, who will console you charmingly. M. Lieberoff, I have no dance disengaged until the third waltz, but I will keep that for you." ,And have you nothing for me, not even a quadrille, since I may not hope for your company to help me to bear the surprise?" "s Come after supper and I will save something for you, that I may have the pleasure of witnessing your emotions." With a low courtesy, Fdodore swept by him, on her uncle's arm, into the ball- room, leaving Carrazzi to follow Count Lieberoff into the audience-chamber of the diplomatic corps, where that illus- trious body was already assembled, the ministers in a row on one side, of the room, the ladies facing them on the other. The secretary had scarcely time to take his place behind his chief before a slight commotion at the upper end of the room announced the arrival of the royal family. The king walked slowly down the glittering line of diplomates, addressing some pleasant words to each in his own language, while the queen exchanged greetings with their wives. They were accompanied by the Crown Prince. who received the congratulations of the )cca- sion with courteous grace. This cere- mony over, their majesties, preceded by the grand chamberlain walking back- ward, bearing his staff of office, led the way into the ball-room, where the guests were already assembled. Carrazzi, too. well accustomed to the sameness of court balls in Canard-aux- Bois, entered the archway carelessly, but a general murmur of surprise caused him to raise his eyes, and a scene of wonderful beauty met his view. A large pavilion had been erected in the gardens of the Prince, communicat- ing directly with the palace by means of the lofty windows of the usual ball-room, and into this the- royal party entered with exclamations of delight. The walls of the frail and temporary edifice were concealed with exquisite draperies of wlhite-and-rose-colored gauze: festoons of the same airy fabric formed a dome above the heads of the dancers, and wreathed the pillars that were entwined with garlands of roses. Roses blushed in huge vases in the alcoves, they twined the chandeliers, and hung in wreaths from the bracketed candelabra on the walls. The circling forms repeated the colors of the room in their white-and- pink draperies, under the blaze of thou- sands of wax lights gleaming from lustre and cornice upon, the brilliant scene below. " It is. something fairy-like," said D'Ivry, as he joined Carrazzi for a mo- ment; ,s but what a tinder-box! D'An- dala says he sees little devils on the. cornices fanning the candles, but that is one of his crazy conceits. However, I wish this strong current of air on the candles could be obviated. Look how they flare; and this falling wax is a nuisance: we are powdered with it." He shook the white dust from his sleeve impatiently, and turned to his compan- ion, who was following the dancers with his eye. it Mademoiselle de Ldbroncelle is su- perb this evening," said. Carrazzi, as the countess floated past: - that costume and those festoons of lilies suit her dark hair and white cheeks wondrously. Diantre! what a glance she has! and what marvelous grace! There she is talking to Bornstein: that smile must be hard to resist-that little eager way, too! Bah! she is a witch!" ic Madame de Resole is in a fair way to win her riding-whip I perceive," said D'Ivry, with. feigned carelessness. cYou have lost your heart since this morning." , Only my head, my dear friend; but she is more entrancing than I ever dreamed. She is the very spirit of the lilies. Do you dare me to win one from her? But no: that is too perishable: she shall give me that lace web in her hand. What spider spun it for her? What will you lay now that I do not win it as a guerdon?" ,I will not make Mademoiselle de "Ubroncelle the subject of a wager," said D'Ivry, coldly; , but gain the handker- chief if you can: if you fail and I suc- ceed, the lady shall be my wife." Carrazzi glanced hastily at D'Ivry as he heard the earnest tone of his last words: , You take the matter seriously, lieu- tenant. You play for high stakes, but I accept the conditions. The handker- chief is mine or I dance at your wedding. But there! they are forming the quadrille, and Madame de Berville is looking for her partner, Apropos, is it to you that the countess has promised her company at supper?"- Carrazzi departed, laughing to himself at his final thrust, which somewhat dis- concerted the young officer, who was turning away when his glance met that of Catherine de Marslan resting upon him with such significance that he changed his purpose of interrupting the tete-h-tete with Bornstein, and accosted the young girl with a cordial air: it Mademoiselle, you have something to say to me: I see it in your eyes. What can I do for you? I can't ask you to give me this dance, for I am on duty to-night, but if you are not engaged, will you join the promenade with me?" , M. d'Ivry," said Cateau, with some embarrassment, as she took his proffered arm, - you know I have always been your friend, so you will pardon me if I tell you that I could not help overhear- ing your last words to M. Carrazzi; and perhaps allow me to ask you a plain question: Do you love Mademoiselle de Ldbroncelle?" The young man's clear cheek flushed: Cateau looked at -him with earnest at- page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] tention, till at length he turned and met her steady eyes with a frank, manly gaze: it Your question is a little abrupt, mademoiselle, but I know you are trust- worthy, and I believe you would not thus ask my confidence without a reason. I do love Mademoiselle de Ldbroncelle-I did not know how dearly until to-day, when an accident taught me my own heart. That my love is hopeless I fear, but it is honest and faithful, which alone makes it worthy her acceptance." , M. d'Ivry," said Catherine, impres- sively, ,t I believe Fdodore to be in great danger from herself. You know she is willful-you cannot know how lovable she is, in spite of her headstrong charac- ter. She is closely beset by General Bornstein, and dazzled by his wealth and honors, and touched by his really ardent admiration: the countess and her uncle favor his suit, and the general will probably press it closely. That she loves him I do not believe. He will never make her happy, nor do I think he will care to do so after the first tri- umtph of having won her has passed away. He is a passionate, selfish man, unworthy of her high-hearted nature." , Mademoiselle, why do you tell me this?" said D'Ivry, with a troubled but eager look. i What can I do?" ;, I do not know," said Catherine. it I may have been unwise to say so much, but I have been impelled to speak to you-to entreat you to-to-" "To do my best to avert the catas- trophe," concluded the officer, with an intelligent glance. -t Mademoiselle, you have been both frank and discreet. Made- moiselle de LUbroncelle is fortunate in her friend. I, thank you from the bottom of my heart. What a man can do I will." AMad'lle de Marslan was claimed at this moment by her forgotten partner, and D'Ivry left her, with a significant pressure of the hand, to join the countess. He crossed the room rapidly, and caught Bornstein's words of thanks for permis- sion to escort her to the supper-table in time to divine the ruse of the countess in declining other invitations. His shrewd, laughing glance showed her that she was detected, and the color rose in her cheek as she interrogated him : "You and Mademoiselle de Marslan have been plotting conspiracy, I am sure. Have you discovered the Prince's surprise? and have you made her a confidant?" ,The surprise is still a secret," an- swered D'Ivry. - We had a more inter- esting subject of discussion : shall I tell you what it was?" " Mademoiselle," broke in a gay voice, ,give me credit for doing you a kind turn, in spite of all your cruelties." " What mischief have you been brew- ing, M. Carrazzi? I shall not lower my guard rashy, you may be sure. I am no debtor of yours. Was not Shylock born in Florence? I am warned by the fate of Antonio." t You fear that I should claim pay- ment. c Nearest your heart - so reads the bond.'"' , I will run no needless risks; but what have you been doing for me?" E I have been recommending you to Baron Kauffenstein, who has come here to seek a baroness." it A thousand thanks! You do me too much honor." , But the baron declines. He says you are too clever for him, and that in a wife he seeks a pillow for his mind." -( Alas! it was the very thing I have been seeking for myself, and I thought that I had found it in the baron. How unfortunate!" - Be not inconsolable, countess," laughed Carrazzi: - there are plenty of us- left for that delightful office. Here is M. d'Ivry, or-myself!" it You would not accuse the lieutenant of showing the white feather, surely?" , Though I might differ with Kauf- fenstein about the best means of fea- thering my own nest," said D'Ivry, gayly. -i As to you, M. Carrazzi, you are volatile enough to be feathered: you would be blown away before you could be caught." ,c Only try the experiment, mademoi- selle. I have exhausted myself too often in my childhood, chasing birds with a handful of salt. I mistrust anything with wings." i Except the angels," broke in the yoice of General Bornstein; -and they are hard to tether. Mademoiselle, our quadrille is forming: may I claim your, promise? Gentlemen, I bega thousand pardons!" The ball went on: the music was rarely beautiful, the dancers absorbed and happy. Now and then the older people gave anxious glances at the flar- ing candles, or spoke in low, tones of possible danger; but in the entraanement and fascination of the scene all but its charm was for the most part forgotten. IV. THERE was a pause in the music, the waltzers changed their whirl into a promenade: all eyes were turned toward the upper fend of the ball-room, whence arose a low, sweet melody. The heavy curtains which draped a lofty archway were slowly swept back by unseen hands, while a concealed chorus chanted a festal hymn. The parting damask revealed a moon- lit grotto, whose walls were apparently overgrown with ivy. Tropical plants bowed their stately heads, palms waved their feathery branches, gorgeous blos- soms looked out from arches of emerald foliage. The royal banners of Cour- canale, all velvet and gold, were draped behind a table of horseshoe form, laden with a sumptuous banquet. In the fore- ground, and under the full beam of the electric light which shed that soft moon- light radiance upon the scene, rose a mar- ble fountain, whence jets of perfumed water sprang and plashed softly back into the sculptured basin. As the voices swelled and deepened in their singing, and then died tenderly away, the king and queen advanced to take their places at board. When they, with the officers and the ladies of the household, were seated in company with the representatives of foreign nations, the gazers turned away to find the room behind them filled with smaller tables, upon which was spread a superb collation, around which the dancers were clustering; forming gay groups to enjoy the grand supper of the Prince's surprise. it This then is the fulfillment of the Prince's promise?" said Feodore as Bornstein led her to a seat. -"Truly, his Royal Highness has been better than his word. How fairy-like! how superb! See, general, how exquisite is the con- trast between the cool, silvery gleam of the grotto yonder and the warm, golden glow of this wax-lighted ball-room! It is the meeting of the moon's rays and the sun's beams." I iThere must always be sunshine where you are, countess," said Bornstein, bending over her-- a warmth and light that a man might be glad to carry with him in darkest days." , I fear he might find the light an ignisfatuius, and be led into a morass," said Fdodore, smiling. i Not so, mademoiselle: you would be no false will-o'-the-wisp, but the very sun of a man's existence, could you but be persuaded to shine on him alone." - The sun shines on the evil and on the good, general: why would you limit its benevolence?" i Because, countess, where you are concerned philanthropy is impossible. I would share the sunshine of your-smile with no other." A faint color rose in the girl's cheek as her eyes sank beneath the burning glance which searched her countenance. She waited breathlessly for the next words. Suddenly a strange, low whirr was heard: an ominous crackling sound struck her ear. A whiff of singeing fabrics overtopped the faint, heavy per- funme of the roses. There was the noise of chairs pushed hurriedly away. , God in heaven! it is the fire!" cried a stifled voice. A swift blaze spread over the side of the room: there was the crash of over- thrown tables, the trampling of hurried feet: wild, white faces swept by. What lurid' light encompassed them?" F6odore, by a swift impulse, sprang to her feet. She was standing in the cen- page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] tre of the multitude. In an instant she felt behind her that terrible pressure of a moving crowd that, once felt, can never be forgotten. She was swept away from her place in a moment. She saw Bornstein imprisoned by the arms of three terrified ladies, who seized upon him in their fright and dismay. Another instant, and the surging crowd separated her utterly from him, and she found her- self pushed aside. A cool breath be- hind her caused her to turn to gain re- lief from the scorching air that fanned her cheek. She was near the archway that led into the banquet-room, from which the court had fled. She sprang back into the shadow of the fountain. Behind her the ivy glistened fresh and green in the moonlike glimmer: the water trickled in the snow-white basin: the perfume of the roses struck her sense heavy and- oppressive, for ever after as- sociated with that terrible scene. Be- fore her she saw the star-lit sky, the waving tops of the trees in the park: the fresh air was, blowing the curtains inward. There were safety, life, free- dom full in sight. But between her and that deliverence what a gulf! The flames crept up the pillars, ran swift as lightning along the gauze festoons, and shriveled the roses as their cruel tongues devoured the silken chains on which they hung. Up, up, along the cornices, to the folds that hung from the edge of the ceiling-up the dome of rosy gauze to the very centre. The arch was crim- son and gold in their embrace. But the chandelier! Is that a chain, or a cord by which it hangs? Heaven! it is a silken rope! Yes; the fire has found it out: it is gnawing with its silent teeth. Crash! the lustre with its thousands of blazing candles, its myriad pendants of glittering glass, has fallen! The floor is in a flame! And see, the creeping light is winding in along the ivy stems: their young green strength resists, but they are burning slowly. Behind Fdodore the velvet flags are scorching, smouldering slowly too; but how the circle narrows! Still plashed the water in the fountain, the pale electric light shone down upon the girl's white lilies and her whiter face. Mechanically she calculated how long it would take for that creeping flame to reach her flowing drapery. She pulled the dress closer around her. There was still a little passage where the floor was not on fire. What a narrow bridge it seemed! Should she dare its passage? Oh for some strong arm to guide her through its perils! But life is worth the risk. For one instant the countess leaned; breathless against the marble behind her: the next a tall figure came leaping toward her through flame and smoke, over chairs and fallen tables-straight to her side, swift, resolute and strong. A hand of iron clasped her wrist. "Fdodore, come!"It was D'Ivry's voice. No more, but all her fear had gone. They were in the crowd-the rushing, panting crowd, silent from very extreme of terror. The doors into the park were wide and high. Thank God, they open outward! They pressed for- ward: behind them came the fast-dart- ing flames-walls and ceiling were one sheet of fire. It was a race for life. One spark upon those gauze dresses floating so wildly, and a hundred would be burned alive. F^odore slipped- and went down. An instant and she would have been trampled under foot: there is no cruelty like that of panic. But D'Ivry's strong arm was around her, his powerful shoulders pressed back the crowd. One more step, one glance that took in all that dreadful scene - the white, scared faces, the blazing cavern behind-and she was in the free air, her head on D'Ivry's shoulder, her hand in his. i Thank God, you are saved!" said D'Ivry, solemnly. it And by you!" cried the countess. - Adolphe, I owe you my life." , Fdodore, I claim the debt!" said the young man, passionately- it It is my life I ask of you. May you never suffer what I suffered when that lustre fell and I saw you, pale and alone beyond it, through the flame. Then I knew--O God! with what knowledge! - how I loved you." He stretched his arms toward her: a stream of blood streaked her white dress. it Adolphe, you are wounded!" shriek- ed the young girl. it Was not that other peril enough? Have we escaped the jaws of one death only to-" , Hush, darling! This is but a scratch. One of the pendants of the chandelier struck my wrist as I sprang toward you. It is but a flesh wound: I can stop this blood with a bandage." The countess wound her handkerchief tightly above the ugly gash, to stop the gushing stream; then, with- a sudden impulse, stooped and kissed the strong white hand. , You have rescued me not from death alone, but from death in life, Adolphe. This night has taught me my own heart." Meantime, the terrified crowd rushed through the open doors into the gardens, mothers shrieking wildly for their chil- dren, brothers for their sisters, husbands and wives calling for each other in voices of agony. The flames lit up the bosquets and alleys with troubled gleams, and threw strange and terrible lights upon the friezes of the palace, and gave a sem- blance of weird life to the statues that frowned down from their quiet niches in the walls upon the disorder below. The engines that hurried to the spot played upon the wooden frame of the pavilion in vain. Rafter after rafter fell, the slight walls crumbled: the fairy structure lay a blackened, smoking ruin under the sfar-lit sky. But the palace was safe. Its walls were grimed and scorched and blackened, but the solid stone and iron had resisted the encroach- ing flame. Of all that shrieking crowd, as if by a miracle, no life was lost. The morrow heard the tales of a thou- sand hairbreadth escapes. The history of the fire, from the first falling candle, that kindled the gauze festoon on which it fell, to the last ember of the crumbling ruin that it made, was told and retold a hundred times. The , Prince's Surprise ' is yet talked of impressively by the well- bred gossips of Canard-aux-Bois, and still fresh is kept the memory of that morrow, when lords and ladies walked the-streets and paused on the corners to exchange greetings with sympathizing friends. They will tell you to this day how the king and queen walked arm in arm down the great avenue to the scene of the disaster, and commented to the officers of the court upon their wonder- ful deliverance. t It was like the last scene in Le Prophlte," said Her Majesty. C I was not at all terrified." Carrazzi, hastening down- the Place Royale, met D'Ivry radiant, with his arm in a sling. , And the handkerchief?" said the latter as they paused under the statue in the centre of the square. , Parbleu! it was no time for seeking ladies' favors," said the Italian, -"as your wound proves you." ,There is balm for it in Gilead," said D'Ivry. , Do you recognize this- coro- net under the bloody lace? The 29th of June is my wedding-day." , And Bornstein?" , Ah, have you not heard? The general has declined the portfolio and accepted the command of the Indian forces. He sails for the East on Monday." page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] MY GRANDMOTHER-THAT MGHT HAVE BEEN. "I SHALL never forget that night, nor that loveliest of all the faces of women: those deep, tender and almost tearful eyes haunt me in my sleeping, and, alas! in my waking dreams; and sometimes, as I walk abroad, those soft, gleaming tresses drift like a sunlit mist before me, and shut out all that is real from my vision. Not that I would undo anything that has come to pass, and not 'that I am not blessed beyond my deserts, and almost beyond my desires. Ay, ay, I am happy, very happy, but, after all-" Here the sentence in my grandfather's diary broke off abruptly, and the book had evidently been closed with haste, for the ink was plashed up and down and across the writing. I had been spending a week with my grandfather, who was now an old man, when I happened one day. to find a dust- covered diary packed away, among other useless books, on the high shelf of his old oak desk, whose mystical compart- ments and locked drawers had always possessed wonderful attractions for my young imagination. I had been idly turning the yellow and faded leaves for some time, reading a note here and a note there-now about a skirmish with the British, in which he was both wounded and taken prisoner (he had gone to the war at fifteen); now a brief account of his three months' confine- ment, with seven fellow-soldiers, in a miserable log pen on the bank of the St. Lawrence, near Montreal; and now the story of his escape, with a single com- panion, effected .by paddling across the river one stormy night on a rudely-con- 48 stnlcted 'raft, formed by tying together some floating pieces of rotten and worth- less timber with strips of bark cut from a hickory sapling with their jack-knives. A perilous piece of business, to be sure, for the guns of the red-coat sentinels gleamed before their eyes with every flash of the lightning. I read, all summed up in a few lines, how their frail, tumbling fabric went to pieces among the sands near the shore, how they thus lost the few necessary articles and scanty stock of provisions they had been able to secrete, and how, wading ashore, they fell upon their knees, drenched, starved, destitute as they were, and gave God thanks for all His protect- ing love, all His manifold mercies. I read with what brave hearts they struck out into the wilderness, and how, day by day, their regimental garments fell to rags; how their shoes went, piece by piece; and how, finally, with bare and bleeding feet and forlorn habiliments, they struggled on-now feasting upon wild berries, and now dividing a frog or toad, saying grace before meat, and afterward resting in some swampy thicket --the one watching while the other slept, for the woods were full of hostile In- dians, skulking, hungry beasts and poio sonous serpents. I read of their ultimate deliverance from all these perils, and how, bepeath the still stars of the midnight, they came to the door of the blessed homestead from which, six months before. my grandfather had set out so bravely, his musket on his shoulder and his broad- sword at his belt. The Continental uniform was all be- draggled and faded to a dull mildew gray; the cocked hat was a flabby mass of felt; the stout young, legs were thin and feeble-one of them halt for life; the ruddy face was pale and worn : only the eyes flashed with the old fire, for what eyes that had ever been blinded with the smoke of British guns could cease to flash while those guns yet held and menaced us at every point? But he had come home-the soldier-boy had come home alive! and the smoky rafters of the old homestead rang with the joy. The young children fluttered out of their beds like birds out of their nests at day- break; a great fire was kindled; the neighbors called in; and before sunrise (for no one had come empty-handed) a feast was spread, and our patriotic fath- ers and mothers-God bless their mem- ories, every one of them!-sat down to- gether; and be sure the one white loaf and the one comb of honey were broken -for the lost that was found-for the dead that was alive again. There is a great deal said and sung about those days of bitter conflict, when men and women periled all-life, fortune, honor-and stood by the peril even to the death, bequeathing to us the inherit- ance obtained at so great a price; but how much of it all is nothing but words, words! We use the suffering, the sacri- fice, the broken and bleeding hearts to round our numbers and to ornament our rhetoric-to elect this man and to defeat that-to make a President or fill a va- cancy in Congress; and whether we succeed in our little ambition or whether. we fail, we put away these awful treas- ures, just as if they were so many holi- day trinkets, and think no more of them till another official vacancy requires that they be flaunted in the public eye once more. But to return to my grandfather's diary. I had, as already said, turned the yellow leaves, lingering a little over some note here and there, now smiling and now with eyes grown dim, mayhap, when all at once an interest of quite a new character took possession of me. I came upon the passage which I have 4 transcribed at the beginning of this story. I read it over again and again; but was none the wiser for all the reading. What face could be referred to? Not that of my grandmother, surely. Whose, then? That of my grandmother that might have been? If so, who was she? and what of her? And suppose she had been, instead of might have been, what then? And with what modifica- tions should I have existed? Would my hair have been gleaming too? Would my face have been lovely? and would I have come to honor and distinc- tion through my splendid inheritance of beauty? My real grandmother-asleep yonder among her friends and neighbors, with a sheet of daisies over her face- had beefn a very good sort of grand- mother, humanly speaking; but, dear me! the other might have been divine; and whereas I had simply had my pina- fore filled with sweetcakes, plums and red-cheeked apples by the one, I might have been loaded with pearls and dia- monds by the other. Who should say? -t What are you doing here, you little chit? Some mischief, I'll be bound!" My grandfather had come in unheard by me, and, stooping over the old leather- cushioned chair in which, with my feet gathered under me and the diary in my lap, I was seated, uttered the foregoing exclamations. I protested that I was not at all in mischief--that I had been reading all about the breaking out of the war (we had but one war then to talk about), and how he went for a soldier and got wounded and taken prisoner, and all about his peril in the wilderness. ,t Well, well, child! shut up the book and put it away. I haven't opened it these ten years, as I know of. Let me see the date of my last entry." He took up the diary, wiped his silver- bowed spectacles, and glanced at the page by which my attention had been so en- grossed when he came in. -i Lord bless me!" he said, his sallow cheek brighten- ing like a withered rose in the dew ;- s I had forgotten that I ever set. this down. page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] Poor Merial! I wonder what has be- come of her?" ,i Who was Merial, grandfather?" says I. r Tell me all about her, and how it happened she was not my grand- mother, for what you have said of her here makes me very curious, and I'm sure there must be a story to tell." He was seated in the leather chair by this time, and I, standing on one round, was hanging over the carved back, with both bare arms about his good, gray head. He had closed the diary now, but with two fingers between the leaves where Merial was mentioned, and was looking through the window away and away, his vision seeming to be fixed on nothing. it It was a good while ago, wasn't it, grandfather?" and dropping my arms to his. neck, I rested my cheek on the gray head. it Yes, my child, it was a good while ago-a good while ago ;" and still his eyes strained away across the misty hills and rested on nothing. , It was before you came to live in Cincinnati, was it not, grandfather?- before you crossed the great wilderness and the mountains, and cleared the land in this beautiful valley, and planted the orchard and digged the well?-before you killed the wolf down where the pear tree is now? Long before all that, wasn't it, grandfather?" ,Ay, ay, child-long before all that;" and still he was looking away and away, and seeming to see nothing. "Not so very long before, neither, was it, grandfather? Because I have heard you say you were quite young when you came here. Let me see: I saw something about your first landing, in the diary this afternoon." He did not heed nor seem to hear me, and, slipping to the ground, I laid the book :pen on the chair-arm, and read, in the hope of engaging his attention, as any reference to pioneer-times was pretty sure to do: A Niov. 19, J788.--Landed this morn- ing in the town of Cincinnati, finely sit- uated on the Ohio river opposite the Licking, which flows into the Ohio from the Kentucky side. There is a small town called Newport at the junction of this river with the Ohio. The Licking is navigable for canoes and batteaux a considerable distance, but by reason of slavery the Kentucky settlements are less prosperous than the Ohio. Cincin- nati is about five hundred miles from Pittsburg, and was once the capital of the North-western Territory, and is the largest town in the State, though not the seat of government; Chillicothe being the capital and the residence of the gov- ernor and legislative body. Cincinnati consists of about three hundred houses, frame and log, and is built on a plot of ground known as Symmes' Purchase. The public buildings consist of a court- house, prison and two places of worship. It has two printing-presses, which issue papers once a week, and is on the line of communication with the chain of forts extending from Fort Washington to the far West. The garrison end of the town is now in a state of ruins, but, for all that, the place promises to thrive, and among the signs of prosperity is the land office for the sale of Congress land. Seventeen thousand contracts were made the last year. There is a good market held twice a week. , The remains of Indian works, con- sisting of a barrow, a fortified camp and some mounds, are still to be seen here, and their examination will greatly interest me. "On the whole, I propose to remain here for good and all." His eyes had come back from their far wandering, for the night had closed in with a sudden flurry of rain, and the darkness and the fast-slanting drops to- gether had, like a blinding curtain, shut out all the view. Still, my reading had made no impression, evidently. , Only three hundred houses! Just think, grandfather, and a good many of them made of logs! and then all the mounds and barrows! Our beautiful city was nothing but a straggling village then, was it?" , What is it you say, child? But, bless my soul! it's night all at once, and hark how the rain dashes on the pane It was just about such another night as this that I saw Merial. She was not much older than you are now: you are fourteen, and she was about sixteen, I should say." "Then you will tell me the story, grandfather?" , Why, yes-all there is to tell. But you are a bad little housekeeper: you don't take after her, my child. The fire is almost out, and where are the candles and the tea?" I bestirred myself now, and the ruddy glow of the firelight soon ornamented the rafters with a tracery of roseate gold, and flickered and danced on the wall- side, leaving no dim corner in all the wide, old-fashioned room: then the can- dles were brought,and directly the tea- things, and when the cheerful little bustle was over and the hearth swept clean, I drew the arm-chair to the chimney cor- ner and said, "Come, grandfather!" I sat on a low bench at his feet, with one arm resting over his knee, and my eager, upturned face, I suspect, pleaded more earnestly than my words. Gathering up a handful of my hair, and giving my head a gentle shake there- by, he said, smiling down upon me, -Well, my dear, where .shall we begin?" ,( How did she look? Tell me that," I said. Did I hope, in my foolish heart, he would say she looked like me? I am afraid so, but if so, I was doomed to disappointment. "Suppose I had never seen a rose," answered my grandfather. , and should ask you to describe it, what would you say?" "I don't know, I am sure." "What could you say, except that it is the sweetest and most beautiful flower in all the world, and that nothing else could be like it but just another rose." , I think I should have to say some- thing like that." "I think so too, my dear;" and he wound my hair very tight about his fingers and gave my head another little shake. One hope was left: perhaps my hair was like hers? I put my thought into expression in some shape, 'I know not what. ic Do you see those wild black vines' blowing across the window? Your hair is as much like hers as those are like the streaming sunshine. No, no.; there is nothing to liken her to in all the wide world-my bud of the wilderness, my beauty, my undying dream!" He seemed to have grown twenty years younger all at once: his soul illumined his face, and he drew himself up so straight and appeared so hand- some that I looked upon him with pride and admiration. Even his silver shoe- buckles shone with unwonted splendor, it seemed to me. ,i What did she say when you asked her to be my grandmother?" thinking she could not possibly have refused if my grandfather was only half as hand- some in his youth as he was now. , What did she say? Why, my dear, I never asked her!" , Never asked her?" , No, my dear, but I think if I had, and if-and if- Well, I may just as well begin at the beginning, since you are determined to hear the story." ,Pray do, for I want to hear: it must be as good as a novel." , It is not much of a story, but for that reason it will be the sooner told." He had his spectacles in his hand, and having rubbed the glasses for a minute through his great yellow bandana, he began: ,At the close of the war I found my- self almost alone in the town where I had so many friends on its breaking out. I could count the headstones of half a dozen in the graveyard by the old meet- ing-house; and there were a great many others who died in the army, and whose graves had no headstones, poor fellows! and some that had been the gayest in our bear-hunts and skating-frolics had come home with a coat-sleeve swinging loose, or a leg pieced out with wood from the knee, maybe, so that there were sober times among us, compared with what had been.- The people, too, page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] were impoverished, for more had been spent than earned during the long years ofour struggle; so, if there had. been any disposition for merry-making, there twas nothing left with which to make merry. The old places, with the old familiar faces gone, were quite destitute of charm; and I resolved to emigrate to the Westward and try my fortunes in a new country, there being at that time great 'excitement with reference to the beauty and fertility of the North-western Territories. Passing over all minor de- tails, let me say that the resolution, once formed, was soon pushed into execution; and one day, late in the autumn of I786, I found myself, weary, worn and some- what disheartened, resting in a wayside hut at the foot of the Alleghany Moun- tains." I interrupted him: c The date set down -in your diary is 1788." i"Let me tell my own story, my dear," he answered. , The journey I am. now talking of was made while I was yet unmarried, and before I came for good and all and brought your real grand- mother, who carried your father in her arms. It was, as I was saying, late in the autumn, and as wild, wet and cheer- less a day as I ever remember to have seen. I was used to hardships, or I must have become homesick and turned back, for I was almost as tattered and woebegone as when, under the ramrods of the Hessians, I was driven a prisoner through the wilderness. , It had been already raining two days and nights, and the wild mountain streams, raging and foaming over their banks, and choked with sticks, leaves and drift of all sorts, presented again and again almost impassable barriers. Now I was obliged. to swim some black and frightful water, and now either to lead my horse or drive him before me through some thicket choked with undergrowth and trailing vines and branches. , It was not possible to keep my seat in the saddle for half an hour at a time, for traveling in those times was not what it is in these days of turnpikes and stage-coaches. ",There's worse roads ahead, and you'll have to take a guide to-morrow,' my landlord said to me, as we drew up to the blazing fire after a supper of parched corn, fried bear's meat and stewed pumpkin. S"A guide! I had never thought of the possibility: one could not readily be secured, I imagined, and, besides, I lacked the means necessary to the end. , I should find my way: it was not the first time I had been in the wilder- ness without a guide. I, said this with premeditation, for I had all a boy's vanity, and lost no opportunity of re- capitulating the story of my imprison- ment and escape. Of -course I was called on to tell it now, -and before I had gone far all the idlers about the premises were gathered round to hear-among them, a tall, copperish, wild-haired fel- low, whom I suspected to be a half- breed Indian. , At'the conclusion of my story not a man in the group but, would willingly have guided me for one day, at least- the half-breed among the rest, as I judged by his significant gestures when the British scouts by whom I had been captured were mentioned, and by the flashing of the snaky eyes; for as yet he had not spoken a single word. , Here's the chap for you!' cries my landlord, pulling at his coarse hunt- irg-shirt: , he'll take you across hills and hollers as straight as the crow flies.:' , I glanced up inquiringly, but the eyes of the man suddenly fell to the ground, and he made no reply. , I repeated my belief that I could find my way. , Of course there are not many cross-roads in these mountains tc mislead the traveler,' I said. ",No, sir, not that,' says my land- lord, , but ye see these long rains-and more 'specially if the wind comes up, as it's like to-overslow the track wit swash and brush so dreadful that only a I practiced hand can come anywhere's nigh keeping into it. This is so; ain't it, Gibbow?' , The man addressed as Gibbow did not lift his eyes nor speak, but taking from his mouth a huge quid of tobacco, ejected a quantity of juice upon the blaz- ing logs-a performance which seemed to be generally understood to signify assent. it He was not only a puzzle to me, but he impressed me disagreeably, and I turned to my landlord for some elucida- tion, but he was quite oblivious to my appeal, having, in a sudden burst of magnanimity, produced an earthen jug of whisky, with intent to treat all round in honor of the young soldier who had drunk General Washington's health in the face of the enemy (for I had left none of my exploits untold); and of course made me no response. It was not, indeed, in the nature of things that he should, intent as he was on princely hospitality. , The stopper of the jug was made of a piece of corn-cob, and fitted so tight that, though he was stooping so as to bring all his force to bear, and twisting at it with might and main, he could not draw it forth. Gibbow, without lifting his eyes, had somehlow perceived the diffi- culty, and stretching one leg out so as to hook his foot round the jug, dragged it to him, set his teeth in the cob and pulled it out in an instant. ,4 There was a general roar, with cries of, ( Trust old Gibbow for getting at the whisky: he's a snaky feller, he is!' to- gether with other exclamations, which seemed to me to admit of no very for- tunate interpretation for the half-breed, who still, with grave countenance and eyes on the ground, appeared totally un- conscious of being the subject of remark. ,(, He'll talk fast enough when he gets a bite o' the critter,' says one, with an eye upon me. ,There's come-out in him as a stranger wouldn't dream of. He's snaky, sir, to the backbone!' "Then the landlord enlarged upon his excellent qualifications for a guide. . I reckon he's showed a hundred travelers through these mountains, first and last,' he said. ,Hain't you, Gibbow? And you never once lost the track, did you, Gibbow?' , The tobacco juice had not yet ac- cumulated sufficiently for reply, and the landlord answered for him: ,No, sir; he never lost the track; and he never will, other! He's been to my place now, off and on, for five years, and I can rickomind him-yes, sir, I can rickomind him at all pints.' , 'Specially at a pint o' whisky!' chimed in one of the listeners, and this was considered so bright a remark that two or three of the fellows, in an ecstasy of delight, threw their coon-skin caps at the rafters. , I said a guide was out of the ques- tion, no matter what his qualifications. I had already confessed my poverty, and must find my way as I best could. I supposed, if the road was overslowed, the wayside trees were blazed, and I could find my way from one to another. ', ' Never mind about no money, stran- ger. Gib don't want no money: he can live on anything he happens to catch, and I'll bet that for two or three drams you can hire him for to-morrow, anyhow; and that'll take you to the Black Eagle, and over some of the blindest strips of road you'll have. You see, the young saplings and underbrush swashes down dreadful in these fall storms, and only them that's used to it can make much headway.' , , Oh, Gib 'll go!' say two or three at once-(Gib'll go! Make yourself easy, stranger.? , For that matter, I'll furnish the liquor myself!' says the landlord, grow- ing magnanimous as he drank from time to time. ,And you're our mtn, ain't you, Gibbow?' , The response, communicated as be- fore, was of more than ordinary liveliness, but the eyes, gleaming through black knots and tangles of hair, rested steadily on the back-log. J could not but mar- vel as to what sort of person this Gib- bow was, who in his very presence was talked of as freely as though he were deaf or dumb. "My bed that night consisted of a bundle of straw and a buffalo hide, and after I had rolled myself up-for I slept in a corner of the room we had occupied -I continued for a time curiously to ob- serve him, he still remaining impassive in the chimney-corner. page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] "His dress was made up of a variety of tags and patches and odds and ends, and it was difficult to determine what was what; but a noticeable feature was the abrupt contrasts of high color. He wore rings of carved bone. in his ears, and bracelets on his wrists which seemed to have been made of skins of some kind, highly dyed, and plaited. His face was smooth, and for the most part half con- cealed by the strings and tangles of hair tha: hung right across his forehead and eyes, down to the chin. He had not spoken first or last, but his appearance did not certainly commend him; and if I had met him for the first time in the wilderness, I should not have been in- clined to accept his guidance. As it was, I was by no means anxious to secure his services. His back was toward me, but by his shadow on the wall I could see that his mouth was vigorously working on a tobacco quid, as long as I saw at all, which was not very long, I suspect, for I was tired, and my bundle of straw was an inviting pillow. I did not wake till cock-crow, but there he sat, just as though he had been there all night: the fire was shining, and by the shadow on the wall I saw that his mouth was still diligently at work. , He disappeared about the time my horse was brought from the stable, and I was half glad of it; but when I had proceeded three or four miles, and had drawn rein where a creek had overflowed its banks, and, raging far and wide, pre- sented no fordable point that I could see, there he was, solemn and silent as ever. I soon discovered that he was as wise a guide as he had been represented; but for all that I did not care to make com- panionship with him,-even in that dis- malest of times. There are persons wh( m we instinctively recognize as aliens, and he was, to me, one of those persons. " If anything could have drawn me to him, it must have been that terribly tedi- ous and lonesome day, for the rain, cold and bitter as frost, fell and fell as though it were never to cease, and the wind, doleful and dreary, bent the young sap- lings as it came and snapped the brittle branches of the sturdier trees, sending the wet leaves, red and yellow and brown, down and down in great flapping clouds ; and sometimes the nest of a squirrel or crow, soaked through and through, came with them, making my jaded horse for a moment prick up his ears again. , My guide in the course of the day developed qualities for which I had not bargained: in short, he proved to be a snake-charmer. Besides this, he pos- sessed a wonderful art of imitating the notes of various birds, and this he did with such surprising accuracy as to bring them by the score, sometimes circling like rainbows, about his head. But the other gift, or sorcery, or whatever it was, was less agreeable to ;ne. He would suddenly, when we reached favorable ground I suppose, by a peremptory mo- tion of the rifle he carried give me notice to halt, when,.after nosing among the damp and shelving stones like a blood- hound that has scented prey, he would begin a low mystical murmur of sounds, half whistle, half call, and directly some lithe, limber reptile would come wrig- gling out of its hole, fold after fold, and nestle in the hollow of his great hand, as though that were- its natural abiding- place. It mattered not of what color or size-whether brown and shining like a dead leaf, whether striped with gold and black, or whether dull as putty, and printed with yet duller diamonds along the back-whether slender and worm- like, or clumsy and short-his terrible charming drew them all alike. He would shove one within the sleeve of his coat, and another beneath his shirt of red flannel and right against his bare bosom, with all the coolness imaginable; but these tricks were performed, I think, to excite either my wonder or admira- tion: perhaps both, for I observed that whenever I ceased to regard him he soon tossed the reptiles away. ( As the day wore on the wind blew more bitter chill, and the rain changed to sleet, and drove against my face like sand, cutting and freezing at the same time: my horse drooped along, stum- bling and staggering through gullies of water, and over the dead and decaying logs that had washed across the road, jolting me sometimes nearly out of my saddle, and making me wish with all my heart for the day's work to end, and the. shelter beneath the wing of the Black Eagle to begin. i At last I overcame my aversion to my strange guide sufficiently to make some inquiry about our destined haven. How far ahead was it? should we be likely to reach it before nightfall? and were its accommodations in any sort comfortable? - I received brief, and in the main satisfactory, answers to these interroga- tories; but with one curious exception- the house was haunted! "Did you ever happen to see the ghost yourself, Mr. Gibbow?' I inquired, for it had seemed to me that his face had assumed almost a diabolical ex- pression when he mentioned the ghost. it A grunt and a downward stroke of his hand in the air gave me to under- stand that he had. it , What was it like, pray?' , A woman!' and then he fell to beat- ing the air and mumbling curses, from which I gathered nothing very definite; but, as nearly as I could guess, the ghost was really a mortal woman, and one who had in some way aroused his jealousy. ,c He was tramping close at my horse's head now, and all at once I became aware, as he balanced his rifle on his shoulder, that a long, slender snake of golden green color was tied about the lock, and trembling and fluttering there like a ribbon. ic , What are you going to do with that thing?' I cried. , For mercy's sake, throw it awal! , No, I won't!' he answered. , I've got use for it: I'll teach her to stop her flittin' about the house at night, warnin' travelers to take care o' their money- bags, as if I was a thief! I'm goin' to put it under her piller, that's what!' chuckling and leaning his face so close to the viper 'that the tangles of -his stringy hair were caught' in its writhing folds. Then he said, talking at me, and not to me: Shouldn't wonder if she had a necklace about that purty swan throat of hern afore daybreak.' " You savage! Throw the thing away, or I'll do it for you!' ,P I'm your guide, and not your ser- vant!' he growled, without looking at me; ,and I'll do what I please with my own property! So look out!' And at the same time a little clicking sound at the gunlock warned me that I had better look out if I would listen to reason. Still, I was not to be bullied by a miser- able half-breed, and drawing the knife from my belt, would have set the writh- ing prisoner free, once for all, with a quick blow-of its keen edge, had not the wary fellow shifted the rifle quick as lightning; and the next moment a pal- pitating handful of green and gold was throbbing and undulating under the red folds of his. hunting-shirt. , Our conversation after this was con- fined to pretty frequent exchanges of de- fiant glances; and though I was still conducted by the carefulest ways, I felt that my guide was as much my enemy as he had been my friend the evening past. it It was dusky in the woods long be- fore the proper twilight-time, but the sun came out at his setting for a moment, and then the glorified mists went trailing after him down the West, and, fading directly, closed together in a tent of dark- ness: the winds died down to a lullaby, and nothing was heard but the steady drip-drop of the rain. After the brief sunset glimmer, the night fell all at once, and the darkness became speedily so dense that I could not see my hand be- fore my eyes, much less my guide, whom I continued to hear tramping through the leaves and slush just ahead, now and then some brittle stick snapping under his feet, or some long, lithe branch trail- ing backward from his