Ebb-tide, and other stories
page: Illustration (TitlePage) [View Page Illustration (TitlePage) ]f' ]EBB-TIDE, O TH E R S TOR IE S. BY CHRISTIAN REID, "MORTON HOUSE," VALERIE AYWMER," " MAB~EL LEE,77 ETC., ,ETC. I 14 4, 0 1) 4, .4 LU) 14, 1) LU~ 1' Cs U) 4, 4, §1 "We must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures." NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 549 .& 551 BROADWAY. 187'2. I / AND I page: (Table of Contents) [View Page (Table of Contents) ] 0 NT EKNT S. E BB-T I DE. V ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, lin the year 1872, by D. APPLETON & CO., Ih the Offce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 4 lx PART I. THE TIDE AT ITS FLOOD. PAGE I.--" ' HE COMETH NOT, SHE SAID." . '1 1I.--A CHARMING CHATELAINE . ,. 12 III.--MADELON GIVES ADVICE , .17 IV.--UNDER THE STARLIGHT . . 24 V.--ERLES AND ERLES . . . . 30 VI.--SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMES !" 36 VII.-STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS . . 42 VIII.--THH ENCHANTED LAND - . . 471 II.-FLODIDE..............583 X.-" LOVE MATH SET OUR DAYS IN MUSIC TO THE SELF-SAME AIR " . . 58 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW . THE STORY OF A SCAR A DOUBT ... PART II. 'THE TIDE EBBS. 1.-DOES TRUTH SOUND BITTER ? II.--THE TRUTH ELSEWHERE . III.-" GO TO MARTINIQUE !" , IVe--CHECKED AND CHECKMATED .V.--AN EMPTY NEST . .-. VI.-A NEW CHAMPION .. . VII.-DRAMATIO CAPABILITIES . VIII.-" MON CAMARADE!' . IX.---"ONE FACE!" . . . X.--THE TIDE GOES OUT. . .. . . .115 . . . 0 . . . 145 . 0 . . . . , 157 PAGE .64 69 .'72 ,82 .88 ,93 98 .102 106 page: 0[View Page 0] f~BB-TIDE. PART I. THE TIDE AT ITS FLOOD. "There will no man do for your sake, I think, What I would have done for the least word said; I had wrung my life dry for your lips to drink, Broken It up for your daily bread." CHAPTER I. "'HE COMET NOT,' 5HH SAID." TEN o'clock on a glorious May day, with the freshly-risen sea-breeze sweeping over the sparkling waters of Charleston harbor; the bright sun gilding all things with a flood of golden glory; the white shipping dazzling the eyes like snow; the wooded shores clothed in a royal garment of soft purple mist; the stately city throne like a queen between her "swiftly-flowing" rivers, while the surf of the great Atlantic beats like i~$usic at her feet; a fragrance of roses per~ding the air, and an abounding sense of glol~y,,~uld vitality in the buoyant atmospher~at~re has opened all her choicest stores on this marvellously lovely day, this 15th of May, 185-; there is not a tint known to art which she is not wearing, and many-'~~how many !-for which art has neither name nor power to reproduce. Out on the sea there is an opalescent glory, chang. ing and shifting with every gleam of light that catches the foam-crested waves as they rise and chase each other like merry children in the sunshine! The land seems panting under its wealth of loveliness, of fragrance, and of bloom! I~verywhere Is spread earth's match- less livery of green and gold; every breath of air is flower-scented; every sound-..-even the city's distant hum of pleasure az~d trs~fflc-.--is subordinate to the divine anthem which the myriad voices of Nature are chanting-the sweet Invitation which they give to the chil- dren of mend "Come!" say the waves in their soft tones of ceaseless, rhythmic musIc. "Come ~" echo the happy songs.of birds, the merry chirp of the great, invisible lnsect.world. "Come!" whisper the breezes softer than those of Araby the Blest. "Come!" murmurthe trees, gently swaying their emerald leaves and fling~ lug graceful shadows over the velvet turf-a. "come and be happy!" And how few answer! -~--howfew do not go on~their way, be it tofuner. al or to feast, with blinded eyes and deafened earA! Yet, to those who love her as ~he should be loved, is not Nature God'sambassador upon earth, speaking, in everyquiver of her wondrous light and shade, "glad tidings of great jay?" o rare, sweet ma~gna mater I In all this weary, sin-laden, suffering-steeped world, there is nothing like to thee;'there Is no joy like thy joy, no beauty like thy beauty, no glory like thy glory; thou who art stills fair ~ind yo~m~ and fresh as when thy first dew-drops glittered in the sunlight of the creation moi'nlng, and even thy gracious Maker owned that thou ~vert "good!" And who would see this noble mis- tress in her most royal mood, who would wor- ship at her most royal shrine, must seek her where she loves best to dwell-nnder the deep. e ' page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 EBB-TIDE. "'JIB COMET NOT,' SHE SAID." 9 blue Southern sky, by the purple Southern wa- ters, far in the gorgeous depths and dim re- ceases of the aromatic southern woods! No. where else does she hold out her arms with such a tender embrace, nowhere else does she woo us with such regal charms, nowhere else does she wear such robes of state as clothe her amid the glory and beauty of these enchanted Scenes. Yet a girl, who stands on the pleasant Bat. tery, leaning. against the railing, and looking with wistful eyes far adown the bright bay to the broad ocean beyond, seems wholly uncon- scious of all the witchery round her. She has tilted her hat forward so as to keep the sun out of her eyes, and there she leans, a mo. tionless, absorbed figure, heeding the curious glances of the few loiterers who come and go, as little as the boundless glory of earth and sea and sky. A vessel is just crossing the imr into the harbor; the day is so wonderfully clear that through "The purple noon's transparent light" It is possible to catch a glimpse of the spars and rigging outlined against the sky-no hor- rible, ugly steamer, belching forth black smoke, but a graceful sailing-vessel, with slen. der masts and snow-white canvas, outspread like an angel's wings. The girl lifts an opera-glass to her eyes, and gazes eagerly-oh, so eagerly I -toward the new-coiner, the stranger, perhaps, the friend it may be. Two or three nurses, accompanied by children, pass, and, stopping, gaze also, open-mouthed, ~t the cloud of can- vas far away. They can find nothing remark- able about it, however; so, after a time, they continue their promenade. Other nurses fol- low, other children scamper past-the Battery is at all hours the paradise of these two class- es of the population; then come two ladies (veiled so as to effectualIy~shut out all possibil- ity of enjoying the day!); then an old gentle- man, walking leisurely with his hands behind hi0 back; then a young gentleman on horse. back, who looks keenly at the graceful, motion. less figure with the opera.glass levelled (appar- ently) at Fort Sumter; then a tall, handsome girl, who, ascending the steps, walks directly up to the figure in question and touches its arm. "Ermine I" she says, sharply. Then-as the opera-glass falls, and the girl turns round -" How can you stand here making a figure of yourself for the amusement of all the pass- ers-by? If I were you, I would have more dignity. Aunt Victorine sent me for you; she said she thought you would be here." "What does she want with me?" asked Ermine, with evident signs of rebellion about the eyes and lips. The other shrugged her shoulders-a gest- ure which betrayed her Gallic nationality at once. "How can I tell? .ilfa tante keeps her own counsel, you may be sure. Perhaps she does not want you to stand here 'like Patience on a monument,' for all Charleston to stare at and talk about. I can't wonder at that, I am sure!" "What do I care for being stared at or talked about?" "Nothing, of course; but Aunt Victorine cares a good deal, you see." "I only came out for a walk" (impatient- ly). "Why cannot mamma let me alone?" "Only for a walk!" repeated the other, mockingly. "And how far have you walked? I wager my pearl necklace (which is the most valuable thing I have in the world) that you have not stirred from the spot since you came here." "Well" (a little defiantly), "what then?" "Oh, nothing then-except that I don't think your exercise will be likely to benefit you much. Raymond said last night you were look- ing quite pale." "Raymond's opinion is not of the least im- portance to me." "Of course not; it is not to be supposed that anybody's opinion weighed with the for- lorn Marianna, when 'She said, "I am aweary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, I would that I were dead."' Only you haven't quite reached that point yet -have you, ma belle t" "If you came here to amuse yourself by laughing at me, Madelon, I think you might have stayed at home." "Do you suppose I came of my own accord, dear? I thought I told you Aunt Victorine sent me." "Ask her to send a servant next time, then," said Ermine, coldly-after which she turned seaward again, and lifted her glass to her eyes. A dark-red flush came over the face of the girl called Madden. "I presume she thought she was doing something equivalent to that in sending me," she said, bitterly. "It is kind of you, Ermine, to remind me of my position." "I did not intend to remind you of what you call your position, Madelon," said Ermine, lowering the glass again with a si'gh.-Ah! there was no familiar outline about those spars and sails; it was a stranger and no friends after all.---" You are so susceptible "(she gave the word a French meaning and, a French accent), "that you always think one intends what has never entered one's head. What is your position, after allJ I'm Mr. Erie's step- daughter; you' are his wife's niece: neither of us has any claim on him apart from mam- ma." "Is that all the difference between us?" asked Madelon, sarcastically. "Thank you, Ermine, for failing to remind me that you are an heiress, and I am a dependent." "But, Madelon-" "Only it would have been best to acknowl- edge the fact at once. Of course, it is absurd to suppose thatit could have been out of your mind." "It has never been very much in my mind," said Ermine, a little wearily, The other shrugged her shoulders again- this time with a skeptical smile out of unison with so young a face-then she, too, looked out overdhe bright bay, and nothing more was said for several minutes. They were first cousins, and considered very much alike, these two girls, yet the re- semblance was more in general appearance than in detail. Both were tall, both slender, both had the graceful bearing, the waxen com- plexion, and dark eyes of French creoles; but there the likeness absolutely ended. Of the two, Madelon Lautrec had the most regular features, the most camellia-like skin, the most magnificent eyes, the most subtle grace of manner; yet few people gave her the palm of beauty over her cousin Ermine St. Amand. What Ermine's special charm was, Heaven only knows, for Heaven alone had given it to her; but a charm she had, undoubtedly worth all the Hellenic noses and Oriental eyes in the world. A slenderly-fashioned, delicately-fea- tured creature, she struck you atfirat-very fra- gile, very dainty, but so full of unspoken coquet- s-ic, that you knew at once shemusthaveFrench blood in her veins. A creature with wonder- ful possibilities of passion and pathos slum- being in the depths of those dark eyes-eyes not half so large or bright as Madelon's, but oh, so tenderly, witchingly soft and quivering about the fiexile, sensitivee lips. The outline of her face would never have served formarbie, but it looked exceedingly well in flesh, and had that exquisite delicacy of modelling which we find only in the Southern races, while her voice had a chord of music in it such as one does not very often hear-a magic sweetness that might have been stolen from the sirens, her admirers said. There was none of this tender charm about Madelon. With all her beauty and all her grace, she was too cold, too proud-often too r9pulsively haughty-to win popular favor. She curled her scarlet lip over this fact, and thought in her young cyni. cism that it was natural enough, since she was "no heiress like Ermine." But, although the world is the world, and heiress-ship is always a first-class recommendation to its favor, other things weigh also in the balance of its verdict. Some natures win their own way, let Fortune do her best or worst-and Ermine's was one of these. In a palace or a hovel, she would still have been one of those favored children of partial Nature- "One handful of whose buoyant chaff Exceeds our hoard of careful grain." "Well," said Madelon, after a while," what am I to tell Aunt Victorine-that you prefer to spend the day 'on a lone rock by the sea,' or that you are coming home? I must return, for I promised Margaret to go out shopping with her, and I know she is waiting for me." "I will go back also," said Ermine, with unexpected docility. "There is no good in staying here; though Ido think mamma might have left me alone." "When you grow a little older, you will find that nobody ever is left alone," said Made. lon, philosophically. "We are all worried more or less by our affectionate relatives; and -Is that Mr. Sexton yonder? I wonderwhat he is doing here at this hour of the day? Come !-if we stay five minutes longer, we shall have to undergo a catechism about Mar. garret's health and appearance." "Perhaps he has come to loiter about until it is late enough for a call," hazar~led Ermine. "He looks as if he meant something serious- don't you think so?" "He looks as if he were loaded to the brim with a proposal, and ready to ~plode at any moment," said Madelon. "Grace d .DiesI page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] "'HE COMET NOT1' SHE SAID." I Poor as I am, would I marry a man who came to offer himself to me in such a coat as that?" "I fancy Margaret will give him his 'route' as summarily as you could desire," said Ermine, laughing. "His 'route'!" repeated, the other. "Is that all you know about it? But hush !-here he comes. Don't be stopped, if you can help it." Here he came indeed--a short, stout man, of florid complexion, large nose (belonging to the class which partial friends call "Napole- onic"), blond mustache, and coat which merited all of Madelon's scorn, inasmuch as, being too short.waisted, it gave him (why, it is impossible to say) the appearance of an over- grown fr~g. Yet he was not an ugly man, by any means-on the contrary, most people called Mr. Sexton "fine-looking," which is rather an ambiguous term at best. A certain deplorable absence of refl.nementwas his great- est drawback-his personal appearance being strongly suggestive of those Teutonic gentle- men whom we see in any and every beer-gar- den, drinking fabulous quantities of "lager," and eating fabulous numbers of "pretzels." As far as anybody in America caa know any thing about his antecedents, however, Mr. Sexton knew that he had no Dutch blood in his veins; and when he uncovered his head- showing thereby a considerable spot "where the hair wouldn't grow "'-he addressed the cousins in good English, instead of the German accent one involuntarily expected. "Good-morning, young ladies-I am glad to see you looking so blooming after our dis- sipation la~t night" (heavy gallantry was Mr. Sexton's style when he attempted gallantry at all). "I hope you don't feel very much used up by it?" "Dissipation!" repeated Madelon, with an arch of her scornful brows. "Do you call that festive occasion last night 'dissipation~' Mr. Sexton? I should as soon think of calling strawberry-ice an intoxicating beverage! I don't feel at all used up, thank you-nothing short of a three o'clock German ever does use me up! Perhaps you do not feel so, how- ever." "On the contrary, I feel vepr well indeed," said Mr. Sexton, coloring a little on top o~ his head. "I-ah-thought we had a very charm- ing evening. Mrs. Fontaine's entertainments are always in excellent style." "I believe she always has an excellent supper," said Madelon, "and that is what gentlemen mostly care about. I did not think the evening charming at all-I thought it horridly stupid.