path, and scatter- ing a whole shower-bath of water and leaves in my face. ,c Not a word was spoken. I sat less upright in the saddle than a young sol- dier is supposed to do, I am afraid; and my poor beast, with the rein loosely dropping on his neck, his ears laid sul- lenly back, and his nose reaching for- ward and sniffing after the guide, crept along slowly but sure-footed; and by page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] and by I felt, rather than saw, that we had come into a bit of clearing and struck upon a better track. , My guide started upon the run now, and my horse gathered up his mud- * stiffened legs faster and faster, and finally got himself into a trot; and directly, from the top of a little rise, I saw the lights of the Black Eagle tavern shining out into the rain. My heart gave a great bound, as if I had come to the gate of Eden, and then, Heaven only knows why, sank down in my bosom, and lay there heavy as lead. Are there such things as premonitions, I wonder! it We were soon under the creaking sign, and my horse had his mouth in the water-trough that, fed by a clear moun- tain spring, bubbled over and poured a considerable stream down the road. My guide had slipped the rifle from his shoulder, and was waiting, and, imme- diately on my sliding to the ground, stripped the saddle from my horse's back, and, directing me into the house, led him away to the stable, as though, for his part, he were quite at home at the Black Eagle. , The building in which I found my- self was, as novelists say, , a low, ram- bling structure,' having a wing here, an extension there, a second story up yon- der, and porches and windows as the architect had chanced to think of them. One of these porches-it could hardly be called a hall-led directly through the middle of the house, and here I was met by mine host, who with cheerful alacrity conducted me into what proved to be the general reception, sitting and dining room. ,A great fireplace, in which a heap of logs was blazing, occupied a goodly portion of one side of this room; and about the wide hearth of blue flagstones a lively group of persons, mostly young girls and boys, were seated, the girls knitting yarn or braiding straw, and the boys, with the exception of one, who held a violin on his knees, awkwardly enough knitting up their fingers. , The circle at once broke and made room for me; and an elderly matron, who sat against the jamb, and whose colorless face was all framed round with a stiffly-starched frill of white cambric, proceeded to entertain me by asking a good many direct questions. The young persons only joined in the conversation by exchanging glances with one another and by occasional bursts of laughter, or, at most, by such abrupt and brief re- marks as, sHow it does rain!' , How dark it is!' or, There's going to be snow!' , I do not remember that any of the young women specially interested me: they were all rustics of the rustics in dress and manner, and were, as I learned, the daughters of the mountain settlers- hunters, trappers and road-builders, of whom there were quite a number round about-and had been gotten together for a frolic at the Black Eagle that night through the social enterprise of the mountain lads, having ridden on horse- back behind them, over the wretched roads and through the wild wind and rain, a distance of six or eight miles- some of them, I was told. They all wore stout shoes, with petticoats of lin- sey-woolsey and short-gowns of home- made linen cloth, woven mostly in checks or stripes of blue and copperas color. They were timid, ruddy and sweet as the mountain flowers among which they grew. Some of them had sprays of crimson or gold leaves in their hair, and one or two had slender rings on their chubby fingers; but generally they were unadorned except by the brightness of their good-natured smiles. , By degrees the ice of my stranger- presence thawed a little, and the lank youth, who hugged the violin to his neck as persistently as a young mother hugs her first baby, would ,brave a riotous heart' and give a little wavering scrape, causing a general convulsion of merri- ment; but still I could not but feel my- self dreadfully in the way, for, the mirth once subdued, the girls resumed their plaiting and knitting as though quite ashamed of the late irregular proceeding, and the next year's hats and socks of their fathers, lovers and brothers went forward with silent rapidity again. , I was not sorry, therefore, when mine host, who had been to the kitchen, on hospitable cares intent, returned, and comprehending the state of things at a glance, resolved with wise generalship to disembarrass his guests by removing me peremptorily to headquarters; a reso- lution which he proceeded to communi- cate to the matron in the frilled 'cap, whispering so loudly as to be heard by all the company. it He also, in the same key, communi- cated the intelligence that old Gib had got back, and followed this information by the comment that my removal might perhaps serve to kill two birds with one stone-give the youngsters a chance, and keep the peace in the kitchen. it The woman nodded, and then, hold- ing at his button-hole, inquired with some trepidation whether Merial had yet seen Gibbow, and if he had come home drunk or sober, concluding with the wish that he had kept away for just one more night. , Oh, no matter!' said the landlord in a reassuring way: ,he'll help on the fun!' and then turning to me, we took up the line of march, and soon halted in an adjoining room and before a wood- fire blazing in just such another fire- place as we had left. The room was large and low, and at the end opposite to where I was seated there was another fireplace extending nearly across the whole side of the house. The ceiling overhead was ribbed with naked rafters, and the chinks of the walls filled and plastered, so that the latter presented alternate strips of white and wood-color, and were ornamented with bucks' horns, dried skins, vines of wild grapes and branches of brilliant leaves-the blood- red gum and yellow and scarlet maple. ,A small table, upon which a snowy cloth was laid, stood near the hearth be- fore which I was seated; and, engaged in the preparation of supper at the farther end of the room, I was conscious of the presence of womanhood in some shape or other, but whether coarse or comely I was not particularly interested to know, being pretty much engrossed by the flavor of the broiling birds that I already sniffed in the thin smoke curling about the rafters. I was sufficiently at- tracted, however, by the first words that reached me, or rather by the tone in which they were spoken, for the words themselves were indistinct. It was low, almost tremulous, indescribably sweet, and reminded me of the little musical noise a wild bird makes when fluttered in its nest. I half rose, instinctively, to protect the woman from what I felt to be aggressive rudeness; and as I turned my glance rested full upon the coppery face and snaky eyes of Gibbow, glitter- ing through the strings of his black hair. it I understood now that the words of the girl had been intended as a welcome, for the answer was (derisively spoken): , ,Yes, much you're glad to see me!' ", Why should you say that, Mr. Gib- bow?' and the wild bird seemed flutter- ing more wildly than before, and I saw one hand make a deprecatory movement toward me. , 'Cause you're Mer'l, and 'cause you ain't glad-that's why! Give me me supper--one o' them briled birds!' it I understood her to say that she had orders to prepare them for the stranger's supper, and would make ready for him as soon as I was served. , Some dreadfully coarse epithets, end- ing with an oath, -were the reply to this gentle remonstrance. ,t , Hush! h-u-s-h! for mercy's sake!' ,' , No, I won't, nuther!' -, i For your own sake, then, and for mine!' , For your'n? yes, that's purty- you're in love with him, ain't you?' and the man indicated me by thrusting his tongue toward me. , I have neither spoken to him, nor been nearer to him than I am now P' -This seemed to mollify the savage creature somewhat, and the next mo. ment I perceived that he had taken one of the broiling birds from the gridiron, and, tearing it with his fingers, was devouring it. -c The young woman quietly took the other from the coals, placed it on a pew- ter platter, and set it, with 'some bread and a tin cup of coffee, on a bench be- page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] side him. She then said something to him in so low a- tone that the meaning did not reach me, but from his reply I judged that she had proposed to sur- render some personal comfort in my behalf. , (Give it to him, 'stead o' me? At your per'l, and at his'n too, for that mat- ter!' and he tossed the bones from which he had gnawed the meat rudely at her face, gulped down the pint of coffee all at once, and, rising, stood with his back to the fire and surveyed me, as I felt, with intensified hatred. ,The young woman approached my end of the kitchen now, and with a. little curtsy--all the more charming for its embarrassment-apologized for the late- ness of my supper, and gave me to un- derstand that an accident had intervened. (, I will not attempt to describe her, but the very shadow of her long loose hair-golden, glorious and sprinkled over with rain-drops, for she was constantly passing out and in-was enough to drown me dead in love, to say nothing of the liquid light that overflowed- her eyes. There was something of appeal in those tender orbs, or I fancied there-was, and I hastened to draw from my pocket a little volume of Thomson's Seasons that I had with me, and, opening it at ran- dom, affected complete obliviousness to all that was passing. This seemed to be the only favor I could render. She hastened to place the candlestick on the side of the table nearest me, and as she did so I thought her blush illumined the page, rather than the candlelight. , As she placed the tea-things in that pretty, housewifely way that is so com- forting to a tired and hungry man, fancy was- running riot and bewildering my senses with wilder dreams than come to us in sleep. She was my little wife- the wilderness' was Eden--I was just come home from the war, and Gibbow was my Hessian servant, whom I pro- posed to dismiss with the early morn- ing for saucy glances bent on my gentle Merial! , Dear Lord! what a palpitating piece of folly the heart of a young man is! c, Merl!' growled my Hessian, and she had flitted away; but the pint cup was filled with something stronger than coffee now, and the savage was dwarfing into the imbecile. "Some words passed between them, so guttural on the part of the man, so low on the part of the girl, that I but imperfectly understood: it was plain enough, however, that it was a quarrel, and that it referred to me. , Meantime the music was being rasped out at a lively rate in the adjoin- ing room, and was accompanied by such loud talk and such peals of laughter as showed that all was going merry. Sud- denly the door was thrown open, and mine host of the Eagle, appearing with face all of a broad grin, beckoned Gib- bow to him. , , You're wanted to give us the war- dance,' he said; c so come 'long!' it Gibbow tossed off the remainder of the cup and obeyed, to the evident sat- isfaction of little Merial, who, the door once closed upon him, became quite an- other creature. It seemed easy work now to prepare my supper: the table was soon arranged, and a pair of par- tridges, smoking hot, and a little shining pot of fragrant tea, were' placed before me within a few minutes. There was white bread, wild honeycomb, golden butter, and I know not what besides. I only know it seemed to me a feast fit to set before General Washington himself, and that I thought the little mistress of the ceremonies, in her blue short-gown, striped petticoat and red stockings, must outshine any of the ladies of King George's court. i She would have stood to serve me, but I would not allow it; and, with an- other of those brilliant blushes that set my heart aflame, she took her place and waited with downcast eyes. I was filled with angry curiosity concerning my guide, who not only seemed quite at home in the Black Eagle, but also to exercise some mysterious influence over the young girl, whose hand he was not worthy to touch. , I could not but see that the mention of his name was painful to her, but this stimulated me only the more, and I asked several direct questions, though I had no earthly right to be so aggressive. Did he live at the Eagle? Was he really a half-breed? and why, in Heaven's name, was he permitted to carry snakes abot t in his bosom? And then I added it we re the less matter if they would only spit their venom wisely. To all these littl Meria' n;ade the briefest answers, and all the while her shy, moist eyes and burning cheeks entreated me to desist. I did so, at last, with the remark that I should like to see him limited for about six months to such rations as I had had to accept at the hands of the British. -Then you have been a soldier?' And the moisture in the eyes gathered to drops now, and glistened on the long lashes like dew on some willow spray. - At length she said-her, voice trem- bling from the first, and breaking down at last-- My father went to the war, and my two young brothers-all I had-and none of them ever came back.' ,4 ,And so you are alone in the world?' ,4 She did not reply quite directly, but, saying they had been very poor, and her mother having died through much suffer- ing, she had been obliged to go to ser- vice, turned the conversation to myself again. , I told my story anew, and Desde- mona could not have listened to her Moor with more gentle tenderness than she to me; and whether or not she loved me for my sorrows, I certainly loved her that she did pity me. -i There was no abatement of the jollity among the evening's guests, and the music, and the murmur of happy voices, and the tapping of the sleet at the pane just sufficiently invaded our privacy to enhance the enchantment; and so ithe hours on golden wings flew o'er me and my deary!' The old clock ticked un- heeded in the corner, the embers burned down, and the shadows among the raft- ers grew dimmer and dimmer, and by and by, as the episodes of dangerous silence grew more and more frequent between us, Merial lighted fresh candles and asked me to read from the beautiful book she had noticed in my hand before supper. it I did so, and the volume- happening to be illustrated, I often paused in the reading and called her attention to the pictures: this brought our hands in con- tact, and our cheeks nearly touched sometimes; and then every possible passage was made to do service by way of interpreting all that in my proper per- son I dare not express; so that nothing was gained by the subterfuge of the read- ing, and for another hour we drifted and drifted steadily toward- the great fall. ,t Some stir of unusual excitement in the next room seemed all at once to dis- turb, if not disenchant, my listener, and taking up the candlestick, she said she would lead the way to- my sleeping-room. it At the door she paused, hesitating, and it seemed to me there was some- thing she would communicate, but when I took her hand to say , Good-night,' I could not, for the life of me, help lifting t it to my lips; and with eyes frightened wide she fluttered away without a word. i The room was gmall, but neatly kept, the bed being especially dainty, and by the little' feminine attempts at garniture here and there I felt it to be the one usually occupied by Merial her- self. And was this then the favor she had proposed to do me, which Gibbow had forbidden with such violence? There were no means of settling this question just then, nor any of the others relating to that monstrous man; so I went straight to bed, and having resolved that I would remain a day or two at the Black Eagle, soon fell into that state of semi-sleep which is dreaming and wak- ing at once. , While in this condition it seemed to me, more than once, that I felt my pil- low throbbing and stirring as if there was something alive in it, but the sensa- tion was not positive enough to tho- roughly arouse me, and thus, with a most disagreeable impression on my mind, I drowsed deeper and deeper into sleep. I had reached the last possibility of con- sciousness when a little noise at the latch, as if some one were trying to see if the door were fast, rather than trying to come in, arrested my torpor, and in a moment, the noise being repeated, I be- page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] gan to take possession of my senses. A gleam of light from some other part of the house shone through my uncurtained win- dow and across my bed; but aside from this the room was in pitchy darkness. "I heard the latch softly lifted, and then the door creaking on its hinges, as if being pushed carefully open. I raised myself on, one elbow now, all my senses alert. There could be no mistake: somebody, with good or bad intent, was stealing into my chamber, and it seemed to me not likely with good. I listened close and could not hear a footstep, but I did hear a little rustle of garments. Could the intruder be a woman? The thought had hardly shaped itself when a' muffled object passed the line of light falling through the window, and ad- vanced toward my bed. it I thought of what Gibbow had said about the ghost, but I was not much of a believer in ghosts, and, drawing my- self up, extended my right arm for a blow if need were. The garments rus- tled closer-touched my hand ; and then another hand touched mine-a friendly hand, as I knew by the gentlest of little pressures. ,(I Merial!' I said-the extended arm had closed about her waist now. Her fingers touched my mouth. Speak low,' she whispered: ,you are in dan. ger. Gibbow is lying in a drunken sleep at your door: he means you harm when he wakes. Oh pray, sir, bar your door: if you have money, put it under your pillow, and keep wide awake. I came over his body to warn you, and if you knew what I braved, you would heed me.' it I would have drawn her closer- would have kissed her, but she loosened my clasp: her long hair trailed across my shoulder-touched my cheek. She -was gone, and I had only, from first to last, spoken the single word, Merial! , My first impulse was to spring out of bed, seize the man Gibbow by the neck and fling him down stairs; but my second thought restrained me. I must wait 'till she was safe. I did so, and when I knew that she was out of hear- ing, felt under my pillow for the dirk- knife which I had shoved beneath it on going to bed. Great Heaven! what cold, moist, devilish thing did my hand close upon? I was on my feet in an instant, and as soon as flint and tinder could strike a light, had one. I was not long in turning my pillow, and there, all folded to a glittering heap, the slim white throat and nasty flat head uppermost, lay the very serpent Gibbow had brought home dangling at his gunlock! I looked about for something with which to de- spatch the thing; and finding in the fire- place an old pair of rusty tongs, caught up the snake, and, opening the door, dashed it in the face of the drunken half-breed. I then bolted the door between us, and having examined the bed-clothes, though it was not likely I should find a nest of snakes there, went to bed and slept till morning. , Breakfast awaited me, and I partook of it in common with the family, but without having sight of Merial. It had grown colder during the night, and trees and ground were covered with a stiff, shining coat of sleet, and the branches rattled when the wind came like so many branches of steel. t 4 Your horse will hardly be able to keep his feet down the mountain slopes this morning,' said my landlord, looking from the window. ic I don't mean to give him the trial,' I answered: , I propose to rest here for a day or two, if you will keep me.' , Most happy to keep you, but I see Gibbow- has already got the saddle on. I will go to the stable-yard.' ,c I answered that I would prefer to go myself, for I wanted to meet Gib- bow face to, face, and have it out with him. "He was just tightening the, girth under the horse's belly, and with the back of my hand I gave him a smart I slap on the ear, as I commanded him to take the saddle off again. He gathered himself up, and leaning against my horse, looked at me in such stupid won- der that I perceived he was not yet re- covered from his drunken fit. I per; ceived, too, that the spirit was all out of him, and that he was cringing, weak and beggarly. He winked the boiling water from his red eyes as he stammered, ,c Not goin,' do you say? Well, 'tain't nothin' to me, but my gal told me you was, and you'll gim me a quarter, all the same, I reckon, for saddlin' your pony?' He crouched before me and held out his greasy cap with shameless importunity. I was' only alive to one suggestion. Hzisgal!/ Who could he refer to-not Merial? , Who told you?' I said, all my at- titude expressing defiance and vengeance --- Who told you, do you say .? ,c t My gal, my squaw-wife, you call her! But you'll gim me the quarter?' and he held the cap, made of some sort of rough gray skin, still nearer, and the hot water boiled over his blank eyes and blubbered down his dirty-face. , Your wife? You haven't any wife! or, if you have, who is she? Tell me, and tell the truth!' ,",Why, gold-hair! Mer'l-her that, briled your birds!' " My mind ran like lightning over all that had happened, and I saw in it all the possibility, nay the probability, of the relation. If I had been stricken with death, the world could not have seemed more strange and dark. The quarter dollar fell into the cap. Buckle the girth,' I said, and give me the rein!' ,I rode away without once seeing poor little Merial, but when she laid the cloth that day for dinner, she must have found lying on the table, prefaced with a simple inscription to herself, the beauti- ful volume that had charmed away one of the happiest hours of my life-per- haps of hers." r But tell me, dear grandfather, how she came to marry so?" , Heaven only knows, my child! And why, indeed, any woman marries a man she does not love is among those mysteries that will only be revealed when the secrets of all hearts are made known." ALICE CARY. SNOW UPON THE WATERS. THE clocks of the city of Berlin were striking the midnight hour. It was a cold, clear night in January: the mar- ble groups on the Schloss Briicke were half hidden under wreaths of snow, the frozen surface of the Spree looked dark and glassy where the wind had swept away its snowy covering, and the grace- ful colonnade of the Crown Prince's pal- ace was hung with icicles instead of the swaying vines that decked it in more propitious seasons. The moon was just rising, and under the magic wand of its beams the fairest city in Germany seem- ed transformed into one of the gorgeous visions of the Arabian Nights-a city of silver, paved with pearl and flashing with diamonds. Two belated pleasure-seekers were hurrying along the Jager Strasse, and one of them, looking up at a window on tie third floor of a house which they were passing, and from which glimmered a light, said: , That is Herr Mansfeldt's room: he did not act to-night." "He is doubtless having a carouse with some of his boon companions. These actors are a sad, dissipated set, and I have no doubt but that Mansfeldt is as bad as any of them." And the speakers passed on. Notwithstanding this charitable sur- mise, Herr Mansfeldt was at that moment sitting quietly in the small salon of the page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] suite of apartments which he occupied in Frau Wagner's lodging-house-alone, unless the spirit of Goethe were with him, for he was studying the part of Mephistopheles, which, in a few weeks, he was to enact for the first time. Though the furniture was plain and worn, the room wore a comfortable and cheery aspect. The walls on three sides were hung with prints and pictures of various kinds-a copy in oil-colors of the portrait of Wallenstein, an old print of Garrick in the character of Richard III., a pencil-drawing, representing the vision of Egmont in Goethe's tragedy of that name, and engraved portraits of the great German actors, Seidelmann and Dev- rient, being among the most important. A pair of swords, another of foils, and an assemblage of daggers, pistols and such small weapons, all remarkable either for their anrtiquity or their workmanship, were arranged on the wall over the low sofa. A gigantic white stove, towering almost to the ceiling, diffused a genial warmth. Two objects of luxury alone adorned the apartment-one of which, a beautiful bust in white marble of Miel- pomene, stood on a pedestal between the windows, while the other, a large cheval glass, had been wheeled into the centre of the floor, and a small table, on which were placed two candles and a copy of Retzsch's outline illustrations of Faust, stood before it. Beside this table sat Herr. Hermann Mansfeldt, the leading actor of the Royal Theatre -of Berlin, and the most gifted and successful young tragedian of the day. Nature had richly endowed him for the profession he had chosen. Not above the middle height, with a slender, finely-proportioned figure, dark, lustrous, expressive eyes, features as regular and as severely outlined as those of an an- tique bust, a voice whose soft, deep tones were capable of all varieties of modula- tion, and a grace of movement that made each of his attitudes on the stage a study for the sculptor-such .were the gifts which Fortune had bestowed to aid the rarer gift of genius in the youthful actor. Notwithstanding these personal advan- tages, Herr Mansfeldt was singularly free from vanity, that most common and natural defect among dramatic artists. The photographers complained that they could not persuade him to sit to them half often enough to supply the demand for his picture, and the perfumed notes which he occasionally received were in- variably cast, half read, into the fire, while the only expressions that they ever -drew from his lips'were words of indig- nation and disgust. His life was devoted to his profession, and he loved his art with a passion that had as yet found no rival in his heart. And yet Hermann Mansfeldt had not been born in the station which he occu- pied. Twenty years before the opening of our story, Joseph Heinrich Hermann Ruprecht von Adlersberg, an officer in; the Austrian service and a member of one of the proudest of noble Austrian families, committed suicide, having dis- sipated his small patrimony at the gam- ing-tables .of Baden-Baden. His only child, Heinrich von Adlersberg, then a boy of nine years of age, was left totally dependent on the bounty of his aristo- cratic relatives, one of whom generously offered to educate him, and nobly ful- filled his promise. But when young Heinrich left the University, he found himself regarded as a burden and a nuisance by those relations to whose hands his destiny seemed to be confided. His one friend-and protector amongst them was dead, and had died without making any provision for the future of his protegd, for whom he doubtless thought he had done enough. No other member of the Von Adlersberg family was inclined to accept the charge Provi- dence seemed to have thus bestowed upon them ; but while sundry angry dis- cussions were going on respecting the future destination of this poverty-stricken young aristocrat, the youth himself put a stop to all further dispute, and effect- ually severed all connection between him- self and his relatives, by announcing his determination of changing his name and going on the stage. It is needless to describe the uproar and indignation which this resolve created, nor is it ne- cessary to enumerate the various small temptations which were offered to induce him to change it. Suffice it to, say, that a marriage with a wealthy lady of thrice his age, and a stewardship on sundry neglected estates 'in Hungary, were among. the number. But Heinrich, strong in the consciousness of his fit- ness for the profession he had chosen, and loathing the idea of a life of aristo- cratic pauperism, remained firm, even when formally renounced by those who had never regarded him in any other light than that of a burden. On his part, he was as careful to sever all con- nection between his future and the past as the proudest member of the Von Ad- lersberg family could have wished. Like all nobly-born Germans, he was amply supplied with Christian names: a sur- name was easily selected, and, laying the cognomen of Heinrich von Adlersberg aside with his father's sword and seal- ring, he applied, under the name of Her- mann Mansfeldt, at the Royal Theatre in Berlin for an engagement, and was so fortunate as to secure one at once. Beginning, of course, at the very foot of the dramatic ladder, he rose steadily, step by step, till, six years after the date of his ddbut, he occupied the position of leading actor in that theatre-acknow- ledged to be the first in Germany; and two years later we find him about to represent the character which is probably the most difficult in the whole circle of the modern acting drama-that of Mephistopheles. Not without toil and suffering had this success been won. The struggle up- ward had been fraught with weariness and pain: many had been the trials and privations which he had been called upon to endure; but Heaven had made Hermann Mansfeldt an actor, and he loved his profession as only the career marked out for us by Providence ever is loved. As the dinner of herbs that we relish is far pleasanter to us than the stalled ox of distasteful flavor, so better are privation and discomfort when we toil at the occupation of our choice than ease and luxury when joined to the claims of a hated and uncongenial duty. He ceased at last from his study of Retzsch's spirited designs, and laying aside the volume, he bent forward and fixed his eyes upon the mirror. Beneath his gaze the reflected face changed to that of a fiend, and wore the mocking. glance, the sneering smile and the bale- ful eyes of Mephistopheles. Then, rising, he pushed the table aside and stood before the glass, and its polished surface gave back the attitudes, the ges- tures, the whole bodily semblance of the malignant demon created by Goethe and depicted by Retzsch. At length he turned away and commenced to pace the room with hurried steps, reciting aloud passages from his role as he did so. The fever of art-inspiration was upon him: he had flung aside his in- dividuality, and, for the time being, he was Mephistopheles, the tempter and the betrayer. His eyes glittered with an evil lustre, his deep, melodious voice had a serpent-like hiss amid its tones, the finely-cut lips quivered with a mocking, malicious smile, and the slen- der hands which he stretched forth in moments of impassioned declamation seemed to grow claw-like and to wear unseen talons. -At last he grew weary, and sinking into a- chair, the baleful sparkle vanished from his eyes, and Mephistopheles fled to give place to Hermann. Mansfeldt. A distant clock at that moment struck two. Mansfeldt passed his hand over his brow with the half-bewildered air of a man just awakened from a troubled dream. , Two o'clock!" he said at last. it I had better retire to rest if I wish to be at rehearsal in time to-morrow." He extinguished one of the candles, and taking up the other, was about to quit the room, when his eyes fell upon a little- table in a remote corner, which up to that moment had remained in ob- scurity. On that table there lay a letter. it A letter here!" said Mansfeldt with surprise. *Strange that I should not have. been told of its arrival!" He put down his candle and seated himself to examine this unexpected epistle. It was directed, as usual, to Herr Hermann Mansfeldt, but beneath that name was written, in the style page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] adopted by high-born French and Ger- man married ladies, ,born Heinrich von Adlersberg." A scornful smile flitted across his lips: i Heinrich von Adlersberg died eight years ago, and Hermann Mansfeldt has no desire to call up his ghost. But let us see what this oddly-inscribed missive contains." He turned the letter over and glanced at the seal before breaking it. It was of red wax, small but massive, and bore on its surface, in high relief, instead of a crest, coat-of-arms or motto, but one word, Morgen (To-morroxw). Within the envelope was a single folded sheet of thick, satin-smooth 'paper, which ex- ailed a faint odor of violets as he opened i, and on which was written, in a firm yet delicate female hand, the following: is Are you content with the Present?- have you no regrets for the Past, no as- pirations for the Future? Nobly-born as you are, it is impossible but that the vagabond life of an actor should have be- come distasteful to you. She who now addresses you is all-powerful to restore you to that station which you renounced eight years ago. Will you accept wealth and title, and a full restoration to the honors to which you were born, from the hand of a wife?-a wife whose love may be unsought, but the very intensity of whose devotion will not fail to win your heart in return. More than this I dare not now reveal. The time is at hand, however, when I may tell you all, and may implore you to pardon this act for my love's sake. We shall meet soon. Look on the seal I send: it says To- morrow, but the day will soon be here when it will tell you, To-day. Till then, farewell." He cast the letter indignantly from him. it Wealth-rank-honors t!" he said, disdainfully. , Heaven has made me a great dramatic artist: shall I sell my" birth-right for a mess of pottage? Shame on this woman, who can stoop to woo an actor through the medium of an anonymous letter!" -He took up the paper again as he spoke and held it in the flame of the candle. It soon-fell, a heap of white ashes, on the table; and next morning the servants swept away the last trace of the mysterious letter and of its prom- ise-freighted seal, To-morrow. Mansfeldt approached the theatre the next morning with more than usual interest in the coming rehearsal. A young actress from the Leipsic theatre, named Bertha Markstein, of whom re- port spoke highly, had been specially engaged to perform the part of Gretchen in the forthcoming revival of Faust, and on the morning in question she was to make her first appearance among her future comrades. She was said to be no less beautiful than talented; and though her celebrity as an actress was of recent date, it was widespread and Owell-deserved, having been created by her performance of Goethe's Margaret and Schiller's Thekla during the past season ini Leipsic, where she had pro- duced a marked sensation. A consider- able degree of curiosity respecting her had therefore been created in the minds of the members of the Berlin company, and even the usually distrait and indif- ferent Mansfeldt was moved to more than ordinary interest on the subject. He had been for some minutes in the theatre, and was standing on the stage engaged in conversation with the stage- manager, when a fair, graceful girl came toward them and riveted his gaze at once. Bertha Markstein was a perfect specimen of that rare but exquisite type of feminine loveliness, a very beautiful German girl. The pure oval of her countenance, the paly gold and silken abundance of her shining hair, the lus- trous azure of her large, soft eyes, and, above all, the sweetness and innocence of her expression, combined to form in her a faultless representative of Goetheis guileless and ill-fated heroine. She was not tall, but her figure was beautifully proportioned, and her every motion was grace itself. , Our new actress," whispered Herr Miiller, the stage-manager. ,If the vision Faust beheld in the Witches' Cave were half as lovely, I do not marvel at his madness," was Mans- feldt's reply. , Ah, Fraulein Bertha, good-morning to you!" cried Herr Miiller. is Let me present to you Herr Hermann Mans- feldt, our leading tragedian." The lovely girl came forward, blush- ing deeply as she caught the admiring gaze of the young actor's dark, expres- sive eyes. Only a few words, however, were exchanged before the business of rehearsal began in earnest and their varied duties separated them, although the eyes of Mephistopheles continued to dwell with ardent and most inappropriate admiration on the fair face of Gretchen. At last came that scene where Mar- garet, standing before her mirror, un- braids her hair while murmuring to her- self the ballad of , The King of Thule." It was the first in which the young actress had found an opportunity of displaying her powers, and every one present, from the leading actors down to the scene- shifters, were deeply interested. The event justified all expectations. As Bertha stood before the mirror, unwind- ing the massive golden braids that when unloosened fell far below her waist, sing- ing the lovely melody to which Goethe's words are wedded, despite the lack of theatrical appliances, despite the daylight, the ordinary dress and the prosaic sur- roundings, the illusion was perfect: it was Gretchen herself, in all her sweet- ness, her simplicity and her unconscious loveliness. When the scene was ended, Mans- feldt came quickly forward. "I 'have seen my ideal of Margaret at last," he said, earnestly. 6, Thank you, Fraulein Bertha, for the pleasure you have given me." The long, silken lashes drooped to the blushing cheek, and she made no au- dible reply, but a smile, sweeter than words, was his sufficient answer. Thus began the acquaintance, which, long before the dramatic critics had ex- hausted their praises of the wonderful perfection of the Faust revival, had ripened into an attachment mutual, ten- der and enduring. The young actress proved to be as good and gentle and lovely as her looks had promised. Her character was beyond reproach: she had 5 been the sole support of an invalid and widowed mother, and after the death of this sole surviving parent she had re- sided under the protection of an aunt, whose removal to Berlin had been one of the chief inducements to accept the proffer of an engagement in that city. She had received many excellent offers of marriage, but had remained in , maid- en meditation, fancy free," till wooed and won by Hermann Mansfeldt. The pair, whom report had ever stigmatized as cold-hearted, had met the one love of their lives at last. In this manner was that love avowed. The successful run of Faust was destined to be interrupted for one night, on which a benefit was to be given to an aged and celebrated actor of the company, who on that occasion was to bid farewell to the stage of which for so many years he had been the honor- and the ornament. The play selected was Schiller's Wal- lenstein, wherein the beneficiary was to personate Wallenstein, while Bertha Markstein was to enact Thekla, and Herr Mansfeldt volunteered his services for the r61e of Max Piccolomini. -The first rehearsal took place, and passed off smoothly till that scene was reached wherein Max, noble, confiding andsde- luded, speaks in enthusiastic terms of praise respecting Wallenstein, and urges Thekla to allow him to confess their mutual attachment to her father. , He is so good, so noble!" Thekla answers, throwing herself into his arms, "That art thou?" It was the first time that the exigencies of stage-business had ever called upon the as yet unacknowledged lovers to em- brace, and Bertha, instead of losing her identity in that of Schiller's gentle hero- ine and sinking into the arms of the ex- pectant Max, blushed, hesitated, drew back, and finally compromised matters by laying her hand on Hermann's shoulder as lightly and timidly as though he were clothed in porcupine-skins instead of superfine broadcloth. He- noticed the change in her manner, and after rehearsal contrived to meet her in one of the nar- row passages at the wings. She was page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] about to pass him with a shy greeting, but he arrested her steps with a gesture of entreaty: i( Fraulein Markstein." She paused: , Can I serve you in -any way, Herr Mansfeldt?" , I wish to ask you one question: Why did you shrink from me at rehearsal just now?" i"H do not know. I think-" st One of two feelings prompted your avoidance of me. Was it hate?" , Oh no, Herr Mansfeldt-no!" ex- claimed the young girl, too much agitated to perceive how much this denial implied. -"Bertha, was it love?" The fair face- was instantlyaverted, -and the little hand he had taken in his own struggled to free itself, but he only folded it in a firmer clasp. 4 Listen to me, Bertha, ere you go: I love you as I never dreamed of loving aught in this world save my art. Mine has been a lonely and a loveless life. I have a faint remembrance of a soft hand smoothing tenderly my childish locks, and of gentle eyes that looked fondly upon me; and this dim vision, which I call my mother, represents all that my existence has known of love till I met you, and learned that henceforth the sun- shine of my life must beam on me from your eyes or else be darkened to me for ever. Can you not love me? will you -not bring peace and brightness to my dreary home and my lonely heart-? Now go. Leave me if you will," he continued, stepping back a pace and letting fall her hand, (, or else come to me-my wife, my love, my own. Liebchen.-.Liebchen, come!" She turned toward him, blushing, trembling and yet smiling, :and radiant with his new-found happiness her lover clasped her to his heart. As he bent over the fair head drooping on his bosom, he whispered, in the words of Thekla's hero-lover--- "Look not away-look'on me, O mine angel. Let who will, knowthat we both love each other."* Early in April the formal betrothal of the lovers took place. The day after 'w'allenstein, Part Second, Act III., ,Scene z8. that event, as Mansfeldt was ascending the stairs leading to his lodging, he was met by his servant. it Here is a letter for you, sir," said the man: , it arrived some hours ago." Mansfeldt took the letter, but scarcely glanced at it -till he reached his 'own apartments. The instant he looked a4t it he recognized the peculiar handwriting of his anonymous correspondent, whose first letter, with -all its mystery and its promises, he had entirely forgotten. It was with a gesture of impatience that he tore .the missive open and read as follows: , The obstacles which have hitherto prevented out meeting are at last re- moved. Be at the Brandenburg Gate to- night at nine o'clock, and my messenger will not :fail to find you. I might now sign my name, but I wait to let you learn it from -my lips-from the lips of the woman who loves you, and who hopes to bring you, as your bride, the fairest dower that your wildest ambition could desire. Till to-night farewell." The seal was of snow-white bridal wax, while its surface bore one word- Heute (To-day). Upon the table lay another missive, which Mansfeldt had that morning :re- ceived--a gift which Bertha Markstein had sent to her betrothed. It was a miniature portrait of herself. Hermann took it up and gazed tenderly on the fair pictured face, to whose beauty the pencil of the artist had been powerless to impart new charms. , My love-my art!" he said at last: i who shall separate me from you both? Not this unknown, who stoops to encet the unwomanly part of a wooer, and who strives to purchase my hand with golden gifts and empty honors. I prize more the laurel wreath which Devrient and Talma wore than the coronet of a noble. Your love, my Bertha, is to me a -treas- ure greater than all that this writer of anonymous letters, all-powerful though she claim to be, can e'er bestow." He tore the letter into minute frag- ments, and opening the window cast them forth to flutter in the guise 'of mimic snowflakes in the April air. The white seal, with its inscription, Hezute, fell at his feet and was crushed beneath his tread as he turned to quit the apart- ment. And when evening came, the hour which was to have seen him wait- ing at the Brandenburg Gate for the messenger from the unknown, found him seated beside his betrothed in the opera- house, and listening to the sublime music of the Huguenots with all a true Ger- man's appreciative delight. The anony- mous communications had in no wise stirred the depths of his being: they had but touched the surface of his daily life, and then, like snowflakes on the water, they had passed away and left no trace behind. On a sunny day in June the marriage took place. 'It was a very quiet and private affair, though one incident occur- red in the church which was worthy of remark. Near the conclusion of the ceremony, a lady, dressed in black and closely veiled, who had occupied a posi- tion near the door, came near fainting, and was obliged to retire, but she refused all offers of assistance, and without rais- ing her veil she quietly withdrew, the occurrence being noticed by'but few of the persons present. Shortly after her marriage, Bertha Mansfeldt, at her husband's request, re- tired from the stage. Though ever in- telligent and charming in all that she undertook, she lacked 'that true dramatic fire and that intense love for her profes- sion which were Hermann's distinguish- ing characteristics, and which he rightly deemed essential :to success in the higher walks of his art. Her youth, beauty and sweetness made her person- ation of such characters as Gretchen, Ophelia and Desdemona absolutely fault- less, but she did not possesseither 'the physical or artistic force necessary for the adequate representation of more intellectual and powerful heroines. But it was the woman that Hermann had loved, not the fellow-artist: he had chosen her to be the companion of his life, not 'the sharer of his toils. And she was in truth all that the wife of a great actor. should be-a %loving yet ap- preciative critic, a faithful counselor, -un- -I failing in her sympathy and untiring in her devotion. She rejoiced in all his successes, gloried in his triumphs, ana soothed away all the irritation produced by the petty annoyances incidental to a theatrical life, and which sometimes fret- ted his delicate, sensitive nature almost beyond endurance. She always, if pos- sible, accompanied him to the theatre, but when detained at home he ever found her awaiting his return; atnd if the first and fondest kiss was bestowed uponl'her husband, the second and proudest em- brace was always given 'to the distin- guished actor. It was a happy and cheerful home; and though wealth and splendor might not abide there, love and content and perfect congeniality dwelt in their stead. One child- came to perfect their happiness-a blue-eyed girl, who to her mother's beauty and gentleness united 'the dramatic talent of her gifted father. Ten sunny, uneventful years passed swiftly by, and gave to Mansfeldt's genius a wider and riper development, lending to his countenance a nobler and more intellectual beauty; -while Bertha's loveliness, thanks to her cheerful nature and the unclouded serenity of her life, remained unimpaired, and only assumed a more dignified and matronly type. And Mansfeldt's fame and fortune waxed greater with each succeeding year, while his wife's love and sympathy were, as ever, his most efficient aids. They had indeed been to him as a fair pedestal, on which the peerless statue of his genius had 'been raised to a clearer light and a nobler elevation. The tenth anniversary of 'their wed- ding-day saw this attached pair on the eve of separating for the first time. Hermann had received a munificent offer to play a short engagement in the prin- cipal cities of Holland, and after much hesitation he accepted it. It had always been Bertha's custom 'to accompany her husband when the closing of the Berlin theatre enabled him to fulfill engagements in other cities, but her Wealth at this period -was in a precarious state, and her husband was unwilling to allow:her to expose herself to the discomforts of a journey, as well as to the 'damp, page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] unwholesome atmosphere of a Dutch summer. i Remember, you must give me an- other daughter," he whispered tenderly, as he folded her for the last time in his arms. , I have prayed for a son, undutiful wife as I am," she answered, playfully, though her blue eyes were full of tears --, a son with your eyes and your noble nature-to make hereafter some woman's life as happy as you have made mine. Oh, Hermann, how happy we have been in all these -years!" Two weeks later, from the windows of the express-train which left Obern- hausen on the Prussian frontier in the evening for Berlin, there peered a white, haggard face, that would hardly have been recognized by the habitues of the Berlin theatre as being that of Hermann Mansfeldt. ,Your wife is dying. Come home at once!" so ran the telegram which had summoned him. O flying train, rushing onward at lightning speed, how you creep, how you loiter, how slow your whirling wheels, how powerless your mighty engine, when you bear the loving to the deathbed of the beloved! On! and the moonlight shows a spectral city, which the guards name Hanover, and at which the wide-open eyes of the one sleepless traveler stare unseeing. Then come long stretches of landscape, fields and forests and far-off hills, all peaceful and quiet in the shining silence of the night. Another sleeping city, silent and motionless under the silvery light, and this is Brunswick, and the agonized watcher writhes as if in phys- ical agony, and mutters, ,*They stop so long-so long!"Again the train rushes on, and the gray dawn shines on the pallid face and clenched hands of the hapless husband. Potsdam at last, its palaces showing fair and bright in the golden morning sunshine; and then the train thunders into the great station at Berlin, and the miserable journey ends. Pale, wearied and utterly exhausted with fatigue and misery, Hermann Mans- feldt reached his home. His little daughter Bertha met him on the thres- hold and sprang weeping into his arms. "Oh, father! mother has left us- mother has gone to heaven!" she sobbed. He had come too late. The next moment he stood beside the bed whereon lay, calm and beautiful in statue-like repose, all that earth still held of the gentle being whose love and loveliness had made the sunshine of his life. Little Bertha followed him, and after a short pause she gently raised one end of the snowy covering that lay. lightly over the silent form. " Father," she whispered, pointing to a little waxen image that lay pillowed, as if in sleep, on the dead mother's arm, ,is that a little angel God-sent to take mother back with him to heaven?" But Hermann did not hear her. He had sunk upon his knees beside the bed, his head drooped forward, and a merci- ful insensibility brought to the burning brain and the breaking heart a momen- tary respite. The day after the funeral the bereaved husband sat alone in the room in which our story first discovered him, but which Bertha's loving thoughtfulness and busy hands had made far more comfortable and pleasant. It was still strewn with traces of her occupancy. A book which she had been reading lay on one table, with her mark, a ribbon which she had herself embroidered, between its leaves; while on another stood her work-basket, the half-open lid revealing the brilliant colors and glittering fringes of a scarf which she had been hurrying to finish, that her husband might wear it as an adjunct to his splendid Oriental cos- tume as Othello. The bust of Melpom- ene bore on its marble brow a wreath of silver laurel, which had been one of the last tributes Bertha had received from the public during her brief theatri- cal career; and Hermann remembered vividly the day, a short time before his departure, when the wreath had been brought down to display to a visitor, and how his wife had playfully crowned the bust with it, declaring that she was tired of taking care of it; and that she should look to him to supply her with laurel wreaths in the future. And on the mantelpiece lay folded the last piece of work on which her loving hands had been engaged-a tiny shirt, with the lace edging but half sewn on, the needle still sticking in its folds and the thimble be- side it, as if she had put it aside for a moment and would speedily return to complete her task. But the summons of Death had interrupted her as she wrought, and had stricken with eternal paralysis the mother's skillful fingers and loving heart. A letter lay before Mansfeldt, but though it had arrived hours before, its seal was as yet unbroken, the superscrip- tion as yet unscanned. He saw naught with his bodily vision: he was gazing with the eyes of memory upon the fair, bright face of his lost Bertha. Now it rose before him, bending over his sleep- ing child: then he saw it, pale yet smil- ing, under the snowy blossoms of her bridal wreath: then again he beheld it as when its beauty had first charmed him, with the downcast lids and timid smile and braided tresses of Margaret: then, with a sharp and sudden pang, he recalled its statue-like beauty when the marble hand of Death had closed the soft eyes and frozen into stillness the mobile features. At last thought be- came agony: he shook off the lethargy which possessed him and rose abruptly from his chair. , I shall go mad if this continues," he exclaimed. His sudden action displaced the letter and it fell upon the floor, thus attracting * his attention. He took it up and opened it mechanically. After ten long years, the handwriting of his unknown corre- spondent again greeted his sight, and he read as follows: it You are free, and I love you still- but it is too late." And the black, heavy seal bore for the motto the one word Gestern (Yesterday). O wasted love, unnoticed, uncared for, even in that moment of deepest desola- tion! The letter dropped from his list- less grasp, scarce read, wholly unheeded, on the floor. And the hapless widower, bowing his head on his hands, forgot all else save the darkness of the Shadow of Death which brooded over his spirit. A timid touch roused him from his stupor. He raised his head and his little daughter climbed, crying, into -his arms. ,Take me, father," she said-, take me and pet me a little. I am so lonely, and I have nobody but you." He folded her to his heart, while his tears, the first he had shed since his be- reavement, fell thick and fast on her sunny hair. At last he looked up. He extended one hand toward the bust of the Tragic Muse, while with the other he pressed the golden head still closer to his breast. ic These still are left to me," he mur- mured-, my child and my art. I am not wholly desolate." And the letter lay forgotten at his feet. "UCY H. HOOPER. THAT MAN. TWO little notes are necessary by way of introduction. The first is as follows, to Curtis Marston, Esq.: "DEAR MARSTON: Dine with me next Thursday, at six P. M., precisely. You must come. Monkhouse is to be there, and two others, and we want you to be on hand to put the said M. under an extinguisher. He, tells such awful romances that he must be suppressed, and you are the man to do it. Yours, truly, "F. SIMMONS." page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] No. 2, to Frederick Simmons, Esq.: s"DEAR FRED: I don't know why you select me. I never had a gift at telling crams, especially against such a superior artist in that line as Monkhouse. However, I will come and do what oc- curs to me on the spur of the moment. "Yours, truly, "C. MARSTON." The rest of the story Mr. Monkhouse shall tell himself. ,c Come and dine with me, next Thurs- day. Bachelors' dinner, six precisely, and mean it; so don't come dropping in at half-past." This was what Fred Simmons said to me. What I said to Fred was, it Thanks! I believe I will." I always dine with Fred when he asks me. First, because he was my classmate in college, and roomed in the same entry with me. Fred then was poor, and I was not. Now Fred is not, and I am. He used to dine with me then: now I dine with him. I figured up the account between us the other day, and I make it that Fred still owes me twenty-eight dinners and seventeen teas. The teas were coffee and cakes, you know, at Marm Haven's, in School street, before walking out on Saturday nights. And then interest, during twenty years. It only makes Fred's conduct the more unprincipled. Reason Number Two is, that Fred gives good dinners-perhaps better than I used to give him. But then, in those days, our appetites were better, espe- cially after the long walk over Williams' river bridge, from Yalehaven to Botolphs- ville. At least, Fred's was. He boarded in commons then, and college commons were-well, apt to induce a disregard of expense when we dined in the city on Saturdays. Now my appetite is the better af the two. I board at Mrs. McSkinner's, and dine down town in Maiden lane or thereabouts. I have no more money than before the war, but dinners are twice as dear. Reason Three is, that I meet queer people at Fred's. Others who dine there say the same thing, so that I know it is not prejudice on my part. It was only a month ago, after dining with Fred, when there was but one guest besides myself-a man who writes for the papers. I heard of his saying the next day that Fred Simmons cultivated more eccen- tricities in his kitchen-garden than any other man in --. Will it do for me to tell the city's name? No, I think not: we will say, , in Chicago Atlanticensis.'" I thought it was candid in the fellow to say so, for a queerer fish than he was I never met. One thing I do not fancy about Fred. He lets men tell such extravagant stories. I suppose he thinks them brilliant and all that, but I never could see the wit or the humor. Fiction is my abomination. I would not send this paper to any maga- zine in which all the stories were not strictly true. I don't mean , founded on fact"-a compromised title which always reminds me of Mrs. McSkinner's coffee-but all fact, as I am assured by the Editor all the stories in this periodi- cal are. I hate lying. When I was a little boy I once was guilty of a trifling in- accuracy of statement-I now think, un- intentionally. I was in consequence shut up in a, dark closet for a whole week, until I had read through-and in fact learnt by heart --Amelia Opie's Illustrations of Lying, a book which in my youth was deemed efficacious for reforming juvenile Ananiases and Sap- phirae. The horror of that experience has always since kept me from the least deviation. But to return to my story. I read the other day in a newspaper, , Truth is stranger than fiction." The man who wrote that must have dined frequently with Fred. Truth at his dinner-table is the greatest stranger possible. I went to Fred's last Thursday. Of course I did not dine down town that day. And I was not late. There were six of us at table-four others, Fred and me. It was a good din- ner. But there was too much. talking. And too much space between the courses. The time might have been filled up better, and where there are these delays men will drink more wine than they otherwise would. The con- sequence is, they tell too long and too marvelous stories. Fred calls this the ,Feast of Reason, etc." He should be ashamed of such a trite and absurd quotation. If he board- ed at Mrs. McSkinner's and dined at Fulton Market, he would know better than to talk when he should be eating. One of the four guests (I don't con- sider myself a guest at Fred's, but Pami de la maison-at least I used to be) was an Irishman-an Irish gentleman, Fred called, him. To my taste, gentlemen should be less prosy. He was full of his stories-could not wait for dinner to be done, and the proper time for story- telling, if such a thing must be, to come. I was just getting ready-it was after the soup-to mention a little adventure of mine at Naples-in the crater of Vesuvius, in fact-because I really thought it might interest the company. Fred may have heard it before, but they had not, and it was suggested very neatly by the vermicelli. Fred cut in upon me by asking that provoking Pat- lander, that ferocious Fenian, if he had been much cheated by the hackmen in this country. ,Nothing to speak of," said he, ,after Dublin. I was seasoned there. You can't satisfy a Dublin car-driver. We -tried it once when I was in Her Majesty's service - Twenty-sixth, line regiment. A bet was made at mess on the subject, and Arthur Ponsonby took it in,ponies. If the man asked for more, he was to lose. Pon called a car to take a couple of us to the theatre-the maker of the bet, and myself as umpire. The theatre was only a square off. When we alighted he pulled out a sovereign and tossed it to the driver, saying, , Here, Mickey, that will do you for our bit of a drive, won't it?' Pon meant to make it a sure thing, but he had overdone it. Mickey looked at the coin a moment to see if it was good, then at the faces of us watching, and he seemed to have an instinct of what was up, for he pulled a regular blarney face and began: :Ah, yer 'onor, captain, sure it's a purty piece, and 'ouldn't it be a shame in me to break it drinkin' yer 'onor's health? Couldn't ye spare me the small sixpence to the back of it?' Pon paid the bet, but he never could stand the chaffing he got in consequence." They all laughed at this trumpery anecdote, which I would soon have cap- ped with a far better one, but just then the fish came on and I had to give my mind to, the salmon; so I lost. my chance. After fish I was thinking of a very striking fact which happened to me in Iceland, and just running over the heads in my mind before telling the story, when my vis-d-vis, an Englishman, struck in ahead of me. I do not say an English gentleman, for I do not consider that there is such a thing in existence: the English are a nation of snobs, always domineering and pushing out of the way better men. And no Englishman, in my experience, ever tells a story without em-. broidery. If you want to know what an Englishman is, just read Sir John Mandeville's travels. ,t Ponsonby of the Twenty-sixth! Wasn't he cousin to Merivale of the Sixteenth Light Dragoons!" , Oh yes, but quite a different style of man, I assure you." , I dessay he is ; only the name some- how reminded me of Merivale. (I never taste salmon: capital salmon this, Mr. Simmons. I suppose it is as easy to bring it from Norway here as it is to us. Only a little more ice; and, by Jove! you seem to have ice in loads.) Well, as I was saying I never see salmon without thinking of Merivale. The Six- teenth, you know, were famous for being the greatest puppies in the service, and Merivale was leading the pack: at least between him and Charley Ffrench it was neck and neck. I met them once at the Marquis of Downshire's." (Why must an Englishman always lug in a lord?) ,One night, in the smoking- room, Ffrench lisped out, ,I thay, Mo- theth'-(he always called Merivale, Moses, and Merivale always took it from him, though .he would h ve had page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] ,out any other man)-- I thay, Motheth, 'I thaw your fawin fwiend, Printh Thalm- 'Thalm, dining at the Wag and Famish; ;and, I thay, what do you think he wath rdoin'?' 'Pon me wawd, I don't know. 'What did he do?' drawled Merivale. - He took cold buttah with hith thalm- -on.' , Did he daye?" I had a beautiful thing on the end of my tongue about gravy; only I could not get it into shape before a leg of Southdown mutton was brought in, which changed the subject somewhat. It was Southdown, and as my mutton is not always tender, I confess I was eager to pay my respects to it; and when it went out I was in such a happy frame of mind that I could not think of the point of a good anecdote which the late Louis Philippe always used to tell when I dined with him at the Tuileries. No such good stories are told there tow.. However, I do think Fred might have asked for it, and that would have given me time to think as well as have recalled the anecdote. Instead of that, he turned to my neighbor (a Boston man) and asked if he was as fond of billiards as ever. I say a Boston man, because he wore a coat and pantaloons and those absurd English side-whiskers--, Piccadilly weep- ers"-but I never feel sure that these Boston men are not strong-mindeds in -disguise. .I have a small place in the Custom-house, and if ever this infamous Woman's Rights business comes upper- most, why voting implies holding office, and then where on earth shall I be? i I 'am glad you asked me that," was the reply of the hateful Boston creature, ,for it reminds me of a good thing I have for you. I do play billiards as much as ever, and I was at the T- Club the other night playing with Bill Perkins; and I needed only one point to go out. It was a rather brilliant shot before me, and H--- and some others were looking on, which made me a bit nervous, especially as Bill was only ten behind me. I was so nervous that I made a miss-cue, but after all got the -point. J.-- clapped his hands as soon as he saw it, and exclaimed, , How classical! - Omne tulAt punctum, qui miscuit.' " 'i How very good!" said the English- man. Really, I didt not suppose you did that sort of thing in America." I had a great mind to put him down with a smashing retort, only I would not. help out the Bostonian; but the appear- ance of canvas-back ducks closed my mouth, or rather opened it to a better purpose. , Next time!" thought I. Three fel- lows had had their innings, and the fourth man, Curtis, was as silent as I was. So I let Fred have his own way and get off his stupid stories about the English judges, at which everybody laughed, as in duty bound: when Sosia tells stories, poor Amphitryon has to grin. I am not sure that I have the names quite correct, but everybody will understand what I mean-that the man who goes out to dine has to applaud the jokes of the fellow who gives the dinner. At last, the fruits and ices Came on, and then Fred said to me, c"Monkhouse, shall I send you some of the ice?" i"No, thank you," said I. i I once saw ice enough to last me a whole life- time." I saw Curtis give a sort of waking-up start, and then fix his eyes on me as if he was going to begin a regular yarn. I hate that sort of thing, and I was bound to get before him, if only for the sake of the rest; so I gave up my chance for the fruit (with a pang, I confess, for I do not get fruit, especially out of season, every day), and began at once: , When I was in the South Pacific, gentlemen-" Here Fred looked queerly and shrug- ged his shoulders, which was not polite at his own table.' I should like to know why I have not as good right to have been in the South Pacific as he, if he is a rich man? I went straight on: it When I was in the South Pacific, on board the razee Independence-her captain, Commodore Conner, was a friend of mine, and offered me a passage home from Valparaiso- no, I mean from Quito-" (by the way, is Quito a seaport? one's geography slips away from one so; but I could not stop to ask, for they were all watching to cut in)-- we were becalmed off the island of Juan Fernandez. It was in S. lat. 63 30', W. long. zo4 22' (nothing like being accurate in these details), and we saw a huge iceberg approaching us. It was a dead calm, but the ice came on very rapidly. It must have been at least five miles in circumference, and quite a mile high out of water. ,i Conner was in a dreadful fright, and I confess I was not quite easy as I watched the enormous mass slowly heaving and settling, and every minute fragments the size of Trinity Church tumbling down its sides. Its color was-" "Never mind that," said Fred: it we have all seen Church's and Bradford's pictures, and read Dana's Two Years Before the Mast. Skip to the catastro- phe: did it run over you?" -6No, sir," I retorted: iit did not. On it came and on, till the boldest held his breath for a time. Every man in the ship was on deck, the nimble top- men swarming far out upon the yards, and the gold bands of the officers' caps gleaming along the quarter-deck. On it came, and the ship was beginning to rock helplessly upon the swell which drove before the mighty mass. ,Conner was just ordering out the boats to try and tow the ship off, when I called his attention to something I had just discovered. (My eyes were very good in those days.) I said, , Conner, see that black speck coming down the side of the berg?' He turned his glass upon it-a capital Dollond I had given him-and exclaimed, sIt is a bear.' (Conner,' said I, c who' ever saw a black bear on ice? It is a man and a brother.' Conner turned red as a beet, but pres- ently, after another look, replied, , By George! I believe you are right, and he is making signals to us; but we can't help him: no boat would live in that sea which'is breaking at the base of the berg, and we've enough to do to save ourselves.' "The berg, however, must have gone aground-they are very deep, you know, under water-for it remained stationary; only the attraction was sucking us in imperceptibly. We saw him reach the water's edge-and how he did it I can't tell: I was not near enough to see-but presently he was coming off to us. , You might have heard a pin drop on the deck, gentlemen, such was the breathless silence of all, which the stern discipline of a man-of-war permitted no one to break. We made out that it was a man in a canoe-a Marquesas Island canoe; and the strangest thing of all was, that he had nothing to propel it with but an umbrella. He neared the side, and Conner and I went to the gangway to hail him. He was dressed in superb sealskins, which would have been a fortune in New York, and he managed his umbrella wonderfully, shoot- ing his light bark along like a racing wherry. The first words he said were: , I thought you were in a bad way when I first sighted you, but my craft has come to anchor; so you are all right now. There is a breeze creeping up on the other side of the berg, and you will have it in twenty minutes strong enough to take you clear. To tell you the truth, I was in a great funk when I saw you, for, allowing the half of you to be drown- ed, I should have hardly more than enough to dine the rest; and if there is anything I hate it is to give my friends short commons.' ,Then you won't come on board?' said Conner. That's a good one! No, I rather think not. Man-o'-war accommodations are a little too close' (he said ,clust,' and then I knew he was a Yankee, and remarked so to Conner) , quarters for a man who for a month has had a whole iceberg to himself. However, I won't brag, for the berg is shrinking as we get up into the warm latitudes. I shall have to leave pretty soon, but as you are bound round the Horn and I am for the Sandwich Islands, I guess I won't trouble you. There is one thing you can do for me, Captain Conner. (B'lieve I've the honor of addressing Captain Conner of the U. S. razee Independence?) Would you oblige me with your reckoning?' Con- page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] ner, called the First Luff to the side, and they gave him the figures, just as I told you, a moment ago. That is why I re- membered them so distinctly. , Pretty well, pretty well!' said he. ( I make you three seconds out of your true latitude, and perhaps a trifle more to the east'ard than you think, but that is near enough for navy men. I have to be a little more particular-my craft makes so much leeway. I'll report you, commo- dore, wherever I conclude to, put in. Good-bye;' and with that he made off for his berg again. it Conner ordered the first cutter and gig both to pull after him, but, I give you my word, gentlemen, he just walked away from them hand- over hand; and, before they were halfway to the berg, he was climbing up it with his. canoe on his back." Here I stopped to take breath and a sip of sherry, when that wretched Curtis, whom I thought I bad silenced, burst out: ',Thank Heavens! I can break the long silence I have kept for fifteen years upon the most remarkable adventure of my life, because nobody, would, I thought, believe me. You are my witness, sir- I WAS THAT MAN t! If ever I dine at Fred's table again, he'll know it-thatis all HARNEYHOW'S HUMMOCK. A WIDE, low landscape of fens and marshes, with a blue-green belt of. evergreen forest closing it in, and a sul- len, wintry sea stretching to the horizon. A heavy, low-hung sky, a waning after- noon, and that clinging melancholy in the air peculiar to an autumn day beside the sea. Such were the conditions under which Miles Trecothick returned to his home after five years of absence and almost silence. The last few miles of his jour- ney he had performed on foot, partly for the sake of viewing the familiar scenes more nearly, partly from a shrinking de- sire to defer the moment of arriving at the home he had traversed thousands of miles to reach. But, slowly as he walked, his course was steadily onward, and now he had reached a point where only a tongue of woodland straying down to the sea shut off his father's house. At the end of the belt of woodland the coast made out suddenly in a marshy neck of land, terminating in a low mound-or, in New England sea-shore phrase, a hum- mock-covered with coarse grass, and bearing upon its crest one solitary gnarl- ed and. dwarfed cedar tree. This hummock with its tree bore ill repute among the frequenters of the coast, for it had been the haunt for years of a poor crazed girl, Hannah Howe by name, whose betrayer had sailed away with never a farewell, leaving her to watch from this her chosen outlook for his returning sails, until hope and reason gave way together, and after a while life itself, for her poor body was found one. dismal morning swinging from a branch of the old cedar tree. The place had already gained the name of Hannah Howe's Hummock, and this title, as years went by, became changed to Har- neyhow's Hummock; and at last not one in a score of those who used it had erer heard its derivation, or could have ex- plained the vague association of ill-luck with the locality, which yet none could deny. -, It is haunted," said one. -6 The cur- rents round there are mighty baffling," quoth another. , The wind always catches you ahead off that p'int," suggested the third'; and with no better reasons than these all agreed that the neighborhood of the hummock was t4 mighty unlucky," and best avoided., Revolving this remembered super- stition in his mind, and smiling a little at the memory, Miles Trecothick stood wearily leaning against a dead sycamore beside the road, his eyes fixed upon the hummock, something more than a quarter of a mile away across the treacherous marsh. -Poor Hannah! I wonder if her ghost still walks there stormy nights, as old Peter used to tell?"' murmured he; and then with a slight start he stood up- right and fixed his eyes yet more ear- nestly upon the distant mound. His steady gaze had caught the flutter of a woman's dress just crossing the crest of the hummock. ,( Who can it be at this hour, the tide rising and night shutting in? Who but Hannah herself?" said he again, half jesting with his own anxiety, and yet casting a foreboding glance at sea and sky, while all his old coast-lore came" surging back. ,We are getting high-course tides now," muttered he, hastily consulting a little nautical almanac in his pocket-book; - and many's the time I've seen them wash clean over Harneyhow's Hummock -just after an easterly storm too. I must see to it." And leaving the road, Miles Trecothick struck diagonally across the marsh to- ward the isthmus connecting the hum- mock with the main land. The distance was not great, something more than a quarter of a mile perhaps, but he had not passed it half-way when the different feel of the ground beneath his foot, a pungent smell upon the evening air, and a distant boom of surf breaking upon the outer reef, told him that the tide had turned, and his errand became a pressing one. , Half an hour before the neck is cov- ered, and it need not take ten minutes," thought he, springing from the last tus- sock of marsh-grass upon the compara- tively solid isthmus. But then he hes- itated, half doubtful, after all, about in- truding upon a solitude so obviously de- sired, and fearing to seem officious. A bright gleam of water beneath the grass at his feet, the low hiss of the rising wave divided by the swordlike edges of the reeds, determined him. it Life or death!" said he aloud; and with swift, noiseless footsteps he crossed the sand and came upon her he sought -a woman seated close to the edge of the water, her hands clasped tightly about her knees, her head bent slightly forward, and her eyes intently fixed upon the hor- izon: a woman neither very young nor very beautiful, except for the lustrous brown eyes and sensitive mouth that gave charm to a face otherwise too thin and colorless for beauty; and yet a woman at whom few men would fail to look twice-the second time with the yearning desire to protect or serve her that some women excite in a true man's heart. Miles Trecothick did not pause to see all this, and yet he felt it, for his voice as he addressed her was, if hurried, very kind and entreating. ,You are in danger here," said he. - Let me lead you to a place of safety." The lustrous brown eyes came wearily back from the horizon and fastened upon his face. -6 Thank you! I am in no danger and need no assistance," said the woman, coldly. , But the tide is rising, and runs high to-night. This hummock will be all awash in a few hours, and the neck will, be covered in less than one. You really cannot stay here," urged Trecothick, a little impatiently. The woman regarded him attentively. , You are a stranger in these parts?" said she, interrogatively. , What then? I can see your danger," he answered. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] "How do you know so much of the course our tides take?" (, I have spent a great part of my life upon the sea. I know the signs of dan- ger ia one place as well as another. Come, you must really leave this spot." , Thlank you!" replied the woman, resuming her old attitude and old far- seeing look. , I do not need your help, and had rather be alone. I am waiting for a frit id, if you must know." Treco hick started, coloring like a girl. , Exc,se me," said he, hastily. K I did not k low-I had no idea of intrud- ing. Yo r friend will come in a boat, I presume . " , I sha I be quite safe with him--and happy," i plied the woman, softly and without l1 Jking round. ,Then I will leave you; and yet- suppose h. 'does not come? He may be detained t; mistake the hour. I cannot bear to g, away and leave you to such possible ,anger. I will remain if you will'allow ,ne, and when your friend ar- rives he ca i set me ashore close by here. If he does not come, I may help you to escape." So saying, he seated himself at some little distance, and turned his back, as if to avoid any semblance of esbpionage. For some roments the silence remained unbroken except by the rustle of the rising wave among the grass, or its wash upon the sandy shore, the scream of a loon far overhead, and the clash of the dry cedar branches moved by the evening breeze. Then she spoke in a hard, angry voice, and turning full upon him: ,This is too much! I wish to be here alone. I have the right, for this land is my own, and I warn you off it. Your motives may be good, but they are mistaken. You intrude and are unwel- come. Now, will you go?" it Two questions first: What is your name?" said Trecothick, rising and ap- proaching her eagerly. ( Salome-"She hesitated as if about to add another name, and then repeated, in a different tone, , Salome. What is your other question?" You are Salome Trecothick then," said Miles, quietly. ,cAnd my other question-it is this: Is the friend for whom you wait called Death?" She hid her face in her hands and shuddered violently, murmuring, half unconsciously, the ,while, ," I am so miserable!" , And why, Salome?" asked Miles, seating himself beside her and softly touching her hair. At the kindly touch and tone her mood gave way, changing in an instant from one of deadly repression to that of wild excitement. Why? why?" echoed she. s, Ask rather why I have lived so long, or why I lived at all. I do not know who you are, or why you come here, or how you know my name; but since you have made yourself judge and arbiter in my affairs, and persist in standing between me and the only hope I have left, I will tell you why I am so miserable, and why, -God hearing me, I will never,; see to-morrow's sun. "Three years ago I was as happy, as free from care and as hopeful of the fu- ture as any young and innocent girl need ask to be. I lived at the South, and when he came with the Northern sol- diers, and I was told to hate him, I loved him instead - loved him better than father or mother or native land, for I left them all at his bidding, and fol- lowed him. My father cursed me-" She paused, and straining back the hair' from her temples with both hands, looked out into the gathering night; then went on in a low, horror-stricken voice: "He cursed me, and the curse has fallen, black and heavy and scathing, as he said it should. "I married my lover, and followed him home. For a little while I was happy-so happy!-and then it began to come upon me. Very, very dimly at first, so that I could deny it to myself for a long while, and for another long whiie could fight against the evidence of my own senses; but at last it stood out boldly and unblushingly, staring me in the face and withering up the poor re- mains of what I had called happiness." s- And this cruel truth-what was it?" asked Miles Trecothick, soothingly. , He, my husband, loved another wo- man, and she loved him, and their love was older than my marriage; and that had been but a substitute and a pretence. That is it - that is the cruel truth for which you ask. And H O my God, my God! you will not bid me live on, for now it is more than I can bear." Dead silence for a moment, and then he asked, in a strange, breathless voice, , This woman-who was she?" , The wife of another man-the wife of his own brother, absent in foreign lands, and trusting her to the guardianship of his father and his brother. So long as the father lived, and she remained under his roof, I could blind my eyes a little to the truth; but when the old man died, and Richard said she must come to live with us, oh then I must;-have been blind indeed had I failed to see." She paused, but Miles Trecothick sat motionless and silent, his face buried in his hands. Unheeding him, Salome went on: , Why did he not tell me at the first that he had no heart to give? Why did he not warn me that he only wished my love as a screen between him and her? Why d4id he take me from all who loved and cherished me, to bring me to this?" She paused, and the low clash of the dead branches, the sobbing of the waves among the reeds, alone replied. , Did I not love him?" she went on presently. ,( Did I not obey his lightest wish, and try to be all that he would have me, before he needed to speak? She is beautiful, and graceful, and win- ning, and I am none of these; but oh I loved him, I loved him so! Some day he will know it-some day he will miss the worship I laid at his feet. She can- not love him-she cannot love any man as I loved him." ,- She has a husband, you say? Why do you speak of her loving yours?" asked a harsh and stifled voice at her side Salome laughed bitterly: Her husband! Little enough she thinks of him while his brother loves her so well. But now will you go? I have told you my need, and if you are a man you have ere now confessed in your own heart that I am right. Go, and leave me to wait for-my friend." She turned from him and resumed the attitude in which he had first seen her, but with an added expression of dogged determination that spoke her will more plainly than words. . Trecothick looked at her for some moments in silence, while the shadow of a despair not hers darkened upon his face. Then he rose, and said: ,Yes, Salome, I will leave you in God's hands. Your sorrow is wellnigh past human help-quite past mine. Rest you here, poor broken heart, and wait for the friend you came hither to meet." She half turned as if in surprise at this acquiescence with her wish, but be- fore she met his eye resumed her old position, muttering, with a woman's ex- quisite inconsistency, t"All the world deserts me-why should not lie? But I can die alone." Trecothick, who had already moved some steps away, heard the murmur, but not the words, and returned, - Do you. really wish me to go, and will you not come with me?" asked he, gently. Salome'only shook her head. - Then promise me that you will give yourself time to think once more before it is too late. Promise me that you will not hasten your death by a single move- ment. Here, let me place you beneath this tree, and promise that you will not stir to meet the waves." He half lifted, half led her to the tree, and seated her beneath it. She strained her eyes to read his face through the gloori of the early night, but it was in- scrutable. , Promise, or I will not leave you," said he. it Perhaps the waves will not rise so high. You may be deceiving me," re- plied she, doubtfully. "They will overflow the hummock to- night. Before ten o'clock they will roll over the spot where you sit. Will you promise?" page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] it I promise," said Salome, faintly; and so he left her. The waves already flowed a foot deep across the neck, but Mites Trecothick forded them almost without, knowing it, passed through the belt of woodland, gained the firm ground above the marsh, and held his course onward through the darkness and the treacherous footing with the unconscious assurance of one to whom his road is so well known that he may safely abstract his mind from all thought of it. The walk of half a mile brought him to a low wall enclosing two- houses--the one old and dilapidated, the other substantial and evidently inhabited, for the ruddy glare of a fire streamed through two of the windows, and fitfully lighted the white crests of the waves breaking upon a little pier not one hun- dred yards from the door. Trecothick turned first to the old house; then, noting its desolate appear- ance, paused gloomily. , She said that he was dead," muttered he. ,And my mother-if I could put my head in my mother's lap to-night-" A gesture of passionate grief finished the sentence, and then the man's face grew more than ever hard and stern. Stepping lightly, he approached one of the windows and looked in. -A pretty picture met his eyes. Upon a low stool beside the open fire sat a child, a woman, a girl-one knew .not where to place her, for she was the three in one-a little lovely creature with glit- tering golden curls, soft gray eyes, a complexion of cream and roses, -and a dimpling, merry mouth made for kisses. She was playing with a kitten, and every lithe and graceful motion showed in new beauty a figure tpo fully rounded for girlhood, too supple and fresh 'for matronhood. She was not alone. A man, whose high and somewhat stern features, swarthy complexion and lofty stature oflered as remarkable a contrast to those of this beautiful woman as they did a likeness to those of Miles Trecothick, stood 'leaning against the mantel-shelf and looking moodily down upon :the playmates. Suddenly the girl looked up, and, lightly laughing,. said, , Why, Richard, what is the matter? You look as if you had seen a ghost." , And so I have," said the man, gloomily. , What do you mean? Don't speak so, dear;" and rising, she came to lay her hand upon his arm, but he, turning abruptly,' shook it off. c, Beulah, Beulah, do you know what you are doing with your pretty face and your bewitching ways? Do you know where you are leading me, and following yourself?" , No! Don't talk like that, Richard! Why, what's the matter? Why won't you be nice?" She spoke in the grieved and indig- nant tone of a child whose playmate has suddenly turned unreasonably sulky and spoiled her play; and so her companion felt it, for, suddenly catching both her hands, he -stood looking down into her lovely face with a half-pitying, half-con- temptuous and yet wholly-infatuated gaze, while he slowly said, ,And it is for you-you pretty piece of pink and white and blue and gold- 'that I have broken Salome's heart, and trampled my own honor in the mire, and disobeyed my father's dying command, and ruined my whole life! And yet I love you as I never loved a better woman." "Oh, Richard! I do think you are too bad to talk to me in this way. You must be tired, or have a headache, or something. Sit down and I will bathe your forehead: .I can't reach it when you stand up, I am -such a little thing." Still he held her and stared down into :her 'face: it Beulah, have you a soul?" i Why, -of course I have! Hasn't -everybody?" -SAnd what will become of It v-hen ,ou die! Poor little atom! it should not be very severely punished. Perhaps it will be turned into a butterfly, to be for ,ever chased by spectre boys. Give ime a kiss, Beulah." She raised her face to his without a moment of shyness or hesitation, but be- tore he touched it the door was thrown open and Miles Trecothick stood in the room. Both turned to look at him-at first with surprise, then recognition ; and then Beulah sank upon a low chair,'the warmth and color fading out of her pretty face as' if she had been frozen, while Richard Trecothick, sullenly folding his arms, stared defiance in his brother's face and waited -for his first words. They came: , Richard, where is your wife Salome?" Startled at a question so different from what he had expected, Salome's husband looked about him in bewilderment, then stammered, "She- I don't know. I suppose somewhere about the house." , When did you see her last?" stern- ly pursued his brother. , I don't remember- Yes, she came into the room this afternoon-" He paused, catching a warning ges- ture from Beulah. But Miles had caught it too. , Surprising some fresh proof of her husband's unfaithfulness, you would add," said he, coldly. "I am not unfaithful to my wife,",re- torted Richard, proudly. ,4 Oh! Then what did Salome see when she came into the room this after- noon? Come, I believe you will con- fess' you owe me some reparation, and all I ask at present is a truthful answer. What did Salome see?" (, She saw my arm around your wife's waist -and her head upon my shoulder," replied Richard, desperately. t , And you are not an unfaithful hus- band!" repeated Miles in slow scorn, and fixing a withering look upon his brother's downcast face. ,She thought it meant something more, but it did not. I never went be- yond some such caress," said Richard, humlbly. For a moment Miles did not reply, but Richard, glancing up and'meeting his eyes, hastily turned his own away, feeling that no words could cover him with half the humiliation of that look. At last the elder brother spoke, calmly, almost gently: I . , Richard, you are my mother's son, and she loved you. I am glad that she is dead before this day. Your wife Sa- lome is sitting, alone in the night and the storm, beneath the cedar tree on Harneyhow's Hummock. By ten o'clock the waves will flow over the spot where now she sits. She went there to die, because you, although not an unfaithful husband, have made her life so insupport- able that she has not strength to endure it longer. Stop! Where are you going?"' "To Salome-to save her!" gasped Richard, trying to escape from the grasp his brother had laid upon his arm. *; To save her?" coldly repeated Miles. it Save her from what and for what? To come back to this life of agony and martyrdom to which you have subjected her? To come back here, and die by inches instead of at one blow? No, you shall not do it." 4"You have no right-you shall not dictate. She is .my wife,- and loves me fondly," panted Richard. , And you have repaid her love-how? Do you believe that when her innocent soul appears before God the stain of her death will be found upon it? No, man! It is of you-of you, and of that poor trembling creature there-that this blood will be demanded.- Are you ready to answer for it?" ,And yours too, if you do not let me go!" shouted Richard, dashing aside his brother's arm. , Oh, Salome, Salome! I did not think I had driven you to thisl! My poor patient, loving wife!" 4 Go then, and God deal with you as you with her!" said Miles, solemnly;; but before the words were said, the younger man had plunged into the dark- ness and the storm, answering only with his wailing cry, ,* Oh, Salome, Salomne!" Miles closed the door behind him, and slowly returning to the centre of :the room, stood looking intently at Beulah, who, hiding her face in her hands, began -to sob violently, her instinct, like thalt of most weak :things, leading her to :set up her defence before she was attacked. Her husband watched her for a few mo- ments, opened his lips, closed them page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] again, and began to slowly pace the length of the room, his eyes wandering with unconscious recognition over the homely appurtenances-the dresser of glittering tin and burnished delf, the tall eight-day clock, the strings of scarlet peppers and the bundles of herbs hang- ing from the rafters; the black mahogany secretary with'its glittering brasses, in whose awful depths his father had always kept his ,important papers," a sight of which had been one of his boyish am- bitions; the picture of , Christ Healing the Sick;" and the portraits of his parents, painted in stiff Holbein style by some itinerant artist. Homely and commonplace enough all these, but they were the Lares of his childhood's home, and woke in the man's heart a sick yearning for that quiet time before the trouble came-rfor his mother's love, his father's stern, kind care, the sympathy and companionship of his only brother. -i Gone, gone! one ind all!" muttered he, striding to the window, and pressing his forehead to the glass in vain attempt to distinguish even the outline of the old house where h(e ad been born and bred. A timid touch upon his arm drew him back to the present. He turned to meet Beulah's lovely, tear-drenched face. -t Why don't you speak to me, Miles?" faltered she. Miles stared at her a moment in as- tonishment: then, laughing mockingly, he took her by the shoulder and turned her face to the firelight. it Why, yes," said he, ct to be sure! I was just saying that of the hope, and faith, and comfort I had counted upon finding here, not one shred remained of all I left as I thought so safely; but I was mistaken--was I not?--for you re- main, my dear. I have still a noble, trustworthy, loving wife, and what more need a man ask. though the world fail him on every side? How strangely I was forgetting my blessings!" She looked up into his face with the innocent wonder of a child too single- hearted to understand sarcasm. i Why, yes, Miles, I am left, and I hope we shall be very happy, now that you have come home." He stared at her a moment, then threw her off in scorn. , You left! Why, Beulah, do you think me a fool, or are you one yourself? Left! If you had died pure and inno- cent, your memory and your grave would have been left to me, but now I have nothing, nothing, nothing! O woman! it was a cruel thing to do-to deceive such -love and faith as mine, to poison the one well of hope where I had thought to slake my dying thirst! There! let me go! It is quite useless! I do not wish to be harsh with you; and all the words we both could say in a twelvemonth would be of no more avail than this wind sweeping over our heads. Leave me, or I will leave you and wait without for Rich- ard's return. After that, we will settle your future life. Let me go, Beulah." But she would not. Her arms about his neck, her quivering, sobbing body clinging to his as a drowning man clings to the spar that saves him from the depths, her exquisite face upturned in all its tearful and appealing beauty, she held him the captive of a weakness he would not put out his strength to com- bat, while she cried- No, no, Miles! You shall not leave me that way. Oh what dreadful words you say, and how terrible you look! You almost kill me with your anger, but I will not let you go. If I had died! Do you wish I were dead? Miles, think! It is your little Beulah! You used to say my name was meant for Beauty-don't you know? And how you used to hold me on your knee, and carry me about'in your great strong arms as. if I were a baby! We were so hap- py then! Think of it-remember! And I used to hold your head in my lap and sing you to sleep--" (, So Delilah held Samson till she be- trayed him," sternly commented Tre- cothick. , I know, but that wasn't me. Oh, Miles! you know I never dreamed of betraying you: I loved you too well, dear Miles; and I love you now just as much-" , Oh shame! Be silent, for the sake of womanhood!" , No, but I won't be silent, nor shall you unclasp my arms. You cannot without hurting my poor hands, and you would never do that, Miles! Do you remember the time I vexed you about some trifle, and you took me roughly by the wrist, and next day there were the marks of all your fingers; and when I showed them you, you cried-yes, real tears came in your eyes and rolled dawn your beard-and you swore that so long as we lived you never would harm me so again? Do you remember all that, dear Miles?" His face was changing. A keener agony than the despair that had held him gleamed in his eyes and wrung his white lips. She saw it with her soft baby eyes and went on: , And you kept your word, darling. You were so patient, and so brave, and so noble after that day, although I know I often vexed you. I was such a fool- ish, careless girl, and everything so bright and gay about me, that I used-to forget sometimes to behave as a married woman should. You used to say your- self, Miles, when your father would find fault with me, , She is but a -child: let her have her play-time out.' You are not so indulgent now, Miles." , This is no play that I caught you at, Beulah-no play, but deadly earnet," said Trecothick, in a low voice. Sl. made another advance, storming the breach she had effected. , Earnest! Yes, you may say so, Miles. hMy life has been but too dreary and earnest since those days. Five long years that I have been left all to myself, with uo one to guide me, no one to pro- tect, or care for, or advise me - no one to replace the love and care I have always known since I was born until you left me so cruelly: yes, cruelly, Miles, for you know how I begged to be taken with you; and then all this could never have happened." ," I could not have taken you, Beu- lah: you knew it as well as I; and as for going myself, it was a necessity, not a choice. I had to go to provide a fu- ture subsistence for you and the chil- dren I used to dream of some day seeing O about me; and now that I have assured my fortune and provided a home for you, more luxurious than ever you dreamed of seeing, and come back to claim you, what do I find? Oh, Beulah! Beulah! if I had but died first!" , And why, Miles? Why do you wish you had died instead of coming home to make me happy, and to be once more to me all that a husband should be? Why shall we not go to this new home?" ,c Why? Because you are a faithless wife and a worthless woman, and ought to be hiding your head in silent shame, instead of brazening it in this way," burst out Trecothick, fiercely; and Beulah. dropping her arms from about his neck, ran to throw herself upon. the floor in a corner of the room, crying wildly, , There! there! now go! That is enough, and more than enough! You wished I was dead, and you shall have. your wish right soon! If those words do not kill me quick enough, I will help them with my own hand. You shall be rid of me, for that is what you want, I plainly see! But it was not like you, Miles, to strike such a coward blow!