-~Didn't you, Ermine? The music was execrable, and scarcely man worth looking at!" "I thought it tolerably pleasant," said Ermine, feeling her cousin's rudeness, and striving to atone, yet In reality damning poor Mrs. Fontaine's entertainment still more effect- ually by her faint praise. Then-making a headlong plunge into commonplaces-,.-" I see the lovely day has tempted you as well as our- selves to come out and enjoy it, Mr Saxton." "Ah-yes----it is very pretty," said Mr. Sexton, looking round and benignly patronizing the day. "I intended to take a stroll until the hour for morning calls," he went on. "Then I hoped for the pleasure of inquiring how you ladies were. That I see is unneces- sary; but Mrs. ErIe and Miss Erie-" "Are both quite well, thanks," interrupted Madelon, tapping her foot with ill-restrained impatience to be gone. "Ermine, we had bet- ter not detain Mr. Sexton any longer." "Detain me!" said Mr Saxton, gallantly. "So far from that, if you are going home and will allow me-" "No, thanks," cried Madelon, hastily; "we are not going home-that is, not imme- diately. But no doubt you will find Aunt Victorine and Margaret in, it' you care to in- quire whether or not they are 'used up.'-Er- mine, we shall be late, I am afraid.-Good- morning, Mr. Sexton." Hasty bows on both sides. Mr. Sexton continues his stroll with a faint sensation of having been snubbed, and a decided impres- sion that "that Miss Lautrec" is a very dis- agreeable young person. Ermine is hurried off down the first flight of steps, and then says, indignantly: "Madden, I am ashamed of you! Why' did you treat the poor man so rudely? It is not his fault that-that-" "That he is hateful and tiresome and con- ceited?" said Madden. "No, I suppose not; but it is Margaret's business to bear him, not mine-and I certainly don't mean to do volun- teer work. Jusle Ciel! how heavy on hand she will find him for the rest of her natural life!" "She will neu'er marry him," said Ermine. "I would risk any thing on that" "Indeed!" returned Madelon, saceringly. 11~ "Then I don't mind laying a wager with you. Precious as my necklace is to me, I will put it up against any thing you please, that Mar- garet is engaged to Mr. Sexton within-well, I will give myself a wide margin, and say three days. She may hold out a little while against the powers that be, but her contumacy won't be of long duration." "I don't believe it!" said Ermine, deter- minedly. "You foget-Raymond!" "Raymond!" repeated the other, in aston- ishment. She turned, looked at her compan- ion, and then burst into a, laugh. "I beg your pardon, my dear, but indeed you ought to be put under a glass case and labelled 'In- genui.' If itwere not yourself, I should think you were a most consummate hypocrite, but as it is - why, have you no eyes, no ears, no quickness of perception? Don't you see that Raymond is sick and tired of Margaret, and that he is straining every nerve to get her mar- ried and out of his way?" "Out of his way! how is she in his way?" "Ermine, don't try my credulity too far," said Madelon, with her cynical smile - the smile which had come from overmuch study of ]3alzac and George Sand, coupled with a natural ability to catch the undercurrent of life-" you are a woman, not .a child. You must see and linow that Raymond means to marry you." Surge went a tide of carnation over Er- mine's clear, white skin-flash came a gleam of something like fire into her soft, dark eyes. "I am a woman," she said; "not a child to be bartered away, or given away, Madelon. Raymond is not such a fool as to 'mean' to marry a woman who would never be induced to marry him." "I am not much of a phrenologist," said Madelon, carelessly, "but it seems to me that I have only to look at Raymond's 'head or face, or whatever it is that kind of people profess to judge by, to see that he never made a plan yet-and gave it up." "Then he had better not make any plan with regard to me," saidErmine, with decisive hauteu,-. Mademoiselle Lautrec shrugged her shapely shoulders once more. "I sometimes think Raymond has taken for his own the motto of Philip of Spain- 'Time and I against any 'two,'" she said. 9 10 EBB--TIDE. "He will be a great man some of these dayw -if he doesn't overreach himself or die be- forehand. Those are the two lions in the paths. of most clever men. If I were in your place, Ermine, I think I should take him. There are possibilities of something more than ordinary in him; and that is more than can be said of the majority of men." "Then why don't you take him yourself? " said Ermine, magnanimously. "I! "-lifting the white eyelids from her magnificent eyes. "What are you thinking of? It is very rn-bred to make personal application. of one's remarks. I am Madelon Lautrec,, with my face for ~ny fortune; and unfortu.. lately that species of capital is not recognized on 'Change. You are Mademoiselle St. Amand,, the West-Indian heiress, with- 'A very fine fortune-when told In centlines "'- interrupted Ermine, smiling. "Ne'eer mind, Madelon-little or great, in a few months I shall be the legal possessor of it. I can go and live with my dear guardian, in my dear Martinique!" "An entrancing prospect, truly! " said Madelon, dryly. "I wonder how long your en- thusiasm for your dear Martinique will last. after you get there? Here we are, however- and now I must tell Aunt 'Vietorine about Mr. Sexton, so that she can keep Margaret at. home." "Tell Margaret," suggested Ermine," and see what she will do." "Margaret has more sense than you give. her credit for," said Madelon, coolly. "If I did tell her, I think she would-stay." They had by this time reached one of the prettiest and most attractive of those charming Battery villas-for villas they certainly are in appearance, whether defined thus or not-. which are the admiration of every stranger visiting Charleston. The lives of those who inhabit them must certainly have fallen in. pleasant places, we think, as we sit and gaze at them from the flickering shade that falls athwart some tempting bench. But, after ally, is it not rather deceptive work, this judging the. lives of people by the outside of' their habita- tions? Few dwellings could have looked more. airy, mOre elegant, more redolent of all things essential to happiness, than the stately house of many galleries, balconies, and bay-windows, before which the cousins paused; and yet-- but it is scarcely worth while to tell a story by '~t' page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 A -CHARMING EBB-TIDE. insinuation or anticipation. Let us in, and see for ourselves. --4-- CHAPTER II. A CILLRMING CILtTELAINE. MADELON walked directly into the house, but Ermine paused a minute before entering, and gazed back wistfully at the shining waters from the side of which she had come. The windows of the house di& not overlook the harbor, but fronted instead on that lovely Battery square which was now wearing its brightest livery of emerald-green, the shell road gleaming white through intervening ~er- dure, the blue waters of the Ashley beyond, and the wooded shores of James Island robed in tender, mist-like haze. It was a day of se- rene and heavenly calm-a day of golden splendor, "astray from paradise "-a day on which it seemed as if happiness must descend from that distant sapphire sky, like God's own angel, sent to bless all eager, yearning human hearts. "If he would only come, it would all be so perfect l"the girl said half aloud. And by" all" she did not mean any human influences, but only this fair, bright Nature, who wore her royal beauty like a smiling bride-Nature, whose joyous bidding s/ic felt in every fibre, hut whom she could not heed, with whom she could not rejoice, while her perverse, longing heart flew like a bird far away over the waters. Something-a shade, as it were-came to her face, as she turned and followed Made- ion across a frescoed, marble-paved hall into a sitting-room which was simply a model of what a sitting-room should be-not very sumptuous, but luxurious and charming in the extreme. At one end a bay-window overlooked the street; just opposite the door two large French windows opened on a' gallery, which, in turn, "gave" 6n a flower-garden. The fragrance of roses and jasmine came in through the 'open w and filled the bowery room Like sweet thoughts in a dream," while the garden itself seemed a wilderness of bloom, a paradise of roses, clustering, hanging, twining everywhere, of graceful arches and trellises draped with vines, of trees with deep- green, glossy leaves, and white flowering shrubs. In furniture the apartment was some- what nondescript. There was a piano in one corner, a carved bookcase in another, a broad, low, easy couch in a third, lounging-chairs in- numerable, pictures, brackets, vases full of cut flowers, and a centre-table covered with books, work, periodicals, and newspapers. Across the hail was a suite of apartments said to be the most perfect in Charleston-rooms full of white statues, rare pictures, and gleaming mir- rors; but all kabitu~s of the house preferred this pretty boudoir with-its charming mixture of comfort and refinement, and regarded it as a special compliment to be admitted here. One thing about the room struck the most inatten- tive observer in marked degree: it was impos- sible to enter it without perceiving at a glance that it was accustomed to enshrine the pres- ence of some woman more than ordinarily gifted with the refinement and grace which, above all else, make a woman lovely in the sight of man. And such a woman was standing in one of the French windows, giving some directions to the gardener about the training of a vine, when Madelon entered. A very fine and gracious lady. That was your first impression of Mrs. Erie, and, if you saw her twenty times a day, you were never tempted to alter that opinion. Whether or not she were beautiful, you did not pause to inquire; who ever does, when that nameless charm of manner, that unconscious magnetism of glance, which only a few rare women possess, is brought to bear on the startled yet acquiescent senses? But, if once forced to cold-blooded scrutiny, you found that Mrs. Erie stood the test of criticism as well as she stood the test of every thing else. Not strictly beautiful, perhaps-.--how few are I-but handsome, distinguished, and most unexcep- tionably thorough-bred in appearance-a wom- an who looked as if only the bluest of "blue blood" could possibly flow in her delicate azure veins. To describe her in detail would be impossible-for she was prei~minently a woman who lost by being "picked to pieces" -but, taken as a whole, she was thoroughly harmonious, thoroughly graceful, and thor- oughly fascinating to women as well as men.~ She finished her directions before she looked round-giving them in a clear, pure voice, full of that indescribable modulation of refinement which is the despair of those who do' not catch it in early childhood-then turned and advanced into the room as Made. ion was saying- "I wish I was as sure of a great many things 'I should like to know as that he wrn ring the door-bell the moment the clock strikes the last stroke of twelve." "He will not find me at home, then," re- sponded a petulant voice from the cushions of the couch, where an amber-haired, white-robed divinity reclined, in an attif'ude that might have served for the "Persia~ girl" whom Mr. Tennyson saw in his excursion up the Tigris, to "Bagdad's shrines of fretted gold." This was "the beautiful Miss Erie "-a radiant bird-of-paradise, over whom men raved, and of whom women steered clear, conscious that her brilliant fairness simply "killed" all lesser charms. Even stately, handsome Made- ion looked almost plain beside her, perfect as she was in every outline of feature, and daz- zling in all the bewildering tints that make blond beauty so captivating to the eye. plc had likened Margaret Erie to every goddess of antiquity and every poetical saint in the calendar, until Margaret, well aware of this fact, esteemed it a point of conscience to pose accordingly. It was incumbent upon her never to be out of drawing, as artists say, to be always ready as an inspiration for a poet, or a study for a painter; so, from sheer force of habit, she sank into a graceful attitude if nobody more important than a canary was by; and even arranged herself with due regard to picturesque effect when she retired to her chamber to sleep. If Miss Erie's undeniable beauty was, in consequence, a little spoiled by self-consciousness, it was scarcely wonderful. A young lady cannot conveniently be "Idalian Aphrodite," Calypso, Hebe, St. Cecilia, all the Graces, the whole family of the Muses, and herself~ into the bargain. Somebody must necessarily suffer in the matter; and that somebody is generally herself. At present Miss Erie was enthroned like an odaliek, amid cushions, the soft-blue tint of which en- hanced the transparent fairness of her com- plexion, showed to advantage the pure, paly- gold of her hair, and made an efl'eetive back- ground for her clear Greek profile-a fair, languid enchantress, whose manifest delight it was to ensnare men's souls in, the meshes of her glittering tresses, and drown them in the depths of her violet eyes-but an enchantress most potent when she was silent, least likely to c~aarm when she spoke. After all, Nature is less capricious in the distribution of her gifts than we are sometimes tempted to ima- CHATELAINE. 13 gine. The most fascinating women are not gen- erally the most beautiful, and rarely indeed are the most bea~tWul the most fi~scinating It is not so much a heart as a - d that dolls gen. emily lack, not so m~e power to attract as the power to reta~$; for, regular features and "sun-kissed" hair are pretty enough in the abstract, but not always charming in the concrete. "Who will not find you at home?" asked Mrs. Brie, turning round. Then, as Margaret kept silence, "Of whom are you speaking, Madelon ?" "Of Mr. Sexton," answered Madelon. "We met him on tjie Battery, and I was just telling Margaret teat he means to call, and 'hopes to find Miss Erie at home.'" will be disappointed, then," said Miss must go out to do some shopping. I thought you were never coming, MadelonY "Your admirer detained me, my dear," said Madelon. "Perhaps you bad better think twice about going out, for he has plainly screwed his courage to the sticking-point, and means to take advantage of it before it oozes out at his fingers, like that of Bob Acres. I would not for the world hurt your feelings, but his appearance strongly reminded me of that charming old ballad about 'Afrog he would a wooing go, Ileigh-ho, says Rowley! Whether his mother would let him or no, Heigh-ho, says Rowley!' "What was the fate of the frog, by-the-by? I don't remember." "Pretty much what will be the fate of Mr. Sexton, if he chooses to make a fool of him- self, I presume," retorted Margaret, irefully; "for it is provoking to have one's admirers de. predated, even if one does not mean to marry them." "Madelon, flippancy is a very undesirable accomplishment for a young lady," said- Mrs. Erie's clear voice, a little coldly. "Mr. Sax- ton is a very pleasant gentleman, and if he han said that he means to call, I hope, my dear" (this to Margaret), "that you will defer your shopping, and be at home to receive him." A dark cloud of sullen obstinacy came over the lovely blond face, as we may see it come over many faces of just that "angelic" type. Perhaps it is this fact which makes one secret.. ly incredulous concerning the prevailing fair.