- you who used to be so brave and truth- ful. Go now, I will not hinder you; or shall I creep away to hide my head in silent shame, as you say? Oh, Miles, Miles!" He stood looking at her for a moment in blank dismay and astonishment: then he went and raised her in his arms as he would a child, set her upon a chair, and knelt to bring his face upon a level with her own, she neither resisting nor sub- mitting, only sobbing wildly and de- spairingly. , Beulah!" And could this broken and trembling voice be the same as that, so cold and clear and stern, which had bid her leave him in silence? - Beulah, listen to me, and answer plainly and truthfully, for your life and mine hang upon this moment. Do you hear me?" "Y-e-s, but it is-no matter now." It is the greatest matter now, for it is possible-- Oh, Beulah, if you can prove to me that I have wronged you! Beulah, tell me, God hearing you, what are your true relations with my brother page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] Richard? Remember, I say God hear- ing you." , He-he kissed me sometimes ;" and Beulah shot a timid, imploring glance into her husband's eyes-a glance that even in that moment reminded him of the look upon her face when she had tampered with and spoiled his watch, years before. , Go on!" said he, but the sternness now rang false, and Beulah's quick ear caught the change. ,And he said-he said my eyes were pretty, and that-my hands were little and white; and once he carried me up stairs, just for fun." it Beulah, this is not what I mean, and you know it. Look me in the eyes, full and square-so! Now tell me, if you can, that nothing worse than levity and a selfish trifling with another's rights- nothing deeper than vanity and a lack of self-respect-rests upon your conscience. A true wife you have not been, but are you a guiltless one as the world judges?" , Light, and vain, and wanting in self- respect, and selfish! You call me all these, and then ask if I am anything worse!" pouted Beulah. it If you think so badly of me, why don't you go away and leave me?" , Child, you are trifling with a ques- tion little less solemn than life and death. Answer me, and truthfully, or I will in. deed leave you, this moment and for ever." The voice was calm now, and no longer stern, but with an inflexible ring to it that Beulah remembered well as the barrier beyond which not all her witch- eries had ever penetrated. She let her hands drop upon his shoulders and fixed her beautiful eyes unflinchingly on his: ,i Answer you what, Miles? Do you really mean to ask if I am a vile, guilty creature, unworthy to speak to, or even look an honest man in the face? Oh, Miles! can you ask such a question as that of the woman you once chose from all the world to be your wife?" The firelight played upon her face, and Miles Trecothick studied it as if it were the orac'le of his destiny. Where was the guilt, the deception, the wanton- ness? Not upon that white, smooth brow, softly rounded as a child's, not in the clear, limpid eyes, not upon the quivering rose-.red lips eloquent of silent grief and wounded feeling. Oh she must be true! She was too beautiful, too be. witching, too dearly loved to be false and a castaway. He opened his arms, and then, stung by a sudden recollection, shrank back, exclaiming, , Salome! If she dies there to night, you are her murderer!" , I!" in shocked surprise. (, Yes, you and another. I found her there, determined to lay down a life your -trifling, let us call it-had rendered unbearable. Whatever you may have done or left undone, you have driven her to her death!" ,s O Salome! poor, dear Salome! But she was so silent and reserved, and I never suspected until to-day that she really disliked our innocent familiarities. She should have remembered how I have always been petted, and how lonely I was without you, and that Richard was just the same as my own brother, for he was yours." , And this was all?" ,' What was all?" ,c The innocent familiarities of a sister and brother-in-law, please to remember." , These, and poor Salome's own jeal- ous fancies," said Beulah, calmly. Miles arose, and paced the room for some moments in silence: then; pausing before her, he said, in the deliberate voice that carries conviction with it- , I accept your defence--your denial, I should say-and I try to be content with it; for, Beulah, I do not seek to conceal that I yet love you so very dearly that I am but too ready to believe in what it is such misery to me to doubt. I for- give you for the past, but the future can- not yet be determined. If through your means Salome dies to-night, or, if living, her domestic peace has been shattered hopelessly, I will never call you wife again-never again look upon your fatal beauty. My own misery and disappoint- - ment I can pardon-for they arise partly from my blind faith in you-but- if you have slain your sister, or wounded her worse than death, I will never forgive you." She cast one frightened, defenceless look at the calm face of her judge, and found no word of answer or appeal from his decision. Drooping her fair head, she s it a pretty picture in the firelight, while he, pacing the room with folded arms and stern, straightforward- eyes, waited for the ordeal he had invoked: The old clock, with weary moan and clatter, struck ten, and in the same mo- ment the door swung widely-back, and Richard Trecothick stood upon the threshold, a new manhood in his face, his arm supporting the slender figure of Salome, drenched, exhausted, disordered, but every line of her pale, bright face speaking a joy ineffable, an assured hope. They entered, and Richard was the first to speak. Still holding Salome on his arm, he led her to Miles: t, Here is my wife, whomn you sent me out to seek. She has forgiven me, know- ing all the truth. Will you also forgive?" a Yes, Richard, Hbelieving that I know all the truth - forgive you also as I have forgiven her. But you, Salome, can you forgive her?" And Miles, his eyes upon Salome, pointed to the trembling beautiful wife whom yet he could not trust. Salome looked at Richard, her whole soul in her eyes, and then she said, 4( Yes, Miles. Yes, Beulah, I do for- give you fully and freely, for Richard has said that he loves me as he never could have loved you." If it was womanish, if there was a sting beneath the honey, can we not par- don it, remembering all that she forgave? But Beulah could not, and rising, she fled to her husband, and clinging round him, cried, , Take me away! Oh take me out of this house!"' "To-morrow, Beulah, as early as may be to-morrow, we will go; and, little wife, shall I trust my future in your hands?" , Yes, Miles, I will be so good, and never vex you if I can help it; and then you will be always with me, and can watch me, you know." , Watch you!" murmured he, his brow contracting. , That is not trust or even love; but to-morrow we will go, little Beulah." And in the- morning they went, he grave and silent, she merry as a child beginning a new holiday. Back from their distant home come no tidings, ex- cept of outward peace and prosperity. The true history of their lives is only known to God. But in the old homestead by the sea the years pass in open and assured con- tent, and Salome, beautiful in her grave, sweet joy, is a happy woman, for Rich- ard loves her. JANE G. AUSTIN. MYRA'S MRROR. IT is no story of my own that I have now to tell: it is Aunt Clementine's. Dear old Aunt Clementine! A vision of her rises before me as I write : a thin, pale, stooping and wrinkled old woman of almost ninety, sitting in her stuffed easy-chair by a window on the sunny side of the room, with her crutch within easy reach-quaint, vivacious, cheery- hearted, and glad to talk by the hour, in her merry, chirping voice, with any of the young folks, among whom she was a general favorite. Extreme age had not soured her, nor taken away any of her page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] interest in life: she loved to hear laugh- ing voices, and, to see bright, fresh young faces about her; and it needed but little inducement to set her gossipy tongue going about the , days of auld lang syne." I was a boy then, hardly out of my aprons, and I used to sit and listen with a kind of fascination to her stories; and I remember a dozen or two tardy- marks and one or two ferulings which poor old Aunt Clementine innocently caused. The grass has greened over her for many a year, but her kind heart lives in a hundred memories; and I presume the tales with which she used to amuse us youngsters are repeated by at least that number of firesides. Here is one of them. Do I believe in dreams, children? No, I think not: as a general thing, I don't allot much on them. I never had half the faith in signs and forerunners, and tokens of all kinds, that most house- wives have: in fact, I think some of your mothers could tell you more about these things than I can. But about dreams! Well, I have known some queer ones, and some that were fulfilled in a way that was mortal strange, to say the least. There was Myra Denslow's, now!-but I will tell you about that. You know, perhaps, that when I was a girl, maybe eighteen years old, my pa- rents lived near Marksville, over there on the river. It was not so near, either, for it was all of thirteen miles down, but Marksville was the nearest place, and the stage made one regular trip a day to and from, in good weather; so it did not seem very far. There was a little kind of settlement there where we lived, and father thought it better to locate there with his store than at the village, ,because he thought a large place was going to grow up right off around him. And Marksville was not what would be called a place of any size: it had a tav- ern, and two stores, and a post-office, and an academy, and a church, and may- be a thousand people. I wanted to live there for one reason more than any other: that was on account of Myra Denslow. Myra and I were mates, and had been ever since we were little chil- dren. We were born within three days of each other, and our parents had never lived more than half a mile apart before our great breaking'up; and -then we ex- pected to go to the same place. But it didn't happen so: her folks went to Marksville, and mine to the Settlement; so there was an end put to our cronying for a while. She had promised me faith- fully that she would make me a visit within the first three months, but more than six passed, and Myra made one ex- cuse and another in her letters, but no visit. I knew, from the way-she wrote, that something queer had happened; and one day I sat down and wrote her a good, sharp letter, in which I told her that I knew she was keeping something from me that I ought to know, and that I'd never write to her again till she told me what it was. An answer came in two days, which told the secret. it I should have told you before, my dear Clemmy," she wrote: t(and I be- lieve I deserve all your reproaches for not telling you. I am coming to the Settlement, by the stage, on Friday af- ternoon, and then I will give you the whole history. At present it will be enough to tell you that I am engaged to be married to Freeman Thayer, one of the students in the academy here." So the letter said. I don't know what possessed me to do it, children: I suppose it must have been one of those freaks that can't be explained; but I wrote right away, and sent the letter by the driver on his first trip back, asking Myra to bring Mr. Thayer with her. It never struck me till after it had gone that this wasn't exactly the thing for a young woman to do with the man she was engaged to; but I was a flighty young thing in those days, like two or three of you that I know of, and I always acted first and thought afterward. Oh, if I only hadn't written that dreadful letter! It seemed harmless -enough then, but what an untold weight of mis- ery it was to bring upon poor Myra! So little can we tell what may be the consequences of our most trivial acts! Remember this, children-and I haven't been a lifetime in finding it out, either- remember that there are no trJfles in this world. Everything is working for good or ill, if we could but know it; and what seems the most insignificant often works the gravest results. Myra came in the great stage-sleigh on Friday afternoon, as she had prom- ised. Father was absent for a week-I think he had gone to Boston for goods -and mother had one of her bad head- aches and went to bed early; so we two had the coast clear for a nice long talk, such as girls have always liked to have together since the world began, I sup- pose. We told each other everything that had happened, of any account, in the last six months; and then she told me all about her betrothed-how she first met him, how it happened, and how they were to be married as soon as he had completed his year at the academy, which would be in about three months. He was such a nice fellow, she said- just twenty-three, six feet high, as straight as an arrow, and just as hand- some as could be. He was an orphan, and had ever so much money in his own right, it or will have, some time: I don't exactly know how it is," Myra rattled on. ,c I should like him just the same if he hadn't a cent." it Shall I see him here before long?" I asked. She looked puzzled at the question, and I asked another: , Did you get my last letter?" , No-not if it was written since that scolding one," she replied; and then I told her of the one I had sent, inviting her to bring her lover with her. She merely said that it would have been im- possible, even had she received it before she left Marksville; that Freeman's studies monopolized all his time, and that she had no idea that he could have accepted the invitation. We chatted thus till the clock struck twelve, and then retired together, aid were shortly asleep. I was awakened in the morning by Myra. She had her arms around my neck, and was sobbing and crying piti- fully. "Why, Myra, you child, what is the matter?"I asked. I was so surprised to find her in such trouble and distress of mind that I could do nothing for a moment but ask her what was the mat- ter; and I was the more surprised be- cause she had been so gay and light- hearted the night before. ,t Myra Dens- low, what does grieve you?"I asked, over and over again, before I could get her to say a word; and when she did speak, it was with continual shuddering and with fresh tears: d Oh, Clemmy" (she always called me by that pet name), - I've had such a frightful, hideous dream! It was so dreadful! so dreadful!" and she hid her face in the pillow and sobbed again. isNow, Myra Denslow," I said, pre- tending to be angry, while I really pitied the poor girl's distress, ,if you don't tell me instantly all about your silly dream, I'll--I'll shake you, good and hard. What was it?" , Clemmy, you can't think how awful, it was." The poor child tried to smile, but it was the most woeful smile I ever saw. , I thought I saw Freeman's face in a mirror, and it was stiff and staring, just like a dead face. And the mirror- it was so different from any other mirror I ever saw. There was no frame to it: it was all brilliant, shining white, all over it; and his face looked out through it, so cold and staring-" She grew so distressed and excited by her own language that I feared she would work herself into hysterics; so I forbade her to speak another word for a quarter of an hour, and tried to soothe her by guessing what had prompted this dream. I had lately been reading a curious old book, in which the author took the ground that all dreams are sug- gested by something which happens to us before sleep, and I had been applying the theory to some of my own visions with tolerable satisfaction. Myra's was very easy to explain in this way, and my explanation partly reassured her. ,* You'll allow that it was very natural for you to dream of Mr. Thayer," I said, half laughing. is In fact, it would have been strange if you had not: you have hardly talked of any one else since you page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] have been in the house. And then the mirror! Don't you remember how long you stood, in front of my glass, there, combing out your hair, just after you came?" i Yes, but the mirror in my dream had no frame. How do you explain that?" "I don't suppose I am bound to ex- plain all the crazy notions you take into your head when you're asleep," I said, a little testily; and Myra forgot her imagi- nary fears for a moment while she laughed at my warmth in the defence of my theory. Then she became grave again in an instant, and said, it I never had such a life-like dream. I can't, Clemmy-I can't help thinking that it- forebodes something awful to Freeman." i Forebodes a fiddlestick!" was my answer; and understanding by this time that the vision had taken a powerful hold on her imagination, I talked fast and cheerfully on many subjects, and at last succeeded in winning her mind away from it. She only alluded to it once during breakfast, when I laughed it off before mother had an opportunity to ask about it; and during the whole day after -that I kept her well occupied, and succeeded in driving the hateful subject from her thoughts. The stage-sleigh-for all this happen- ed in January, when there were two feet of snow and the river was frozen hard and fast-the stage-sleigh from Marks- ville drove up to our house that after- noon. We were expecting nobody since Myra had come, and were surprised to see it; but it was only to deliver a letter, addressed to , Miss Myra Denslow, care of Mr. Kinsley, Kinsley's Settlement." is I don't often carry letters," the driver said: s that's for -the post-office to do; but the young fellow as handed me that one was so distressed-like to have it delivered right away that I agreed to do it." Myra opened and read it: her whole face lighted up with pleasure as she read, and, tossing the note to me, she clapped her hands gleefully. , It's from Freeman," she said. it He s alive and well, of course: read for yourself. Thank you a thousand times, dear Clemmy, for writing that last letter, which I never got." I read the letter which Myra handed me. It was written in a swinging round hand, and full of all such expressions as lovers use when they write to each other. With all these clipped out, the substance of the letter was about this: that Mr. Thayer had called at Mr. Denslow's shortly after Myra had left for the Set- tlement, for the purpose of getting a little cane which he had left the night before; and there he found that a letter from the Settlement had'been received for Myra. How it came to be delayed, and what the driver had done with it, or who had at last delivered it, did -not appear. Fearing that something had happened at the Settlement which she ought to know, Mrs. Denslow had opened and read the letter as soon as she received it, and finding that it related entirely to Mr. Thayer, it was immediately handed to him when he entered. He now wrote to say that he was too much occupied at the academy to admit of his coming by the sleigh; but since the skating on the river was excellent all the way from Marksville to the Settlement, he could and would come down on the ice that (Saturday) night and stay till Monday morning, if it was convenient. He would leave Marksville at seven, and hoped to be with us about nine. I looked from the open letter to Myra. Her eyes shone, her. cheeks glowed and her whole face fairly beamed with hap- piness. , I am so glad he is coming! You were so good to ask him!" she re- peated over and over again. She did not tell me her secret thought, but I well understood that the foreboding of that disturbing dream still lingered with her, and that nothing short of Freeman Thayer's appearance before her in the flesh, alive and well, could dispel it. The tea-table was spread, the meal eaten and the table cleared again; and as it grew dark and night came on, the candles were lighted and we gathered around the fire. Poor mother's tor- mentor, the sick headache, came on again, and I went up to put her to bed and get her to sleep. After that was done I returned to the sitting-room, and, taking up my work, sewed a while. Myra took one of the volumes of The Children of the Abbey and tried to read, but I soon perceived that her heart was not in the book. She turned over the leaves and looked at the pictures, and then, putting it down, walked to the win- dow and looked out. The clock struck eight while she stood there. In a few moments she came back to her seat and took up the volume again. I began talking to her, but she seemed nervous and ill at ease, and answered only in yes and no. After a time she went to the window again, and she still stood there as the clock struck nine. She turned quickly around and said, tc It is time he was here, Clemmy. Let us go down to the river, and we shall meet-him. Come: it is a beauti- ful moonlight night, and we shall enjoy it." I much preferred to wait there in our cozy, warm room, but I saw that she was anxious, and it would have been cruel in me to refuse. We put on our hoods and cloaks and went out together. The air was keen, but not over-cold: the night was brilliant with moonlight, and the white coat of snow which cover- ed the earth flashed and shone beauti- fully in the bright rays. The river was but a few rods from our house, but some buildings between completely hid it. Turning the corner around these, we came out upon the low bank, in full sight of the channel for miles up and down. It was covered with smooth, shining ice, blurred here and there with a ridge of snow. It looked like a dazzling silver shield, so bright and glowing was its surface, and I stopped to admire it, but a cry from my companion turned my eyes to her. At the sight of the ice her face had blanched almost to its own whiteness, and grasping me by the arm, while she pointed with the other hand to the smooth field glittering before us, she whispered faintly, "Clemmy, my dream! There is the smooth, white mirror that I saw-the mirror without a frame. There it is, there! there!" She shuddered so that I put my arm about her to keep her from falling. Far as I could see up stream there was no human figure to be seen, nor could my ears detect the faintest ringing of steel shoes on the ice. I looked again at Myra, and found her fast yielding to the stupor of her fear. , Come, Myra, this is foolish!"I said, with all the sternness I could com- mand. it If your dream means nothing more than this, I'll soon show you that it means just nothing at all. Come with me." I knew that the ice was firm, for loaded wagons had been driven across the day before. She did not resist or hang back, but yielded passively; and locking her arm in mine, I ied her out upon the slippery surface. The river was about a hundred rods wide at this point, and I thought I would lead her far enough to assure her that there was nothing at all in her dream. Slip- ping, sliding and walking, we had almost reached the middle, when- God in heaven shield me from another such moment, my children! With a shriek that. seems to ring in my ears now, Myra stood motionless, her eyes riveted and her outstretched finger pointing at her feet. I looked. There, as all about us, the thick white ice was pure and transparent, and beneath it the current of the river, influenced by the stiff tide running into the bay, ran per- fectly clear and visible. And almost under our feet, as we stood there, horror- stricken-under the ice, swept along by the rushing tide-current-the body of a drowned man floated past, his white. stark face turned up to the moon with a fixed look of unutterable agony, and his feet shod with the skates that told how he had met his doom! i Freeman! Freeman! O God! the ice-the mirror without a frame!" The words were faintly gasped by poor Myra, and then She fainted in my arms. Half-stunned myself with the horror of this spectacle, I managed to drag her to the shore and up to the page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] house. Dear, unhappy girl! there never was a moment, after that, in which she clearly knew herself and her friends. She lay at our house almost a year after her brain-fever left her, and never seem- ed to know or care for anything but the river. She would go and sit on the bank opposite to where we saw her lover's body, and gaze at the water by the hour; and when any one tried to lead her away she would submit, crying gently like a grieved child. After that year she seemed to notice things more, and her parents took her home to Marksville, but she never grew better there. In less than six months more she was in her coffin." Freeman Thayer's corpse, stiff and cold, was found floating far below in the bay on Sunday afternoon. A great hole in the ice for pike-fishing, a mile above the Settlement, was fixed on as the place where he must have gone in as he came at top-speed down the river. He and Myra were buried side by side in the graveyard there at Marksville; and manv and many's the basket of flowers I've strewn over their graves. God rest them both! I can't doubt they've had a blessed meeting up above, long before now. "Thayer was a splendid skater," somebody told me, long afterward. is I have often seen him make his mile in five minutes against the wind. Poor fellow! he must have blundered into that wretched hole without dreaming of its being there. He left Marksville at just seven o'clock, full of life and hap- piness." it How do you know?"I asked. dBecause I went down to the river with him and helped him strap on his skates." Who do you think that person was? It was my husband-afterward. It so happened, in this strange world, that I married Freeman Thayer's room-mate. And after all this-though I'm free to say that I don't believe in dreams--yet I do think there was something more than strange about Myra Denslow's dream, and its terrible fulfillment. JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS. DICK LIBBY. WHAT officer or seaman was there in the old navy who did not know old Dick Libby, the quartermaster from time almost immemorial? I say in the old navy, for a new generation has come up-new faces, new men, new notions, new everything. Dick's picture, in wa- ter colors, hangs here in the sailors' reading room; and I am told they have one in oil, on a larger scale and true as life, in the Lyceum at Boston. I made two cruises with Dick-one from I825 to 1828, and the other from 1832 to 1836-in both of which he was a principal quartermaster; but during the latter he was beginning to show signs of age, and was not as active as his sit- uation required; and he sometimes com- plained to me that those officers whom he had known as little midshipmen, it only knee-high to a duck," would it rate (berate) him," because he was not as spry as formerly. I think, however, he must have mistaken their words, or the exception taken must, at all events, have been at rare times, for he was a great and universal favorite in the navy to the last of his life. , Perhaps a little jealousy about the infirmities of age may have made him more observant of officers, and more keenly alive to any impatience on their part, than he would otherwise have been. Officers and sailors will growl at everybody and everything, and any subordinate who feels sensitive to such growling will have a poor time of it: it is best to let such things pass for just what they are worth, which is not much; and indeed they do not mean much by it. But Dick and many of those about whose impatience he was then so sensi- tive are now resting quietly in their graves-equally insensible to all the dis- turbances of life. Toward the last of the old man's time in the navy, he was put on board the Pennsylvania, then ,receiving ship" at Norfolk, where his duties as quarter- master would be light. I ought to say to landsmen that a quartermaster's berth is the highest that can be given to a sailor on board ship, being also a very responsible one. While on board the Pennsylvania, a lieutenant (Lines) very popular with officers and men was drowned, and buried in the-adjoining neat cemetery at Portsmouth; and a general subscription was made throughout the ship for a handsome monument to be placed over him. This was erected, and on the Saturday after it was put up, Dick went ashore ,on liberty," and out to the cemetery to see what it might be like. In the evening, as the ward-room officers were at their tea, the old man, always privileged to go anywhere, made his ap- pearance inside the door and inquired for the purser. is He is not on board, Dick." " When is he coming?" is I don't know; but what's the mat- ter? You seem to be in a hurry about seeing him: what do you want with him?" "I want to see him." , Well, but what do you want in such a hurry?" "I want to see my accounts-how much money's coming to me." i What! getting fond of money in your old age, Dick?-is that it?" i No; but I went this afternoon to see Mr. Lines' monument, and those stupid beasts of workmen have put a broken column over him: I want to have a whole column, if I can buy one. I want to see my account with the purser." Dick had cruised -so long in the Grecian Archipelago as not to have much respect for broken columns. A strange story Dick once told me about his bringing a dead man to life, and I have no doubt that he believed it. Whether it was so, or whether Libby was in a condition not to observe clearly on the occasion he spoke of, I will leave to the present reader to judge. He told me that he was then in a merchant ship, and that they dropped anchor at the mouth of the Delaware, near a sandy spit, in order to bury a man who had just died on board. Dick was one of those sent ashore to dig the grave and to see the burial completed; and he said that after getting through the digging they all felt thirsty, and having a bottle of rum with them, they passed it around. The dead man had been fond of his drink too, and the thought struck them to give him a last dram before putting him into the ground. So they pried open his lips and poured the liquor in. It brought him to: he gave a gulp, swallowed it, opened his eyes and went back to the ship as well as any of them. As I said just now, I leave the reader to judge for himself. But Dick, toward the close of his life, knocked off drinking altogether. He told me that he had not joined a tem- perance society or taken a pledge, but that he had resolved never again to drink anything that could intoxicate; and i believe he kept his resolution unbroken to the last. I do not know what was the cause of this. change, but it may have been from suffering, for I have on board ship seen his eyes actually snap from the internal agony after such an indulgence. The reader, if he has never page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] met with the anecdote, may perhaps thank me for giving here an incident, and some impromptu poetry once made by a lady on the following occasion: A gentleman with whom she was intimate, and whom she was trying to persuade to take the temperance pledge, told her he would do so if she would give something impromptu in answer to what he should recite to her; and he then repeated some lines from Anacreon in praise of wine. She replied immediately: "Thus Anacreon sang, as to earth down he sunk, As mellow as grapes in October: He found it a heaven on earth to get drunk, But a hell upon earth to get sober." I have often witnessed the latter dur- Ing my observations on sea and land. The officers of the Pennsylvania were so pleased with the change in Libby that they presented him with a gold ring, ornamented with a spread-eagle, for his ,cravat slide" (to pass the ends through), which he still possessed, I believe, at his death. When at last unfit for any active duty, he came to this pleasant retreat at the Naval Asylum, and here he ended his days. The old men in this house have each of them a small but pleasant room, and they are in the habit of ornament- ing their quarters with pictures and such other objects as take their fancy, often indeed in very good taste. Libby's room was hung all round with pictures, and it was the show-room of the place. The landsmen must know here that officers on board ship often take great pride in fitting up their state-rooms, so as to have a grand or rich or tasteful appearance; and there is generally one particularly so, which visitors are taken especially to see. Libby's seemed to be the show- room of the asylum, and he himself was always an object of great interest to visitors, of which he was a little proud. "He was the man," they were told, is whose likeness had been painted in oil as a fine-specimen of a Jack Tar ;" and Libby always chuckled one of his little laughs when this was said. I believe he was at the head of a movement to give me what ministers term it a call," for about this time I re- ceived a general letter from the old pen- sioners here, asking me to get orders to this place, and come and be their chap- lain. I was then attached to the Naval Academy, and could not come; but in my yearly trips Northward, in vacation- time, I usually came out to see former shipmates, and especially Dick. If I missed a visit, he scolded the next time I came. In my last visit to him I noticed on his table a decanter partly filled with what looked like brandy, and also tum- blers; and he quickly observed, and with a pleasant chuckle, my inquisitive and disturbed glance. ,( You need not be alarmed," he said: it that is a cheat, and is nothing but mo- lasses and water, and I have a great deal of fun from it. When visitors come to my room, I see them very soon begin to eye that decanter, and I wait till their appetite is well whetted up. They look around at my pictures, but still their eyes keep squinting back at the decanter: I tell them about the pictures, but still again they glance at the decanter; annd after a while I say to them, , Well, come, won't you take a drink?' They brighten up and answer ,Yes,' very gladly; and then I pour out fort them some of what they all take to be brandy, and I put some water to it, and they say, ,Your good health,' and drink; and my fun is to see the faces they make when they find it's only very thin molasses and water." So in this pleasant retreat Dick's life passed quietly away. I well remember, however, a scene very different from this molasses-and- water one, in which Libby and I were ac- tors together; and a very singular scene it was. It was just outside of Jerusalem. Our ship, the Delaware, was kept lying-to off Jaffa (there being no harbor there), while the officers made parties to Jerusa- lem-first, the commodore and half of the lieutenants, etc., and afterward the captain and the other half; a few of the crew also accompanying each moiety. I went up with the first party, and waited there for the second, and in this second party was Libby. On board ship, Dick often called himself ,cchaplain's mate," for on Sunday he always rigged the cap- stan for religious service, and brought up the prayer-books, and saw to getting things in general ready for our worship, and afterward to putting the books away. It was his duty also, as signal-quarter- master, to have the pennant with a cross on it hoisted and kept flying till our ser- vice was through. So I was glad to see my ,i chaplain's mate" at Jerusalem ; but it is my grief to say that Dick got drunk there, and I fear was in that condition the whole time of his visit. This second party, after four or five days in the city, was to leave early in the morning, so as to make the journey back to the ship in one day; and we had all been ordered to assemble at two A. M. in the open space just inside of what is called , the Jaffa gate." It was a bright moonlight morning in August, and as I sat on my large mule waiting for the start, I saw Libby passing hither: and thither in great tribulation. On my in- quiring, he told me that ,somebody had taken his donkey;" which donkey, on my sending others to search for it and having it brought, turned out to be a little rat of a thing, which he could al- most have put into his pea-jacket pocket: at all events, one of the smallest of its tribe. But we got Libby on it; and when the party started, as I saw that he was in liquor, I kept near to him. We two soon fell behind the rest of the com- pany, and had got only about two hun- dred yards from Jerusalem when Dick rolled off into the dust. The Arab owner of the beast had kept along with us, and got him up and mounted once more; but we had proceeded only a little way when he rolled off again, and was flat on the road. The Arab lifted his own hands and uttered a despairing cry, , He is drunk ;" and indeed there was need for despair, for Ibrahim Pacha had just been making conscription among the natives for his army, and they had left their homes and fled to caves and deserts for safety; and the whole country was now, in consequence, so full of robbers that our parties had not been able to visit the Jordan, as was intended. We could see these people on the hills, watching us this morning, after the day had broke. I directed Dick now, with the Arab's assistance, to get up behind me on my strong mule and hold on to me, and thus we were jogging on when, the officers in front having missed us, two of them (Captain --- of the ma- rines and Lieutenant-- ) came nid- ing back to see what was the matter. They understood the case at once, and began to let out their anger on Libby, when, before I could know what he was about, he slipped down over the mule's tail and stood facing them, his pea-jacket stripped off and he ready to fight. His tongue was as rapid as theirs: he told them that , on board ship they were his superiors, but not here: he was now as good as any of them, and would not be abused; and he dared them to come down to an equal fight." They became still more wrathy, and he not less so. I begged them to leave him with me, for I would take care of him; so they went, and I made him get up again; and we traveled in this picturesque but not very dignified or clerical way of leaving Jeru- salem, till, with the help of the cool morning air, the effects of the liquor had subsided sufficiently for me to leave him alone on the mule. Then I took to his donkey, and finally, at some ten miles from the city, we joined the rest of the party, seated under a grove of olives and at their breakfast. I left Dick under a tree at one side while I went up to get something for his craving stomach, and presently I returned with coffee and bread and hard-boiled eggs. I found the old man in tears. , Oh," he said, , I have so disgraced myself! and the officers will be so angry when I shall get back to the ship!" I tried to comfort him, and told him I would make his peace with the officers, but he still kept wiping his eyes, and the tears would flow. I went to get some breakfast for my- self, pleased with his penitence, till an officer came up to me and said, page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] I Mr. Jones, do you know that your old protegd has been drinking again?" It was indeed even -so, and the tears which I had seen him shedding were produced by liquor. He had taken just enough to make him, as they say, s crying drunk." Alas! alas! But the old man did, in-the end, as I have already narrated, abandon this worst enemy of sailors, and reform, and did not fill a drunkard's grave. After this Jerusalem experience, Dick gave up his title of ,s chaplain's mate." GEORGE JONES. DICK LYE'S FEE. M ARIANNA-known by this writer to have been christened Mary Ann-said, in the most emphatic- man- ner, as she pressed her little white fists into her eyes, that there was no use in asking Pa's consent; that Pa would not give' it; that they must just wait and wait and be clandestine, and go on waiting and loving until their hair was gray and they were old, old people. That was what Marianna said. Pa would not give his consent, and what was much worse for those young people was, that she, who lacked all the ele- ments of romance, decidedly refused to elope with him, or marry him without Pa's consent. She said that, too: then threw her- self into his arms, and he caressed the beautiful face and smoothed the golden masses of her hair lying upon his breast; and, reflecting how obdurate Pa might be, sorrowfully confessed that circum- stances were not cheerful. Yet he could not at that moment exactly see how to change them, for Pa was just so far right as to believe that this young gentleman was wretchedly poor and quite unable to support Marianna. In fact he was frightfully in debt, and his tin sign, which announced RICHARD LYE, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW, was altogether the newest and shiniest on the street. As for clients, Dick Lyle had none, but wished he had. It was quite in vain that Dick urged that there was another side to the ques- tion, but to that side, Marianna alleged, her father would never turn. It was this: , It is quite true, my dear girl, that I am poor, but your Pa is rich. He has enough for both, and I love my little girl so well that I cannot see that his being rich is a valid objection to our being married. Not a bit!" said honest Dick. , But Pa does," replied Marianna. And out of that obliquity of vision, which permitted that respectable dealer in fish and cheese--wholesale, upon our honor, wholesale!-only to see one side of a question, grew all their trouble. Josiah Lowher had not always lived in that brownstone palace on West Walnut street which he now occupies. Even within our remembrance he kept a re- tail grocery on Market street, where, we have no doubt, he wetted his sugars and mixed chicory with his old Mocha: they all do it to this day. But there is not a bit of the Bounderby about Low- ber, for from the moment he began wholesale on Water street, and built his house on Walnut, he never again re- ferred to the retail business or the mod- est little dwelling in which Marianna was born, on Wood street. Yet Josiah was not a snob, and it was. only for the sake of that dainty, loving little' girl, whose mother died ever so many years ago, that he persistently ignored his humble origin. That world of the West End is always a very beautiful world to a young girl; and if all the men and wo- men in it are not angels, they oftenest have that grace and culture and courtesy which are inseparable from whatever is noblest and fairest to the imagination of youth. If Marianna ever came to know them exactly as they were, to Josiah they were always, if not quite angels, only a little below them. Josiah, even in. the days of the -old grocery, we are told, used to press Mary Ann's beautiful head to- his sugary apron and tell her that she should ride in her carriage, along with the best of them, before he died. It was not a bad sort of ambition either: he might have had less cause for living, grasping and sav- ing, for she was all he had here, and the great Hereafter was less certain to him than her pretty, loving ways. He kept. his promise. She did ride in her car- riage with the best of them, but not be- fore her delicate beauty and grace and wit were such as to give character to her surroundings, not to receive it from them. Josiah saw, and so far was satisfied, but that clear-eyed, shrewd old merchant knew that, although he never referred to those old days of toiling and poverty, others living in his highly respectable quarter did, and he felt that they were at first a little shy of his dinners and sappers. But they came at last, for who could long resist such marvelous viands, which his golden wines transmuted into epicurean delights of which memory was for ever redolent? When from afar off they scented the feast and came to it almost unbidden, Josiah put on his sharp, Water-street spectacles and began to look about among those blue-bloods for a husband for the little girl that he loved so well. Enough of them were ready to become his son-in-law, but it happened that when he looked at those who were the most alert, the spectacles discovered some flaw, and those without flaw were also indifferent to the honor he intended them. One night, after a grand supper, he put on his spectacles to look at Dick Lyle, who just then was leaning indo- lently over Marianna's chair. Dick's voice was low and sweet, and the mer- chant saw that Marianna's cheek and neck were aglow with a crimson flush which was not shame, but happiness. Would Dick do? Josiah fastened the spectacles on more firmly, and he saw at once a flaw in our hero. Dick was poor. That was fatal to his chance with the old man, though, as for the matter of blood, Dick's was as blue as anybody's; and that young gentleman once said, "There has not been a shoemaker or any disreputable person of that sort at the head of my family for at least a half doz- en generations." - Indeed, the Lyles were so eminently respectable that they could not condescend to either a trade or pro- fession to add to their ancestral dollars, and the consequence was, that when the dollars were spent the family were a poor lot, and Dick was the poorest of them all. That fact induced him to go to work. He was admitted to the bar, and all he wanted was clients, but he wanted them very badly. Marianna repeated, ,iPa will never consent." , Nevertheless," Dick said, , I will ask him. I will ask him to-morrow morning." Then they were silent, for they both knew that after he' asked Josiah for his page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] little girl, Dick would morally be kicked out-that he could never go there again, never feel the touch of her lip or hand again, never hear the'true, loving voice of his darling in that room. But then and there they swore eternal love and faith; for they were young, and to all lovers life is long and love is true; then Dick went away, leaving a note in the library for Josiah Lowher, Esq., telling him that -he desired to consult him in the morning on a subject of great im- portance. He went home then, and figured out the plan of attack over a cigar. We cannot say whether the plan was good or bad, but it needed to be a clever one to outwit the merchant, for Richelieu was not such a cunning old fox as Jo- siah. Well or ill, though, the plan failed. The execution of it was atrocious. Tile native influences of the locality were all against Dick as he stepped jaurily and fearlessly into Josiah's office at th'e hour appointed. The merchant, even when sitting at the head of his own superbly-set table, had never shone so resplendently in broadcloth, linen and diamond shirt-buttons as he did when Dick entered to him. He. was writing, and, without looking up, nodded good- morning and with his pen motioned Dick to a chair. That letter was fatal to Dick's plan, for having nothing at hand with which to occupy himself, he felt compelled to be busy elsewhere. He began to look around into the far-off depths of the warehouse, which were piled ceiling high with cheeses and barrels of mack- erel; the air was heavy with the smell of both, and Dick knew that story above story, halfway to the sky, Alps on Alps arose of pastoral cheeses and fish that died young. -To Dick's mind they re- presented boundless wealth, and under the weight of such galore he felt he was being rapidly smothered. Meanwhile, Josiah's pen went scratch, scratch over the page in the most aggravating man- ner, and outside, separated from him by -only a glass partition, sat a small army of clerks, where pens,also went scratch, scratch over 'the pages, making a sort of infernal chorus to Josiah's scratching refrain- "We are rich, awfully rinth- You are poor, awfully poor." That was what the pens seemed to sing, and necessarily Dick got nervous, broke out into a cold sweat, and, quite unable at last to sit still, walked away to the opposite glass partition and slowly began to work out in his mind an arith- metical problem of monstrous propor- tions-of this sort: , If Josiah had one hundred thousand cheeses, worth 234 cents per pound, how much would Josiah be worth?"Dick propounded. it It would depend on the weight of. the cheeses," said Josiah. - - Dick had been talking to himself aloud-a bad habit of his. Josiah had finished his letter and had been listening. Dick, hearing the other's voice an- swering his - arithmetical conundrum, looked astounded and could only utter, it Eh?" , You wished to see me this morning on a matter of importance, Mr. Lyle?" The merchant held Dick's note in his chubby fingers by way of reminder. Dick attempted in vain to recollect the magnificent speech that he had pre- pared over night: it was gone altogether. So he only said, entirely out of his usual jaunty and confident way, , I am at- tached to your daughter, Mr. Lowher, and would like to have your consent to make her my wife." Josiah looked at him a moment be- fore he spoke, with a good deal of com- passion in his eyes, as if he would have liked to spare the gallant young fellow the blow he meant to strike, but his voice was quite decisive as he said, , I knew last night what your business would be, but it will not do. My daugh- ter must marry a man who can make a better provision for her than you can do. If you respect my frankness, you will drop for ever this subject just here, and spare us both pain." "One word," Dick said. c As your wealth is sufficient for both, pardon me if I cannot see the force of your objec- tion, especially as your daughter's hap- piness is involved in it--" ,Stop," said the merchant, with an angry sneer: it I have always thought it was the rule of your class to ask the parent's consent before engaging the aftfctions of the child?" , Pardon me, sir," said Dick: it I merit your rebuke, and I cannot deny your right to give it. I could not help the love I had for Miss Lowher, nor could I help showing it." ,iLet me tell you, sir," said Josiah, sharply, cthat a man in your position has no right to love a girl whose circum- stances are like hers." it I had the hope," Dick said, ,com- mon to all young men, of wealth coming to me through laborious seeking. For- tune comes, sooner or later, to most men who have the ambition to find it, and, having that ambition, it will, I trust, come to me. No man can have a stronger incentive to wealth than is founded on his affections." , Until you have found fortune, Mr. Lyle, you will hope in vain. I tell you again, plainly, it will not do. But I will give you as much encouragement as you can find in this: when you have made your first fifty thousand dollars you may repeat your proposal, and should Mari- anna be then unmarried and in her pres- ent mind, my answer may possibly agree with your wishes, though my advice at present is that you will pursue this mat- ter no farther." Dick Lyle heard the old fellow to the end, and did not despair. He had said good-morning, and his hand was on the door, when Josiah said, , Will you. ex- cuse me if I tell you now that it will not, at present, be agreeable for me to receive you at my -house?" (t Your house is your castle, Mr. Low- ber," Dick replied, and went out. As he stepped into the street he caught the strong, sweet odors of the river flowing by on its way to the sea. The wintry air was cool and bracing, and the sunshine fell about. him in broad and