- ness of the celestial hosts. At all events, let us hope that, when we get to heaven, we shall page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] 14 EBB-TIDE. A CHARMING CIL&TELAINE. 15 see some faces as dark, and bright, and frank, as we have seen on earth, and we can ask no more, either for them or for ourselves. "I believe I should prefer to do my shop- ping, thank you, mamma," said Miss Erie, un. gratefully. "If you think Mr. Sexton so pleasant, you know you can receive him your- self." "I shall certainly receive him myself," answered Mrs. Erie, quietly. "You know me well enough to be sure that I am never guilty of any thing so improper, or in such atrocious style, as to allow you to receive alone a man who has never declared himself. Indeed, I' 'shall make it a point that Madelon and Ermine 'see him also." "I think, ma tante, you can afford to let me 9ff duty," said Madelon, with her mocking smile. "Mr. Sexton and I have already exchanged compliments, and I told him-a shocking story, by-the-way-that I was not coming home. He will not expect to be glad. dened by my presence, I assure you." "Ermine, then. But where is she? Did you not request her to come home?" "Mere I am, mamma," said Ermine, en- tering at the moment. Do you want me?" "Yes, I want you-or, rather, I don't want you to stand on the Battery and tan your complexion, or take a sunstroke," said Mrs. Eric. "Your face is quite flushed now-you, who never have a color I Ermine, this must really stop." "What must really stop, mamma?" asked Ermine, sitting down with a sigh. "It is de- lightful out on the Battery; such a fresh breeze blowing that it is much cooler than in here; and as my for taking a sunstroke, I am about as likely to take the plague. I was only looking for-for Alan's ship." "So I supposed, and therefore I sent for you. You know my wishes on that subject, Ermine; andt yet you openly and perversely disregard them. What am Ito think of such conduct?" "Indeed, I don't know, mamma," said Er- mine; and the words, which might have been impertinent, were in truth only weary. Evi- dently much had been said on the subject-so much that, to one at least, it had become en- tirely exhausted and entirely distasteful. The stately, gracious lady flushed, and ~gave her daughter a glance in which it might have proved hard to tell whether impatience .or contempt was most strikingly apparent. "Perhaps you are not aware that your habits are already the subject of much re- mark," she said. "You forget that you are well known, and that it is impossible to stand on tha Battery with an opera.glass at your eyes for several hours every day without at- tracting attention. Only last night Mrs. Law- son had the impertinence to ask me if you were not engaged to that disrep-that unfor- tunate young man who is the captain of a trading-vessel." "Somebody asked me thc same thing," cried Margaret. "I-I never was more angry in my life! I think Ermine might remember that she compromises all the rest of the family by her conduct." "She compromises herself much more se- riously than any one else," said Mrs. Erie's quiet, incisive voice. "Such a damaging re- port once circulated is never forgotten; and there is no telling how ch it may affect a girl's establishment in ii ." Ermine is mute-suddenly and strangely mute. A flush, deeper than that which her mother had remarked a moment before, dyes her clear, white skin, while the downcast lids veil effectually the averted eyes. As she sits by the table, tracing with one dainty boot an arabesque pattern on a Persian rug under her feet, she is a picture of obstinate defiance, they all think. "There is Alice Stapleton," said Margaret, who often spoke when it would have been wiser to keep silence, and whose illustrations were not always strikingly in point," who ever forgets that she was about to elope with a dancing-master when she was at school? Of course she is very nice now, but I don't be- lieve anybody worth speaking of will ever marry her." "And do you call Alice Stapleton's dis- graceful affair a parallel to my affection for Alan-Alan, whom I love better than any- body in the world except my dear guar- dian?" asked Ermine, lifting her eyes all ablaze with indignation, and fixing them on the speaker. "For that matter, I call a dancing-master infinitely superior to a sea-captain any time,~~ retorted Margaret, whose forte was any thing in the world but amiability. "Gentlemen are dancing-masters sometimes-at least one reads of such things." "And are gentlemen never sea~captains?~~ demanded Ermine, with ominous calm. "I shall be very much obliged to you for a defi~ nite answer to that question." Before Margaret could comply with this moderate request, Mrs. Erie interposed. "I am ashamed of you both,~~ she said. "Is this a mode for two well-bred people to discuss any subject? Ermine, it is useless to attempt reasonable argument with you, I per- ceive; but lam your mother, even if I am not your guardian, and t request" (a strong accent here) "that you will refrain from looking for Alan's ship, where all Charleston can see and comment on your folly." "It is folly, no doubt, mamma, for it does not bring him any sooner-I can stay at home," Ermine answered, quietly. This unusual submission took her audience quite by surprise. Even Madelon looked at her for a moment somewhat astonished, and a little suspicious. What did it mean? Usually she fought d l'outrance over any point where "Alan" was even distantly concerned; and now to give up this indulgence was singularly without precedent, to say the least. For a fortnight past, her feverish anxiety concerning his coming had grown day by day, and at all hours she and her opera-glass had haunted the Battery, until almost any mother in Charleston would have esteemed Mrs. Erie amply justified in decidedly "putting a stop to it," as Mrs. Erie at last resolved to do. She had resolved it, however, with sundry misgiv- ings concerning the probable consequences of rebellion; and this unconditional surrender was therefore most unexpectedly gratifying. "Now, that is sensible-a very rare thing with you," she said, approvingly. "I cannot understand this sentimental fancy about Alan. That seems to be the weakest point of your character, Ermine. I wonder it never strikes you what he may think of it." "What may he think of it?" asked Er- mine, with level, half-defiant eyes. Mrs. ErIe returned the gaze quietly, but, when she spoke, every word dropped with mercilessly cool decision on the three pairs of listening ears: "He may think he has made a conquest of a foolish girl, who has not sufficient self-re- spect to conceal her folly." "Mamma!'~ It was a choking cry of in- dignation-a cry that absolutely made Mar- garet start among her downy blue cushions-... ~' mamma, how dare you speak so to me?" "Ermine, have you lost'your senses, that you dare ~to speak so to mc 9" asked her mother, sternly. Ermine gave a great gasp, shivered from head to foot, then, locking her hands tightly together, grew suddenly and rigidly calm. "I beg your pardon," she said. "When one is insulted, one does not stop to think who offered the insult. Perhaps that may ex- cuse me. But "-her eyes lightened here- "if you think to estrange me from Alan by such taunts as this, you are mistaken. I love him too dearly, I trust him too entirely, to be- lieve that he would ever do me such injustice as to think any-any thing like that! .ll~ knows how I love hi~n-he and God-for any one else, it does not matter. I am used to misconception - especially from you -for I have never had any thing else as long as I can remember." "And I am used to that charge," said Mrs. Erie, with dignity. "Fortunately, my own conscience acquits me of it; and any one, who has ever known any thing of your rash and headstrong nature, will acquit me also," "Then let me go to my guardian-my dear guardian," said Ermine, quivering. "He has some love for me, some patience with me." "If I allowed you to go to that foolish old man, I don't know what point your indiscre- tion would reach," said Mrs. Erie, coldly. "As it is, your recklessness and insubordination make the principal trouble of my life." "I am sorry for it," said Ermine; "but perhafs-who knows ?-it may not be for long. I am sure, for your sake, I hope it may end very soon,~~ She spoke the last words half dreamily; then took her hat from the table where she had laid it, and walked out of the room, across the hail, and up the broad, easy staircase. There was silence in the bowery-room until the last echo of her footsteps died away. Then Mrs. Erie said: "Nobody who has not suffered in the same manner could credit the anxiety which Ermine has been to me from her childhood. She cer- tainly has the most unfortunately tenacious nature I have ever known. To think that, af- ter all these years, she should still cling to that disagreeable guardian of hers, and this disreputable nephew of my husband's, who was once kind to her in a careless, boyish fashion ~" "She would undergo torture and death for either of them," said Madelon, "Isn't it page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 EBB-TIDE. MADELON GIVES ADVICE. remarkable? One would think that dresses, and admirers, and all that sort of thing, would not leave her any spare time or spare thought to waste on such subjects. Do you know," pursued the young lady, "I don't think Ermine is exactly like other people, Aunt Victorine? She is so very queer-queerer, by far, than you knpw-that she always seems to me like one of the people who are said to be marked out for uncommon uses-tragedy, passion, de- spair, and all that sort of thing." "I beg you won't put any such romantic nonsense into her head," said Mrs. ErIe, coldly. "Sh4~ly lacks common-sense now." "Iput romantic nonsense into anybody's head?" said Madelon. "That would be a saul among the prophets indeed! But I think you will find an abundance of it in Er- mine's brain without any assistance from me." "She told me yesterday that as soon as she is of age she means to go to Germany and study art," said Margaret, in exactly the same tone she might have employed to announce an intention to go to the penitentiary and break stones. "She is hopelessly absurd," said Mrs. Erle, with a sigh, "and I really think her guardian is accountable for a great deal of it." "As for her painting," said Madelon, who seemed rather inclined to take the part of dev- il's advocate, "I don't see that it does much harm to any thing except her dresses. I sup- pose you know that she has ruined her prettyy blue organdie with paint-stains, by-the-way?" "11cr affection for her guardian is the most incomprehensible thing to me," said Mrs. Erle, whose mind naturally ran on the griev- ance which was most a grievance to her. "lie is really the most disa~greeable old man I ever knew. I often wonder what induced my hus- band to choose such a person-but the ways of husbands are incomprehensible. If he meant to leave me a posthumous annoyance, he could not have done so more completely; for the trouble Colonel Vivicux has caused me about Ermine's fortune and Ermine's self is almost beyond belief." "What a charming thing it is, to be sure, when one has no fortune to necessitate a guar- dian, and prove a source of trouble to one's friends!" said Madelon. "For these and all other mercies, let us thank Providence !- Come, Margaret-if you mean to lie there all day, Imust go down-street." "Margaret is going to stay at home," said Mrs. ErIe. "I specially request it." "Indeed, mamma, I am not," said Marga. ret. "I-I don't care a straw about seeing Mr. Sexton." "But you do care about showing your pretty face on King Street, don't you?" said Madelon, laughing. "One admirer at home is certainly not to be compared to fifty abroad." "Madelon, I wish you would let me alone!" cried Margaret, wrathfully. "I kave to go and see the dress-maker about my green silk; you know I can't trust you to do it" "Quite right, too, my dear, for I might order a flounce additional, or a ruffle less, which would break your heart," said Madelon. "I shall order the carriage, and drive with you to see about the dress, after Mr. Sexton's call," said Mrs. Erie, who knew that, if it came to the point of the green silk, concession was absolutely necessary. "That will be better than walking in the hot sun. We will see, too, about the point-lace cape you have set your heart on, but "-as Margaret's turquoise eyes began to gleam with pleasure-" I must really insist on your changing that wrapper for a dress in which you can properly receive Mr. Sexton." After a few remonstrances, Margaret yield- ed with a very bad grace, and retired to ef- fect the desired change of toilet. Then Mrs. Erle leaned back and sighed wearily. "What a happy day it will be to me when that girl is safely married!" she said. "Noth- ing short of the point-lace bribe would have induced her to see this man; and yet-" She broke off abruptly here. "Madelon, if you are going down-street, I wish you would take Louise with you, and get her that pair of blue- kid gaiters which she is determined to have. I am tired of hearing her fret for them." "I saw Nathalle with Louise and Regy on the Battery," said Madelon. "If I meet them, I will take la petite with me. .Pauvre tanle," added the girl, half compassionately, half mockingly; "even Louise, at the mature age of nine, begins to worry you. I really believe I am the only consolation you have!" "You certainly give me the least trouble of any," said Mrs. ErIe, kissing the ripe, scar. let lips that bent over her. Yet, after Madelon left the room, and the hall-door closed on her, the speaker shook her head. "The time for it has not come quite yet," she said, addressing a royal lily placed in a taIl, slender vase before her; but I should not be surprised if the trouble she gave in the end was the worst trouble of all." Just then a peal of the door-bell echoed through the house, and the lady made haste to smooth her face in readiness for the visitor whom it heralded. "Show Mr. Sexton in, John," she said, as a servant entered with a card, "and 'not at home' to any one else while he is here." After all, is it worth while to envy the charming cladtelaine her beautiful house- "With its porcelain and pIvhire~, and flower,," or would not "a dinner of herbs," where love abounded, and scheming was unknown, be rather preferable? -4-- CHAPTER IlL HADELON GIVES ADVICE. THE soft, fragrant May dusk has fallen over the blooming land and the shining waters, the divine glory of the western sky has faded away, and only a faint glow lingers over the broad rivers, the calm harbor, the glittering spires of the city, and the great, distant, placid ocean. The