wholesome warmth. It was all different from that miserable den of Josiah's, where everything was redolent of pro- duce and barter, and suggestive only of money. I My first fifty thousand!"Dick thought, as he went back to his office. He said it aloud fifty times, falling again into that bad habit of his, and people -hearing it as they hurried past imagined 'the gallant young fellow had lost or won a great prize in Life's lottery. He had' done neither. Back at his office again, Dick took an inventory of stock to see how far it would go toward making up those fifty thousand dollars. He finally summed it all up in these words: ,rAssets-a dozen volumes superbly bound in law-calf; half a dozen chairs, shaky; desk, ditto ; stove, smoky; bunch of keys, and less than a hundred dollars in cash. Liabilities-a drawer fall of unpaid bills." Look at the matter how he would, there never was a more desperate chance than that of winning Marianna while that respectable ex-grocer continued to sell fish and cheese; and then, he was astonishingly robust and hearty, with no possibility whatever of dying for a hun- dred years or so. It was only the next day that he heard of a grandly solemn dinner-party to be given by Josiah. His chums had got in- vitations all round, but he-knew he would get none. Dick was desperately in love with Marianna, yet he could not fail to regret Josiah's dinners: the odorous cov- ered dishes and the aroma of the wines would be delicious memories for ever. He remembered one day in particular, when Josiah had captured the first pheas- ant of the autumn, and had invited Dick alone to come and share it with him. The wine with which they deluged the savory fowl, so light and golden and del- icate, lingered yet so bewitchingly upon the palate that it might have been pressed a thousand years ago from the luscious grape by fairy feet upon the Enchanted Islands. Dick never would forget that dinner, nor how afterward they drank to Marianna, mistress of the feast. The Sunday following, Dick met Mari- anna on her way home from church, and told her about the interview with Josiah in his Water street office, ending with page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] Pa's tremendous joke-for that was what Dick called it-about the first fifty thou- sand dollars. Marianna did not smile when she heard it: on the contrary, she looked very serious about it. She said, -, If Pa could talk in that way about what con- cerns my happiness, our case is quite hopeless, and there is nothing for us to do but to go on being clandestine-which I hate--and loving and trusting, Richard -which I will do for ever-and waiting, and waiting, and waiting." Then a new idea seemed to strike her. , Maybe," she said, , with your talents, Richard, you might make that much money in a lit- tle while. I have heard of Mr. Webster and Mr. Choate making that much in a single case; and if they could do it, why could not you?" , Why not?" echoed Dick, solemn as a judge. ,t To be sure! why not? Only,. Marianna, it might help the matter a little if you knew any clients who had that sum to invest in my services." Thereupon Dick laughed, and Mari- anna, catching the infection--for Dick's laughter was infectious-laughed too. What did it matter, after all? was not the sun bright, the air sweet, -the sky blue? Were they not young, and lovers, and together? So they laughed and were happy, and delayed Josiah's dinner half an hour in consequence of the length of the route they had. chosen to take them home; and though it led them half around the city, Dick swore it was the shortest. The winter went and spring came, but though Dick was no longer invited to the grand dinners, nor tasted again the marvelous wine which came from off the Enchanted Isles, yet he somehow man- aged to see Marianna very often. He met her in other houses, laid in wait for her at church doors, and got the sunniest smiles from her as she rolled serenely along the street in her carriage. Dick did not mind it a bit that its dust cov- ered him, got into his eyes or flecked his linen: that was all right sol long as it was her carriage that raised it. But to make a small joke, when the summer came Dick was just as far off from rais- ing the dust, to the amount of fifty thou- sand dollars, as ever. He had been very faithful to his office, where he amused himself, in the absence of real ones, by laying traps for imaginary rich clients; but it was no use--they never were caught. And seriously, I am afraid neither of these young people greatly cared, for they loved and trusted, and they were together, and life was, to them, sa long. Often Dick passed her house in the afternoon, only to catch a pleasant smile or a wave of the white hand. Some- times she stood at the window, framed in the massive folds of the curtains, clothed in her grand dinner-dress of sheeny silk and laces and pearls. In all the world, Dick fancied, there was no picture as beautiful as that. Often Josiah was standing at her side as Dick passed; at such times his smile was frank and friendly, but Dick noticed that the old fellow jealously drew his little girl closer to him, as if to shield her from the woo- ing of so impecunious a lover. Dick was idling in court one day near the end of June term, watching the pro- gress of a trial which was all about some merchandise that a party had bought and sold, and now declined to pay for. He said the goods were not up to sample, but he had sold them at a large profit- all the same; still, not being up to sam- ple, his lawyer told him, was a valid de- fence against payment, and if he did not pay for them he would make so much more. There were a good many such cases every day, so that one did not in- terest Dick especially, and he very readily gave his attention to Mr. Joseph Sterling, who sat down at his side and asked Dick if he had heard that Miss Lowher's uncle George was dead? No, Dick had not heard that, and he said so. Mr. Sterling put his handkerchief to his eyes, leaned his head on the table before him, and said, , It is- true. He died last night." We are sorry) to say it, but it seemed very aggravating to Dick that Uncle George should have died last night. Uncle George, he thought, was just as good a man and citizen as his brother Josiah, quite as robust and hardy-look- ing; and yet he, whose decease could not benefit Dick a bit, was taken and the other left. ,i Of course," Dick said, , he was worth a mint of noney: Marianna will get it all, and then Josiah will insist upon my making those fifty thousand an hundred. Well, why not? I can just as easily raise one as the other." Mr. Sterling seemed to be distressed ,a good deal about Uncle George, which Dick Lyle would not, have given him credit for, if he had not seen the tears in the man's eyes and heard the husky, choked voice. Joseph Sterling was not considered a man of warm affections by those who knew him' best He had always been taciturn, reticent, and too often simply aggressive. His talents were of the most undoubtedly brilliant character, and he knew more sharp prac- tices and employed them to a greater ex- tent in behalf of his clients than was good for his reputation as an honorable man. Mr. Sterling's legal brethren were not fond of him, for they never knew what trap he would spring next in any contest in which he was engaged against them. That mattered nothing to him, however, for he had started in the race to get rich by the short and narrow road, and he pursued his own devices irre- spective of any one's opinion. His mother's brothers, Josiah and George, had both made money, but she had mar- ried in her youth a poor man, who had remained poor always; and in -his own home, Mr. Joseph Sterling had learned early and late the sting and bitterness of poverty, and had determined to grow rich. As to the means, he was not particular: the end would justify them. He was his uncle George's legal adviser, and consequently intimately acquainted with his entire business: that fact in- duced Dick to ask if his uncle-had made a will, and Mr. Sterling answered, he was quite sure his uncle George had made a will, but he knew nothing about it. "That looks well for you," Dick said; 'for if he had left you nothing, he would have had you draw the instrument." "No, I think not. My uncle may 7 have given me a trifle, but it is more likely to be nothing. My cousin will get it all. She was his favorite always: I was only his lawyer, and he never liked me especially, though he educated and gave me some assistance while he lived. I am satisfied with that, and grateful to him for it." Mr. Richard Lyle was more interested in learning the contents of the will of George Lowher, dec'd, than he would have cared to acknowledge. The day after the funeral it was admitted to pro- bate, and a will more complete and con- cise had apparently never been registered. There was one portion of it over which Dick lingered long and savagely. It was: ,Item-I give and devise to my niece, Marianna Lowher, all the rest and resi- due of my estate, real and personal, of every and whatsoever description, where- soever situated, for her only proper use and behoof, on the following terms and conditions, to wit: That she, the said Marianna Lowher, shall and will, within one year from the day of my decease, marry my beloved nephew, Joseph Ster- ling, who, I am well informed and verily believe, is sincerely attached to her, and is in all other ways an honorable and upright man, and worthy to become the husband of my said niece. , In the event, however, of the said Marianna Lowher failing to accept the foregoing conditions within the prescribed time, all the rest and residue of my estate as aforesaid, which in the case of her acceptance of the above terms would have accrued to the said Marianna Low- ber, I give and bequeath, absolutely, to my said beloved nephew, Joseph Sterling. "I hereby make and appoint my brother, Josiah Lowher, and my said nephew, Joseph Sterling, my executors to execute and fulfill the terms of this, my last will and testament. "Witness my hand and seal, this 23d day of April, A. D. I868. "GEORGE LOWBER. iSEAL.] ,'Signed and sealed in presence of us, "'WILLIAM FLEMMNG, "FRANCIS DUPREZ." page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] The residuary legatee would receive, under this will, something over two hun- dred thousand dollars. Dick Lyle had seen a good many wills in his career as student and lawyer, but never another that had such potent power to interest him as this one. There were in the office only himself and a solitary clerk. Lyle laid the paper before the man, who went on transcrib- ing from another document-without look- ing up. , Is this will copied yet?"Dick asked. ,Why?" interrogated the clerk in turn, continuing his work. - Because I want it." ,cAgen the rules, Mr. Lyle. It-can't be done. Second executor left special orders about that will." , What else did he leave with his or- 'ders?"Mr. Lyle asked, taking out his pocket-book. i, Not much-a wee." ,Very well, here is double that. I want this will for twenty-four hours, and Mr. Sterling is not to know it. Can I have it?" ,Not with my consent, Mr. Lyle. I'm busy transcribing, I am; and if that will leaves this office I'm not able to say anything about how it goes. I can't see everything, you know, Mr. Lyle." Whereupon the clerk bowed his head over his work until his nose touched the desk, and Mr. Lyle put the will in his pocket and walked out. Joseph Sterling and Dick Lyle had been on friendly terms for years, and Dick probably knew of as-many of that gentle- man's brilliant manoeuvres as most peo- ple. At the first hurried glance at the contents of the will he had said: ,s An- other of Joe Sterling's tricks." So go- ing to his office, he laid the document broadly out on his table, prepared to find in it the work of his friend. He took from a drawer a pair of spectacles of great magnifying power, examined with them, first, the chirography, then the seal; over the latter he spent a good deal of time. As a general thing, Mr. Lyle did not need the aid of spectacles, but he wore them that day, and they told him that the-will was a lie. Undoubtedly, though, the signature was genuine, but the context was not in Uncle George's writing, and if the four years' experience Dick had had in the government office at Washington - where his sole business was to examine and report upon the. authenticity of writing and signatures- told him anything, that experience told him that Joe Sterling wrote the body of that will. Looking through his spec- tacles into the depth, he found his friend at the bottom. But do not forget that he began with the determination to find him there. Dick then took a sheet of brief-paper, and, in a fair hand, wrote, beginning a few lines from the top, these words: Theories concerning the Will of George Lowher, deceased. x. Body of will written by Joseph Ster- ling. 2. Signature obtained on blank sheet of legal brief, some time previous, for the purpose for which it was sub- sequently used. Mem.--Clients always signing blank papers for their counsel to fill up at their leisure. Clients always hurried - lawyers never. 3. Witnesses never saw said will signed. 4. Seal is too new. The impression is clear and sharp, and there is a piece of metal filing adhering to wax. George Lowher had the original, of which this is a counter- feit, in use for years. is There are my theories," said Dick, s; and so far, so good, but-prove them." I. True, but not susceptible of proof. 2. No proof. 3. No proof. 4. Joe Sterling is a man of universal genius, but he did not cut that seal: discover who did. Mr. Lyle copied off both sides of his argument and carried them down to the office of Josiah Lowher, Esquire. His reception of Dick was cordial enough, but he began by requesting that Miss Lowher's name should not enter into the subject of their business. Dick informed Josiah that her name had nothing to do with it, and then laid before the merchant the paper he had brought. Mr. Lowher's face flushed hotly as he read the first bold line, but, looking up wearily at the end, only said: , You have made a mistake, Mr. Lyle. The will is genuine." Dick placed both hands firmly on the table before him, and looked down, reso- lutely, into Josiah's impassive gray eyes. I have made no mistake," he said: , the will is a lie." Mr. Lowher leaned far back in his chair, placed his hands together, join- ing the finger-tips, and, with the same unmoved manner and voice, only said, , Prove it." , More easily suggested than done, I fancy," Lyle replied, trying to assume the easy indifference of the merchant's manner. ," May I ask, then, why you come here with your bare theories,. which simply disturb my mind and do no good?" , Because I thought you might have entertained similar theories concerning your brother's will, and would have felt enough interest in the matter to assist me in proving it fraudulent." ,I have no help to offer you; and whatever my private opinions may be, it is my desire that no scandal shall be at- tached to my brother's memory, nor to others that bear his name." , Then, Mr. Lowher, you peremptorily decline to help me.?" ," Until you can bring me some proofs -yes." Mr. Richard Lyle was not even dis- mayed, much less defeated, by the result of his visit. From Josiah's counting- room he went to Mr. Jacob Burnet, the lapidary and engraver, who had been for many years chief of the detective service. Before that gentleman he laid the will: ," It is your present, as it was es- pecially your late, business, Mr. Bur- net, to know the name of every engraver in this city: which of them made that seal?" "Charles Gregory-a man who has worked for me, off and on, a good many years." "s Where is- he now?" it I can't tell; he left me three days ago, leaving most of his tools behind." ,Was he honest and sober?" "Honest enough, I think, Mr. Lyle, but not sober. He went on sprees often and often. It was a pity, too, for Char- ley knew his business." "Can you swear he cut that seal, Mr. Burnet?" "( Yes, I can. When it was my busi- ness to detect and convict engravers of counterfeit notes, I studied the style of every man's work who was in the trade -and it was my own trade, too. Char- ley never put his hand to a job that I couldn't swear to: each man's method is different from another's." , How often has that seal been used?" i"Ah, that's too much, Mr. Lyle. I can't answer that." "Look at it through this glass, and then say how often?" The old lapidary and detective ex- amined it critically by the aid of the magnifying-glass. " Not half a dozen times, Mr. Lyle. There is a piece of gold detached from the setting, which adheres to the wax. It was likely to have come off on the first impression being taken, but it most probably came off on the second or third trial." , You never amuse yourself any more by playing detective, Mr. Burnet?" ,s Never: John Perker is a better hand at that business than ever I was. What do you want?" "I want Charles Gregory, seal en- graver, Mr. Burnet, and I want him very much. Can you help me to find him?" "No, I can't. See John Perker."1 Dick had been in possession of the will about four hours now, and was done with it. He carried it back, therefore, to the register's office, and slipped it quietly into the hands of the clerk from whom he received it, for there were others in the room when he entered, but the clerk only fastened his fingers on it without a word or sign. page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] , My last theory proved first," Dick said. , No matter: lightning strikes backward sometimes, and carries its message just as surely and--as fatally." Mr. Lyle's friends had never con- sidered him in the light of an industrious or energetic young gentleman, and the amount of energy he showed in the mat- ter of that will rather astonished even himself. Having proved his one theory, he concluded to begin another day by imparting his proof to Josiah Lowher. Then he sat down in his office to smoke out the rest of the day. , Well?" queried the merchant impa- tiently, the following-morning when Dick called. ti Mr. Lowher," Dick said, , I have proof that the seal is not the original seal of your 'deceased brother, that it has been made within a few days or weeks by a person who has since disappeared, and that it had never been used half a dozen times before it was employed 'on the will." Then Josiah's manner changed: all his late indifference and 'weariness dropped away, and he looked like a man ready to fight. ,That is proof-not much, Mr. Lyle, but it is proof--and a grain of that is worth more than a cargo of theories. Now, I am going to help you. I knew from the first the will was a fraud: even while I pretended to believe in it, I knew it was a trick of my rascally nephew's. How can I help you?" , In this way: You are co-executor, and as such you can have the subscrib- ing witnesses to the will here to-mor- row. Have them here at three o'clock, and I will call a little after that hour." , I engage to do that, but suppose you establish the invalidity of this will, what do you expect to receive?" , I expect to receive, Mr. Lowher, my first fifty thousand dollars-and expenses. Do you -understand?"Dick asked. ,* I think -I do, and I accept your terms," Josiah said, a broad, genial'smile lighting :ip his face, Considering that when Dick's evi- dence came to be sifted, it would amount to nothing, there really was no cause for his exultation in having his terms so readily accepted, for though- his fee was to be a large one, it was also contingent 'upon his success; and if Dick had been at all able to see the case as it then stood, he would have seen that defeat was inevitable. But he could see noth- ing outside of his own theories, in which Marianna was interlocked; and so, With a jubilant sense of victory, he went off in search of John Perker, detective. That gentleman was not in his office, and Mr. Lyle, going farther, found him at home, singing to a couple of little Perkers, perched upon his knees. While Dick talked to him,'eexplaining his theo- ries, Perker went on singing to the chil- dren: when Dick stopped, he stopped. This disconcerted Mr. Lyle, but not. nearly so much as Perker's attempts to fasten both eyes on a terrier pup, gnaw- ing-at his boot. Dick never had seen mortal man before whose two eyes-- each of which was perfect in itself-- were together as divergent as the poles. Perker ought to have known better, but he never will know better, for to this day he never stops trying to fasten both eyes upon a single object. It certainly has a confusing effect, and the rogues that Perker hunts always know that their time is come, be they never so well hid- den, when they see him apparently look- ing half a mile over their heads. it I am to be at Mr. Lowher's office at half-past three to-morrow? Very good, I will be there," Perker said, therewith dismissing his visitor. Then Dick, still with :his head en- veloped in the clouds of certain success, returned to his office and wrote to Mari- anna, telling her that he was about to receive his first fifty thousand dollars and :-Pa's consent. Of course, Mari- anna never doubted a word that Dick said, and his letter made her the happiest creature in the West End, for of a truth she 'wa'sgrowing heartily tired of being clandestine and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, but-she -never could grow weary of trusting and loving Diek Lyle. Punctually at the appointed hour, Dick walked into Mr. Lowher's office, where he found already the two subscribing witnesses, to whom Josiah introduced him. William Flemming was a thin, dyspeptic-looking person-a gentleman, evidently, and to good manners born, but a gentleman at odds with fortune nevertheless, as his soiled linen arid shabby-genteel dress proclaimed: the second witness, Francis Duprez, a tall, dark-complexioned man, with a mass of shaggy, black hair, worn so long that it fell upon his shoulders like- a mane, sat apart examining a copy of the will which lay on the desk before him. To him Mr. Lyle addressed an occasional question. He was certainly a gentleman, intelli- gent and sensible; a trifle reticent about himself maybe, yet answering promptly and clearly every question put to him about the will. A nervous man, though, thought Dick, as he noticed that the large, tawny hands were -never at rest: they wandered from the copy of the will to the ruler, thence to his collar, then they smoothed the long, black hair about his ears or played with the ends of his neckerchief. But in the closeness and cohesion of his story he never wandered at all. It was the same with the ac- count of the first witness. There was a clearness and precision in what they both said that left no room for doubt. While they were all busily discussing the matter, a rough and loud-voiced sailor brushed abruptly past the porter at the door, and without farther cere- mony entered the office. Mr. Lowher sharply ordered the man out before -he had time to speak. But he stood staring at them all by turns, a half-drunken leer on his weatherbeaten face, loth -to go. He put his hand into his coat pocket and drew out a bundle of cigars, when Josiah went to the door to call some one to put the intruder out. , I've some uncommon nice cigars here, mates, which I can sell low-ten times lower nor you can buy 'em at the shops," he said, holding the bundle -out to each of them in turn. At that moment Josiah appeared with a burly porter, who took the sailor by the shoulder. -, Stop," said Mr. Lyle: I wish to see what this man has to sell. I will lnot detain him a moment, Mr. Lowher." The sailor handed Dick the- cigars. , Take one, mate," he said: i you'll find 'em all right." Dick took one, lighted it and passed the bundle to the others. Lowher. alone declined accepting any, muttering, it Smuggled." The sailor turned toward the merchant, and looking, or trying to look, as well as a pair of rolling eyes, hopelessly dis- connected with one another, could look at anything, replied, , I won't say you ain't right, guv'nor, but you can't prove it." , How do you sell these things?" Dick asked. , Just you name your own -price, mate. You know what a good cigar is, you do; so name your own price for a box on 'em. Wouldn't you like to have a box, guv'nor?" he asked, turning with some- thing like a spring on Duprez. The movement was so sudden that the man started, and his hand went irresolutely up to his forehead, sharply brushing the long hair aside, showing for an instant his ears and sinuous neck. , No, I want none,", Duprez said, angrily, an ugly glitter in his eyes. Dick Lyle named a price which was accepted, and he slowly began to count out the money on the table. Josiah fumed and fretted at the sailor's pres- ence, but the latter paid no attention to him, and leisurely took up each bit of tawdry currency, scanning it carefully, as if he expected to find it all counterfeit. When he had stowed it away safely in a greasy leathern wallet, he was about- to leave them alone again, when a felt hat, lying on the table, seemed to have an irresistible attraction for him. He came back and took it up. , Now, that's what I call a hat," he said-, a reg'lar sombrero, and none of your Yankee make, half wool, either. Not French, is it? No, not French. English?"He had turned it around and about, looking at it outside and in, when a label there caught his eye. , "Why, bless your hearts, mates! I know that hat just as well as I know anything, I do. That 'ere hat was one of a cargo I helped run into Charleston harbor, page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] right under the guns of a Yankee man- o'-war, in the last year of the war. To be sure it is: there's the London maker's e name all right-the name of the man as we shipped for." The owner of-the hat, the long-haired man, took it from the sailor with a jerk. " You mistake," he said: , I got that hat in Raleigh, North Carolina, two years ago." ,Well, then, I'm mistaken and beg your pardon, mate, but it looked like one of that cargo we ran into Charleston harbor." Josiah ordered the porter to turn the ruffian into the street, but he went of his own will: , I won't trouble you, guv'- nor. I can take a hint." Josiah thanked the witnesses for the trouble he had given them, and they went'out together. He and Dick Lyle were left alone then, the table be- tween them; Lowher's head was rest- ing on it, his face covered by his hands: Dick sat quietly smoking, watching and waiting for the explosion. Surely, as it was expected, it came: , It is all a mistake, Mr. Lyle-a mis- erable, stupid mistake: the will is genu- ine, and those men spoke truth, if men ever did." it It is all right, Mr. Lowher: the will is a fraud, and those men lied." ,i Prove it!" said the old man, striking the desk angrily. Dick could not see his way clear just ,then to do that, so he kept silent and smoked, which was naturally exasper- ating to Josiah, and should have excused his asking a brutal question of Mr. Lyle. It followed a long pause: is Do you generally buy your cigars of a smuggler, Mr. Lyle?" , Never," Dick said, brushing away the white ashes. , You bought the one you are smok- ing now from a drunken smuggler and blockade-runner," Josiah said, more angrily. , No, I did not! I bought it from a very respectable gentleman, a detective officer, named Perker." , And you mean to say. that that man was not a sailor?" ,c Not a bit of one. He never tasted salt junk in his life." ,Then," said Josiah Lowher, with slow and awful emphasis, cif those fellows lied, that man will find it out." , I am very much of your opinion; and, if he has not already started on some unknown journey with that -view, he is waiting for me at my office, and I must go see him." When Dick arrived, he found Perker already there, busy writing a note to his wife, requesting that lady to send him his carpet-bag, which, he explained, was always kept packed. , How much now, Mr. Lyle, will this job pay?" he asked, sealing his letter. Dick took out his pocket-book and emptied it before Perker: C That is all it will pay now, but as much more as you think right, when I am in funds." it Suppose we lump it, Mr. Lyle, and say how much?" , Suppose, after we have lumped it, you fail?"Dick asked, laughingly. , I can't suppose that, Mr. Lyle." ,Well, then, Mr. Perker, if it suc- ceeds, it will pay ten thousand dollars- nothing but this if it fails." Perker whistled, roiled his eyes around to the utter discomfiture of Dick's smalll office-boy: , Young man, consider now; don't be rash, but if you've made up your mind to that figure, say it again, and say it slow." Dick said it again, whereupon the de- tective requested permission to add a line to his note, merely to say to Mrs. John Perker that she should have that house on the avenue which she had been hankering after so long. Having finished that, he asked Mr. Dick Lyle if that gentleman , would be so good as to re- duce his very handsome proposal to writing," which Dick did, and Mr. Per- ker folded it carefully away. , Now, then," he said, , I'm off. Good-bye, gentlemen," good-humoredly including the small boy in his farewell. , May I ask where you are going?" ,Not now. When I comne back I'll tell you. Why, I never tell Mrs. Perker where I'm going." It was true Perker was gones as Dick ascertained the next day, and neither he nor Lowher, nor Mrs. Perker, nor yet the little Perkers, knew what had become of him. The Arabs might fold their tents more silently than he, but when it came to stealing away, Mr. John Perker could give them great odds and beat them easily. Almost against Mr. Lowher's advice, Dick began proceedings to test the validity of the will of George Lowher, de- ceased. Mr. Joseph Sterling took the matter very coolly, accepted all sorts of notices off-hand, and assisted in every way to expedite the trial. As for Marianna marrying him before the expiration of the year, or ever, he knew that would not be. If that young lady hated any one in this world, it was her cousin Joseph Sterling, and that gentleman knew it, and was quite satisfied to have it so. But he did want to have ended Dick Lyle's stupid suit about his uncle's will, for so long as the matter was in doubt he could not enjoy his prospective wealth, even in anticipation; and Mr. Lyle, expecting all manner of tricks and motions for delay fromn his shrewd an- tagonist, saw the day of trial hurrying upon him only to find himself altogether unprepared to meet either it or the bril- liant strategy of Mr. Joseph Sterling. Perker, who was nothing if not mys- terious, was out of the way-no one ,knew where-and another member of the force was employed to hunt up Charles Gregory, gem-cutter. Before many days he was found, employed in a New York house, steadily and soberly pursuing his business. The detective's orders were that his man was to be kept constantly in sight, but in no manner to be disturbed or to be informed that he was wanted. A week before the trial came on, Dick Lyle got a letter from Perker, saying he would return in a few days. Dick tele- graphed him to return at once if he had anything bearing in the slightest degree favorably upon the case. Perker replied that so far he had got nothing. The only evidence of a grain's weight in the hands of the contestants was that con- cerning the seal, and Dick did not even know that Sterling had ordered it from Gregory. He believed he did, but it never suggested itself to his mind that the testator himself might have employed the gem-cutter to make it. There was so much of his life and happiness in- volved in sustaining his theories of fraud that he could not see outside of them. But dogged persistence is a strong card in any game, no matter from what motive it may be played. With such slight evidence, however, as he had, Mr. Lyle was compelled to content himself, and to find comfort in the thought that, if he failed, he would be no worse off than he then was. But he wished Perker would come back; and when the trial came on he asked for a continuance, on the plea of the absence of an important witness. The court naturally asked what the counsel expect- ed to prove by him, but Mr. Lyle knew no more as to what Perker could prove than the court did; consequently his re- quest was denied and the trial proceeded. The case of the contestants was opened by experts testifying to their belief that the body of the will was in the hand- writing of Joseph Sterling; others, show- ing that Mr. Sterling had never been a favorite with his uncle-that the testator had often declared he would never leave his nephew a penny; others, that the testator was in the frequent habit of writing his name upon blank sheets of paper which might be left lying before him ; and finally, the gem-cutter, Charles Gregory, testified that he had made the seal, by order of Mr. Sterling, had de- livered it to and been paid for it by that gentleman. Being asked when, he men- tioned the date, and that was found to be anterior to the making of the will. All which Mr. Sterling freely admitted, adding that he had ordered it at the re- quest of the testator. Whicli frank ad- mission immediately raised Mr. Sterling in the opinion of the jury, but upon the witness admitting, after a good deal of prevarication, that he had received one hundred dollars from Mr. Sterling to leave the city the day after the testator's page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] - " death, the jury again- began to regard that gentleman with suspicion. That was Dick Lyle's case, and there he closed. Counsel for the will called another set of equally intelligent experts, who testified that the body of the will was not in the handwriting of Joseph Sterling; others, that he was a great favorite with his uncle; others, that the testator had said, over and over again, that he meant to provide in his will for his nephew; others, that the testator never, never, never wrote his name upon blank sheets of paper; and then William Flemming, first subscribing witness to the will, was sworn, and the original was placed in his hands for recognition. ,i I was present at the signing of this will," he testified, clearly and distinctly. it I am a physician, and called to see the testator at the request of Mr. Sterling, who said it was his uncle's wish that I should do so. The testator was sick, but I did not prescribe for him: he had the services of another physician at the time. He was sitting up in bed when I saw him. I am not a resident of this city-I am from Ohio. I was here on. business of my own; was stopping at the Penn Hotel, where I first became ac- quainted with Mr. Sterling on a previous visit. I met him afterward in Ohio; he owed me money--I came here to collect it. Yes, he paid me. The will was lying on the bed when I entered the room: the testator read it over and said he would be glad if I would witness its execution. I did so: that is the will, and that is my signature. The register will show that I was at the Penn Hotel at the date of this will." Here the witness was handed over to the contestants for cross-examination. , Where," asked Mr. Lyle, , did you witness this will?" ," At testator's house in Girard avenue." , In what room of that house?" ,In second story, front room." i"Describe the furniture of that apartment." Witness described with great accuracy the different articles and their relative positions. ,Who was present besides yourself at signing of this will?" ,Francis Duprez: Mr. Sterling ac- companied me to the house, but remained in the library." ,i Did you tell Mr. Sterling when you came out what you had done?" ,No, I did not. I left the house without seeing him." ,At what hour of what day was this?." , It was about noon of April 23d of the present year." , Who sealed this will?" - The testator." , Where did he get the taper, matches and wax?" , I handed them to him : they were on the table at the side of the bed." Mr. Dick Lyle paused: so far he had made nothing out of his cross-examina- tion. The impression made upon the jury by the manner of the witness was decidedly against the contestants. While the witness waited patiently for the next question, a gentleman, freshy shaven, and resplendent in a dress of glossy broadcloth, entered, sat down un- concernedly at the side of Mr. Lyle, and quietly placed a folded paper under that gentleman's eyes. Dick asked the wit- ness an indifferent question or two while he read the document: the gentleman in broadcloth meanwhile sucked a little re- freshment from the fingers of his gloves, and looked so hard at the court that they thought he meant to take their portraits ; otherwise the world had no human inter- est for this quiet person. Mr. Lyle got up, went to witness and familiarly laid his hand on witness' arm. When he asked the next questions his voice was so earnest and impressive that the jury, who had apparently been asleep for the last few minutes, suddenly woke up, and were rather startled at- the pros- pect of the counsel beginning all over again with his witness. i"Doctor," Richard Lyle asked, it you do swear by Almighty God that on the 23d day of April last you witnessed the signing of this will by George Lowher, in the second story, front room, of his house on Girard avenue; that you saw there present Francis Duprez and saw him subscribe his name as second wit- ness? Remember that you are upon your solemn oath, and that you shall so an- swer at the last day. Now do you say that all this is true, and that you saw that man, Francis Duprez, present in that room, and that you saw him witness this will?" ,s I do," the witness answered. "You solemnly swear to it?" "I do." "That will do, doctor." Doctor Flemming stepped aside and Francis Duprez, sworn: it I met Mr. George Lowher in Charles- ton before the war. Sold him cotton. Being -in Philadelphia, called on him; heard he was ill and asked to see him. Did see him. Was present at signing of this will April 23, I868. Yes, that is my signature. I was in the room be- fore Doctor Flemming called. I corrob- orate, in every particular, everything he has said concerning the signing of the will." Witness passed to Mr. Lyle for cross- examination. ' You corroborate everything sworn to by Doctor Flemming?" ," I do, in every particular." "Then you do, upon your oath, say that on the 23d day of April, I868, you witnessed George Lowher sign and seal this will, in his house on Girard avenue, in the second story, front room, and that you saw then present Doctor Flemming, and saw him subscribe his name as first witness, and that you signed it after him?" "-I do." "Look upon the court and jury and swear to it." "I swear to it." , That is all, Mr. Duprez. I will ask the court to direct that the witnesses, William Flemming and Francis Duprez, be not permitted to leave the room for the present." Direction made. Mr. Lyle, being informed that the other side had closed, stated to the court that his absent witness was present, and he desired him to be sworn in rebuttal. John Perker sworn: ,Am a detective officer. Have seen Francis Duprez be- fore: saw him in office of Josiah Lowher i --was selling cigars, and believe rather startled Mr. Duprez, which caused him to throw his hand up to his face; in doing so he brushed the. hair away from the side of his head, disclosing the fact that his ears had been cut off; it hap- pened to be known to me that cutting off the ears was the punishment in cer- tain of the Southern States for horse- stealing: he admitted he had been in Raleigh, North Carolina; that induced me to go there. I went, and returned this morning." Papers shown to witness: ,s I recognize this paper: it is a tran- script of the record of the criminal court of Wake county, North Carolina. It is properly certified by the judges, clerk and district-attorney of that court: it is the record of the conviction of Francis Duprez for horse-stealing. I recognize this photograph ; I got it from the warden of the jail in Raleigh; it is a correct likeness of the witness, Francis Duprez. This record shows that he was sentenced on the tenth day of May, I867, to under- go one year's imprisonment from day of sentence. This paper is a transcript from the prison record; it shows that Francis Duprez was discharged, the full term of his sentence having expired, on the tenth day of May, I868. The date of this will is April 23, i868; at that time Francis Duprez was in jail in Raleigh, North Carolina: consequently, he could not have signed this will." Francis Duprez was called to be con- fronted by the photograph, but it was found that both the subscribing witnesses to the will, notwithstanding the direction of the court, were missing, Joseph Ster- ling had also disappeared. The counsel for the will at once agreed to submit the case to the jury without argument. Without leaving the box, the jury decided the will to be fraudulent and invalid. When it was all over, Mr. Lowher rather astonished Perker by insisting on having him up for dinner; and as for Dick Lyle, his invitation was written by Marianna herself and delivered by Josiah in person. page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] Then they had out more of that famous wihe from grapes pressed by the feet of fairies in the Enchanted Islands. Never wine so full of genial glow, brotherhood and good feeling. , What else can I give you, Mr. Per- ker, to show how much we feel the ser- vice you have done us, besides the sum agreed upon by you and Mr. Lyle?" IA bottle of this wine, Mr. Lowher," Perker said, draining the goblet. Josiah made it a dozen; and then, while those old fellows sat about the table until an awfully late hour, Dick and Marianna, above stairs, were happy in the thought that they need never again be separated, nor clandestine, nor have to wait, -and wait, and wait for Pa's consent, for Josiah had already given it; and these young people, for whom alone the sun was shining, had reached life's topmost round of bliss, and rested there content. Josiah has great faith in Dick's legal abilities, but he somehow fancies, when he thinks it over, that it was Perker, and not the other, who should have got the larger fee. i"Perker did more than you, Dick," Josiah says. Marianna listens, dumb with indignation at Pa's treason, but Dick only laughs at both and sips his wine. L. CLARKE DAVIS. PETER CRISP'S SPECTACLES. PETER CRISP had something the matter with his eyes: he needed spectacles to help him to see. But this was no uncommon misfortune; hundreds of people, who do ten good hours' work every day of their lives, use glasses and cannot get along without them. No; the chief trouble in Peter's case was not in wanting glasses: it was in the par- ticular sort of glasses that he used. He had- several pairs, which he always kept on hand, nobody knew exactly where: they seemed to be hidden somewhere about the head of his bed, for he often got them on before he was up in the morning. One pair was what I should call smoked glasses, such as persons use in looking at the sun: they do very well for that purpose, preventing the bright rays from hurting the eyes. But Peter did not put them on to look at the sun with: he looked at everything through them. And as this made everything look dark and ugly, he was made to feel accordingly. , I could iron these collars better my- self!" he exclaimed one morning as he was dressing, after getting up with those glasses on. And a few minutes later, "ot a pin in the cushion as usual;" and presently again, ,Who has taken my comb and brush?" Had any of the children chanced to come into the room about that time, it would have been worse for them. When he sat down to breakfast there t was a deep wrinkle between his eyes, caused by the weight of the glasses upon his brow. ,t That Polly Ann never did make a good cup of coffee in her life," he re- marked. c My dear," turning to his wife, , I do wish you would take the trouble to go down once-just once, only once-and show. her how." Mrs. Crisp ventured to say in a low voice that she went down every morn- ing. Peter had no reply to make to this, but he puckered his lips as if he had been taking quinine, frowned yet more severely and pushed the cup away from him. After this cheerful brealfast he put on his hat to go to the store, but turned back from the front door and came to the foot of the stairs, where he stood calling out in a loud voice that he really felt ashamed of the black around the door-knob and bell-handle. In the street, a. few moments afterward, a gentleman joined him, to whom he was as pleasant as possible. But when he got into the counting-room, it was plain he had the smoked glasses on still. Not one per- son about the concern worked as he should do, he said-none of them were worth a cent. It used to be different when he was a boy. Then he went out with a look of general disgust. As soon as he was gone the bookkeeper was cross to the clerk, and the clerk scolded the boy, and the boy went out and abused the porter. A few mornings after that, Peter had on what might be called his blue glasses. He was in a milder frame, but low in spirits. He was sorry to see the cham- ber carpet wearing out, for he did not know where another would come from. At breakfast he watched all the children taking butter, and took scarcely any himself. He begged Mrs. Crisp to put less sugar in his coffee. The frown was gone from his face, but a most dejected look had come in its place. Spying a hole in the toe of his boy's shoe, he took a long breath, and hearing that the dress- maker was engaged a day next week for his daughters, he sighed aloud. Walking : down the street, he looked as if he had lost a near relative, and at the store all day he felt like one on the eve of breaking. He had one more pair of glasses, the color of which could never be distinctly made out: they seemed more of a mud- color than anything else. He did not wear them so often as either of the others, but when he did they had a very I singular effect. It was thought by many that they befogged him, rather than. helped him see; for after putting them on of a morning he would get up and dress hardly speaking a word. At break- fast he would say nothing, and not seem to want anybody else to; consequently the whole- family would sit and munch in silence; then he would rise from the table and walk out of the front door as if he was dumb; and although it was a relief when he had gone and made mat- ters something better, still a chilling in- fluence remained behind him the whole morning. Peter had been wearing these glasses a good many years, when it occurred to him one day that things never looked very cheerful in his eyes, that he was never very happy, and that perhaps his spectacles had something to do with it. , I wish I could get another and a better pair," said he. Then he remem- bered that his neighbor, Samuel Sea- bright, had to wear glasses also, but he always appeared -to see well and to have a pleasant face on. Meeting him the next morning, he said, 4"Neighbor, if it is not making too free, may I ask where you get your spectacles?" , Certainly," replied Samuel. , I am glad to tell you. They are good ones, and I wish every man with poor eyes had a pair like them." ,I would be willing to pay a good price for a pair," said Peter. ,s That is not needful," replied Samuel: ,c they are the cheapest glasses you can get." ,c Pray tell me where I can find them," said Peter. i I got mine," said Samuel, ,by the help of a certain Physician whose house you pass every day: and if you are truly anxious to get them, I know he will tell you how you can get a pair for the asking." "I don't want them in charity," re- plied Peter. "Then you cannot have them," said Samuel. , Well," replied Peter, in a humbler : voice, , I'll take them for nothing, or I'll pay a big price for them, for I want them above all things." s Ah," said Samuel, ,cthat sounds more like getting them. You go to him and tell him how you feel, and he will attend to your case." Then Peter did as he was told. The Doctor looked at his eyes, and said that the disease in them was one which kept him from seeing the good in things about him: all he could see was the evil. , And those glasses you have been wearing," he continued, ,have only made them worse, till there is a danger of your getting beyond cure." ", And is there no hope for me?" asked Peter. page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] i"Oh yes," replied the Doctor, ,if you will follow the directions." di I will do so," said Peter. , In the first place, then," he con- tinued, -s you must wear those glasses no more. Throw them away or put them in the fire, so. that you will never see them again." ,4 I promise to do so," replied Peter. i In the next place, when you are given a new pair," continued the Doctor, , you must always walk in the way which they show you to be right." it I will try not to depart from it," said Peter. At this there came an invisible hand that took off his old smoked glasses and put on new ones, made of pure crystal, which let the light through just as it came down from the sky. But oh what a change they made to Peter! He went home, and as soon as he entered the door his house seemed like another place to him: it seemed filled with blessings. it Is it possible," he exclaimed, " that those glasses have kept me from seeing all these before?" The next morning when he got up he told his wife what had befallen him and how he felt in consequence. ,s But," said she, with a loving smile, -show about those badly-ironed collars and the pins and the weak coffee?" -Oh," he cried, ,how could I ever let such trifles trouble me?" - And then," she continued, , here is the carpet wearing out, and the boys' shoes and the girls' dresses." it As for them," he said, , we will hope to get more when they are gone. But even if we should not have half our present comforts and indulgences, with you, my dearest, and our precious chil- dren, about me, I trust I may feel too rich ever again to utter one complaining word." * So the sunshine came into Peter Crisp's house, and he and all his family led a happier life because of his new glasses, which were a thankful heart. SOLOMON SOBERSIDE. ONLY NO LOVE. FROM THE GERMAN. BY MRS. A. L. WISTER. T was extremely natural that the science of governmen-t should be very obscure po his Most Serene High- ness the Duke of Hetzendorff-Massen- bach. The fact was, he had no subjects- that is to say, none who needed govern- ing, for they consisted of a few hundreds of the most docile, good-tempered human beings that ever, within a couple of square miles, inhabited a capital city, a market-square, two or three parishes and some scattered country-seats. Bred in patriarchal simplicity, never stirring except in the narrowest circle of tradi- tional customs, always regarding as law the maxims of their forefathers, one gen- eration after another had been born, had lived and died under the beneficent rule of the Hetzendo/ff:-lMasseribach dynasty. And they had prospered too. In their healthy climate, with little to do, and an abundance of good, wholesome food, it could not be but that the blessings con- sequent upon the paternal care of their rulers should be manifest in their good- natured faces and round, ruddy cheeks. They needed neither sheriff nor police 6fficer, neither doctor nor lawyer: as for the tax-gatherer, there was no one foolish enough to undertake that office except for his own amusement. And why or whether they needed the Duke himself, no dutiful subject puzzled his brains to answer. It was wisely left for his Highness to find out: he ought to know. But he did not know, and that was the worst of it. How he would have enjoyed managing, scheming, exhausting himself in diplomatic intrigue! But here he was shut off from everything of the kind. Why, Peter A Vincis, Ox- enstiern, or even the great Sully himself, might have racked his brains in vain for something to do, and would inevitably have died of ennui could he have changed places with our Duke. As long as he was young, matters were all very well, for he could drive, ride and hunt perpetually, thus conscientiously fulfilling the duties of his responsible situation so thoroughly that actually the Hetzendorffers did not know whether Providence had wisely instituted their Duke for the sake of riding and hunt- ing, or hunting and riding for the sake of their Duke. However that might have been, the Duke certainly contrived to get rid very comfortably of the many long and superfluous days with which man is blessed upon this earth. But now his Most S, lene Highness had grown old and fat, and began rather to avoid physical exertion : hunting lost its charm for him: the dinners that had killed so much itime so successfully, gave him dyspepsia; wine caused a rush of blood to the head. In short, the Duke of Hetzendorff-Massenbach was profoundly conscious that he could not continue to lead his present dull, uniform existence without action and interest of some kind: he should inevi- tably become ;a miserable hypochondriac. , I must have something to make the blood boil in my veins, something to tax my mental'energies to the utmost, or I shall expire!" he sighed. , Sound the alarum, Hartung! Proclaim war with somebody-with my neighbor Duke P---, for example. Sword in hand, I will take the field, lion-like, at the head of my forces." , But your Highness must be aware that Duke P-- will never take the slightest notice of the matter," replied Hartung, the Secretary of State,- to whom the Duke had addressed his observations. ,And you must be aware that affairs can never continue as they are. I suffer tortures: my nerves are so relaxed thit from morning to night I am upon the page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] point of dozing. My life must undergo an entire revolution. Revolution!" he continued after a moment's pause. ,What put that word into my head just at this moment? 