afternoon throng, which makes the Battery for eight months in the year one of the most charming pleasure- resorts in the country, has gradually dispersed and gone its way, to gather round countless tin-tables, and discuss all the choice bits of news, social and political, which "fly about in the sunshine like gay little motes," at .any such popular and universal lounging-place-a place where one can see the whole beau. monocle on dress-parade, for the mere trouble of sauntering to and fro in the bright sun- shine, with the water sending soft tones of music into one's ear, the fresh sea-breeze bringing fresh color into one's face, the lovely panorama of sea and shore spread before one's eyes-the purple islands, the distant forts, the broad expanse of sparkling water, the whole perfect picture, in front of which, "-as though sprung from the waves she has cleft, Grim Sumter frowns out o'er the sea." It was at just that witching hour of the twenty-four when a mantle of twilight, edged with the silvery lustre of a new moon and 2 countless glittering stars, falls over the fair scene, that Madelon Lautrec, parting with one or two gay companions at the door of her aunt's house, entered and ran through the brilliantly-lighted hall straight up-stairs. She did not pause at the door of her own chamber, but passed on and knocked at that of Ermine, which adjoined it. "Come in," said a clear voice; and, when the door opened, a rush of light came out on the dark corridor, disclosing a room like a sea- cave, all green and white, with long, swinging mirrors, and a dainty, spotless, canopied bed. Before one of these mirrors Ermine stood, putting the finishing touch to her toilet, in the shape of a lovely, half-blown rose, which nestled among its rich green leaves against the glossy plaits of her dark hair. "You have come for Lena, haven't you?" she said, turning round with a smile, as her cousin entered. "You ought to have been five minutes earlier-Margaret has just sent to ask for her, and, as I had finished dressing, I let her go." "Margaret is unconscionably selfish," said Madelon, in a pet. "Why cannot she be con- tent with her own maid? If I had a maid, I am surel should teach her to do herwork, and not have to beg the loan of somebody else's all the time. Au diabte I Don't look so shocked, my dear; it isn't half as bad as t~ say, 'Go to the devil!' in English-and quite as gratifying to the feelings. I hope Lena will do her hair execrably-that would. be only poetical justice! But, meanwhile, who is to do mine?" "For the concert, do you mean?" "Yes, of course for the concert. Do you know, by-the-way, that Aunt Victorine has so far departed from her usual rule, that I am to be allowed to go with Major Hastings?" "Madden! Impossible!" "Afafoi, but it is possible! You can't be more surprised than I was-for five minutes. Major Hastings being a new acquaintance, of course did not know Aunt Victorine's inflexi- ble chaperon rule, so he asked me this after- noon if I would not allow him the honor of escorting me; and, more for amusement than any thing else, I referred the matter to Ma- dame ma tante, and she said-yes. For five minutes, as I remarked before, you could have knocked me down with a feather." "And then?" "Hum! 'Well, then I remembered one or I EBB-TIDE. 16 page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 EBB-TIDE. MADELON GIVES ADVICE. 19 two things, and my surprise abated-very quickly and very decidedly." "But what were the little things?" cried Ermine, impatiently. "Mamma, who is al- ways so very particular, so very Frenok in her ideas, who never lets us go with anybody but Raymond i-what is the meaning of it, Made- Ion?" "Set your wits to work and guess, my dear." "Is Major Hastings rich, and does she mean you to make a marine de convenanee, after the model of-well, no matter who?" "I have not the faintest idea whether he is next door to a beggar, or a millionaire; but ma taste is no vulgar match-maker. If he were a Roths4hild, she would not break her rules without better reason for it than that. Guess again, Ermine." "I-I can't. Tell me." "Will you do my hair for me, if I tell you?" "Yes," cried Ermine, with reckless im- patience. "Of course I will-only you must sit down at once, for it is getting late, and you know Raymond is always dreadfully impa- tient." "Let him learn to wait, then-somebody says that is Nature's noblest effort, and it is certainly the on~ that would do Raymond most good. Here I am, however-all ready," She took off her hat, shook out her hair.- of which she had a magnificent suit, barring thatit was not remarkably silky in texture- and sat down in a low chair before the toilet- table and the large mirror which reflected the room with its hangings of pale sea-green, and made a picture of the two girls in all the win- ning grace of their youth and beauty. "Now," said Ermine, as she gathered up the heavy locks in both hands, and began with deft fingers to 'do the work of the maid who was just then arranging Miss Erleis golden tresses, while another maki stood by and looked admiringly on-"now you' are in my power-tell me at once, or I shall have no mercy on you." "You are horribly stupid to need to be told," said Madelon, with complimentary Can- dor. "Don't you see that, as usual, the Al. pha and Omega of the whole thing is Ray. mond?" "I am stupid, I suppose," said Ermine, humbly; "but I don't see it at all. What ha~ Raymond to do with Major Hastings?" "Bah ii' It was the most significant interjection in the world. "Ermine, I am as~med of you I Listen, then-and be en- lig~itened. Don't you know that Margaret is to be sent to the concert with Mr. Sexton as a convenient mode of informing the world in general that the engagement is an accom- plished fact, and of bringing Margaret to terms through the medium of public opin- ion?" "Yes, I know." "Then, don't you see-Take care! you are braiding my hair unevenly. Perhaps I had better defer this interesting conversation until you have finished." "No, no-pray go on. I will be more carefuL" "Well, then, as I was remarking, don't you see that it is of course highly desirable that such a good opportunity should not be lost for throwing you and Raymond together? -Good Heavens! Ermine, don't pull my hair so dreadfully! My head is not made of India. -rubber or wood, and I really can't stand it." "I beg your pardon-I did not mean- Madden, if I thought you were right, I would not go to the concert for any consideration." "Nonsense 1" said Madden, who, seeing her cousin's excitement, began to be appre. hensive about the effect on her coi~?'ure. "Nonsense, Ermine - don't we always go with Raymond? Nobody is likely to think of you what they will be certain to think of Margaret and Mr. Sexton. It is simply that Aunt Victorine likes to 'give him an oppor- tunity to glide into the lover, which would b~ rather difficult if I played the agreeable part of Mademoiselle Do Trop." "He would not dare," said Ermine, indig- nantly. "He knows that I know how long he has been in love with Margaret." "In love with Margaret!" repeated Made. lon, scornfully. "My dear, Raymond is in love with nobody but himself and his own in- terest. Aunt Victorine would not thank me for saying so, but it is a fact. Of course, we all know that Margaret is in love with kim; but I don't believe he has been any thing but tired of her this long while." "Madelon, you see so much you frighten me! How do you find -all this out?" "Simply by using the few wits which Na- tnt-c gave me to atone for her shabby conduct in other respects. Ermine "-the girl's light tone suddenly changed into so much of grave earnestness, that Ermine stopped short and stood in a tragic-muse attitude, armed and equipped with an ivory-backed brush-" why don't you make up your mind to marry Ray. mond? You will have to do it sooner or later, and why not at once?" "Madden, what do you mean?" "I think it is very evident what I mean," said Madelon, pushing back the masses of hair which overhung her face, and looking up at her cousin in the mirror, with eyes like those of a sibyl. "Aunt Victorine and Mr. Erle have made up their minds that you are to marry Raymond- Raymond himself has made up his mind to the same thing; so I don't see that there is much for you to do but submit." "You know me no better than they do, Madden, if you think so." "I know you a great deal better, my dear," said Madelon, quietly, "and that is the only reason I have taken the trouble to speak to you. I know that you will make a death-fight, but I know, also, that in the end you will be obliged to succumb." "Why?" "Shall Itch you why?" "Yes, tell me-I should like to know what reason you could possibly have for such an "My reason is simply this: I am sure that the possession of your fortune is a matter of financial life and death to ,the Eries. It is their last card; and you can judge for your- self whether they are likely to allow your fancy to stand in the way of their playing it." "Do you mean that Mr. Erie is threatened with danger or embarrassment in his busi- ness?" "Hush! for Heaven's sake, speak lower! I mean that I would be willing to stake my existence that he is on thee brink of absolute failure. Don't ask mo how I know it. You could not understand if I were to tell you, for I have ways and means of information which would seem to you trifling and unimportant. Only be sure it is a fact. Ermine, you were an heiress 'when your father died: ever since then your fortune has been in the. hands of the best business man in Martinique, so you can imagine whether or not it is worth Mr. Erie's while to hazard a great deal for it now." "If I were of age I would give it to him," said Ermine, passionately; "but I will never, never marry Raymond." "And yet, you absurd child, that is the only way in wldch you can give it to him. What would your husband, when you marry, say to your having quixotically bestowed your fortune on your step-father? What would the world say of Mr. Erie if he accepted it? Where is the hardship of marrying Raymond, after all?" the girl went on, with her cold, 'trenchant cynicism. "Isn't he handsome ?- isn't he clever ?-isn't he sure to surround you with comfort a~d luxury all your life? M~rn Dien! Think of the men some women are obliged to marr~y-think of Mr. Sexton, for example!" "But why should I think of them? No- body can oblige me to marry Raymond." "Nobody can shut you up on bread-and. water, or use any romantic mode of compul- sion, I grant you; but other means are some- times quite as effective. Sooner or later, you will have to do it. Therefore, why not do it at once?" Ermine drew herself up haughtily. Just then she looked like a young pi-incess. "You seem to think I am a child, Made- ion, to be frightened by vague threats," she said. "I will not have to do it sooner or later. Nothing shall ever make me marry him. If mamma requested you to speak to me, you can tell her that." "Aunt Victorine has never mentioned the subject to me," answered Madelon. "I spoke of my own accord, because I was fool- ish enough to wish to do you a service. You have always been kind to me, and, if I have a soft spot in my heart for anybody-a fact, by- the-way, which I sometimes doubt-it is for you, Ermine. However, it is all very useless, I perceive; and my hair is being sadly neg. elected. It must be late. I stayed out longer than I meant to do, but the Battery was charming this afternoon. What were you doing with yourself?" "I was painting," said Ermine, with some. thing-a soft sort of mystical 'light-in her eyes. "Colors are like opium to me-I for. get every thing disagreeable or painful when I am with them. Sometimes I think I am color- mad. Every thing in the world-no matter how purely abstract-has a tint to me. I never hear a strain of music that it does not suggest a color or a shade of color. This afternoon I have been working at my sea: ~it page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 EBB-TIDE. MADELON GIVES ADVICE. 21 piece with such energy that it is almost fin- ished. Madelon, shall I show it to you?" "It is not much in my line," said Made- ion; "but still-if it will not inconvenience you-" "It is just here," said Ermine. She laid down the brush, which Madelon regretfully took up and began using, and ~passed into a small room adjoining her cham- ber-originally a dressing.room, at present a studio. From this she reappeared, after a enoment, bearing a small canvas-in dimen- aiim not more than twenty-four by eighteen inches-which she held in her white, out. stretched arms before Madelon. The bright lamplight quivered softly on the clear, transparent tints-tints so exquisite that only an artist's soul could have felt them -and, turning, Madden took in at a glance the design of the picture. The sea-no shore, no rocks, no suggestion of distant land-but suck a sea that it was simply a marvel how a tyro's hand could have painted its divine, per- fect, eternal, yet ever-changing loveliness I A great, blue, waveless southern ocean, spread out in lustrous calm beneath a sky like a dream of heaven - stretching away, as it seemed, to iuflnite distance, and melting at the horizon into the translucent sapphire of the great vault of ether, until it was impossi- ble to tell where the water ended or the sky began. And in all the wide world of space, one object alone visible-a single, shattered spar, to which was lashed the slender figure of .a woman with white, motionless face, upturned toward that distant, serene heaven whence comet sometimes hope, and sometimes, again, despair. The sea had done its work. No gleam of life would ever again come to those sculptured features, nor would any living hands ever lay that fair form away, into the kind embrace of Mother Earth. What the possessed, the sea would keep, and the pla6id water seemed idly toying with the rounded limbs and floating hair, as if exulting in its power, and gilding, with a bright, treacherous smile, the destruction which it had worked. With all its faults--and faults, of course, were many-there was a fascination about the pict- ure which must have arrested any eye, and held, for a time at least, any attention spell- bound. A stranger could scarcely have be. lieved that this beautiful conception was from the hand of a girl of twenty, whose art-train- ing had been of that entirely amateur kind which is bestowed upon young ladies wh& have a weakness for spoiling canvas and wast- ing paint. There was none of that weak pret- tiness which usually damns even the best of such efforts; the very faults of the piece were faults of power, and there was a dramatic in- tensity about the whole scene which proved- more conclusively even than the wonderful coloring-the God-given power of the born artist. Such as it was, it startled even Madelon into forgetfulness of her yet undressed hair and probably waiting escort. "Ermine," she cried, "it is wonderful 1-it is beautiful! It is the best thing by far you ever did! I have no fancy for such work, you know, but, if it strikes me, it must be worth something!" Then, after a moment's pause, "Oh, why. did not God give me such a talent ?~ It might have saved me, perhaps-it might have made something of me! But you-what need have you to labor like this?" "You might as well ask me what need I have to breathe," said Ermine, placing the canvas on a chair, and kneeling before it like a reverential worshipper at a shrine. "I love it 1-I love it! I ask for nothing, hope for nothing, desire nothing, when I am at my paints. 0 Madelon, I would give every thing in this world-except my guardian and Alan -to be an artist." "And can't you be one? You are rich enough to do any thing you please, I am sure." "But I want to give my life to it-to study, to work, not to be merely an eccentric young lady who dabbles in oils when she ha~ no engagement to ride, or drive, or walk, or talk. I want to go to one of those delightful art-schools, to learn to paint as well as woman can learn, and then to live in Rome, in some pleasant studio with plenty of pictures, and only a crust of bread, perhaps-but I should eat it with such a light heart." "Vraimentl how easy it is to be romantic when one is rich!" said Madden, in a tone of overwhelming scorn. Yet it was a subject more fit for sadnesn than for ecorn-tha fair young creature, en- dowed with. all earth's brightest gifts, longing to shake them off and give heart and soul to the service of that divine Beauty which is known to us through Art. Ah me! is it not ever so? Was any existence ever so bright. that discontent had no place in it? Was any- human soul ever without these strange long- ings for another life than that which God has given? Was any heart ever so happy that it has not beat against its cage, yearning for bet- ter wings and wider flight? Was any glance ever so sunny' that it did not turn from the brightness around it, to gaze wistfully toward some distant spot of happier light? Even if such natures were, who could envy them? Is it' not better to dash hopelessly against the bars, than to sink down on the floor of some dreary prison and believe that its walls bound the world? "But my hair," said Madelon, coming back to present reality. "Are you, or are you not, going to finish it, Ermine?" "Of course I am," said Ermine, rising to her feet. But at this moment apleasant.faced, bright- eyed maid entered the room, whom Madelon greeted with enthusiasm. "Thanks to kind Fate, here comes Lena!" she said. "Now, perhaps, I may hope to go to the concert to-night. Ermine, pray don't let me detain you any longer.-lIas Margaret gone down, Lena?" "Just this minute, Miss Madelon?' "I suppose she looks as pretty as ever?" "Oh, yes'm, she looks very pretty, but" (a slight, insignificant hesitation here) "she was mighty hard to suit to-night. I'd have been here before, Miss Madelon, but for that." "Hum!" said Madelon, grimly, "I can imagine it. Being an angel to one's lover and an angel to one's maid are quite different things. Come, though, Lena, and make up for lost time now." The maid fell skilfully to work on the rich masses of hair, and-after tenderly conveying her painting back to its easel-Ermine left the room. As she descended the staircase, a latch-key rattled in the front-door, and, as her foot was on the last step, a gentleman entered the hall, whom she met under the chandelier, and with whom she exchanged a greeting. "Why, good-evening, papa! I thought I was late, but it seems I must be early, since you have just come in." "Good-evening, petite," said "papa," with a smile. "Yen are right in your thoughts. It is late-that is, late for me. What are yen looking so radiant about? Another party to- night?" "Oh, no-the concert Is it possible you have forgotten the concert?" "Indeed, I an~ sorry to say it is possible," answered he, with a smile. When he smiled, Mr. Erie positively did not look more than twenty-five; and, whether ile smiled, or whether his face was as grave as it could occasionally appear, he was in either ease a remarkably handsome man-a man whose good looks were of that delicate blond order which preserves the appearance of youth longer than any other. As he stood for a mo- ment, speaking to his step-daughter, with the light of the chandelier streaming over his chiselled features, his clear cornplexioh, his rich, fair curls, and violet eyes, he looked as if he might have riyalled the lovely Margaret herself, if Nature had only given him the right to wear soft green silk and delicate point- lace. It was only on scanning the face more closely that you saw a few insignificant lines about the eyes and mouth, which told the story of years and of passions. The man had "lived" every day of his life-with all his beautifulpelit maitre appearance, you were sure of that as soon as you marked the face more closely, and, although Nature or habit had pro- vided him with a very convenient and very be- coming waxen mask, which he wore on most oc- casions, the inner and more passionate self sometimes broke through and left its traces behind it. "I suppose Raymond is here?" Mr. Erle went on. "He left the office very early this af- ternoon, and I have not heard of him since. I should not have been so late, if his absence had not thrown several important letters on my hands. I wonder if he will have the grace to blush at sight of me?" "If so, you will have to teach him how,?' said Ermine, smiling. "I am sure he has not been guilty of such an indiscretion since he was five years old." "He shall answer for himself," said Mr. ErIe, drawing her hand under his arm. Mr. Erie was a model of a step-father, every. body said; so nobody was surprised when he and Ermine entered the Bitting-room inthis con- fidential fashion. The light evening meal was served on a small round table, among lights and flowers, at which Mrs. Erie and Mr. Sexton alone were sitting. ~The latter had evidently just ar- rived, and while he drank acup of scalding cof- fee (which had the becoming effect of throwing him into a profuse perspiration), having de- dined the iced tea which Mrs. Erie herself was sipping, he watched alternately his lemon- I page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 EBB-TIDE. MADELON GIVES ADYIOE. 23 colored gloves-on which some drops of the dark beverage had already fallen-and his lady-love, who sat by one of the open windows overlooking the garden. As a matter of personal comfort, Miss ErIe would have preferred her usual downy nest among the cushions of the couch, but, whatever her shortcomings in other respects, she always knew better than to allow her dress and sur- roundings to "swear at each other," as the French expressively have it. An instinct- the artistic instinct which seems born in some women to whom art itself is a dead letter- always served to guide her right; and, being "cast" for Sabrina to-night, in sea-green silk, and misty lace, and coral ornaments, she kept very clear indeed of the blue background of the couch. Leaning over the back of her chair, and half concealed in the shade of the curtains, was a young man who raised his face as Ermine entered, disclosing the features of the Raymond of whom we have already heard so much, and of whom, fortune favoring, we shall hereafter hear still more. Like every other member of the family, Mr. Raymond Erle was handsome. People often marvelled over the chance which had brought so many remarkably good-looking people together in this household. "We have not a single plain face among us," Madelon often said, exultingly; and it was quite true. Once gathered together, the entire Erle clan and the pretty creole cousins, they formed a rare gal. axy of masculine and feminine beauty, com- prising several widely dissimilar types. Ray. mond, for example, was, in appearance, a law unto himself: that is, he did not resemble any other known ErIe, least of all his uncle. It is tolerably hard to photograph him in the few words which arc all that custom allows to a "description," and yet the attempt must be made; for, to leave his appearance merely to conjecture, would be to do that appearance a grievous injustice. The "medium height" is such a very indefinite phrase, and varies so much according to the physical standard of different localities (a tall man on the seaboard, for instance, being quite a pigmy among stal- wart moum~taineers), that it may be well to state positively that he was in height just five feet nine and a quarter inches. His weight was not so certain, but it could not have been very considerable,' for' his figure was slender even to fragility-thougb not without certain signs of muscular strength which a practiced Ii I~i [$1 :id eye would have recognized at once. There was an elegance about this figure, a je ne asia quoi of well-bred style, which rendered Mr. Raymond ErIe a marked man in any assem- blage, and his picturesque face certainly did him good service in whatever society the ca- price of Fortune saw fit to cast him. A singu- larly handsome face it was-with an olive-pale complexion, faultless features, raven hair, heavy mustache, eyebrows pencilled like a Circassian's, and large, dark eyes, full of vel- vety softness which no one could mistake for gentleness-yet, withal, not in the least a face which could be styled effeminate. On the contrary, men felt instinctively that its owner was not to be trifled with; that this keen, fear- less, determined face indicated a nature ready to meet any emergencies, and not likely to re- gard any obstacles to a desired end. Not always, nor altogether, a pleasant face; but a face with an attraction which it was impos- sible to deny, and sometimes very hard to resist. The two cousins made such a lover-like tableau, ensconced in the shade of the window- curtains, with the fragrant night, all glittering stars and silent flowers, beyond, that Mr. Sax- ton's wandering, jealous glances were scarcely remarkable; yetRaymond's face, when he raised it, wore any thing but a lover-like expression. It would be hard indeed to imagine a more angry countenance. The dark-red flush which suffused the usually pale complexion, the knit- ted brows, and compressed lips, were all such unmistakable signs of deep and bitter vexation that even Ermine, usually well'acquainted with the amenities of the household, wassurprised. At sight of her, however, the lowering features quickly smoothed themselves, and a smiling cavalier came forward. "Don't you think we had better be in haste, Ermine?" he asked, after they had bidden each other good-evening. "It is never good style to be late at a concert; and then I know you would not like to miss the overture to the 'Midsummer-Night's Dream,' which is first on the programme." "Mayn't I cat a wafer and take some tea first?" asked Ermine, looking up at him with eyes in which there was something of the gleaming yet transparent lustre that water shows under a starlit sky. "Surely there is time enough for that?" "Oh, yes) time enough for that; indeed, I will bear you company as far as regards the tea. It is a wonderful stimulant, and may serve to keep me awake." "Awake, when you are going to hear the best orchestra and the finest cantatrice in the country!" said Ermine, with the marvelling scorn which he had meant to provoke. They sat down, however, in very compan- ionable fashion to their iced tea, and wafers so light that a puff of wind would have blown them off the table. Mr. Sexton, seeing his opportunity, finished his cup of coffee at a draught, made a half-muttered apology to his hostess, rose in a steam, and betook himself and his lemon-colored gloves over to where his "goddess of the silver lake" was sitting. "Bnh, what a porpoise l" said Raymond, in a low voice, watching him with disdainful eyes. "At least he is not a 'laggard in love,'" said Ermine, smiling. "Sec how eagerly he goes, though Margaret does not look particu- larly gracious by any means." "Who can blame her?" asked Mr. Ray. mond, magnificently; in fancy, he could not avoid contrasting his own appearance with that of the rival to whom he had surrendered the fair field of his cousin's flfl'ections. "I~ certainly requires all his wealth to gild the fellow's mere appearance. By Jove! he looks almost as rough as a sea-captain!" Ominous comparison! Whether innocent or not, who can say? At all events, at the mere sound of those two words, Ermine's ever- ready color flashed into her face, and she turned upon the speaker with startling impet- uosity. "I should think you would grow tired of that sort of sneers, Raymond," she said; "es- pecially when you know that there are many sea-captains who are as polished gentlemen as-as you are t" "Many, my dear Ermine, or only one?" asked Raymond, with a smile which nobody could possibly have fancied genial. "There may be many, for aught I know; that there is one, I do know," she answered, quickly. "Granting even that, does one swallow make a summer? or, because a gentleman housess to lower himself to the rank of a cer- tain class of people, does he thereby lift his new associates to the grade which he has for- feited?" "Raymond," said the girl, quickly, "I don't want to hear any more! You never lose any opportunity to scoff at Alan and Alan's profession, and there is no good in an- swering you. Only," with sarcasm almost as trenchant as Madelon's, "I should like to know why it is any more lowering to a gentle- man to trade on sea than to trade on land?" "Ermine, you forget yourself," said her mother, sternly. "Oh, let lapet its talk!" said Mr. ErIe, indul. gently. "Words hurt nobody except poor Raymond, who must look after himself; and the heiress of half the island of Martinique can afford to regard with scorn a mere commiSsion- merchant." Poor Ermine! Almost any one might have felt sorry for Aer just then, that burning flush dyed her white cheek so hotly and pain- fully once more. "I-I did not mean that," she said, quickly. "Papa, I beg your pardon. I did not intend any thing disrespectful to your tra-that is, profession. Only Raymond might let Alan alone!" "To the best of my knowledge, I have not mentioned Alan from first to last," said Ray. mond, in the most injured tone imaginable. "This is a sample of the way you always treat me, Ermine. I cannot make the most inci- dental or general remark, but you accuse me of a particular intention to sneer. I am heart- ily ashamed of Alan and Alan's profession,"' said the young man, with energy "but he? chose it with his eyes open, ar~d that is an end~ of the matter." "I only wish it was an end of the matter,"' said Mr. ErIe, in a resigned tone. "But unfor... tunately Ermine's friendship is of such an en~ thusiastic nature that Alan and Alan's affairs seem to me to furnish the staple seasoning of our life." "There is certainly no need to inform the world that one of our near connections com- mands a trading-vessel," said Mrs. Brie, in her dignified voice, "yet I heard Ermine, tell Gen- eral Borne the other day that her 'cousin' was not in the navy, but in the merchant ~ervice." "I did not say so, mamma, because the mein-~ chant service is more creditable than the navy, but because it is a fact." "It is not always necessary to proclainz facts," said Mr. Erle. "That idea, my dear Ermine, is your greatest error." "I hope it will remain my errora long time, then," said Ermine ungratefully. "And as for Alan, the rest of you may be ashamed of him~ page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 EBB-TIDE. UNDER THE STARLIGHT. 