'Tis exactly what I need. Let us have a revolution, Hartung. 'Twill give me life, noise, excitement, opportunity for a display of heroism. We shall be famous-Europe will ring with our exploits-unborn generations shall one day read the story of how, with our own royal hand and sword, we crushed the hydra of insurrection." ,I will do all that I can to further- your Highness' wishes, but your High- ness' subjects are far too happy to think of revolution." ,But to please me? They know that' I love them like my children. Yes, that's the difficulty: yes, yes, you are right, Hartung," said the Duke, while a tear stood in his wide blue eye. , I can see nothing for it but to begin the thing myself. I must begin as well as end my revolution. I must be a tyrant: yes, I will oppress my people horribly-they shall detest me. Only remember to make very careful memoranda, Hartung, that when the whole ffair is over every one may be well recompensed from my treasury: nobody must suffer the small- est injustice. But they shall see," he continued, stepping to the mirror and trying to wrinkle his fat, good-humored face--, they shall see and feel what it is to have a tyrant for a duke. It cer- 'tainly would help matters if I cultivated a martial moustache: don't you think so, eh?" - But your Highness will always con- tinue Most Serene," replied his Secretary, smiling. And shortly after this conversation there issued from the ducal cabinet a series' of tyrannical regulations utterly without sense or meaning. Strange to say, no consequences ensued: indeed, so far as could be learned, they excited not even surprise. They were published, and stamped in letters a foot long upon the bulletin-board at the town-house, and then everything went on its usual course: life was as smooth and placid-as ever in tthe dukedom of Hetzendorff-Massen- bach. This fact only aroused a more -furious zeal for despotism in the Duke's mind. He ordered that all night-caps should be made of the national colors only, as his Highness thought them by far the most becoming: then he abol- ished umbrellas, assigning as a gracious reason for this edict that his beloved subjects were dry enough already, in all conscience. Dogs were forbidden to bark twice in succession-eating and smoking were interdicted; and at last the Duke went so far as to turn his council-chamber into a -cabinet noire," where all the letters addressed to or despatched from any of his subjects were opened and examined. The read- ing of the letters not only supplied him with amusement, but this new instance' of his paternal care served to embitter the lamblike dispositions of his subjects, while it gave opportunity for the most thorough observation of the rise and growth of the desired rebellion and the inevitable treasonable correspondence with foreign malcontents. d6 To be sure, the plan is unprincipled," said the Duke, as he stroked his incipient despotic moustache, ,but that can't be helped: all great diplomatists have burst the bonds of narrow prejudice and soared far above every commonplace moral con- sideration. Am I not in the right, Har- tun,? And am I not also the father of my people? and may not a father open his children's letters, if only to correct the spelling?" His Secretary did not gainsay him, for he saw that this ,cabinet noire" had captivated his master's fancy; but he respectfully entreated to be released from the duty of opening the letters, suggest- ing that a clerk whose secresy could be relied upon should be employed for that purpose. It is wonderfully easy to stifle the whispers of conscience. After the Sec- retary of State had saved his honor from the stain of actually breaking the seals of the letters, he was troubled by no scruples which could prevent him from looking through them when opened, and carefully perusing such as interested him. Thus we find him one morning alone in the ducal cabinet sorting the latest arrival from the post-office. The clerk had just carefully loosened the envelope of every letter, and the- Secretary sat behind the pile of correspondence await- ing the arrival of his Highness, to whose inspection each- sheet was subjected. This Secretary of State, Peter von Alcantara Baron von Hartung, was a man of about thirty years of age, tall, well-built, with a pale rather handsome face, in which the features were chiseled with an almost feminine delicacy. They were redeemed from the charge which might else have been brought against them of effeminacy, by the clear, cold blue eyes, which, with their regularly- penciled eyebrows, had a look in them of keen severity. Thus one portion of his physiognomy was at war with the rest, for the expression of these same eyes perpetually contradicted the gentle- ness, nay, almost weakness, that lurked in the remainder of the face, especially around the delicately-formed mouth. He looked very quiet, very cautious and rather blasi, as if he had, in the course of his thirty years, attained to complete acquiescence in whatever .the future might bring him in this world, even although it should prove hostile to his own interests. Indeed, some such re- signation was necessary to reconcile him to his present. lot. Bred in a large capital, and a favorite there of the best society, circumstances had induced him a short time previous to our acquaint- ance with him to accept the offer of a position in one of the minor German courts. He was by no means wealthy, and was now foregoing all the various interests and intellectual excitements afforded by a large metropolis, without experiencing in their stead the placid content of mind which a life spent amid a few cultivated companions and in com- munion with Nature always produces. This Hetzendorff court might amuse a satirical observer for three weeks per- hhps, but in the fourth it would be te- dious, and in the fifth utterly intolerable. 'And yet Rumor-or rather Gossip- declared that Baron Hartung had relin- quished his former life with little or no reluctance, in consequence of an unre- quited attachment which had for some time harnessed him to the triumphal car of one of the most brilliant beauties of the capital. He sat now, his head resting on his hand, gazing vaguely and dreamily over the business letters and shopkeepers' ac- counts spread on the-table before him, pushing one sheet after another aside. What uninteresting, stupid faces stared at him from the various handwritings!- light-haired, red-cheeked, respectable creatures, whose aspirations soared only to the point of desiring some recipe for a favorite dish, or of requesting immediate payment of some small- outstanding ac- count. And yet how interesting, how instinct with character, the face can be which is painted in ethereal colors, in- visible to the material eye, upon a fair surface written over by the hand of in- telligence! The letter of a brilliant and gifted man is the shadow cast by his in- ner self-with all its hidden characteris- tics, the photograph of his individuality, to the unfolding of which conversation never affords sufficient time and reflec- tion. It is, not only in its immaterial contents, but in its size and form, its style and handwriting, an actual- mirror of the soul. Each letter is the writer's self in the shape of a sheet of paper covered with black strokes. Look at your let- ters-of course I mean those worthy of preservation, full of friendship, confidence and love. Is not this first one, for ex- ample, the writer's self, as full of inspira- tion and enthusiasm? Does not his own expressive face look out upon you from its pages, whether the subject be freedom or the daughter of his landlady, full of Nicolas Lenau and sentiment, high art or the latest method for training pointer dogs? Do you not recognize the man who, in utter terror of his own emotion, takes refuge in a mouth-filling oath or a miserable jest, lest his intense feeling should overcome him and be be- trayed to the common eye? And that perfumed sheet of smoothest satin-pressed Bath, with a device in the corner of Cupid taming the lion! See page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] how its contents breathe the logical clearness of-nothing. Why, it is the very smooth, silken creature who penned it-a creature whose thoughts and emo- tions succeed each other like clockwork, while Fashion strikes the hour. But that monster of a letter, written upon eight, nine, ten sheets - up the sides and even over the date, or rather over the place where the date should be -yes, that letter too is the writer's self, and of course has date' neither of the day of the month nor week, for it is from a lady, and has nothing in common with the earth-born considerations of time and place. Mark how tender and del- icate an appearance it presents: it is full of faint hair-lines, to express thought as airy, and emotion so transparent that we seem to look through it into universal space. The lovely writer is just such an airy creation: her sensibilities are as delicate, her voice is full of the rich minor tone that breathes from these pages, and she herself is but a trans- parent vase for thought and sentiment. And how strange the sensation that you experience when, looking over a friend's papers, you suddenly come upon a letter written long ago by yourself! You do not want to read it: you look at it almost with a shudder; it is, as it were, a coffin wherein lie shrouded your dead thoughts: your former self, as you once spoke and dreamed, lies buried there. It is uncanny to contemplate, like your reflection in a mirror at midnight. Such were some of the -thoughts that occupied the mind of the Secretary of State in the Duke of Hetzendorff's cabinet, as he looked over the common- place letters before him and then re- placed them in their envelopes. Sud- denly a low exclamation of surprise escaped his lips, and his hand trembled as if it had received an electric shock from the sheet which it held. It was a neatly-folded letter, and the seal upon the envelope was adorned with a coronet and a crest. But the heraldic lion whose uplifted paw might have guarded the contents, while his tongue was outstretched and his teeth showed angily at all intruders, had threatened in vain: this envelope, like the rest, had been skillfully opened, and Hartung had taken out the enclosure and read it more than half through before the thought struck him of what he should say-how justify or even excuse such a dishonor- able proceeding-to the fair writer; for the letter was from a woman, written in a plain, rather masculine hand, and ran thus: "ELFENBURG, May I I. , DEAR CHRISTINE: - Let this letter tell you how much injustice you did me by your fear lest my new life, with its unaccustomed quiet pleasures, should make me forgetful or neglectful jbf old friends. Indeed, I am happy here; and I take such delight in my forests and hills and all the glories of my domain, that I am half tempted to send you a sentimental and gushing description of the spring, to depict the thousand blossoms and joyous bird-notes that fill me with such a sense of beauty at this moment. But I will be merciful: indeed I could say nothing of my enjoy- ment of Nature that you do not know already. You know the deep and bene- ficial effect that she always has upon me, and how infinitely dearer are her charms to me than anything in the tiresome, conventional society-life from which I have just escaped. .How I pity you when I think ofyour lukewarm teas, lukewarm conversation and luke- warm enthusiasm!-how utterly common- place and uninteresting this has always ' seemed to me since my earliest girlhood! Indeed, Christine, you must admit that there never was a time when I did not detest those vapid balls and parties, and feel myself superior to the vain frivolities of modern society. And although Sa- lentin persists in imagining that I make a sacrifice in complying with his request and withdrawing from the world of fashion and secluding myself here, I cannot accept any gratitude from him for my acquiescence in his wishes: my se- clusion is too entirely to my mind. A, Salentin, now that we are speaking of him, begs you to hand his friend Har- denstein the enclosed note. - I shall probably soon see Hartung again, as I am only two miles from Mas- senbach, where the Duke holds his court in summer. I rather dread the meeting, for I feel guilty of injustice- slight and excusable perhaps, but still injustice-toward Hartung. There was a time when I fancied I had found in him what I was seeking-a man, in the truest sense of the word. Even now, I cannot affirm that I was wholly mistaken in him: I am convinced that he pos- sesses many excellent qualities. He is high-spirited and thoroughly tender- hearted, and hidden deep in his nature there certainly is a rich vein of senti- ment, perhaps. of poesy; but the fact is, I do not entirely believe in him. I have not enough confidence in his strength of principle, the genuineness of his sense of honor. He is vain too, and of course is thrown utterly into the shade when I compare him with my noble, high-minded Salentin. "Pray, dear Christine, do not forget to send me the fashion-print regularly every month, and remember and tell Mademoiselle de Fripperies that she can let me have that cape and collar, and the nightcap trimmed with lace, by the post that comes every week to Massenbach. Adieu, my dear friend. I rely upon your coming to me in August. Kiss your darling little Ernst for me, and always go on loving your ' ADRIENNE TRAUNSTEIN." Two things in this letter grated most disagreeably upon the feelings of Baron Hartung: one was that Adrienne von Traunstein appeared to be betrothed to Count Salentin von Guolfing; and the other was her declaration that she had not entire confidence in himself- Hartung. Never in his life had words from man or woman cut so deeply as these: the overthrow of his brightest worldly pros- pects had never caused him such pain. Adrienne could never have been his- be had long known that--but the irre- vocable certainty that she was lost to him, which the fact of her betrothal to another conveyed to his mind, was a 8 fresh and heavy shock. He had hitherto consoled himself with the remembrance of her oft-repeated declaration that she never either could or would love. Still, what was all this compared with the conviction that she had not implicit con- fidence in his sense of honor? The woman whom he loved entertained sus- picions of his sincerity, of his loftiness of mind! These were his reflections just at the moment when he was sitting in the Duke of Hetzendorff's -cabinet engaged in reading letters not intended for his eye: this it was that gave to Adrienne's words such cutting significance. He would read only one more letter: after that, not another one. The path of duty had been severely but plainly pointed out to him, but he must see the letter from Count Salentin-from the man whose noble qualities made him so greatly his superior--threw him so en- tirely into the shade. He read as follows: "Good morning, my dear Harden- stein. Don't wrinkle your brows if these lines should distract vour atten- tion for a moment from the Chronicon Novalitiense, or any of those old sages over whose musty pages I see you in imagination poring. Pretend that this is a scholium which diverts your eyes from the text. In the course of the next two weeks I shall spend a day in the city, and I want you to be kind enough to take out of the library for me, so that I can bring them back here with- out delay, La Fauconnerie, de Charles d'Ancussia Seigneur d'Esparron, I627; and Huarte's book in the Spanish orig- inal-Dos Ingenios, if I remember right- ly, is the title. it Of my betrothal when we meet. , It must have surprised you with your knowledge of my principles, and doubtless you have thought me incon- sistent and childish. My dear fellow, I still think as I have always thought of love-that it is the purest folly into which a man of sense, with anything to do in the world, can fall; and I solemnly assure you that I am not the least in page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] love with Adrienne Traunstein, and only urgent and undeniable expediency has induced the step that I have taken. Vale, amice! SALENTIN." , P. S.-I have seen Annette again. She is charming. Such artlessness, such innocence of mind! and yet such intelligence in her naivet6, with such entire unconsciousness of her bewitch- ing beauty! I am enchanted with her: you must see her. I have lodged her in the parsonage of Lodorf, about two miles from here, under the care of an old lady, a distant relative of mine." The perusal of this letter worked an instantaneous change in the mind of Baron Peter von Alcantara Hartung. The depression which had ensued upon the reading of Adrienne's epistle van- ished entirely, and was succeeded by an extremely comfortable sensation of lofty, self-conscious superiority. This, then, was the man whose elevated traits of character, whose nobility of soul, had so thrown him, Hartung, into the shade! This hypocrite, who had stolen Adri- enne's heart, was unmasked indeed! What triumph there was in the thought! The Secretary's humiliated self-con- sciousness revived in all the pride of its native rectitude of purpose. What a noble revenge should be his! He would prove to Adrienne that she had done him the grossest injustice, and heap coals of fire upon her head by freeing her, it might even be by a duel, from a lover who had deceived her-deceived her most unpardonably, for a high-minded woman can forgive anything sooner than hypocrisy in love. Another revenge might be his: he could be silent, and leave Adrienne in the toils of this Salentin. ,i No, not for worlds!" he exclaimed aloud, rejecting every suggestion of mor- tlfied vanity, every thought of selfish triumph or revenge, with an energy that was torn of his fear lest such thoughts should again recur to tempt him. His capacity for virtue seemed for the moment almost supernatural, so earnest- ly did he repent every thought which his memory, rapidly traversing the past, found to condemn - so firmly did he resolve to avoid for the future every deviation, even the slightest, from the sternest sincerity. Adrienne's words were to the weak vanity that had so beset him what that , Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?" had been to the infatuation of the zealot journey- ing to Damascus - a trumpet call to retreat, the cry which rouses the sonm- nambulist. We learn to walk morally, without stumbling, long after our physical powers in this respect are perfect, and we are often quite full grown when the character has need of leading-strings. In his determination to need such leading-strings no longer, Hartung thirst- ed for an opportunity to prove to him- self-that his will was sufficient to with- stand every temptation to vanity and egotism. This would console him for his previous humiliation. He lost sight of the fact that he desired such proof only as it might supply new nourishment to his self-love in the place of that of which it had just been deprived. He was thus abundantly consoled when he at last resolved only to pity, warn and rescue Adrienne from the sad fate now awaiting her, without bringing himself forward or expecting her thanks. No, he would remain entirely in the back- ground, and accept her severe judgment of him in silence, only endeavoring, if there had previously been any foundation for such judgment, that there should be none for the future. He had indeed better remain in the background if he wished to warn Adri- enne. Could he venture to confess. if only for the honor of the office which he held, to her or to any one in the world, that he had read the letters? What should he do? Just what he did. He exchanged the two letters, enclosing each in the en- velope intended for the other, so that Adrienne's note, with the order for the cape, collar and nightcap, was despatch- ed to the learned librarian, while Count Salentin's confession went direct to the Baroness Christine von Trossenheim, who was Adrienne's dearest and most intimate friend. Hartung, who knew her well, was confident that not many hours would elapse before Adrienne would be informed of Count Salentin's sentiments and of the secret contained in his postscript. Then he rang for the clerk and had the letters carefully re- sealed. And then the Duke entered the cabinet. , Good-morning, Hartung!" said he, with the kindliest face in the world. - Ah! the letters, I see. What have you learnt? what have you discovered? No excitement as yet? no midnight meetings? no orders for guns or am- munition? Nothing at all thus far?" "No, your Highness," replied Har- tung, standing erect at his full height- a striking personification of moral worth contrasted with the corpulent, good- humored figure before him. Ah how a noble enthusiasm for truth elevates the man above insignificance born in the purple! , And I beg leave," he con- tinued, , respectfully to suggest to your Highness that an end ought to be put to these proceedings. From no point of view can they be excused, much less justified. Louis the Fifteenth might devise and execute such equivocal meas- ures, but you, your Highness, you are much too-too " , Well, what?" "In fact, much too little of Louis the Fifteenth for it. Here is the sched- ule of instructions to the postmaster. I entreat your Highness to write the coun- ter order there, on the margin." "Ventre bleu! Ventre Saint Gris!" cried the Duke, bursting into a loud laugh. "Hartung, Hartung, here it comes!-the very thing we want! Rev- olution! and beginning in the right place too-our own cabinet! This is delightful! although, my friend, vour manner is rather-rather brusque!' he added, as he offered his Secretary his snuff-box and glanced searchingly into his face. "Carry the letters back to the post- master," said Hartung to the clerk. The man obeyed, the Duke grew very monosyllabic; and when in the course of the morning a foreign timber-mer- v chant craved an audience, it was refused Y him: his Highness was out of sorts. d THE PARSONAGE AT LODORF. e A young girl, certainly not more than eighteen years old, was walking quickly a along a narrow footpath leading through meadows bordering a picturesque stream. The path wound sometimes along. the immediate margin of this same stream beneath the willows which fringed its banks, and sometimes, leaving their shade, through the luxuriant meadow- grass thickly sprinkled with red poppies and blue corn-flowers, exhaling a thou- sand summer odors and gay with insect life. It was about the time at which the Duke of Massenbach instituted his tyrannical , cabinet noire"-a couple of weeks before it was so unceremoniously closed in his Highness' face by his high- toned Secretary of State. The dress of the youthful pedestrian was very simple. She wore a straw hat with violet-colored ribbons, and a neat black mering dress, buttoned to the throat with mother-of- pearl buttons. The form thus plainly clad was so beautiful in 'its outlines, so harmonious and graceful in its beauty, that it might have served for a model for a midsummer fairy. Although the path was often muddy from the late rains, no spot could be discerned upon the little feet which tripped along as gayly, and lightly as if shod with elastic soles. Her face was flushed with exercise and with the heat, although it must always have been fresh in color, for, with all its delicacy and re- finement of profile, its oval was rounded and blooming, and reminded one of nothing so much as of an open ng apple-blossom. Sometimes she paused to take breath and fan her glowing cheeks, while she laid the little parcel, which she carried, down upon the grass and gazed about her. The country all around was charming, and at the lovely scene, everywhere bearing the impress of Eternal Love, her eyes fairly danced with delight. , Before her in the distance lay the blue, misty. waves of a mountain range, page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] through a gap in which and over a fruit- ful plain flowed the river upon whose banks she was walking, and abovle whose course the white, shadowy mists of even- ing were already gathering. 'In the cleft upon a promontory about half-way up the mountain-side stood Castle Massenbach, the present resi- dence of the Duke, its white walls and massive towers looking far over the landscape. The atmosphere was very clear, and the girl could plainly distin- guish the countless windows and odd sections of the roof of the curious old pile; and among the trees at the base of the mountain her keen sight could also discover what might easily have escaped a less interested observer-the gilded weathercock glittering upon the church steeple in the market-place of Massenbach as the rays of the setting sun fell upon it. Her destination, how- ever, lay nearer at hand; and as she approached it she paused more fre- quently to look around her, and her expression changed, as if this approach * to her journey's end was rather a cause of dread and uncertainty than of delight. She was going to the village of Lodorf, which lay on her left beyond the bound- ary of the meadow and beneath the spreading shade of a group of magnifi- cent oaks; and it was natural enough that her heart should throb loud and fast with anxiety. Here, in this village, which she now beheld for the first time in her life, she was to find her future home among entire strangers-people whom she had never even seen. An old lady living in the parsonage there had promised to receive her-a distant relative indeed, but, poor child! she knew well enough that even near rela- tives are often odd and eccentric, and difficult to please. And whatever might be the'trials of the life to which she was now hastening, she was so alone in the world that there was no one from whom she could look for sympathy or in whom she could confide. He to whose care she owed all provision for her future, her nearest of kin, held so lofty and distin- guished a position, was so occupied with affairs of great importance, that, so far from depending upon his guidance and counsel, he never entered her thoughts as one to whom to look for any such consolation. She trusted in Heaven, although she was sometimes puzzled in trying to understand why she should have been left so lonely and friendless in the world, as if she had not the same part in the creation as had other happy mortals, with all to make life fair; or even as the birds, who were twittering gayly, because they knew well upon what bough to find their nests. Andl then she depended upon her own clear conscience and her natural quickness and tact, which had often stood her in good stead in her efforts to make herself useful and pleasing to others. She had been educated with the great- est care and tenderness: her little white hands had known no labor ruder than that of the embroidery fi-ame; but of course here in the country, at a parson- age, there would be much to be done that as yet she knew nothing about. She would go resolutely to work-she was not afraid of labor. Oh no; it was not that: she only dreaded lest others should think her too refined and exalted in her ideas, and should like her the less for it. And so she had dressed herself in the plainest that her wardrobe con- tained-the mering dress that had been laid aside some months before, and the plain white linen collar. Every one should see that she gave herself no airs and did not want to be treated like a fine lady. Still, she was troubled and anxious in mind: even the sight of the trim cottages that now appeared on each side of her road, with their bright win- dows gleaming in the western light and their friendly home-look, failed to re- assure her. As she looked up at the glittering panes she thought, ,Ah! many a one whom we meet in this world looks as bright and kindly as that glass, but upon -a nearer view is just as smooth and cold. ' Ah! that must be the par- sonage!" She asked a boy whom she met, and he confirmed her conjecture. The parish was one of the richest in all the country round, and accordingly this parsonage was a perfect palace of a parsonage. It had a double row of win- dows, and was built upon a gentle slope. A group of chestnuts, whose boughs were so interlaced above that they formed a complete screen, stood before the house, and, while they completely sheltered it in the summer from the sun's rays, gave it rather a sombre air. The damp, too, which the thick shade produced, made the plastered walls dark and gray, so that the building appeared much older that it really was. The garden before the nouse stretched away on either side to the shrubbery and bleaching-ground which lay some distance behind it, and the whole was enclosed by a thick hedge of blossoming white hawthorn. The young girl opened the wicket garden-gate; and if her agitation had allowed her to observe anything around her, she would have been delighted with the carefully-tended flower-beds, bor- dered with close-shaven box, and glory- ing in roses, lilies, and flowers without end. Two old women were on their knees weeding the beds, and they looked up in surprise as she approached. Be- fore the threshold of the hall door lay a great white pointer dog: she paused for a moment, half afraid, and then passed on courageously. The dog rose, shook himself, smelt at her dress, and then lay down again without a growl; his instinct served him truly. And then she stood within the parsonage. The first thing that greeted her eyes was a trunk standing in the corner, and, strange to say, the sight of it quite re- assured her. It was the sealskin trunk which her mother had bought when she visited the baths at Pyrmont-her dear good mother who was now in heaven. From this dear mother she had inherited all her small possessions. As she looked at the trunk, which had been sent on before her, she no longer felt as home- less and forlorn as she had within the last half hour, and she tapped, not loudly but without agitation, at the door which stood first upon the entrance. A man's voice from within cried loudly, , Wait, wait! stop!" and immediately there en- sued a very strange noise and creaking sound, as if from the sudden motion of machinery. This was followsd by a loud , Come in!" She opened the door timidly-and at first saw no one. A voice from above screamed, , Shut the door!" and look- ing up, she saw hanging close to the ceiling a corpulent old gentleman in an arm-chair. He had evidently just pulled himself up there by means of a rope, This rope he was now holding tightly grasped in both hands, while he gazed down upon his visitor over his arms. As soon as the door was shut, the man slowly lowered himself and his chair to the.'floor by the rope, which ran over pulleys fastened to the ceiling. "Benedicta quse intrat 'n nomine Domini," said he, with a stare of sur- prise at the intruder; and then, putting on the large spectacles which lay in an open folio upon the desk before him, he added: - Child, it's well you were not upon earth in the year of our Lord, or the angel Gabriel would most certainly have been sent down to you, and then what would have become of the Blessed Virgin Mary?" The old man frightened the girl by his odd manner of speaking, and the room too was intolerable, for, in spite of the warmth of the day, there was fire in the stove. "I beg pardon," she faltered. "I am looking for Fraulein von Keppel;" and turning toward the door, she was about to leave the room. , Wait! stop!" roared the old man again, as with the speed of lightning he flew up to the ceiling. s I cannot bear the draught on my legs," he added. "There! go now; only shut the door after you! Fraulein von Keppel lives up stairs." She left the room, asking herself, in some anxiety, , Can that be the pastor?" He was indeed dressed as though he were in holy orders ; but if that were so, she could not understand his strange language and still stranger behavior. She now met a maid-servant, who con- ducted her up a flight of stairs and ush- ered her into a cheerful room, where lived the relative whom she was seeking. page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] The worthy lady was sitting in an arm-" chair by the window, behind a row of flower-pots, and through the green leaves of her plants the setting sunl streamed into the room. She must certainly have been well turned of sixty, and although her figure was large and rather corpu- lent, her face showed traces of physical weakness and suffering, imparting a peevish expression to the tone of her voice, that did injustice to the kindly disposition for which she was adored by the poor of the parish. Frdulein von Keppel was the type of the race of harmless and amiable but eccentric, garrulous and prejudiced sin- gle ladies of a certain age who are to be found in almost all large families, where they are unanimously adopted as aunts, often without any regard to actual rela- tionship. They possess all the egotism which spinsters are heirs to, and yet they live only for others, especially for the younger members of the household. They are as eccentric and obstinate as possible, but their nephews and 'nieces do whatever they like with them; and the greatest rogue of all the youthful tribe is sure to be :the favorite, who, whenever he visits them in their apart- ment (always the most retired in the house, with an outlook upon the church- yard and two Gothic church-towers, where the church-clock strikes every quarter of an hour), is so regaled with forbidden dainties that his mother can- not imagine the next day "what makes that child so pale." His father's re- marks upon his looks never fail to call forth from ,aunt" sarcastic observations upon the ,modern system of cramming dignified by the name of education," which are addressed, however, to the eldest daughter, for with the father him- self she has lost all patience, and has not spoken to him for a week, except in this extremely indirect and yet pointed manner, by which she always contrives to make herself perfectly intelligible. Nev- ertheless she has the fear of God before her eyes; and in her room-which is filled with old-fashioned treasures, her grandmother's brocades and an exqiiis- itely-carved ancient cabinet with crooked satyr legs and claw feet--she always keeps, or used to keep, a neat little altar before a beautiful picture of her patron saint, in whose honor the bright can- delabra on the altar are always lighted upon the eve of a holiday. She has a- history too, this family aunt-a touching history; and after hearing it her countenance seems much more interesting to you and her preju- dices much more excusable. Now, Fraulein von Keppel-who, after resigning her title of canoness, had taken up her abode with the pastor of Lodorf, a friend of her youth, intending to pass the rest of her days in this beautiful country-was, as we have said, just such an old lady as the one we have de- scribed-just as fully impressed with the conviction that in these modern days nobody and nothing were genuinely worth much, and yet brimming over with real kindliness and warmth of heart-just as full of prejudices in favor of a bygone age which the young people of to-day are apt to sneer at-and full, too, of a pretension which was fostered by the consciousness of a long account at her banker's, which ensured her the privi- lege, in which she greatly delighted, of tormenting her heirs, as though her prop- erty were a circumstance for which they should be punished. ,And are you Annette?" she said, extending her hand graciously to the young girl, who kissed it modestly. , Heavens! how the children grow! When I saw you last you were no higher than my knee. I'm glad you are come, and I hope you will be happy with us." , Thank you, dear aunt, and I hope that you will have no cause for dissatis- faction with me." , But how is it, Annette, that you have nothing better than that shabby old dress to wear? You look like a chambermaid, child. How can I intro- duce you to the pastor? What will people think of my having such a for- lorn-looking niece? You ought -to have written to me, and asked for what you needed to enable you to present a re- spectable appearance." i I have much better dresses than this," replied Annette in a faltering voice, flushing crimson. i Then pray put one on for supper, when you will see the pastor." - I think I saw him down stairs. Was not the old gentleman in an arm- chair in the air the-" , Nonsense!" interrupted the old lady. i 'Tis too stupid to mistake that silly old fool for our pastor!" and she laughed loudly, as though determined to impress Annette with the immense absurdity of mistaking an old gentleman, dressed in black, reading a huge folio and speaking Latin, for the pastor. She now rang for a maid-servant, whom she ordered to conduct Annette to her room and to afford her any assist- ance in dressing that she might require. The poor child followed her guide with tears in her eyes, much troubled at her aunt's reception and manner. She found her room airy and pleasant; the maid had placed a vase of May-bells upon the dressing-table, and snowy curtains draped the windows, before which stood a tall apple tree, whose blossom-laden branches touched the window panes, and gave fleeting glimpses of the lovely landscape beyond, and of the promontory with Castle Massenbach in the distance. But Annette gave little heed to all this: she was too sad, and felt almost as if she scarcely belonged to this world, where the future looked so dark and dreary to her. As she knelt at her bedside and rested her head upon the white pillow, she thought with tears of her mother, only lately dead, whom she had so dearly loved-with whom she had shared every thought and feeling- and of her present loneliness, with only this stern and harsh old aunt to befriend her, until, in very pity for herself, she sobbed aloud. By and by she arose, washed all traces of tears and of her dusty walk from her fair young face, and took from her trunk a dress in which she felt sure her aunt would not be ashamed of her. She was still in half-mourning; so she selected a rich black silk made after the latest mode, which she had worn but very sel- dom, for she was much more at her ease when simply attired, and disliked much being dressed for state occasions, For ornament she put on a diamond ring, and fastened the little lace collar at her throat with a small pearl brooch. Then, when she had smoothed down her abun- dant fair hair and rearranged the braids, she thought, as she looked in the glass, that even a princess could not now be ashamed to own her as a relative. When she entered the dining-room, she found already assemnbled there her aunt, the master of the house and the stout old gentleman who had so ingeni- ously protected his legs from the draught. Fraulein von Keppel presented her as , Annette Wernholm, the distant rela- tive of whom Count Salentin Guolfing has spoken to you." Even this small amount of circum- stantiality on the part of the old lady was evidently fatiguing to the pastor, a tall; robust figure with a striking and rever- end gray head, for he immediately re- plied, ,I know-I know all about it;" and then, after a few kind words to Annette, he begged his guest to be seated. "But, tell me, Fraulein von Keppel," he said, after a few moments, in an un- dertone, ,c what shall we do in our quiet village with such a gay and fashionably- dressed fine lady?" ,t Yes, it is strange indeed to see the young people now-a-days so over-dress- ed," replied Fraulein von Keppel, aloud; and looking fixedly at Annette over the soup-tureen, she added, ',Annette, child, do you wear silk dresses every day?" , No," she replied, hastily; " only on holidays. I had hoped that my first day here would prove a holiday to me; but you are right-I had better not have put it on." The pastor raised his eyebrows and slowly shook his head, but the Fraulein did not apparently understand her reply. She continued to make Annette feel thoroughly humiliated by her remarks concerning the follies of modern times: , Such folly for a young person to wear black silk dresses-and dresses, too, cut page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] after such an odd fashion, with such silly sleeves and ridiculous waists! In her time every sensible woman's waist was just below her shoulder-blades." Annette sat patiently enduring. She already repented her hasty answer, which must have made such an unfavorable impression upon the pastor.. But she had evidently attracted the friendly re- gards of the merry old gentleman whom she had seen upon her first entrance into the house, and who sat opposite her at the lower end of the table. His ruddy, jovial countenance, with its large, rolling blue eyes, was turned toward her with an odd expression of interest, although he said nothing. Once only he began: ,( Charming Fraulein, or whatever it is fitting to say now-a-days -in my time it used to be Fraulein-ha, ha!-" and then he laughed heartily. He hacd apparently intended to perpe- trate some joke, but his appreciation of his own wit was so intense that he was entirely overcome by it and could get no farther. Annette looked at him with surprise and then at the others, and she noticed how the serious glance which the pastor bestowed upon him acted as an immediate check upon his merriment, although the expression of his eyes was entirely intelligible. He now went on saying with these same eyes all manner of complimentary things to Annette, while he bestowed a corresponding amount of sarcasm upon her aunt. it Who is that strange old gentleman?" she asked of the maid-servant, who ac- companied her to her room after supper. ' He is a strange gentleman in- deed," was the reply, , but a very kind one. He imagines himself very ill, al- though he eats enough for two, drinks enough for three, and is always ready for a hearty laugh. He used to be pas- tor of Steinheim, but the bishop found he did very little good there, but was creating some scandal by his queer ways; and so he sent him here to be under the eye of our pastor, whom every one respects. Yes, indeed, his rever- ence can be very stern and severe." All this greatly increased Annette's nervous terror: the only one in the the house, then, who regarded her with favor, was the least influential of all. As for the two others, she was actually afraid of them, and she had never before feared any human being. ONLY NO LOVE. PART II. THE LOVERS. "ET us leave Annette to forget in the sound sleep of youth and health all the anxieties of her first day at the parsonage, and raise the curtain upon another scene. We have before described the family aunt. Now, not only do such excellent creatures exist in many large old families, but in the great national circle there is very apt to be some one province occu- pying just such a retired position-full, nevertheless, of the consciousness of its own importance, and looking down rather peevishy upon its contemporaries, who outstrip it, in the eyes of the world, in the march of improvement. Thus the province which is the scene of our story might well be called the family aunt of Germany, for the charac- ter of its inhabitants bore the same stamp of respectability and piety, the same ob- stinacy, the same inclination to preserve its grandmother's brocades and its grand- father's perukes, to collect and venerate the perishable glories of ancienttimes, the same self-glorifying consciousness of money-bags and title-deeds, and, lastly, the same firm conviction that nothing modern is worth much: in all things, you see, perfectly resembling the family aunt, even to the possession of a quiet nook in the land looking out upon the Gothic church steeple where the clock strikes both the hours and the quarters. But all these features of family aunt- ship pale before the influence of the nineteenth century, and would fade en- tirely, were it not that they retain a strong hold in various old fortresses and cas- tles, where they reign supreme. In these the gates can be barred, the draw- bridge raised, the portcullis lowered, and a stout rag of our grandmother's brocade flout above the battlements-a glorious ensign for all travelers who long to exchange the world of to-day for the poetry of ivied turrets, moss-grown walls and all the romance of the past. Just such a castle we now turn to- built like the solid rock, with battlements and turrets, drawhridge, portcullis and all. From behind a thicket of laurels and hemlocks, towering above their top- most branches, it commands a wide ex- panse of country-the range of mountains where stands Castle Massenbach, and the rich meadow watered by the stream along whose banks we have seen An- nette wandering, and which empties its waters, into the river which bounds the horizon. The old fortress was mainly distinguished for this charming view; nor does the gentleman in a green hunt- ing-coat, who is now riding along a bridle-path on his way to the castle, find aught else worthy his attention, either in the narrow, dark gateway or in the confined courtyard, whence a wind- ing staircase leads to the upper story of a round tower-dating, according to tra- dition, from the time of the Romans- which had been converted into a belve- dere. Just as little is he interested to observe, as he enters unannounced, the contrast between the ruinous and some- what weather-beaten walls without and the exceeding elegance of the appoint- ments within. A multitude of unneces- sary luxuries, invented by the fancy and caprice of leisure and taste, meet his eye on every hand in these odd little tapestried rooms, increasing in profusion as he approaches and finally enters the boudoir of the casteliane, who lays aside the book she is reading upon the read- ing-desk in front of her couch, and ad- vances to meet him with a friendly , Ah, Salentin!"He kisses her hand, and takes a seat in an arm-chair at the win- dow, whence he looks forth upon the finest prospect that the castle commands. ," I cannot ascend your Elfenburg, Adrienne," said he, after a pause, , with- page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] out being filled with melancholy. Some- thing is wanting in my life. I am full of undefined longing. I have experienced this sensatioh at times from my earliest youth, and it is always called up by any- thing, like your castle here, reminding me of the past. This prospect does not cure me: it is too sadly fair." Adrienne, with an air of suppressed irritation, threw back her head-which, let us remark by the way, was a remark- ably pretty one, and well deserved to be carried proudly-and resting it upon her arm, which lay upon the cushions of the couch, replied: ,You are quite right. I, too, often experience the sensation which you de- scribe, without being able to discover whence it arises." , In your case it is undoubtedly the effect of loneliness, the result of your separation from all your accustomed occupations and enjoyments, which you have so kindly relinquished for my sake, Adrienne." , That, Salentin," said the lady, iis a most manly, or rather mannish, speech. The same sensation, then, which argues deep feeling in a man, is the result in a woman of ungratified vanity. You know I detest the excitement to which you allude: indeed it is none to me, but in- sufferably wearisome," she hastily added. , Don't be angry, my dear Adrienne," rejoined Count Guolfing, smiling; con- tinuing in a tone of rather patronizing superiority as he kissed her brow: it You think you ,can easily forget all your former life, its interests and em- ployments-that society-its soirdes and its gossip? Good Heavens! how you deceive yourself! They are worth every- thing to you: they are necessary to your happiness, inseparable from it; not in- deed for their own sake-not as they are the life of every superficial coquette who must dance and flatter and be flattered. No: that would be too preposterous. And not for the sake of the more culti- vated members of those circles those characters, distinguishable above the level of surrounding insipidity, always to be met with-about whom everything of talent and intellect in the atmosphere of general society crystallizes, until they form a society within society where one may be really amused and entertained- not, I say, because intellectual friction with these people is necessary for you: no, not for that reason. But because society is the pedestal upon which stands your philosophy of life-that charming theory, always coquetting with itself, which looks just like you, Adrienne- the same mischief-loving eyes and pure profile-the same proud bearing, and full, nevertheless, of such unconscious maidenly naivetd. Oh this philosophy is charming in its negligence!