25 if you like, but I am proud of him-prouder than I ever was of anybody else in my life." "You can afford to indulge those fine sentiments, since he is no relation of yours, and does not disgrace you in the least," said Raymond, shying scraps of wafer at a pet-dog belonging to one of the children, who caught them eagerly, and found them exceedingly. un- satisfactory morsels. "As far as that is concerned, you know I consider him my cousin as much as Margaret does." "By brevet appointment, I presume-yet I cannot claim a kinsman's most distant privi- lege without incurring rebuke.'1 "My dear boy, there are Erles and Erles," said his uncle, smiling benignly. "You are a commission-merchant, and Alan is a sea-cap- tain-the distinction makes the difference." "I am inclined to think there is another distinction which makes another difference," said Raymond, meaningly-then he leaned back in his chair and watched Ermine, with a glance which she felt though she did not see, as Mr. Erie left the table and walked across the room, followed by his wife. "There is an- other distinction-is there not, Ermine?" he asked after a while in a quick, low voice, in- audible at five paces off. "Yes," answered the girl, glancing up at him with fearless candor. "There is another distinction-and you know what it is, Ray- inond." "What is it, Ermine?" "It is that Alan is open and true as the day," she answered, in the same tone "It is that there is no more narrowness in his heart, than there is pettiness in his soul; that he could no more shackle himself with the bond- age of worldly opinion than he could stoop to a mean action; and that God gave him so gem. erous a spirit, so fine a nature, that, if he were a hod-carrier, he would still be a gentleman." The young man looked intently into her glowing face. "Well," he said, dryly, "now for the com- panion-sketch-the reverse-picture.1' "You have heard that often enough, Ray- inond." "Yes," he said, with a faint, bitter laugh, "I have certainly heard often enough-perhaps a little too often-all the bad qualities with which you are pleased to endow me. I should be worse than Isgo if I possessed half of them, Ermine." I can only hope that you don't possess any of them, then, Raymond." "Do you never mean to do me any jus- tice? "he asked, with a certain subdued vehe- mence of manner. She looked up at him with a quick flash in her eye. "Set me an example, by doing Alan jus- tice," she said, curtly. The dialoguehas reached rather an exciting point. Both their faces are flushed, and their eyes glowing, as Madelon enters the room and takes in the situation at a glance. As she crosses the 'floor, Raymond bends down and says hurriedly, but in a concentrated sort of voice: "By Heaven, Ermine, instead of teaching me to do Alan justice, you are teaching me to hate him as fast as one man can learn to hate another!" Then before Ermine-startled and angry- can reply, he has risen and walked away. "May I have a cup of coffee?" said Made- lon, coming to the table. "There goes that horrid door-bell-Major Hastings, of course -Ermine, how does my hair look? You are lovely, my dear-and what a color! You ought to get Raymond to talk to you whenever you are going out. He leaves such a charm- ing bloom behind him." --4-- CHAPTER IV. UNDER THE STASSLIGHT. THE orchestra is pealing away at the fairy sclwrzo of the overture to the "Midsummer- Night's Drei~m"-thatpulse ofjoy which seems beating for all time-when Ermine and her escort file softly down the carpeted aisle of a crowded house, and are ushered to their seats among a decorously silent and well-bred au- dience. The color has not yet left the girl's face-only it has ebbed from the lily-white cheeks to concentrate, as it were, in the vivid carnation of the lips, and brighten the soft, full-orbed lustre of the eyes-so that she never looked more lovely than she does just now, seeming, to the fancy of more than one among those who level glance or opera-glass upon her, like some fair, delicate, passion-hued trop- ical flower. "That girl's eyes always remind me of lotos-eating and floating down the Nile," said one poetically-inclined gentleman in a low aside to his companion. "I suppose she and ErIcare engaged; but I can't say I approve of the match. They are entirely too ~nuch alike. You've read 'Counterparts,' haven't you? People of the same temperament should never matry." "Yes, I have read 'Counterparts,'" an- swered the companion, who chanced to be an unusually bright and clever girl; "but I don't agree with you in thinking that Mr. Erie and Miss St. Amand are of the same temperament. One cannot go by the simple fact that they both have dark eyes, you know. I will wager you any thing you please, that, if you ask some- body who understands such things, he or she will tell you that, if not eountel~parts, they are at least totally unlike." "But how am I to find the somebody? Who does understand such things?'~ "Indeed, I don't know. Temperament is a dead letter to most people, undoubtedly-but hush! You must not talk while this heavenly music is going on!" It is heavenly indeed; and Ermine is rapt in a trance better by far than the lotos-eat- ing of which her admirer has spoken-better than any thing else in the world save that di- vine beatitude coming from the pure love of the saints for God, of which this is no place to speak. Music-and of all music that which comes lik'~ a breath of fragrant incense from Mendelssohn's heart-has led her into a palace of calm delights where none can follow to mo- lest her. The exquisite rise and fall of elfin melody, the very sound with which the bow first kisses the silver strings of the violin, stirs and soothes her at once. Other critical ears are there which listen and admire, as who could fail to admire that harmony which dies away "like the sweet south wind over a bed of violets," that perfect mechanism; that su- perb orchestration, which Mendelssohn alone perfected as an art; but, although they enjoy with intense appreciation, they are not borne away on the overflowing tide as Ermine is. She leans back quite silent, quite motionless, only her expanding eyes-which momently grow larger, fuller, and more lustrous-tell the story of her perfect beatitude. Who can say what dreams the music wakes, what visions which only a painter could conceive, or a poet describe, float through her brain on the golden tide of melody? Into the fragile girl-form God had seen fit to infuse the true artist-soul -that soul which can enjoy more keenly, suf- fer more exquisitely, aud live more wholly alone than any other which He, in His bound- less, fathomless wisdom has ever created. Form, color, sound, each and all have a differ- ent meaning to her from what they have to the mass of mankind. She feels them, as she feels joy and sorrow, in superlative degree. Those who follow the short record of her short life will do well to bear this in mind-well to remember that to such natures do not apply the cast-iron rul~s which govern the world at large. Wholly, sometimes fatally different from all others, are they, and, seeing with sad eyes how cruelly th~ir tender flesh is sometimes bruised by the sharp thorns of earth, we can only hope that compensation is given them by that serene Heaven whence pity as well as mercy ofttimes "droppeth like the gentle rain. After the orchestral overture, the house broke into a tumult of that kid-glove applause which is so significant of what the newspapers call "a select and fashionable audience "- applause not meant for those soft, dying ca- dences, like fairy "horns of Elfland.blowing," but for the graceful, girlish figure, the piquant girlish face which came before the foot-lights, the young singer-now world-renowned, then in the first flush of her youth-whom they had assembled to honor. When she began to sing -ah, well! the ravishing notes of that sweet voice dwell yet in the heart~ of some who heard her in those long-vanished golden days, and it may be that the fascination of the past hangs over them. At all events, it boots little to repeat the verdict which the world has long since passed on the fair cantatrice, or praise the power which wrought her audience out of dreaming, critical calm, into a fever of en- thusiasm on that by-gone night. Perhaps, for all their high-b red languor, the warm Southern current of their blood was ready enough to be stirred. Even unimpressible Raymond, who had yawned behind his hand at the overture, beat one palm upon another, as he said, "She is divine!" "Yes, she is divine!" echoed Ermine in such a tone that iie turned and looked curi- ously at her. "One would think that you had been tak- ing opium," he said. "I never saw the pupils of your eyes dilated as they are now! You look as if you were dreaming dreams, or see- ing visions. Is it hashish or excitement?" page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 EBB-TIDE. UNDER THE STARLIGHT. ~ .5 "The soul of the music has gone into my blood, as ~fennyson says of the rose," answered she, smilh~g. "You are too cold-you don't know anj thing about it. No wonder Mira. beau wanted to die to the sound of music. It would surely take the pang out of dying-if any thing could!" "I thought painting was your hobby," said he, gisheing over the programme, to sce how' much longer it would be before the concert ended. "And isn't it all the same thing? Ohif you could only tell what pictures I have seen -what exquisite, lucid, beautiful tints-since I have been sitting here. But then it is not heaven. It must end." "Soon too, I hope," said he, devoutly. But nonc of this concerns us very much, save in its effect on Ermine-which effect could scarcely be overrated. She might have been taking opium, hashish, any thing, from the expression of her face, the rapture of her sensations, when at last she rose to go. At another time she would not have felt the music so intensely; but the excitement of the even- ing had eome too closely-too entirely without intermission-on the excitement of the day, on the long, feverish strain over the picture that had mastered her soul as the music mas- tered her mind. Now she was "deified," she trod in supreme exaltation on air; yet a wise physician looking at her would have foreboded terrible things from the reaction so pitilessly sure to come. Do you remember the wonder. ful description of an opiusn.tranee which Dc Quincey gives in the "Suspiria?" Something like this was upon Ermine when, pouring out with the crowd, she found herself driving home, under a dome of deepest steel.blue, thickset with glittering stars. Sleep! How should she sleep with every pulse throbbing, every nerve quivering, every faculty of being strung to its utmost tension? Surging through her brain-dominating even the jubilant clash of the orchestra, and the pure tones of a silvery voice-she seemed to feel the mighty pulse of the sea, to hear the soft swish of the waves, to catch the liquid sound of that grand ocean. monotone which, old as Time itself, will only end when "Time shall beno more." "Raymond," she said, as they alighted be. fore the door of the Erle House, from the open windows of which laughter and merry voices floated out on the odorous night air, "I cannot go in and face all those people-the noise and the light and the talk would drive me distracted. I am going down to the Bat. tery to listen to the water. It may quiet me." "Quiet you!" said Raymond, naturally much astonished. "My dear Ermine, what quiet do you need? You have not spoken three words since the concert ended." "Au, but you don't know what I have felt! How could you? I should not be sur. praised if you were sleepy; but I am confident I shall never sleep again." "The best remedy for that will be to go to bed, I think." "Go to bed! The mere idea of such a thing is abhorrent to me! I should simply lie and. toss and toss and toss-until finally in despair I might go to my paints. Then wouldn't I look a ghost tomorrow! If you want to avert that calamity, you wrn not say a word while I run down to the Battery." "You forget your mother-what will siw say?" "If I were Madelon, I should answer, au disable with mamma! As it is, I don't care what she says. I must go-I will go ! Won't you be a good boy, and stay here till I come back? I pledge you my word, I sha'n't be gone ten minutes l" "Stay here! I should think not, indeed! I will be a better boy, however, and go with you." "Oh, no, no-I must go by myself. I want the silence, and the night, and the water. Raymond-please stay!" "Don't be a-don't be foolish, Ermine!" said Raymond, almost roughly. "If you have a mind for romantic star-gazing, of course I will take you to the Battery; but a.s for letting you go alone-that is nonsense! Your mother placed you under my care, and, whether you want me or not, I shall accompany you." "Then," said Ermine, with a slight stamp of her foot on the pavement, "I won't go!" "Then," said Raymond, with a very per- ceptible accent of anger, "you will be doing a much more sensible thing than I could have expected of you." "You are impertinent!" cried she, blazing out upon him. "Pardon me," said he, biting his lips. "I had forgotten that women think they have a monopoly of incivility." "Raymond, you know that is not true!" "Whatever it is," said Raymond, coldly, "I think this discussion had better be con- cluded in the house." "I am not going into the house," retorted Ermine, haughtily. "I am going down to the Battery." "Then I shall accompany you." "You may follow nie, if you choose-you certainly shall not accompany me." A pause. Affairs being at a " dead-lock," both combatants stop for breath, and eye each other in wrathful silence. Just then a hand pushes back a curtain of the bay-window, and two figures-a man's and a woman's-stand relieved against the brilliant light behind. The woman is tall, slender, white-clad, with heavy dark plaits binding her head, and a scarlet flower burning among them: the man is aJso tall, well made, and handsome. Their voices float out distinctly on the still night air. Says the gentleman, "Your Benedict and Beatrice have not arrived yet." "No doubt they have stopped en route for a sociable quarrel," answered Madelon's silver, mocking voice. "Benedict and Beatrice have a weakness that way, you know." "They certainly are an interesting pair of lovers," says the deeper tones, languidly. "But can you tell me-why is quarreling al. ways an incipient sign of love?" "How should I ,know? I never quarrel, and I never was in love." "You never quarrel !-you never were in love! My dear Mademoiselle Lautrec, how shocking! If some one made you very angry, then, you might, perhaps, condescend to begin the first-and, having begun the first, you might glide into the second." "Scarcely, I think." "May I try?" "To make me angry? Oh, certainly; but I think it right to give you warning that you will not be likely to repeat the offence." "Why not?" "Simply because I regard it as such a fool- ish and undignified amusement that I always drop the acquaintance of any one who has once led me into it." "Thanks for the warning-I shall be care. ful, then. But why make such a rule ?-why leave such a charming character as that of Beatrice entirely to your cousin?" "Probably because I have no fancy for a Benedict." "Would a Romeo suit you better?" "To smother me in sweets? No. 'Aueun~ citemin defleurs ne conduit cl la gloii'e '-and r take it that Jove and glory are much the same: thine~" "Perhaps Mark Antoriy-" "Ah, now you touch me more nearly-only,. instead of losing a world for me, I should much prefer that he would gain one." "With you for inspiration, who could fail to do so?" "INow, that is very pretty, Major Hastings. I am sure you have nothing better in your quiver; so, on the principle of the best thing; last, we will go back and report to Aunt Vie. torine that Ermine ~ias not come." The curtainn fell again as they passed away. For a moment there was silence between the two eavesdroppers outside; then, in a hard sort of a voice, Ermine said: "If you have no objection, I believe Is1~ould' prefer for you to come with me. I have some- thing to say to you." "I am at your service," he answered,. stiffly. Side by side they walked a~way. Raymond did not offer his arm-probably because h& knew that it would not be accepted-and neither of them spoke until they reached the Battery. Then, for the first time, Mr. ErIe opened his lips. "Give me your hand, Ermine-you wlll miss the step." "No, thanks-I can see p~rfectly,",replied Ermine, coldly. Having ascended the steps,. she turned from him, arid, walking some die. tatice, stood leaning against the railing-a white shape, faintly outlined in the dusky gloom-gazing seaward, and listening to the waves beating softly at her feet. What her thoughts were, Heaven only knows-perhaps she did not know herself- but the quiet of Nature stole over her like a. subtle spell. Excited fancy, indIgnant~ anger,. both died down; both seemed hushed into. insignificance by the wonderful power that wrapped water and shore in their "trance~ calm" of perfect rest. In a little while she might have been herself once more-the self that shrank morbidly from giving pain-.-if Raymond had only been wise enough to leave her alone. But Raymond was no observer of that subtle flux and reflux of feeling, which-chief~ ly for the want of a better name-we call mood. Eminently practical himself the sensi-. 26 EBB-TIDE. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 ~~~~~EBB-TIDE.UNETIESALG. tive, artistic temperament was to him m~e than a marvel, worse than an enigma: it was sheer folly and imposition. As he stood silent, striving to read the riddle of that white, stead- fast face, he registered a solemn vow that if this wayward, haughty girl were ever in his power, her romantic fancies should be very summarily dealt with, and her proud spirit be broken if it would not bend. At present, his predominant feeling with regard to her was one of intense irritation; and unfortunately he was not entirely successful in keeping this sen- timent out of his voice, when he finally lost patience and spoke. "Did you bring me lucre to gaze at you, while you gazed at the stars, Ermine? If there were a little more light, I might find the rcile interesting; but at present it is rather un- satisfactory." Ermine started, and, frowning slightly under cover of the darkness, turned toward him. No one could have told how keenly this dis- 'cordant voice jarred on her at the moment. "No," she said, with more repellant cold. ness than he had ever seen in her before, "I did not bring you ~uere to gaze at me. That would have been a very poor inducement in- deed. I brought you to speak a few plain words-for I think it is tim~ that we came to an explanation." "Indeed!" said Raymond, a little startled, yet not ill pleased, that his opportunity had eome thus unexpectedly. "I am a plain man," he went on, "and therefore always ready for plain speaking. Let us have an explanation by all means ; the sooner the better." "Yes," said Ermine, " the sooner the better." Then she stopped a moment to collect herself, for in truth it was a bold step she was about to take, and one from which she would have shrunk if this tide of excitement had not been giving her a fietitiou~ strength. "Since you are fond of plain speaking, Raymond," she continued, before he l~ad time to do more than feel the pause, "I hope you will not be surprised if I speak to you very plainly-so plainly that I may perhaps shock you. You heard what Madelon and ~ajor Hastings were saying. Of course, it is n ~t necessary ' for me to tell you that such things are not true. Since they are not true-since they never will be true-you can imagine how very disagree. able they are to me. In fu~ct, I will not toler- ate them. Being a man, you must find some way to let people understand that you and I are nothing to each other." "Being a man, my dearQErmine, that is just what I cannQt do," said Raymond, fold- ing his arms and leaning against the railing so as to face her. "Why not?" she asked, haughtily. "Simply because it is not my place to do so; and simply also because we are a great deal to each other now, and I hope we may be more hereafter." "You forget yourself;" she said, growing in 1~auteur every moment. "You are nothing to me either now or hereafter; and certainly I will never be any thing to you!" In the clear starlight they could see the outline of each other's face, but all play of expression was of course veiled in obscurity. If Ermine had been able to watch the effect of her last words, she would have seen that Ray- mond paled in very marked degree, though his tone was as easy as it had been before, when he answered: "I can prove that you are mistaken, Er- mine., The man who loves you passionately, and wishes to devote his life to proving that love, cannot possibly be 'nothing' to you; while you are simply every thing to me." "Raymond 1" She was so young that for a moment she lost dignity in passion. "How dare you utter such words to me! You know they are not true. You know that, if you ever loved anybody besides yourself, you loved Margaret, an'd that she-poor girl-loves you still!" "Margaret!" he repeated, and his face lightened, for he thought that, if she were jealous, his~hance was better than even he had dared to hope. "Is it possible you think me such a fool as to love Margaret, Ermine? You might know me better. You might know that the beauty of a doll is not likely to attract me; and Margaret has little besides that." "I am very well aware that she has not a fortune," said Ermine, bitterly. The shaft was too keen not to strike home; for, let a man be ever so conscious of mer- cenary motives, a taunt concerning those mo- tives is none the less hard to bear. The dark-~ red flush common to Raymond's olive com- plexion surged over it, as he an~wcred, rais- ing his figure a little, and slightly throwing back the chest across which his arms were folded: "I see you think that woman may use in- sult as well as incivility with impunity, Ermine. However, it is well for us to know exactly on what ground we stand. Do you mean to imply that my object in addressing yourself is purely mercenary?" The question was pointed and direct. Er. mine's clear tones answered it without a shade of wavering or hesitation: "Knowing no other object which you could possibly have, I am constrained to say that I do." "Then," said he, haughtily, "justification is impossible to me, and, if it were ever so pos. sible, would be beneath me. In this, as in many other things, I must bear as best I can the odium of your injustice." "I am tired of that charge," said she, pas- sionately. "Prove tome that I am unjust, and there is no one living who will sooner amend a wrong. You know that of me. Prove to me that I misjudge you; do not content yourself with mere assertion." He bent forward and laid his hand down upon hers. Even in the starlight she seemed to fehi the fire whieh gathered in the velvety depths of those dark eyes. "If I prove your injustice to you, Ermine, will you let me name my own reward?" She shrank back from him-shrank in- voluntarily, and in a manner which would have cut to the very heart a man who truly loved her. "No" she said, "I can make no such promise, because, if I were ever so much mis- taken, I can only beg your pardon for my un- just suspicions." "Will you give me leave to convince you of the sincerity of my love, Ermine?" "No, Raymond." She spoke more gently now, because in truth it was hard to behave that the earnestness quivering in his voice was all for her fortune. "It would be useless. I can never love you." "Many women have said that who learned the lesson of love at last." "1'crhaps so-but I am not one of those women." "Give me at least leave to try. You shall be free as air-bound to nothing. Only let me try." "No," said she, quickly-almost sharply. "That would be next thing to an engage- meat, and people would have some right to talk of us, while you would have some right 28 to reproach me when I came to say, at last, what I say now-I do not love you, and I can never marry you." "You had better consider that decision, Ermine." "If I considered it forever, I should never change it," said she, relapsing into haughti- ness. "You are sure of that?" "I am perfectly sure of it." He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and again she seemed to feel the light of the dark eyes facing her own so steadily in the soft starlight. * "I am not a betl~ing-man, Ermine," he said, quietly, "or I should be willing to layheavy odds that you will live t~ regret those words. -and to unsay them." Why was it that at this moment a cold hand seemed to grasp Ermine's heart, and hold it in a vice? She was free as air; no human being had any power of compulsion over her-least of all, the man who stood be- side her-yet Madelon's words seemed to come back on the soft flow of the water murmuring at her feet: "Sooner or later, you will have to do it-why not succumb at once?" But the serrsment du eceur, as the French call this contraction, did not last more than a second. Indignation rushed over her all the more strongly for the momentary terror which had preceded it; and her words, when she spoke, seemed to sting like a whip, in their contemptuous scorn. "It is time for this conversation to end,. since you think it worth your while to try to intimidate me. I think I have said all that I wished to say-that I have definitely made clear all that I desired to make clear. I brought you here to tell you, once for all, that the plans which you have been building will never be realized; and, having told you this, my conscience is clear." "In other words," said Raymond, whose anger was so great that he could not restrain~ the expression of it, "you did me the honor to reject me before I had ever made a pro- posal." "I knew you would not spare me that. taunt," said Ermine, quietly. "I expected it, and it does not wound me in the least. Of its. generosity I leave you to decide. Once more, however, I must request that it may be defi- nitely understood by everybody concerned, that there is no truth in the rumors whicin page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 EB-TDE.ERLES AND ERLES-. 31 ii have been circulated-.by whom, I kuow Dot." "Perhaps I can enlighten you on that point." "I do not care to be enlightened," she re- turned. "The subject has no interest for me. Now, if you please, we will go back. Madden and Major Hastings may make some other pleasant and good-natured remarks on our ab- sence if we remain longer.'~ "One moment," said he, laying his hand again on hers. "You have had your turn to .speak-now I must be sufficiently discourteous to detain you until I have had mine. In the first place, I do not accept your decision as final. No-yo(n need not start and draw yOur- self up. That should be made clear at once. I do not accept it. I shall endeavor to induce you to reconsider it, and I tidnic zou will do so. Next "-was it Ermine's fancy that the voice took a alight tone of menace here ?-" I wish you to understand that I know perfectly well who has been at work to prejudice you against me, and that I generally pay my debts -with interest." "Raymond," the girl gasped-for the first time unnerved and thrown off her guard-c--" I do not understand you. I do not know who you mean. No one has ever spoken againstt you to me. On the contrary, everybody- there at home-is only too anxious for me to marry you. I..-.-I do not know whom you mean." "You know perfectly well whom I mean," he answered. "You know pexfcctly well that I mean that-.-that brother of mine, Whose business in life has been to annoy and disgrace rue. The day may come, perhaps, when he and I will settle scores, and then I shall not be likely to forget to-night." "Alan is capable of taking care of him- self," said Ermine, in that voice of indescrib- ably mingled pride and tenderness which is so significant from a woman's lips. "Your threats do not frighten mo-they only prove how right I have been from first to last in my opinion of you. As for his having ever influ- enced me against you, I will not defend him from such a charge. Even while you make it, you do not believe it yourself." "In ether words, you accuse inc of delib- erate falsehood. (lo on, Ermine I Fill up the full measure of your injustice!" * "Raymond, I am tired," she cried, with a sudden sound like a moan of paint '~Oh, why have you forced me to all this ?-why will you not be content when I tell you that I do not love you? I can say.no more than that.1' "There is no effect without a cause," said he, grimly. "You do not love me because, with all your haughty pride, you do love some one else-and I know only too well who that some one ~ He uttered the last words with ill-con- cealed malice, and paused for an answer, but no answer came. Ermine turned from him, and took two or three steps away. Then in the starlight he saw her pause, and apparently kneel down against the railing. He waited a minute or two, but she remained so silent and so still that he went up to her, and, after his questions received no reply, laid his hand on the white shoulder that gleamed like polished marble through her muslin dress~#~~ Then he saw thai the reaction had come, and that she had quietly fainted, with her head pillowed on the railing, while the starlit waves rippled softly just belc~w CHAPTER V. ERLES AND ERLES. PEXIHAPS there is nothing more trying to the patience of a story-teller, than to be forced to pause in full tido of dramatic action to fur- nish some tiresome bit of explanation, descrip- tion, or retrospection, which, ten to one, will bore the reader almost, if not quite, as much as it has already bored the writer, yet which the exigenciesof the narrative render impera- tively necessary. At such times one yearns for the liberty of a playwright, who leaves his characters to tell their own stories, and de- scribe their own antecedents in that epigram- matic flow of language with which everybody is gifted on the stage-wasting neither time nor paper on the excessively " heavy~' business of filling in and filling out, of narrating family circumstances, and recounting family genealo- gies, which falls with such a responding weight of weariness on the unfortunate novel- ist. What must be, must be, however; and sometimes matters come to such a pass that a few plain words are absolutely essential to set them straight, to place the reader in that properly confidential position which a reader should always fill, and-as they expressively have it at sea-to "clear the decks for ac. tion"in such a satisfactory manner that there shall hereafter be no troublesome interrup- tions to the smooth working of those different threads which go to form the story. Thus much by way of preface and apology for a few words which duty-not inclination-ne- cessitates, concerning the Erles. Somebody says that the writer who goes back in his story for any purpose whatever, loses ground and goes back just that much in the estima- tion of his reader. If this rule hold good, I fear that I must prepare myself for an enor- mous retrograde movement in the minds of all who may glance through the pages of this sketch, for the necessity of which I have al- ready spoken requires a backward leap of several years from the date on which my story opens. To begin in rather irregular fashion, there once lived an English governess in the house- hold of the Erles, a certain Miss North, who, being of a decided literary turn, and of de- cided scribbling propensities, kept a journal in which were recorded many things, curious and otherwise, concerning the family in which she resided. It occurs to me just now that I can lighten my own shoulders of a consider- able burden by throwing the labor of describ- ing the past circumstances of the Erles on the willing shoulders of Miss North. Her journal-which I chance to possess-is tempt. ingly explicit on this point, and, as far as I can judge, moderately attractive in style, so I cut therefrom a few pages, paste them in my MS., and head them in approved romantic fashion. Leaves from Ike Journal of a Governess. 