- this youthful sage in long, fair, silken hair! From its heights of mental grandeur it looks down in disdain upon the empty life around it, and hugs its superiority in being able to despise what so few women can despise. This is its pride. But remove it from all this emptiness and folly, place it in solitude, and nothing remains in despising which it may daily be conscious of its own supe- riority. For example: in order to en- joy a quiet evening, you no longer need to refuse the hundred invitations that seek to draw into society one of the most brilliant of its members, but you will tire of enjoying it without the trouble by which you purchased it, for this very trouble nourished your self-conscious- ness-you will be miserable in not being obliged to contend with others for your happiness. You are not vain of the ho- mage paid You, of the admiration which you excite: that you are not so feeds your self-satisfaction-you know that therein consists your superiority. But when you are far from all those who do you homage, and above whom you know you stand, upon what can this feeling of superiority, which has become a charming habit with you, exist? Why the founda- tion is snatched from your excellence- the pedestal from your philosophy." , Delightful!" cried Adrienne, laugh- ing, by no means irritated by this tirade, however unflattering parts of it might appear. , I can at least always have an opportunity of thinking myself superior to these characteristics, which my sharp- sighted husband will be perpetually de- tecting. But do you know, Salentin, that parts of what you have just said sounded marvelously like a 'declaration of love? But have no fear," she con- tinued, as Salentin started and a shade of evident annoyance flitted across his countenance; , I am perfectly well aware, to-day, at least, that I have nothing of the kind to fear from you." There was a pause for a few minutes. To resume the conversation seemed rather an embarrassing task for both. Adrienne broke the silence by asking, with well-assumed indifference, , Do you know anything of the pastor of Lodorf, the village that looks so picturesque in that blue distance?" Salentin shot one keen glance at his betrothed before he replied, -which he did without a shade of embarrassment, and with an evident desire to display a gen- uine indifference: , Yes; he is a very old friend of mine-a man of consider- able learning, and really remarkable force of character. I see him frequently, and Fraulein von Keppel, who rents part of the parsonage, is a distant connexion of my family. But how did you happen to hear of the pastor of Lodorf?" "That is my secret." Again a pause ensued, which Salentin employed in watching Adrienne narrowly, without appearing to do so. She had never seemed to him so lovely as now, when, as she sat looking out upon the charming landscape, the shade of melan- choly deepened upon her 'face until it became almost sorrow. At length he said: 'iYou have had. letters to-day, Adrienne--one from the Countess von Trossenheim?" , Yes: how did you know that?" "That is lzy secret." Here. a servant announced Baron Hartung. "Admit him immediately," said Adri- enne; adding, as the man left the room, "You know he is with the Duke at Massenbach." ', Your Peter von Alcantara," said Salentin, rising. i I am going." And with a sensation of jealousy which he would not have acknowledged to him- self, he thought, it She betrays herself;" while Adrienne, with all a woman's in- stinct divining this jealousy, thought, , He betrays himself;" and all sadness vanished from her features for the mo- ment. He kissed her hand and took his leave, while Adrienne, who was really anxious to see Hartung alone, trusting to him for some enlightenment with re- gard to Annette, made no effort to detain him. We cannot affirm that Count Guolf- ing's thoughts, as he slowly rode down the ascent to Elfenburg, were entirely satisfactory to himself. He was dis- satisfied with the interview with his be- trothed, which had begun so charmingly. He was annoyed at Adrienne's want of confidence in him. That her suspicions were aroused was beyond a doubt, al- though whether aroused or confirmed by her friend Christine had not been suf- ficiently well defined, and he hoped he had taken his revenge by affecting ex- treme indifference in speaking of the pastor of LQdorf. His evident desire to appear indifferent must have strengthened her suspicions: then, again, he was vexed at the readiness that she had shown to allow their tte-d-iete to be in- terrupted by Hartung; and, worse than all, he feared that he had not possessed sufficient self-control to conceal his vexation. ,She has my note to Hardenstein, that's clear," he soliloquized, , or the Trossenheim has told her of its contents. Hardenstein tells me that she is spread- ing them far and wide in the city, thor- ough gossip that she is. And-ma foi! -I respect Adrienne for not reproaching me with regard to Annette. But how the deuce could this exchange of letters have come about?" He was obliged to confess to himself that he was by no means indifferent to the consequences of this exchange of letters, however unimportant it might at first have seemed. , It must not be allowed to make too deep an impression upon Adrienne," he thought. , In such a case I should have no support but the consciousness of rectitude, and it would not content me." page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] In the mean time, Hartung was with Adrienne-not indeed for the first time since he had read her letter. A month had elapsed since then, and he had seen her frequently, and yet each time that he was with her he was strangely agitated. He was no longer in love with her: that place in his fancy and his heart which had formerly been hers was now filled by another: he loved Annette; that is, he both loved and hated her. He was every day passing through terrible strug- gles with himself. His heart was filled with a passion for her, for which he could have torn it out and cast it from him. He deter- mined, with all the force of his reason and will, not to love her, and yet in her presence his will melted like snow be- fore the sun in the consuming flame of his affection for her. He compared Adrienne with Annette -Annette as she appeared to him in moments of intoxicating forgetfulness, pure and unsoiled by all by which he be- lieved her degraded. How far below her pure poetic temperament did he rank Adrienne, with all her brilliancy, her highly-cultivated intellect and her talents, all owing their development to the most careful and studied training! Heaven-high above all this were the indescribable- grace, the unconscious magnanimity, the placid simplicity of the child of Nature. What a contrast there was between the two women!- the con- trast between brilliant prose and musical, melancholy poetry. Adrienne was the sparkling prose, elaborating and educing from the depths of the human soul many a striking but often bitter truth. An- nette was a poem spun of all a poet's finest fancies--like the song of the nightingale, full of soothing, harmonious melancholy. Nay, he went farther: he even accused Adrienne of his own faith- lessness toward her: he thought her now heartless, incapable of self-sacri- ficing devotion, and therefore destitute of true womanliness. The flash of her wit was uncanny: she seemed a witch, an Undine who could become possessed of a soul only through the love and em- brace of a mortal. There was some- thing noisy and imposing about her, and in her most interesting moments he thought of what the ancient sage said to Venus : ciNil sacri es." Still, he had loved her, and he was faithful to his determination to rescue her from an entanglement into which she had been so shamefully enticed. To this end he had been a constant visitor at Lodorf, that by acquaintance with Annette he might, if possible, pro- cure certain proof that Count Salentin Guolfing was treacherously deceiving his betrothed, and thus convince the latter of this deceit, if, as he feared, it might chance that Frau vqn Trossenheim should send Salentin's letter to Hardenstein at the first glance, without reading it. But this fear was unfounded. Har- tung was convinced to-day, after the first few words that he exchanged with Adrienne, that the treacherous note was in her possession. She was not only absent, preoccupied and melancholy; she also began with a studied caution, that could not escape Hartung's p enetra- tion, to lead the conversation to the par- sonage at Lodorf and its tenants, and finally to Annette in particular. Hartung informed her of his intimacy there, and could not forbear the triumph of por- traying Annette in the most attractive colors, so that Adrienne naturally ex- pressed a desire for an opportunity of seeing her. i Nothing can be easier," he said: , we will ride to the parsonage some afternoon, and inquire of the pastor about the ancient title-deeds of your estate. He is, you know, an enthusi- astic antiquarian, and knows by heart every bit of yellow parchment in the dukedom." ,t Oh no, not that, for 1Heaven's sake!" exclaimed Adrienne. - I have certain reasons for wishing to remain invisible." Hartung promised to arrange every- thing as she desired it, and to come soon again to undertake the expedition with her. She pressed his hand gratefully for his discretion in manifesting no surprise or curiosity to discover the reasons for her extraordinary interest in Annette, and he took his leave. ANTECEDENTS. COUNT SALENTIN GUOLFING was, ap- parently, the very man whom sentimental young German authoresses of the present day adopt as their hero. The necessary requirements for this post are, in the first place, a tall, imposing figure, dark curls, a moustache in which no single hair inclining to red can be detected (oh no, not for the world. -this hair would be death to his magnificence, as one thrust from Roland's spear annihilated the handsomest and bravest knight). and a noble Grecian profile, such as we are all familiar with from Canovals chisel. His expression is one of melancholy enthusiasm; an oath never escapes his lips, nor has he ever been known to kick his dog; but while exposed to every trial that can beset mankind, from those which shatter the soul down to a stupid dog or obstinate horse, he has always preserved the loftiest magnanimity. He has fought one duel, in witness whereof the scar on his white forehead is most becoming. In society he always stands lonely in the deep embrasure of a window or leans in a state of pen- sive abstraction against the mantelpiece, where he is always appealed to at the end of any discussion for his opinion, which in every case discloses an unfath- omable depth of intellect. But neither the unfathomable depth of his intellect, nor the- unattainable loftiness of his imagination, hinders him. from finally falling as desperately and humiliatingly in love as the most senti- mental poetaster with a lady naturally possessed of the rarest and heavenliest attractions. The melancholy and ex- pressive glances of his dark eyes, which continually rest upon her, inform her of his passion; but for the sake of these same glances, that must be introduced some way, he plays the tyrant for a while and does not declare himself. She nibbles at the bait of his incredible ex- cellences for a while, until at last he throws off the lion's skin and soothes the lady like the clown in the Midsaum- mer Night's Dream. Oh Heavens! how touching are these weak, trite delineations by women of the character of a man!not indeed as he is or should be, but as the secret wish, the ever-unfulfilled desire of a wo- man's heart would create him. Does it not shame us with the knowledge of how much in us is and must be con- cealed from woman? Salentin Guolfing was well qualified, by a nature possessed of much gentle- ness and intellectual significance, and by a careful education, to play the principal part in a modern novel by a German woman. But he also possessed cha- racteristics utterly disqualifying him for such a r61le-characteristics wherein lay his strength and his weakness, which, if they made him less a creature of ro- mance, made him far more interesting. as a man--part and parcel of the realities around us, pursuing with us the same high road of existence. He was ambitious-very ambitious: his pride was great, and his intellectual capacity sufficient to enable him to jus- tify to his own judgment whatever meas- ures pride or ambition induced him to adopt-to justify them by a sophistry which would have been dangerous had his character not -been founded upon thorough honesty of purpose, with great power of self-control. Early in life he had entered upon a diplomatic career: now, having with- drawn from it for a while, he was de- voting himself to study, traversing in his researches a wide field of observation and knowledge, while- he nourished a secret intention of attaining to one of those political eminences in the German principality to which he belonged, which ensure the occupant's omnipotence in state affairs. He had had a bitter disappointment in love while he was yet very young, and he was still, after many years. an ob- stinate satirist of womankind. But dur- ing the last winter in the capital, in the light of the newly-risen star of Adrienne von Traunstein, he had undergone a metamorphosis, and all the world had wondered, not that Adrienne's charms were not thought worthy of his homage: no, on the contrary, the wonder was page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] that the proud Guolfing should do ho- mage to what was so universally ad- mired. Adrienne was, whether envied, applauded or hated, the centre and queen of society, besieged by admiration which she received as queens generally receive it. Accustomed to such incense from her cradle, she regarded it almost as a ne- cessity of existence. Perhaps if it had threatened to desert her, she might not have scorned employing any innocent coquetry to make it her own again, al- though she was of course safe from the evil effects which unaccustomed homage and flattery so often produce. Indeed, she had entered upon her twenty-sixth year without experiencing any impres- sion upon her heart beyond a very fleet- ing inclination shortly after her entrance into society. Enchanting and enchain- ing all around her, she remained herself cold and impassive. And was Count Salentin enchanted and enchained? So it would seem, and Adrienne herself had not a doubt upon the subject. She liked to meet him-thought him very amiable: yes, she preferred him above all others, but she 'had the same nameless dread of a declaration from him that she had of every declaration of love. This dread sometimes caused a con- straint in her manner that did not escape Salentin. He found her one morning alone in her boudoir. The conversation turned upon a marriage lately concluded, in which every worldly requisition for happiness was wanting. ,i How can a man be so enamored of folly! What madness to ruin all his prospects for the future for the sake of love!" cried Salentin. There was something in this exclama- tion that nettled Adrienne: she was de- cidedly annoyed by it, but she answered immediately: , I agree with you entirely, Count Guolfing: there is no insanity to compare with the folly that makes such a sacrifice to a fleeting sensation-a sen- sation generally produced by artificial and accidental circumstances-at best of questionable importance, possessing by no means the weight in life which en- thusiasts attach to it." When one begins in a strain like this of Adrienne's, there is a miserable deal to say; there are the fields of prudence, reason and materialism to be traversed, all plentifully stocked with arguments. One is tempted to go still farther and gird on the weapons of irony and satire, because, after all, with all this reasoning, one is never sure of his cause. The case is argued all the more violently as the speaker is constantly conscious of a point within sadly in need of fortification, and by no means impregnable to the assaults of the very enemy under denunciation. Thus it happened that in this tete-d- tMte, Adrienne and Salentin so vied with each other in fierce assaults upon love that they gradually became excited, and at last rather angry. In fact each was piqued that the other should utter so decided an opinion with- out making a single exception, and so each stormed away all the more violently at poor Love, the divine child, in hopes of irritating the other. When both had reached a most lofty point of angry denunciation, Count Sa- lentin Guolfing offered Adrienne von Traunstein his hand. -t Let us have no love," he said, 4t but a marriage contracted in order that we may accomplish together the loftier and nobler aims of existence-a marriage founded upon mutual esteem and the truest sym- pathy of aims. I shall never annoy you by a declaration of love, nor desire love from you; but I will do all that lies in my power to make your life brilliant and happy - happy as it can be made only when protected by a husband possessed of your esteem and confidence. I shall entreat of you in return to make my interests -your own, and to support me in the path which I see fit to tread in order to attain my aims in life, which, by the way, shall never be mean or un- worthy of you. I know that we shall be happy: our dispositions have a certain affinity in their tastes, our minds in their aims. Each will have need of the other, for I do not think that there exists a stronger bond than communion in exer- tion which shall nobly employ existence. A community of thought and purpose, even although the purpose be, like mine, egotistical, the fruit of ambition, contains in its essence much more of a guarantee for its continuance than can be found in a community of sentiment, which may vanish to-morrow. Decide, then, upon my future, Adrienne: you can create my happiness, for I know no other human being capable of assisting me as you can. Let us be happy, but not in love, not childish." After several days for deliberation, Adrienne accepted Count Guolfing's hand. She had, in fact, determined im- mediately to do so; for, in the first place, she believed him possessed of all those amiable qualities which she re- quired in the man to whom she could entrust her future; in the second place, she felt sure that, in spite of his cold philosophy and even unconsciously to himself, he really loved her; and lastly, she was firmly convinced that he must love her when she belonged to him. Her vanity precluded all possibility of a doubt as to that, even although she had failed as yet to triumph over his heart. And could there be a more charming and flattering position for egotism and vanity than to be loved by a noble hus- band, before whom lay a splendid future, and yet never to be conscientiously im- pelled to give anything in return; for had he not stipulated for no love in the matter? Besides, Salentin's proposal, however strangely cold and indifferent it might sound, was a tribute to her all the more valuable from its novelty. He had not told her-what she knew al- ready-that she was beautiful or charm- ing, but he had given her credit for in- tellectual capacity to assist him in his ambitious plans for the future. In im- agination she saw herself the star of an influential political circle--another De Longueville or De Stael. She was now, in accordance with Salentin's desire, passing the summer upon her estate of Elfenburg, which was in the' vicinity of Castle Guolfing. But, at the end of several months, what was the result of this engagement, en- tered into with such sublime self-con- ceit-this pattern arrangement of pru- dence and sagacity? We have seen the result above. Salentin was desperately in love with Adrienne, and Adriienne with Salentin. Neither would be guilty of the inconsistency of making this con- fession, but would have given worlds to have extracted it from the other. There was a narrow inspection, a perpetual self-tormenting, a jealous oversight going on, which none but lovers could ever have survived; and now they stood for- mally opposed, to each other, armed to the teeth. When Salentin learned from his friend Hardenstein that his letter to the latter had been opened and read by Frau von Trossenheim, while he himself had received the one from Adrienne to her friend, he knew that the postscript concerning Annette must provoke a crisis, and therefore he rejoiced in the exchange. Adrienne, in the mean time, wounded as a woman, mortified as a lady, had recourse in her need to Har- tung to bring on that crisis to which she also now anxiously looked forward. ANNETTE. AFTER a few days' residence at the parsonage, Annette became quite accus- tomed to her new home. 'Tis true, the inmates were still strangers to her, in especial the pastor, of whom she saw least. From old Fraulein von Keppel she now and then received a few words of kindness and sympathy, which in- spired her with a certain degree of con- fidence, but it was very difficult to please or even satisfy her, as she expected to have her advice asked upon every possi- ble occasion, and yet, when asked, the usual reply was, , Lord, child! how can you ask such a silly question?" or some- thing of the kind to show how weary she grew of always advising and assist- ing. Then, too, she continually betrayed her consciousness of Annette's depend- ent condition, and this consciousness is never graceful, even in the best of us. Therefore, Annette was forced to make friends of her inanimate surroundings- house, fields and garden, which last she took under her special protection. She tended the young flowers, and trained page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] the growing peas and beans as if she had planted them herself, although she knew well enough, poor child! that the flow- ers plucked with her own hands from garden and hedge were likely to be the only ones that would adorn her pathway through life. The animals, too, about the place soon recognized her kindly care: the doves would alight on her shoulder, and the house dog, a rather cross old fellow, was her perpetual attendant. In- her labors in the garden she was usually assisted by the former pastor of Steinheim. The old man was (Heaven only knew why) a bitter enemy of Friiu- lein von Keppel ; and in proportion as Annette suffered from her old relative's caprice, she rose in the strange old man's good graces, for she was a living witness to his mind of the fact that everything and everybody in the parson- age suffered under the Fraulein's staid, despotic rule. So, whenever he was not inclined to be ill--an inclination that generally took possession of him in wet weather-he went with Annette into the garden-he was an enthusiastic gardener -and would place his ladder against some tree or wall near which Annette was working, and entertain her to the best of his ability while trimming and pruning his favorites. Sometimes, how- ever, she was obliged to check his garrulity, when he began to abuse her old relative or indulge in too free discussions. dtFraulein Annette," said he one afternoon, hobbling up to her upon his thickly-swathed feet to help her lift the watering-pot, and casting a particularly sly glance at her flushed face--, Friulein Annelte, who is your patron saint?" " I have none," she replied. ic Surely I ought to be content with my blessed patroness, St. Anna." ,6 Oh no, silly child! Never be con- tent with only a patroness: a patron you must have; and as I could not sleep last night, I employed my time in selecting one for you. I assure you I had a hard time of it, there is such a host of them, all gifted with peculiar power and benefi- cence. You see I wanted to find an unusually mighty and faithful saint for you, a very refuge in time of trouble. Guess whom I have chosen." , I cannot tell: I should have to look through the whole calendar." i Why, the blessed Peter of Alcan- tara," cried the old man, bursting into a chuckling fit of laughter. Annette's face grew more crimson than it had been with the exertion of drawing the-water: she seized the water- ing-pot and hastened away, without, in her confusion, replying a single word. The secret which she had believed hid- den from all the world had been discov- ered by this mischievous old man, who, notwithstanding his good humor, was so fond of teasing her. It was too mortifying! And was it not humiliating that, although so few weeks had elapsed since her first interview with him to whom the old man had just so coarsely alluded, he was so perpetually in her thoughts, where never before had room been found for any man; and that every day not enriched by his presence and his words was as a lost day to her? And withal she was so young--too sim- ply educated to interest one so greatly her superior as Hartung; and, besides, mourning the loss of a dear mother, whose memory should have entirely filled her mind and heart. Had she not already taken herself se- verely to task for her folly, and inwardly vowed always to leave the room during his constant visits at the parsonage? But what had been the result? He had always followed her into garden or lane: it was impossible to avoid him. Not for the world would she have hinted to her- self that his visits were made solely upon her account, although a suspicion that such was the fact was forcing itself upon her mind in spite of herself. Certain'it was, that no word of love addressed to her had ever passed his lips, but she had often noticed how, when speaking to others, his glance would perpetually seek her out and rest upon her-sometimes fondly, and then again so searchingly and sadly-that it terrified and confused her. Then, too, when he spoke to her, his voice would sometimes tremble with what seemed to be anger-what could it mean?-although his words were always kind, so kind that he had inspired her with a confidence in him never reposed by her before in any one but her dead mother. This it was that attracted her, that made him so noble in her eyes-his bearing so quietly dignified, and his manner so full of grace. He was to her a creature of another sphere, looking down like a king upon all the meanness and uncharitableness that degrade this life. And, indeed, since the beginning of his sojourn at the court of the Duke of Hetzendorff, Hartung had imagined that he experienced a thorough change in himself. A quiet content had taken possession of him; he was gentle and prudent: no longer, he flattered himself, could there be any foundation for Adri- enne's former unfavorable opinion of him. His former life might, he thought, be not unjustly compared to Adrienne herself-founded upon vain superficiali- ties, and fluttering like a butterfly around the frivolities of the world: his present existence was as calm and peacefully content as--Annette. But let us return to her. She was seriously angry with the old man, who had rudely attempted to drag forth into daylight the secret she had so carefully hidden--who had so coarsely revealed, in the mantling blush upon her cheek and brow, the crimson hue of the mystic rose of passion which had hitherto reposed, a closely-folded bud, in her inmost heart. She bitterly resented his entering her g holy of holies with a jest. Meanwhile, he had mounted a ladder E placed against the wall of the house to c tie up some straggling wreaths of grape- ' vine, and as she passed the spot she said c softly to the great dog always following her, , Lie down, Tiger!" He instantly t stretched himself obediently just at the t foot of the ladder, and resting his huge 1I head upon his extended fore paws, lay 1 blinking in the sunshine, lazily following a with his eyes the mistress of his affec- h tions, who betook herself to a distant w part of the garden. Now the worst pos- e sible relations existed between the dog h 9 at the foot of the ladder and the old man above, who, hating dogs in general, did most especially abhor this one in par- ticular, whose bristling hair arid white teeth caused him such continual dread. Thus, when, upon desiring to descend from his perch, he became aware of his enemy below, he roared loudly, i Friiu- lein Annette! Fraulein Annette!" and when Fraulein Annette maliciously re- frained from answering, he shouted all the more vigorously for the servant: it Martin! 'Martin! where the deuce are you?" Now, the shouts which entirely failed to bring either Annette or Martin to his aid produced their effect upon Tiger, who raised his head and growled; then stood up and showed his formidable row of glistening teeth; and at last, utterly outraged by the obstinate want of con- fidence in him displayed by the old pas- tor, who redoubled his shrieks for help, broke out into most furious barking, and began 'making frantic leaps toward the upper rounds of the ladder. Annette, in her concealment, laughed merrily at the success of her childish plot, when suddenly a window just above the head of the terrified gardener was opened, and the face of the old Fraiulein appeared flushed with anger, while in tones more terrible than Tiger's she be- rated the unfortunate man, as if the howl- ing and barking of the. accursed brute below were all 'his fault. He was cer- tainly exposed to the hottest cross-fire: beneath him leaped a savage brute, gnashing his teeth and roaring for his prey, and above the Fraulein scolded shrilly. It .was too much: Annette came to his assistance, and pacifying Tiger, helped the disconsolate florist to descend and seek refuge in the house. A few minutes afterward she heard the quick strokes of a horse's hoofs upon the village highway. Her heart beat loud and fast. Could it be he? Yes. The sound died away before the gate, and Hartung came directly through the house and into the garden where she was. He greeted her with formal court- esy, as if embarrassed by thus finding her alone, asked after the pastor, evi- page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] dently without any intention of going to seek him, and finally stood still, gazing at her with eyes before which her own sought the ground as he took her hand, kissed it and said, it Annette, I must see you alone with- out witnesses, without fear of interrup- tion. My happiness is in your hands. Can you refuse me? No, no, you can- not. Say you will be in the myrtle arbor in the grove to-morrow afternoon at this hour. ' 1 pray you do not disappoint me." Annette was so embarrassed by his manner that she could not speak; and as she looked up at him without a word, he took her silence for consent, kissed her hand once more, and was gone be- fore a sound had passed her lips. Perhaps you imagine that she passed a sleepless night, wondering whether she ought: to receive Hartung in the myrtle arbor on the morrow. I assure you you are mistaken. She slept the happiest sleep that she had known since her ar- rival at Loclorf. Why should she hes- itate to accede to Hartung's request? She knew he would say nothing to wound her - nothing but what was kind and true-hearted-and she might safely trust in him. Was she thus secure in her mind only because such a conviction would permit her to follow the dictates of her heart, and be at the appointed spot when Hartung should await her there? I think this last is hardly likely, for in a pure and placid nature like An- nette's, trust must exist before love is born: only with a more impulsive and sensuous temperament -does confidence follow love. When he asked Annette for this ette- ,d-tte, Hartung had a twofold object in view. In the first place, he wished to afford Adrienne Traunstein the opportunity for observation that he had promised her; and then he was determined to ascertain the true relation in which she (Annette) stood to Count Salentin Guolfing. He should certainly be able to discover, either from her words themselves or from her manner 1in replying to him, whether he were dishonored or not by his affection foriher. The more he saw of her the more improbable - nay, im- possible - did it appear that any stain could rest upon her loveliness. In his case; confidence was born of love; and as he became convinced that he had no cause to dread the truth, he was filled with a burning desire to know it. Was she perhaps the destined prey of the Count, ah, how she should be snatched from destruction! He reproached him- self bitterly for not having already warned her, and was sure that he had been selected in the strangest manner by fate to rob Count Salentin at once of a mistress and a wife. Long before the appointed hour, An- nette sat alone in the arbor in the grove, and as the minutes slowly passed she found herself becoming restless and at last painfully excited. To allay this ex- citement, she sang aloud. Into the tones of her glorious contralto she threw her whole soul: the sound was as clear as the ring of a jewel dropped into a golden goblet. She sang a simple, quaint old song of her mother's, and unconsciously threw into the words more meaning than they had been intended to express: "In the still, lonely bower I wait, love, for thee: When twilight falls softly then come, love, to me. Come when the light fades into night, With tfe nightingale's song, .with the first star: Let me be sure that thou lovest me truly; But if thou love me not, stay then afar. * That I was lovelier-didst thou not say?- Than the loveliest flowers that come with the May. Yet shouldst thou now repent thy vow, What though I long for thee, come not again-- Though I should weep for thee, come not again." She thought herself alone as she sung each verse twice, clearly and distinctly. But no: Adrienne was listening from her. concealment close at 'hand. She had not for an instant reflected whether she were wise in undertaking this expe- dition with Hartung--her desire to see Annette was too intense-but had left the castle with him on horseback at the appointed hour, and leaving her horse with a groom, had entered the grove through a hedge which bounded it at the back. Hartung had then conducted hei to a spot whence, unobserved, she could both see and hear Annette. The sight of that fair, graceful crea- ture giving utterance in such pure tones to a feeling as pure and true, her figure framed by the clustering myrtle branches, while one spray drooping from the bough above her rested upon her innocent brow, produced upon Adrienne an opposite effect to any which Hartung had intend- ed or expected. He had thought she would be filled with jealous scorn and contempt--that she would turn away coldly, resolved as to her future course toward Salentin. He dreaded the next few moments, for he well knew that he could not endure to hear one hard, de- rogatory word applied to Annette. But his fears were unfounded. Adrienne leaned more and more heavily upon his arm, and pointed to a rustic seat a short distance from where they stood. Thither he conducted her: she sank down upon it, and, covering her face with her hands, burst into tears, while Annette's song floated on the breeze toward them. Yes, she was utterly annihilated in her own eyes. She knew herself betrayed by Salentin, but she had no right to re- proach him. Had she not expressly stipulated that no love was to be re- quired from him or from her? All this was her work. And now she understood how mon- strous had been this stipulation. She had wickedly trifled with the sacred- ness of love, and when punishment thus found her out, she had no right to complain. Ah, how powerful was the might of this love which she had affected to despise! It was sounding loudly in her ears, borne upon the tones of Annette's full voice-the beauty, power and endur- ing glory of love. All petty jealousies and vanities were forgotten. Of what could she be vain? She, a woman without love- hers was indeed an empty and worthless existence. Her heart seemed to become ice: she wept no more. In the mean time, another had en- tered the garden-Count Salentin him- self. After a short interview with the Fraulein in the parsonage, he had asked for Annette, and, refusing the officious offers of the old pastor of Steinheim, who had limped away, promising to call her, had set off himself in search of her. Following one of the winding garden paths he at last struck into a narrow, shaded walk which he pursued for a short distance, until, turning a corner, he came suddenly in sight of a most extraordinary group. There, in a lonely spot, upon a grassy mound from which he was separated only by a narrow rivu- let and rustic bridge, he beheld his be- trothed bride, Adrienne von Traunstein, while her former admirer, Peter von Alcantara Hartung, stood before her offering her his arm, which, rising, she accepted with every appearance of the utmost familiarity. Salentin hastened toward them and stood before her. Count von Guolfing was too well bred a man not to shrink instinctively from anything like a scene, but for a mo- ment jealous rage entirely mastered all his aristocratic self-possession. L "Adrienne," he faltered with quiver- ing lips, while his face grew white, , I am perfectly aware that I have no claim upon your affection, but I can demand that you should respect my honor, and require you to have some consideration for your own reputation." , Salentin"-she interrupted him here in a cold and hopeless voice-, what a reproach is this to me! How, how can you address me thus in sight of that young girl?" She pointed as she spoke to Annette, who at this moment approached, pre- ceded by the old pastor. ,Of that girl!-of my niece! Why not?" , Your niece!" exclaimed Hartung. Adrienne loooked at her betrothed with an expression in her fine eyes which it would be useless to try to de- scribe. For an instant she was happy, for she clearly perceived that his emo- tion proceeded from no mortification hiding behind a mask of injured inno- cence and anger, but that it was a genu- ine outhurst of jealous love. And what a strife possessed her heart upon this discovery! Love prompted her to relieve his jealousy and tell him everything; but pride, all quick again, page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] prevented her from what seemed so hu- miliating-the desertion of the principles and opinions which she had only shortly before so zealously advocated. No: she must first become quite sure that her confession would be received in the same spirit in which it was made. She begged him to accompany her by a retired path to the midst of the grove, and was obliged to take his: arm, for her knees refused their support. , Is that young girl your niece?" she asked, gently. , Yes: she is the daughter of my only brother, who when very young married a girl far beneath him in social standing, and so fell into disgrace with my father, who disinherited him. He was obliged to accept an insignificant official ap- pointment in a small town about two miles hence, where he died soon after his marriage., I can hardly remember him, for I was a mere boy when he left home for his university career, but ever since I came of age I have supported his widow and child; and upon the death of the mother, not long since, I judged it best to place the daughter here at the parsonage, in charge of her and my distant relative, the Canoness von Keppel." , Why did you never tell me all this before?" , Because the whole matter is so un- pleasant to me. I cannot bear to think of my brother's sad fate, when, but for his youthful folly, he might -have had as fair a future as my own." , Salentin," said Adrienne, , it was wrong to conceal this from me; and through this error I have, in thought, been guilty of great injustice toward you. I would entreat your forgiveness --would tell you what brought me here with Hartung this afternoon-but that there is another weight upon my mind from which it must first be relieved. Salentin, I am not what I was: I recog- nize my former folly. I cannot marry you. Noble, chivalrous as I know you to be, you will not distress me by ques- tions or reproaches. Give me back my freedom; or give me"-she added as she saw Salentin regard her with an ex- pression of 'the intensest anguish-- or give me, I pray-" - What? what? For God's sake speak, Adrienne!" ;,-Your whole and undivided heart for ever." He clasped her in his arms with a joy far beyond any that triumphant van- ity could produce. She felt a tear fall upon her brow as her head reclined upon his breast. ,i How miserably hollow was- our wis- dom!" said he: " how lamentably con- i ceited our shallow sophistry!" In the mean time, Annette and Har- tung had been left to mutual explanations. She told him, as she saw Count Guolfing walk away with the stranger lady, that it was her uncle, who had lately told her'of his approaching marriage, but what Har- tung said, and how she made reply, why should I write it here? It would serve no purpose but to supply the old pastor of Steinheim with new matter for jesting at Annette's expense; and really I love the girl too well to expose her to any- thing of the kind. The memory of his late distressing position, which he rightly attributed to Annette, was still fresh, and he was pro- voked, besides, at being left entirely alone by every one. ,; The only part left for me to play, as far as I can see," he said peevishy, - is to tuck the old Fraulein (Heaven bless her!) under my arm and lose myself in a third of these romantic paths." v Three months afterward the marriage of Baron Hartung was solemnized in the castle of the Duke of Massenbach. The Duke had insisted upon doing honor to his private Secretary by undertaking every arrangement for this important event himself. The guests were invited under his own ducal hand and seal- among them the Countess and Count von Guolfing-and His Highness took part in the festivities with every appear- ance of great interest and the most con- descending amiability. In the evening the roll-call of his body-guard was beaten, and there was a grand display of fireworks. An im- mense number of people had assembled before the castle, who, when the rockets had blazed their last, distributed them- selves through the park, whistling, sing- ing, dancing and joking, enjoying the delicious summer evening and the music of the band which reached them through the open windows of the illuminated saloons. The Duke suddenly became aware of these crowds as he looked casually from one of the windows, and quickly called JHartung to his side: ,Look, Hartung! what is all this? What does it mean? a revolution, eh?" Without waiting for an answer, he hurried away and immediately appeared in the ball-room with his sword by his side. ,i Gentlemen, follow me!" he shouted; and preceding them, he strode gravely down the castle steps into the park. The people rushed toward him from every side. ,See to it," he turned and cried to his followers, ,that no one hinders me from crushing in the dust with my own hand the hydra of insurrection!" The instant that the gathering crowd heard the voice of their national father, they tore off their caps and threw them into the air, shouting, is Long live our -Duke of Hetzendorff-Massenbach!" There was shouting and noise with- out end. The Duke returned his sword to its scabbard with a sigh. t It can't be done," he said in a tone of melancholy resignation. it No, your Highness," said Hartung, smiling. - All things have their day: revolutions are out of fashion." page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] THE PRICE -OF A DREAM. THE girls droned on over their ex- ercises and dictation, even the most studious among them somewhat affected by the languid warmth of the spring day, which seemed, without any warning, to have rushed into summer and brought back a tropical sun. "Que e gusta d V.: " ,A mi me gusta el estudio." Professor Ollendorfs brilliant ques- tions were a mockery just then, but to nobody so much as- to the poor little teacher, who sat perched on her plat- form, trying to keep her mind some- where within sight of her duties. It was an almost useless effort: the voices would grow more and more indis- tinct to her ear: the little story some- body translated about an old Spanish king only brought up before her a vague dream of gorgeous palace-rooms filled with courtly crowds, until the wave of scarlet plumes and the sheen of silken robes quite shut out of sight the prosaic benches and desks and the restless faces actually before her. Then the dream was broken suddenly by the horrible accent of the stupid girl of the class, who had just begun to read, and who, to the delight of her com- panions, was making more uncouth dis- cord than usual of the liquid sounds. -sAgain!" said Dolores, trying to bring her thoughts back where they be- longed. -cPlease, young ladies, to be quiet." Then the stupid girl twisted her mouth in a new effort and made more appalling noises than before. Dolores tried conscientiously for a few lines to follow and set her right, but a breeze stole in through the open window, sweet with the scent of the green woods through which it had passed, and the added fragrance of the early flowers in the garden. Straightway all present sights and sounds were lost, and Dolores was wan- dering in tropical forests, such as she had so often seen in her beautiful island home. Poor child! it was hard; and in so many things she was a child, in actual years not much older than several of her pupils, who sat wondering why her face changed so, and why the lights and shadows passed so strangely across the great black eyes they were given to envy. It was so warm that she had put' on one of her prettiest white 'dresses, quite regardless of the fact that the washer- woman's bill was of consequence now; and at the commencement of the lesson an admiring scholar had fastened a red flower in her black hair. She was as elegant in that simple adornment as if she had been a princess about to go to the court of which they were reading. There was, too, an indescribable grace and indolence in her very attitude, which showed so plainly that she was meant to live in her tropic island and be luxurious and idle, and develop into the full summer of her beauty. Only a quaintly firm look to the Eng- lish mouth, quite out of keeping with her other features, and the perfect quiet, even to the folding of her hands; which she maintained in the very height of her fever and weariness, showed that with all the indolence and the Southern fire, an admixture of some colder blood had given her the strength and endurance which enabled her, the beautiful passion- flower, to go daily through the routine of duties that would have been wearing to a New England woman herself. The lesson was almost over: there was a sense of relief in that. She could have five minutes' breathing-space in the garden, even if an hour at the piano- forte, acting jailer to some loathing child, must follow as next in course of the pin- and-needle torture. There was a sound of voices in the hall, the authoritative tones of the Lady Abbess, as somebody had christened the august head of the establishment, aud- ible among them. Of course, the girls went on with their lesson, the few who could look through the half-open door so rousing the envy of their companions that female nature could not have en- dured long. Dolores did not stir, scarcely heard: the Abbess and the visitors were nothing to her just then. Nothing was anything, only the indescribable fatigue which un- strung every nerve, and the wild longing to be gone that stung each into added suffering. , Mayn't we go in?" a girlish voice asked. , Oh no," replied the Abbess, suavely: A no lessons interrupted-the laws of the Medes and Persians, you know, Miss Raleigh." "The old cat!" muttered one of the girls to her neighbor; and the other added an epithet still less decorous, whereat the stupid girl giggled: she had understanding enough to like hearing her autocrat abused, and was obliged to stuff her pocket-handkerchief in her mouth, while the girls frowned at her indig- nantly, it being an axiom never disputed among them that the Abbess could see and hear even through stone walls. Then, while a girl at one end of the class took up the reading, the rest lis- tened to the voices outside with some such feeling as one can fancy Robinson Crusoe having if he had chanced to hear voices on his island. Then the young lady voice in the hall exclaimed- , What a beautiful girl! Oh do look, May." And each girl that could be seen from the spot where the visitors stood tried to believe that it was she who was being looked at; and knowing all the while that it was the Spanish teacher, each in turn would have liked to do something desperate to her, in spite of the admi- ration they had on ordinary occasions. But the Abbess was speaking. s Come away;" said she: , I can't have Peris even look in at those gates." Then a voice that had not before made itself heard: "One peep-just one! I want to see your bouquet of blossoms." A man's voice-a low, deep voice, even in its mirthfulness-a voice Dolores had never heard before, but which roused her from her languor and made her listen breathlessly, while something away down in her soul seemed to answer it, as if it recognized the sound. There were laughing expostulations from the Abbess, pretty pleadings from the ladies, and a great deal of merri- ment, but Dolores only held her breath to hear that voice again, and as the party moved away, it met her ear once more: iThe most peculiar face I ever saw! She never was meant for a teacher: she looks like a dream of the South." The class broke up, and the girls made a group about Dolores, all talking at once. , It was Miss Raleigh, for one, I know: I wonder who the gentleman was?" - Why, her brother, of course. I saw him yesterday, when I went out with Miss Moss." - Guy Raleigh!" exclaimed half a dozen voices. , Such a splendid crea- ture!" * "He looks like Lord Byron," said a sentimental girl. ic Pooh!" retorted an enemy. "You say that of every man: you said old Signor Clementi did." Then a general laugh at the discom- fited one, who disdained to reply, and tried to look like the portraits of Gul- nare on the instant. Then Dolores sent them off to their re- spective duties, and, mechanically mind- ful of her own portion, even in her dream, looked at her watch and saw that there was not a moment left for the garden. She could only capture poor little Minnie Umsted and carry her off to the music-room, feeling a mad impatience at the sound of the white keys, at the child for tormenting her, at herself for having to vex the little soul; and under all a pity- for the tiny victim and herself, which made her long to take her in her arms, that they might have a hearty cry together. page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] So the day dragged on--so the pre- ceding ones had for weeks and months- so would those to come for weeks and months, each of them so like its prede- cessor that they seemed one endless day, with its duties never done and its wild longings never still. Dolores Grafton-poor Dolores! I think names are sometimes prophetic, and the cold Saxon patronymic only jarred with the other, and seemed as nuch out of keeping with her appear- ance as the life she led did with her thoughts and aspirations. Her grandfather had been an English- man: her father, like herself, was born in Cuba of a Spanish mother; but ah, Dolores thought, more happy than she, he had been allowed to die there. Her Cuba, her beautiful home, hold- ing the dreams of her childhood and the graves of her dead! and she an exile under these cold Northern skies, and the old life gone as completely as if she had stepped into another world. When Dolores was sixteen her father had brought her from Cuba and placed her in that school. Her mother was dead: the governess who had educated the girl so far chose to marry: there was nothing for it but to bring her away. Then she was not strong, and they thought the climate might invigorate the little frail body, which was fretted by the passionate soul like a scabbard by a keen Damascus blade. When Dolores felt the necessity, her drop of English blood enabled her to submit to her fate with tolerable com- posure-gave her a feverish power of application which no pure-blooded. Cuban could have comprehended, and energy enough to hurry on with all her might, the sooner to escape. But it had not been hard: she was petted by everybody.; even the stately Lady Abbess smiled complacence with her whims. She studied only such things as pleased her, according to her father's express direction: she had boundless pocket-money, stores of pret- ty valuables, and friends who often took her to town for a week's holiday. The little passion-flower had thriven and bloomed into rapid beauty; but that was all over-the season of enjoy- ment and being cared for and petted, all over. A tornado had swept across her spring, and there was not a hope left unharmed. Six months before, her father had died very suddenly, and died insol- vent. There were few relatives, and none that chose to help and recognize Dolores. She just had the tidings flung in upon her that she was an orphan and desti- tute; then was left to weather the storm or be beaten down as it chanced. The friends who had been kind to her since she came to the North had gone to Brazil: there was no one of whom she could even ask advice. It was in such a crisis that her Saxon blood did her good service: but for the energy and capability of endurance which it gave her, she must have gone mad or died, though since then she had some- times thought either fate would have been a blessing. Everybody at the school was full of pity, of course, but she could not bear to be pitied. Even in the first days of utter prostration she could have better borne dagger-thrusts than the vague sympathy feminine nature has for suffer- ing in general. The Lady Abbess knew the exact state of affairs: she could afford to be kind, for her bills had been paid for the term about to close; besides, she really had a heart somewhere beneath that weight of rules and regulations by which she measured out life to herself and those under her control. She was helped to a decision by an- other circumstance which arrived oppor- tunely. Her Spanish professor, who came out from town to give lessons, resident male teachers not being tole- rated on the vestal premises, had quar- reled with her, and would not continue for the next term unless she paid him a higher salary. The Abbess reflected: here was an opening She might re- venge herself on the pedagogue, who thought she would be forced to yield, and she might do a meritorious action; and, erect as she walked the road to heaven, a good work thrown in of her own accord would be a very proper thing, the Abbess thought, and straight- way felt herself a shining light in a wicked world. Dolores might teach Spanish: that was the beginning of the Lady Abbess' thought, which ended in a mental paean over her own merits. Dolores was a good musician too: the first training of unruly youthful fingers might be en- trusted to her. It would, too, be a suffi- cient saving of money to have made any Lady Abbess complacent, for those moustached professors had an idea of their worth. There would be one less male biped to be watched also, for when the professors came the ugliest spinster in the staff of teachers-years of wrin- kles beyond the possibility of any^veak- ness where masculine fascinations were concerned-had to be set as a Cerberus, lest the pupils should acquire familiarity with questions and answers not set down in any of the marvelous Ollendorf's pro- ductions, either German or Italian. Yes, it could be made to answer ad- mirably, this arrangement which occurred like an inspiration to the mind of the Abbess; and even if there had been slight drawhacks in the way, any woman must have swept them aside for the sake of doing a saintly deed, and gratifying a bit of feminine spite into the bargain. To be sure, Dolores softened all her hissing consonants in a way that no Castilian would have approved, although it certainly was musical; 1iut nobody would know that, and even the crabbed professor had once remarked that her Spanish was peculiarly choice and very elegant. So, when the days that had to elapse before the close of the term had run their course, and the Abbess had taken time to elaborate her plan, she laid it before Dolores with all the grandeur of high state voluntarily taking cognizance of the woes of ordinary mortals. Poor little Dolores! Suffering had treated her as a cold wind would a flower. But- she could understand, and if she could not reason, she could get at con- clusions as quick as lightning. It was speedily settled, and the Lady Abbess departed on her tour of relaxation with a mind at peace with all the world, and- told everybody she saw on her way through town that she had reasons which caused her to discharge the Span- ish professor, whereby he lost more pu- pils, and cursed her in broken English, in every sense very appalling to hear. School was over: even the under- teachers were gone, with the exception of the dragon-before mentioned by her familiar title of Cerberus : she never re- quired any relaxation, and stayed to rule the servants and gird at such of the pupils as were doomed to remain during the vacation. So Dolores had that season wherein to grow familiar with her grief and her new life. She had loved her father with such blind idolatry: with her, love must always be worship. There were no half feelings in her nature: she was always in ex- tremes. The doubt was whether the slender physique could endure till the passionate nature had calmed itself with years, if indeed it were possible that it could ever reach such a consummation. The least excitement made her heart beat with such throbs that she could exhaust weeks of vitality in an hour, and her undisciplined life had only made her still more eager for sensations. I said that by her father's orders she had been allowed great freedom during her school-days, and had only studied the books which pleased her.-Italian, because the glowing poetry was like draughts of bright wine to her soul; such portions of History as helped her on in her gorgeous fancies; and as for novels, ah, she had managed to obtain those contraband by the score. The weeks of vacation passed, and their loneliness made Dolores long for any change. The new life began-a life of routine and duty, which was at first irksome, then maddening, then a loathsome weariness, which left her to grow more and more shadowy, and her great eyes to burn and dilate till they seemed to make half her face. The Abbess had cautioned her about maintaining a dignified carriage and that page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] sort of thing: she need not have been afraid. Soon the girl had not life enough left even to smile, and yet once her laugh had been the gayest sound the old house ever heard. She had no fellowship with the teach- ers. They disliked her now for what they thought her Spanish pride: at times she fairly hated them for their precise ways, their stilted speech, their tyranny over the gills in trifles, their ob- sequiousness to their employer, and the seeming- composure with which they went through the changeless round of cares that she so chafed against. Probably she was unjust: very likely they suffered too, or had when they were younger; but the Abbess possessed a wonderful faculty for administration, and kept her teachers at the treadmill by her unvarying dignity and firmness. Everything in the establishment went on as regularly as if it had been moved by machinery: each hour had its ap- pointed duty, which nothing short of an earthquake could -have been allowed to put aside; and Dolores learned to dread the stroke of the bell which rang out like a groan at the expiration of every sixty minutes. As the months went on, and her head- aches and nervous horrors of all sorts increased, that sound absolutely haunted her dreams: it led her to her father's grave; it pealed over her head on the brink of precipices; it was- the knell which ushered in always her worst and most feverish dreams. The Abbess did not mean to over- work her; the other teachers, in spite of their little womanly jealousies, did not wish to be cruel; but for years they had all been going on under the high-press- ure -principle till their nerves had hard- ened into iron, and they forgot how many had dropped by the way because their nerves would not harden, and never re- membered that this tropical plant must at least be seasoned gradually. So more and more duties fell to her share: she had none but the Spanish classes and a few beginners in music; therefore she could do this or add that lesson; and she did not complain. She had an insane horror of not earning lier salary--of being retained out of charity: that thought was a spur which kept a raw spot always in her soul, so con- stantly did she thrust it in when it seemed impossible to endure another moment-when she longed to throw the books at her pupils' heads ; to fall on the floor and shriek until she brought the whole house about her; to do some- thing, anything, which might break that monotony and give her a momentary relief. Do you get an idea of the creature I am trying to describe? do you under- stand and pity her? Perhaps all this is tiresome to you, but I had nothing to tell beyond the un- folding of her character, and the state, mental and physical, in which she was when another crisis came, for it did come. It was the day on which Dolores heard that voice, and a voice somewhere in her being answered it with a rush of gladness. She felt that something- within her soul, which all this time had lain moaning in its dark prison-house, started up at that sound and stretched its bonds to the utmost, trying to reach upward. It may sound foolish and overstrained; but do not say so because such things have not been familiar to your expe- rience: they are not unnatural. Heaven help us! I have ceased to think that anything is unnatural: life has taught me that the wildest incident in a sensation novel is feeble compared to much that happens about us every day. She heard that voice in' her dreams when sleep found her: she woke with its music in her ear. For three days after, everything, wherever she moved, whatever she did, was in keeping with that cadence. Three days, and then Sunday came. She went to church always with the Lady Abbess, and. sat in her seat, just in front of the one which held such pu- pils as did not, from parental example or command, seek the chill -f dissenting chapels. It was odd that Dolores was not a Roman Catholic, but her grandfather had been an English Churchman, and the dear old faith had descended to her with its beautiful simplicity and its blessed aids. If she had only known how to employ them! So there she was in her place, and raising her eyes from her prayer-book, Dolores looked full in a face which she had never seen before-looked till in that brief glance her very soul seemed to go out. She knew that the voice which she had heard was his, that pale, handsome mai.'s-he who was so intently regarding her, not impertinently, almost uncon- scious of his own scrutiny, in the wonder he felt at her unlikeness to anything he had ever seen before. Going out of church, he and his party were brought close to the Lady Abbess and her flock, and exchanged salutations with her. Dolores held her breath to catch his voice: it was the voice which had been haunting her. From that moment a new life began for the girl. It was not only, that she went back to her dreams and gave him a place therein-listened to his voice, hearing it so plainly that often she woke from sleep crying out in answer. All these things would haive been bits of girlish romance, such as many a quiet woman could recall. But she loved this man. She never analyzed her feelings-she did not try to think: she just followed that voice out into her new world. His soul had called hers--she was his: whether he -would come to claim her she could not tell or- wonder. It was the be- ginning either of a new existence, or it was the spell which must wear the last bodily link away, and send her spirit to wait beyond until he had finished his work here and could join her. You shall not say that it is absurd. I am telling you the exact truth: I have no need to exaggerate. Oh the days! the days! Never a day when she did not expect him to appear: no one entered the room suddenly during class that she did not stop breathing: she never walked out that her heart did not rush on to such expectancy that she was as tired as if she had taken a week's march. Life and strength waste rapidly in such fevers. It is possible to pass through a state of feeling like that-to live beyond it-to be so changed that one looks back on the old self with wondering pity, perhaps genuine laugh- ter; but when it came upon poor little Dolores she had been like a drooping lily that only needed one more strong gust to break it down. The Raleighs had guests at their house: other people who had country- seats in the neighborhood were estab- lished therein, and had brought troops of friends to enliven their solitude; .and the village itself was a favorite resort during the summer months for persons fond of making wandering nomads of themselves at that season. Gayeties of all sorts were naturally the result of these combinations, and the reports thereof came up the hill into the quiet of Minerva's halls, in spite of the precautions employed by the Abbess to prevent any murmur from the frivo- lous world penetrating the cold dignity of those classic shades, and sorely dis- tracted the young birds whom she and her attendant owls were endeavoring to train into chanting the notes of their wisdom. More than that: an invitation to a pic-nic for the Lady Abbess. She was to bring three or four of her elder charges, who would study all the better after a little amusement, Miss Raleigh said; and, above all, the little Cuban teacher: she must come at any hazard, for everybody was wild about her. Whereat the Abbess shook her stately head, in doubt as to the propriety of a teacher of hers performing such extraor- dinary feats with people's brains: still, she was loth to offend Miss Raleigh, and in her grand, high-priestess way rather enjoyed occasional relaxation upon her own account. She would reflect. Ah, the party was for the next day, an impromptu affair, and therefore certain to be pleas- ant, Miss Raleigh said. Should she con- page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] suit Miss Frost as to her choice among the girls to be honored?-Miss Frost, better known as Cerberus among the pupils, but the Abbess, not being aware of that, thought of her by her chilly patronymic. On the whole, she would not: the girls who were most certain to deserve the pleasure by their application and regard for their duties were sure to be among the ugly, awkward squad, and the Abbess felt that on an occasion like this she ought to present her choicest, as far as appearance went. While she was shaking her head and looking up for counsel to the bust of Pallas which decorated her study, a rumor of what was in store crept-no mortal could have told how-into the class-rooms, and, as it made its way along like an increasing wind, drove every girl who caught it out of her senses on the instant. Who would be selected? That was the question, and fortunately an hour's respite from lessons gave the eager creatures an opportunity to dis- cuss the matter. Discussion became animated, and conflicting opinions were expressed in tones equivalent to what would have taken the form of a it stand- up and a ring " among boys. The ugly girls tried to believe that diligence and subordination would come out trium- phant, but were laughed to scorn by all the beauties: they were not going to be asked to repeat Latin verses or explain geological formations. As if goodness would count here, indeed! And what would? was the angry cry from among the group of the hatchet-faced. Then the beauties looked at each other and tossed their heads and said, , Never mind what!-not any must)y old 'ologies, at all events." At last the Abbess sent for four of her queen roses and the Cuban, and then all knew that the fiat was pro- nounced. From that moment those who had been most unremitting in their efforts to obey rules and to be studious, felt, as many of us have done at times, that though there may be truth in the old proverb, that , Virtue is its own re- ward," the reward is usually so very slight it is not worth having. Poor girls! there was no help for them, no comfort, except such as their female instincts might teach them to find in abusing the Abbess and raking up unpleasant memories in regard to the group she had chosen; and they proved their claims to approaching womanhood then, for they dissected the brazen things in very creditable style for such young anatomists. ,You will like to go?" the Abbess said to Dolores when the triumphant quadrilateral had disappeared. ', You will enjoy a little amusement?" Dolores was coughing; and there was a bright red spot on her cheek: her pulses had all started at a gallop with the earliest words. The Abbess noticed for the first time how delicate she looked, and checked a brief exordium she had contemplated in regard to the frivolity of amusements in general. A sudden thought pricked her conscience a little: the girl had been overworked, and a day of pleasure would do' her good. Really, she must take time to -see that the creature got rest, and had something strengthening administered out of a med- icine bottle. Discipline for the mind, calisthenics, and a certain abominable tonic prepared by a physician in whom she had unlimited faith, would, the Ab- bess believed, set right all the ills that flesh or soul is heir to. Never anything prettier walked down the hall to meet the Abbess than Dolores, next day, in her festal dress of rose- colored muslin floating about her in diaphanous clouds, half covered -by a great shawl, which had been her mother's, of that marvelous lacework into which the Spanish nuns used to net the long hours in their gloomy convents. , I don't know how I could nave fancied you had not looked well lately," said the Abbess, warming into genuine admiration. , I feel like a bird!" cried Dolores. , Let us go: I breathe again--I live!" The Abbess was somewhat shocked at her exaggerated manner, but luckily none of the young ladies were near to be contaminated; so she only gave her a gentle caution concerning the decorum necessary to be preserved on every oc- casion by the sex-above all, by such members of it as held a place in her learned halls. it Let me forget restraints to-day!" pleaded Dolores, too wild with excite- ment to dread even the Abbess. ,i Let me live: to-morrow I will come back. Let me have this one day." Really, the Abbess was at a loss what to answer. She eyed her with surprise, like a venerable owl looking at a car- dinal b!rd: then contented herself with admiring herdress and requesting her to summon the young ladies. The pic-nic was in a delightful wood, and a pretty sight the gay groups looked when the Abbess and her charges ap- peared among them. In the depths of her chilly old heart the Abbess was charnied and flattered at the sensation which her arrival created, not taking the four pretty girls and our Cuban into her consideration of the matter as fully as another might have done. Miss Raleigh claimed Dolores at once. -cYou darling little sdfiorita!" said she, carrying her off to join her special group, ic we have all been dying to know you since the day we peeped into the school-room. I have caught our tropical bird at .last!" she exclaimed as she led Dolores up to her friends. They all surrounded her at once- three or four women charming enough to be able to like other women-elegant, high-bred men, such as Miss Raleigh had a faculty of gathering about her. , This is Mrs. Haydon," she went on rapidly; , and this is my dear May Summers. I can't call you Miss Graf- ton: we may say seriorita, mayn't we?" Then she presented the men, and Miss Raleigh had the most charming and- original manner possible, and could do whatever she liked in the prettiest way; and-besides, she was a great heiress. It was very pleasant, and if her man- ner was a little patronizing, Dolores could not notice it then; moreover, it was no vulgar feeling which animated Miss Raleigh: she only felt as if she had caught some rare, beautiful bird, and wanted its charms to be admired. Everybody was devoted to her, and she talked and laughed till, between pleasure and the expectation all the while at her heart, Dolores flashed into such marvelous beauty that the very women could have worshiped her. ,Where can that brother of mine be?" exclaimed Miss Raleigh at last. , If he only knew whom we have here!" Just then he came sauntering toward them: another moment and he was sitting near Dolores. She had heard him speak her name, and had gone straight up through the ivory gates into the full sun! She knew that there was a great deal of laughter and idle conversation-that she herself laughed and talked like a wild thing, but he was very quiet. Presently the little group was forced to break up, and she found h;1m by her again. He was saying, , You look tired now: you must sit still, I think." The reaction had suddenly become felt: Dolores was so weak that she could hardly stand. She was glad to do as they told her-to lean back against the cushions and eat the deli- cious ice which somebody brought. She did not even wonder, as other dreamers would have done, if it could be real: she intoxicated herself with the happiness of the hour: she managed to live as much during that afternoon as ordinary people do in a year. He talked about her island home, which he knew well: he was familiar with the details of her story, and had tact to avoid whatever could be painful. He so quickly understood her: he com- prehended from her unconscious words how galling and wearing her life was, and he pitied her: at least that day should be pleasant. Guy Raleigh was a delightful companion. He had all his sister's brilliancy and originality, and a manner toward woman that was the per- fection of chivalrous courtesy. His very voice had a caress in it: I don't know any other way to express what I mean. It was fortunate that he was not a flirt: page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] he did enough mischief as it was, with- out being aware of his power. But how could he, or even a man given to believing in his own fascina- tions and fond of essaying the strength thereof, have thought the results of that one afternoon were to prove important? She seemed little more than a child to him at first, and he only desired to make this day a sunny spot in memory, on whi'ch her fancy could rest during com- ing days of loneliness. But as they talked she astonished him every now and then by some passionate utterance, which showed how deeply she had at heart such subjects as had touched her feelings; for it was true of her, as it is of so many impulsive women, in regard to what interested her she could not be said to reflect--she only felt. Guy found himself well repaid for his efforts to brighten the young exile's sky a little: she was a new revelation to him in the way of womanhood. And Dolores talked as she had never done to any one: she could not remember that he was a stranger-could only give her- self up to the might of her dream, and be led on as passively as we are some- times in sleep through a vision in which the most wonderful things seem natural; and sights and sounds so unearthly that we could not even find a name for them in our waking hours, are at once recog- nized and perfectly understood by some mysterious self within. I think this sounds somewhat tran- scendental, and I am afraid overstrained, yet it is truth that I am writing-truth at least to those unfortunates whose physi- cal organizations seem to be only bundles of nerves for the soul to play on at will. But I might write pages of this sort and leave you no nearer a comprehension of the matter, unless it is already a mourn- ful fact with you that no after reality can ever be half so beautiful or' powerful as one of those wild dreams which come to a heart that has been feeding on itself in its dreary solitude. His sister and their party aided to make the hours golden to Dolores, for whom they had all been seized with an enthusiasm; and during the whole after- noon they made a little queen of her The school-girls looked on in wonder, and perhaps thought they might as well- have stayed ,up on the hill among the owls as to come down there and watch the Spanish teacher be set up on a ped- estal for all those men to worship. The Abbess had her doubts in regard to the propriety of such marked atten- tions being bestowed upon one of her hired subordinates; but Miss Raleigh managed that she should be kept in a state of serenity, and it all did not mat- ter: Dolores was the feature of the day. Was she happy? Great heavens! if Dives could have gone straight up over the gulf, do you think he would have been happy? She sang to them her sweetest Spanish songs: she talked with her. bewitching little accent, her conversation rendered more charming by her foreign habit of choosing the strong. expressions which she had caught from books, her face gathering new beauty as her heart soared higher and higher into the light. And while she sang, Guy Raleigh was bending over her: his rare smile was for her, his pretty, earnest speeches netted themselves like sun- beams over her very soul. Look you! it is sad to write these things, because they are true, however much we may deny and laugh them to scorn; and what we ought to be ashamed of is not their verity, but the fact that life has only left us the ability to scout or de- ride it. A Now you must not sing any more," Guy said: ,these people are merciless." , I think they are all very kind," Dolores answered: , everybody in your world must be perfect if all are like these." * They catch a little light from your radiance," he said, smiling; and the poor, hackneyed compliment was so fresh and new to her that it was like a beautiful poem. it You like to dance, I am sure," he continued, as he saw the musicians whom he had engaged coming 'up over the hill.! ' "With all my heart!" she answered, and then laughed at herself. , I know -you smile--that is not what one says: it is bad English." ,cVery good English, I think, and entire truth, I am sure," said Guy, laugh- ing too. , Yes, indeed, so I believe." it Then I am glad I thought of it. I told my sister I was sure after sunset it would be cool enough." , Oh, of course. It is so pleasant here. Ah, the dear day!--how faded to-morrow will look by the side of it!" ,I am afraid that is the worst of great enjoyment," said Guy: ,it has a trick of making ordinary days rather pale." , No matter," she cried, recklessly: it the red ones get burned in so that we can't forget them." He looked so earnestly at 'her, with such a grave expression gliding like a shadow over his smile, that she said, hastily, ,i Was that wrong? Ought I not to have said that?" , Indeed, it was quite correct," he re- plied, , and just what I have often felt, though I could not have expressed it so prettily: our cold English turns into poetry in your mouth." it But you looked so grave." He could not well tell her his thought, which had been one of pity as he listened to her words, wondering what that un- disciplined nature could do with life, and if life itself would be kind and gentle since she had no one to guide. , I think I must have looked grave because the day is: so near gone," he said. , But we won't think of that! I al- ways shut my eyes to the dark and let it come suddenly: at least, then I can't see how black it is." , I believe that would be wise. After all, the actual blow is seldom so hard to bear as the anticipation of the sorrow." , Oh, the dark word!" she cried with a shiver. it Don't speak it-don't make me remember it." , You ought not even to know the meaning of it," he answered. softly. Then he saw her face change, and led her carefully away from the subject, but she knew that he pitied her, and it was a pleasure to be his debtor, much as the sympathy of ordinary people irked her. Their conversation was broken in upon, as it had been so often: several of the gentleman came each to claim Dolores on some pretence, vowing that Guy was neglecting his duties, being in a sort host. , Not I," said Guy. ,At the first I washed my hands of the whole affair. Miss Summers, I call you to witness." "So you did, until we proposed send- ing for the seforita," replied Miss Sum- mers, laughing. So it was for her that he had taken all the trouble? She did not speak, but, I swear, many a man would have thought himself well repaid for daring toil or danger just for that one quick glance of her great eyes. it I think he has his reward," Miss Sum- mers whispered to his sister. , What a little witch it is 1 If I were a man-" it Yes. You needn't take the trouble to finish! Female praise couldn't go higher. But, indeed, I am so interested in her, I can't let her stay at that horrid school." , It must be dreadful," Miss -Sum- mers owned. , Dreadful? With those chattering magpies of school-girls and that patent refrigerator of an Abbess? Purgatory, my dear, no less-the sort of frozen one Dante describes." After sunset they danced under the trees, and to see Dolores waltz was a sight to have made Saint Anthony's head swim. She was waltzing with Guy: his arm encircled her waist, his curls touched her forehead. If she could have died at that moment! I suppose that is almost wicked, but I cannot help it. Did you never-you, grown worldly now and cold-feel such exquisite happiness that it seemed exist- ence culminated then-that any after bliss must be faded in comparison-till that mad thought crossed your mind, Better to die in the height of the fever? Oh, don't let us always lie to ourselves. Maybe we could not feel so to-day: per- haps we are wiser, yes, even better, In page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] that we cannot; but oh the days marked with a white stone t is there anything like them? But up came the Abbess, stern as a Fate. It was growing dusk-discipline must be preserved! She gathered her unwilling flock to go, and nobody could gainsay her: she would have .mounted the highest pedestal of her dignity at the bare idea. ,cThe laws of the Medes and Per- sians, you know, dear Miss Raleigh," said she- the remark she made on all possible occasions; and Miss Raleigh felt that she would have liked to pull her hair down. So Dolores had to come back to earth again, but his voice was last in her ear-his hand the last to touch hers. Dolores was content. It did not matter that when the ex- citement wore off she was unable to stand-that all night she lay sleepless on her bed. She was happy. She went through the duties of the next days: she could endure them be- cause she was looking forward-to what she did not know. But they were almost over: she felt that her life was to tend suddenly far-away from that beaten path. The Abbess received an invitation for herself and Dolores to dine at the Ra- leigh mansion. She had no mind to re- fuse: she was feeling more plainly every day that Dolores was out of place, and she hoped, that Miss Raleigh's fancy would continue-that she would take her away to be a companion or find her more congenial duties. Dolores had been so unwell for two days that she was forced. to lie on her bed except during the class-hours; but nobody knew it. Indeed, she could not have said that she was ill: she suffered no pain, only she was utterly' without strength; and when her heart would begin to whirl at some new rush of thought, she coughed a little sharp cough, which prostrated her completely. ,But when the time to dress came she was able to rise, and anticipation and excitement gave her that false strength which most people have felt in some mental crisis, the reaction from which, when the necessity for action is over or the pleasure at an end, is worse than a month of ordinary illness. It was not a large party: as Dolores looked about the library where the people were collected, she saw that. she knew everybody there. She was first to-night also, because the sympathies of the whole party were up in arms. She ought to be set free: she was dying; but what could be done no one would have decided if Miss Raleigh had not fortunately been practical as well as enthusiastic. She had laid her ewn plans, and intended to carry them out, and they were sensible, as was usually the case with her judgments. For a time, Dolores was almost as white as her dress, and she sat very quiet near the Abbess, who was talking learnedly to some heavy man about mineralogy; but she looked so different from anybody else that it was impossible to keep one's eyes off her. She was dressed as any girl might have -been, but somehow there was a fairly regal look to the scarlet scarf she had flung over her shoulders, and an odd ornament that she wore in her hair completed the toilette. It was a passion- flower of the most delicate enamel stud- ded with gems-just the sort of striking thing one can so seldom lay hands on; and it seemed fairly a type of the girl. Pretty soon, Guy Raleigh came and stood by her and began to talk, and then she blossomed into beauty again, and the passion-flower trembled ominously on its delicate stem with the quick motions of her little head. Guy noticed it, having an artist's eye for color and beauty. , It is certainly very appropriate," he said. ^, , It was what my father called me," -replied Dolores, ,; so he gave me this." , Passion-flower," said Guy, and he thought that truly she looked it. She was an interesting psychological study to him: then, too, she had a strange, nameless charm for him which any man would have felt-which would have given her a dangerous power could she have lived in the world and become conscious of that magnetic influence. So they talked for a few moments: then -the last guest arrived and dinner was announced. Guy had to go and offer his arm to the great lady of the oc- casion-some foreign ambassador's wife, who had strayed into that pretty spot for a week, along with her friends, E 11 of whom were as much out of place as camellias in a wood. She was what irreverent young men of the present generation term a , heavy bird," the jeweled ambassadress, and spoke several languages with an out- landish accent and jumbled them all to- gether'in a perplexing fashion; so that as Guy took his seat at the table he looked rather enviously toward the place where Dolores sat with a very agreeable man at her side. As for her, it was enough that she could see him, could feel his eyes often turned toward her. Her beautiful dream went on without a break. It was after dinner, and Miss Raleigh had at length an opportunity of opening to Dolores her scheme of having her come to live with her and teach her Spanish. The doors had unclosed: this was the change she had felt to be near at hand. They talked for some time, and matters were easily carried so far that it was decided Dolores should come as soon as the Abbess could provide her- self with another governess. , She has been kind to me, and I must be honest," Dolores said, quaintly. "Oh, of course, you darling! You don't mind my laughing when you say things in such an earnest way?" ,No, indeed: it does me good to laugh and to hear you laugh." ,And you say such pretty things!" cried Miss Raleigh. ,You shall laugh now, I promise you! Poor little bird i You have been dull enough all these months, I know."' , Each day I thought I should die," said Dolores, not hesitating to speak outright, now that the way of release was opened. ,At least for a long time I thought that then it seemed as if I must be dead, and there could never be any more change." 10 - But that is all over now." it Yes. Oh thank you! thank you!" i I may thank you instead," replied Miss Raleigh: ,you are doing me the greatest possible favor. And you must come as soon as you can, I shall be so dreadfully alone. These people flit to-morrow. Well, that's not so much matter, but Guy also will start in a few days." It seemed to Dolores that the white hand laid so caressingly on her shoulder had suddenly thrust a knife into her heart. She must know-she must ask where was he going. She should die raving in a moment. But Miss Raleigh went on: , Guy will only be gone for a fort- night, but he comes back for so short a time; and then, you know, I shall lose him for good." " Lose him!" repeated Dolores. i"What do you mean?" "Why, didn't you know he was going to be married?" Dolores did not speak: she was lean- ing back in the shadow. " He will be married early in autumn -such a lovely girl! Didn't you hear us laughing at dinner about her portrait?- It was one she had painted and sent to me, but Guy put it in his library." There was something in Dolores' throat like a rush of hot blood-a thou- sand sparks danced before her eyes: she gave one gasp of pain. ,Are you ill?"Miss Raleigh asked. She would not faint: if it was death she would not die yet. "No, only a little pain. Air-I want the air! Take me to see the picture." i I'll send Guy," Miss Raleigh an- swered: it I must go to those tiresome people. But you look so-" , Don't mind me-don't notice: it is nothing!" The hostess went to her brother and bade him take the senorita away. t She looks as if she were dying. She wants to see Isabel's portrait: take her in there." Meanwhile, Dolores sat by absolute force of will, keeping back the strange sensation so like death which had rushed page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] upon her. Guy came up and said, kindly, , We will try the library: my sister says you are not well." He saw that she could scarcely stand, - but not knowing exactly what to say- the usual predicament of men when ill- ness is concerned-he put her hand through his arm and they went into the library. Dolores looked eagerly about. -I want to see the picture," she said. He led her up to it. She stood and looked at the sweet, fair face in silence for a few moments. " What is her name?" she asked suddenly. , Isabel Grey," -he answered. She was deathly white-only the red spot flamed on one cheek, and her eyes were dilated with pain' her hand pressed hard to her throat. cAnd you love her?" she said, brokenly. He smiled as he might have done at a child. ,Nobody loves me,':"she moaned- Sc nobody." He tried to say something kind: her appearance frightened him, but he could not tell what to do. "Speak my name," she exclaimed- - say Dolores." He repeated it after her, catching the very tone: she smiled. , You will be happy," she said in a broken way; t you will be happy! Don't talk to her about me. I am-" She gave a little shudder: he caught her as she tottered back from his arm, crying out in horror when he saw that his hands were stained with the blood flowing from her lips. His voice brought in the whole party: they found Guy supporting the insensible girl, her head drooped over his arm. They thought she was- dead at first, but fortunately one of the guests was a physician, who was wise enough to employ the proper remedies on the instant. There was no way of her being moved, even if Miss Raleigh would have per- mitted-not that such a barbarity would have been possible to ha;natre. So in one of the pleasantest rooms of the old house, Dolores lay helpless, forbidden to speak or make the least effort at motion, and her kind. friend watched beside her. The party broke up and went its ways, and left the perfect quiet neces- sary. Guy waited for a few days before he started on his journey: she was not able to see him. That some dim per- ception of the truth did not cross his mind it would be folly to assert, but he put it aside. He was not that meanest of God's creatures, a man given to think- ing himself beloved by every woman that smiled on him: in his position, any dwelling on the present incident would have been a sin. Two weeks passed, and Dolores was able to be helped out of bed, and, at her express desire, to be placed on a couch in the library. There was little chance of recovery the physicians said: the chest was naturally weak; there had been a great deal of overwork-some strain on the mind too; but the habmorrhage seemed to have been caused by some great and sudden shock. Could anybody tell if there had been such? It was a ques- tion no one could answer. The school-girls could remember how she had coughed of a morning: the Ab- bess recollected, with a little remorse, the hard labor of the past months ; but it was all too late now. Easy enough to trace the progress of the disease through its successive stages, but no one could answer the medical men's inquiry. Perfect quiet- was the only thing, they said: with that she might rally and live for some months. Any excitement, any new shock, would be fatal. If it had been a younger sister, Miss Raleigh cold not have been more patient and affectionate. She was a glorious type of a woman, whom it is a shame should only be thus scantily sketched. Dolores would lie for hours while Miss Raleigh read to her-lie and watch those two portraits; for one of Guy hung near that of his betrothed. i She never spoke of him-never asked a question; only once, when she saw that Miss Raleigh was regarding her, she said, abruptly, ,i I prayed for both always-remember that." What Miss Raleigh suspected or be- lieved no human being ever knew, not even her brother. She did not answer Dolores' words: after a little she said, ,. When you grow strong enough, you and I will go to Cuba. You would like that?" Dolores looked at her with a heavenly smile: then she shook her head. it No misgivings," returned her friend: it I can't allow them, my beautiful pas- sion-flower!" For she often called her that now, since Dolores had told her she liked it because her father had given her the name. , The poor little passion-flower is blighted," said Dolores: , she has been too long away from the sun." s, But I am sure you get stronger every day, dear. You shall be so petted i Oh, if I had only known you months ago!" Dolores laid her hand on her head as she knelt by the couch. it Don't ask me to live, Emily," she said, and her voice sounded like that of a tired child. ic I hope it isn't wicked, but I can't even try to." And Miss Raleigh could not speak. it I want them to pray in the church," she went on, 66 but only for God's peace to the dying. Oh, I can't get well-I couldn't take up life again." Dolores' possessions had been brought down from the school, and at her request one day Miss Raleigh searched out the casket which contained her various trinkets. She selected several for such of the school-girls as she had fancied, and made Miss Raleigh promise to wear the rest: all but one ornament-she put aside the passion-flower which Guy had admired. When she was alone she took it out of the casket again and looked at it. ,The thorns are in my heart," she said*,the blossoms are all about her," She raised her eyes to the portrait of Isabel, which looked smilingly down- upon her. Bl Each way is as -God pleases," she added, as if addressing a living person. She could reach the table -as she sat: she took up a pen, wrote a few lines on a scrap of paper and folded it carefully about the passion-flower. As she laid it back in the box, Miss Raleigh came into the room, gently as usual, but the moment, Dolores looked in her face she knew who had arrived. cAre you able to see a visitor?"Miss Raleigh asked. ,( It is your brother," Dolores an- swered: , let him come in." She spoke so quietly that Miss Ra- leigh did not scruple to comply with her request: indeed, she had seemed much stronger all that day. Guy was outside the door, and when he heard her words he came softly into the room. Dolores started Afrom the couch and made a step forward. Miss Raleigh uttered a warning exclamation. But the warning changed to a. cry-of fear: Do- lores reeled forward. A second time Guy caught her in his arms, and again her heart's blood dyed his hands. There was no help possible this time: she realized it at once, and told them SO. F Let me die here," she whispered; and after he had placed her on the couch, Guy still supported her head on his shoulder. It was very brief: almost before Miss Raleigh could reach the door to summon assistance it was all over. , Guy!" she said once, in a voice so sweet that all his life after it seemed as if an angel had called. With her last consciousness her eyes turned on his face-she was gone t They found the jeweled flower and the paper, on which was written, -6 You may give this to Isabel, Guy." But Guy Raleigh never did bestow the ornament upon his bride, nor was it ever mentioned between him and his sister, but she often wondered, woman like, if he will ask to have it placed on his breast when he sleeps for the Yast page: 148[View Page 148] time, for she is very certain that the beautiful flower which was like an omen is carefully hidden among his most secret treasures. Years have passed since then. Guy Raleigh is a happy husband and proud father to-day, but often, when he is more than usually grave and silent, I wonder if his thoughts have gone back to that half-revealed romance, which under other circumstances might have so changed his life. Dolores has gone away: I do not like to talk about the lost being dead. She is living her life beyond our sphere. It will be made plain to us one day-to each in his turn. Happy Dolores! FRANK LEE BENEDICT. THE CRITIC.* AND so you're in raptures, my wee, pretty treasure! My rogue with the dark, dancing eyes! My flower of babyhood! cooing your pleasure, And prattling your bonny surprise? I knew that papa's precious Landseer would charm you, Sweet pet! as it's charming you now. Don't fear: though a dog, love, he cannot alarm you: He's painted without the bow-wow. Grand people, who think themselves monstrously clever, Have stared through their eye-glasses, dear, And said of this dog what no living dog ever Should tamely and quietly hear. Such flatulent jargon! Your own cunning candor Is worth all the fine, pompous ways Of people whose praise is but amiable slander- Whose slander is sugared with praise. You don't deal in words, darling; yet when you crow so, Your chubby pink palms opened wide, I wonder what fluent, high-bred virtuoso Could equal your truth, if he tried. You've something, I fancy, a close observation Might teach the proud learning of schools- That courage which dares to indulge a sensation Unhampered by methods and rules. Heigh-ho! little critic! this world and its dealings Were wiser and better, to-day, If men would but say their sincere, honest feelings, And honestly feel all they say. No doubt papa's friends possess vast erudition, And quote from their Ruskins by heart; But Baby-perhaps they would scorn the suspicion- Excels them in critical art. * See Frontispiece.