4pri~ 1,185-. (A date three years before the story.) "To-day being Friday, I did not begin school, but I saw my two pupils, who are kept much more to their~ own domain of nursery and school-room than American children in general, tested their acquirements, settled the order of their studies, and gave them some lessons for Monday. They are very bright children, perfectly polished in manner, and quite well instructed in all the biensiances of social life, but as ignorant as little pigs of the most common rudiments of every-day learning. Reginald could not spell his own name, when I told him to do so, but shrugged his shoulders with the air of a Chesterfield as he said, 'Fit bien, he would write his initials as Cousin Raymond did!' I strove to ex- plain that, in case of emergency, it would be as well to know how to write it in full, and I think he at lastacimitted the force of my rea- soning. I have taken quite a fancy to him, although he frankly informed mc that he hated governesses, and wanted to go to school with other boys. 'Suppose other boys asked you to spell your name?' I said. And at that my young gentleman hung his head. As for Louise, she is a little fair-haired doll, a pocket edition of Margaret, with her head so full of toilets and ciuffons that I despair of ever putting much else into it. She smoothed out her pink-silk skirt, in which she looks like a little ballet-dancer, and sat on my lap with her tiny-slippered feet crossed, her small hands demurely laid over one another, her large blue eyes on my face, and answered all my questions with an aplomb and ease of man- ncr that would have done credit to a young lady of two seasons. She told mc exactly what sort of ' point it is that ' mamma wears on her handkerchiefs, how many beau- tiful bracelets and rings Margaret has in her box on her toilet-table, and oh! what a lovely gold-colored silk came home for Ermine the other day, with* flounces just so (showing ~on her own diminutive skirt), and trimming across the body this way. But I shall nevcr forget her face when I asked her the result of add- ing two and two together. "After I had disposed of the children, I sent for Ermine, who came, with a glow of pleasure that made her look fairly beautiful, and conducted me to her chamber. "'Mamma orders that all painting be done in the school-room,' she said, 'but I draw here as much as I please, and I want you to look over my portfolio. My teachers used to compliment me a good deal on these sketches, but I hope you will not hesitate to express your real opinion about them.' "I assured her that I would certainly ex- press my real opinion, whatever that opinion might be; and, with her mind apparently much relieved on this point, she placed me in a delightful easy-chair by an open window, whose lace curtains the soft southern breeze was fluttering to and fro, drew a low otto- man forward for herself; and laid a richly-em- bossed drawing-portfolio in my lap. "To say that I was astonished, when I un- tied the strings and began to. look over the different sketches, is a very faint way of ex- 20 EBB-TIDE- page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] ERLES AND ERLES. pressing what I really felt. I am forty-five years old, and I have been tossed about the world ever since the day I entered a pen~i on- nat des demcieelles at Paris; I have visited numberless schools of design, and seen the sketches of hands with whose works the world is now familiar; I have frequented exhibitions all my life, and taken the greatest interest in artists and their productions; but I had never seen any thing to equal the exquisite delicacy of finish and power of touch which were visi- ble in these sketches of a girl barely seventeen, and almost entirely untaught. As I turned them over, I remembered the day when I, too,~ had hoped to do something with colors; Ire- membered the bitter death of that hope, and, for the first time in all my life, I felt resigned. My rough counsellors had been right. Talent~ was mine, never genius like this. One after another I placed aside the sheets of 'bristol- board, and still wonder grew upon me; for, whether it was an elaborate drawing where stroke was laid on stroke with the beauty of a line-engraving, or the merest outline unfilled by any detail, the same facile pencil showed itself, the same bold freedom of hand was there, fhe same marvellous power of conveying expression in a single line or dot, the same divine inspiration caught from Nature's self. "I looked entirely through the portfolio before I said any thing; then, as I began to replace the sketches, I saw that Ermine was gazing very wistfully into my face. "' I see what you think,' she said, in a very subdued voice. 'Don't pain yourself by telling me, mademoiselle. You think I have been flattered and am very foolish-that is all.' "I looked down at her; the soft, dark eyes met mine very bravely, though a little sadly, and, after a while, I laid my hand on her shoulder. "'Child,' I said, gravely,' I wish it were some voice of more authority than mine to tell you that God has given you one of His great talents, and that in this portfolio is that which, if you choose, can make you world-renowned.' "She started violently, and looked at me incredulously. - "'Mademoiselle, you-you are jesting!' "I shook my head. "'No, I am in earnest-do you think I would jest on such a subject ?-as much in earnest as when I tell you that all question of teaching is at an end between us. We can paint together, and I may be able to give you a few practical hints ii~ the use of colors; but instruction I am unable to render.' "She looked at me half startled, almost awed. "'Mademoiselle, pardon me ; lean scarcely believe any thing so strange! I~ this really true?' "I answered as gravely: "'It is certainly true.' "Then, to my surprise, she bowed her head down on heir hands, and I saw quick tears gush through the slender fingers. "'Alan was right,' she said, in a low voice. "After this we adjourned to the school- room, to see what she could do with colors, and here I found that my instruction was very much needed. She knew verylittle indeed of painting, and even what she did know had evidently been taught by incompetent masters. Her aptitude and eagerness to learn, however, I had never seen surpassed. She threw her- self, hcart and soul, into the lesson, hung upon my every word, watched my manipulations of the brush with eyes that fairly glowed, and at last dashed off a bit of foreground that elicited my warmest praise. Is it really good?' she asked, still some- what suspiciously. It is really wofiderful, for a beginner. What a pity you are an heiress, my dear! You ought to be what Nature has made you, an artist.' "'Oh, how I should like it!' she cried, eagerly. 'I would rather be an art-student, and work for my daily bread, than the rh~hest heiress in the world.~' "'Does it never strike you that a good many art-students would gladly exchange their lives for yours?' "'Sometimes,' she answered, retreating a step back to look at a rock she was painting -' sometimes, and then I wish we could man- age to do so. It would make me very happy, I am sure. "'And would you give up your beautiful island?' "'I would go to see it. I could enjoy it as much as if I owned the whole of it, you know.' A' 'And your guardian?~ "Her face fell; it was almost as mobile and candid as a child's, that face! "'True. I would have to give up all my friends to the new Ermine. Then I don't think I could possibly exchange with her. I would not resign my dear guardian and Alan for all the paints in the world!' "What a strange girl she was! Her dear guardian and Alan-not a mention of her mother or any member of the household in which she lived? "'Yes,' I said, laying an artful little trap, 'the new Ermine would take all your friends as well as your fortune~-she would be your mother's daughter, and yea Would have no more interest in her than a stranger.' "She was standing with her profile to me, and I thought I saw her lip quiver at the last word; but, if so, it was only for a second, ~nd she answered, after a moment, quite as easily as before: "'I hope she would be fair, then, and like dresses and visiting, and-Raymond! Mamma would gain by the exchange, in that case. Poor mamma 1' "There was a sudden change of tone-a sudden giving way-a sudden pathos in the last two words, that took me completely by surprise. I looked up quickly; the girl's face was quivering all over as if with unshed tears, and she suddenly threw down her palette and brushes. "'That is enough for this morning, don't you think so, mademoiselle? It is nearly din- ner-time, and I must change my dress, for look what paint-stains are all over it!' "'You must have some aprons,' said I, looking at the pretty muslin which was ruined. 'Don't forget 1-long aprons that will cover the whole front of your dress. I will not give you another lesson until you have put one on.' "'Very well,' she answered, a little ab- sently. 'I will tell Lena to make me some at once. What are you going to do, mademoi- selle?' "'I am going to clean this palette of yours,' I answered, a little severely. 'Jt should never be left in this condition.' "At which Mademoiselle St. Amand very forcibly took the palette out of my hand. "'Let it alone,' she said. 'I mean to send Lena to do it.' "'Lena! But how should a maid know--' "'She knows,' interrupted my companion, decisively. 'Alan showed her how when he and I used to play at painting,~and were both .3 of us too lazy to clean the palettes and brushes ourselves.' "'But my dear Ermine, do you never do any thing for yourself?' "The young West-Indian shrugged her graceful southern shoulders. "'A gui bon, mademoiselle? If I were poor and an artist, I should have to, you know -but I am not either poor or an artist, and that is an end of the matter 1-Come, I want to wash my hands, and then-do you know what I mean to do?' "'No. Howshouldl?' "She bent down, laughing, and made the portentous annomiceyient in a very dramatic whisper: "' I mean to show you Alan's sketches.' "' Indeed!' said I, not quite so over- whelmed as she seemed to expect. 'Then perhaps you will also enlighten my ignorance as to who Alan is. I have not heard yet, you know.' "'Have you not? Well, then, you shall hear-all about him! Come, now.' "She ran lightly down-stairs before me-- the school-room is in the third story-singing a gay French song as she went, and seeming to fill the Whole house with the grace of her sunshiny presence. I could not help follow- ing her fondly with my eyes-it is such a pleasure to see a young girl who is still enough of a child to enjoy her youth. At the foot of the stairs she paused to wait for me, and we both went hack to the pretty chamber we had left an hour before-the chamber that looked ~as pure and sweet as its occupant. "I sat down in my former seat by the open, jasmine-hung window, while Ermine washed her paint-smeared hands, and, that duty over, crossed the floor to a little inlaid cabinet, unlocked it with a key that hung at her ckdtelaine, and gazed down at it as she might have gazed at the tiny altar arranged with such care in a curtained recess not far off~ -the altar with its ivory crucifix and holy- eyed Madonna, its withered palm-branch and flask of holy water, its silver lamp and all the other tender arrangements, which, strict Prot- estant though I was, had touched my heart strangely when I first entered the room. "'This is where I keep every thing coil- nected with Alan,' said she, glancing back at me. 'I love dearly to look at them-but still, they make me sad. I cannot exactly tell why, but they do. Here is a little boat he ~Ii 22 EBB-TIDE. page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] EBB-TIDE. 34 made me once-long ago. See! It still has ish, too. Idraw like Alan? I do any thing its pennon and the xiame he gave it-La belle like this foreshortening, or that sea, or those ~ Poor Alan! lie was always so fond figures? Why, it is ridiculOus! I could not of the sea, but he expected to be a naval of- do it if I were to try forever!' fleer in those days. And here is his own port- "'Very well,' said I, with a little sigh of folio, with his own sketches in it. Now, made- resignation, 'we won't argue the point. You'll moiselle, prepare to be dazzled.' allow me, however, to retain my own opinion, "I am bound to say that,, if I had done so, I hope. It is all a matter of taste, you know I should have been grievouslydisappointed- -most things are, in this world. So 1-is it for the important sketches were byno means possible?' extraordinary either in conception or execu- "'What is the matter?' she asked, for I tion. The ordinary efforts of clever talent, had suddenly paused, with my eyes fixed on without one spark of genius-that was all, the portfolio in great surprise. Better sketches certainly than are usually "I pointed to the inside, where, in a large, found in an amateur's portfolio; better, even, flowing, rather boyish hand, was written sev- than those of many would-be artists, showing cml times over the name of 'Alan Erle,' and a considerable knowledge, and great apprecia- date eleven years before. tion of art, showing also a certain spirit and "'Yes,' she said, 'the portfo~ was his vigor that made you like them better the lon- when he was a boy, but the sketches have ger you looked at them; but not worthy of be- been drawn at various times since. A good ing compared with those exquisite efforts of many are foreign, you sec-all those South- the girl who now looked u'p in my face, expect- American scenes, for iiistance-and that pict- ing praise as naturally as she had before cx- nrc of the Adventure he drew for me the last pelted censure. I praised honestly, but what time he was at home.' I said did not seem to satisfy her. "' I was noticing the name,' I said. 'I "'Mademoiselle, you speak so coldly!' had no idea he was-' she cried, half indignantly. 'Surely you think "'Papa's nephew? Had you not? But them more than just "well done," You wasted he is-and Raymond's brother, too.' so much praise on my foolish drawings, and "I suppose I looked astonished, for she now you have nothing to say that is worth went on quickly: saying about these sketches-Alan's sketches.' "'They are only half-brothers, and I some- "'Do you really think these are as good times thint~ that they must be even less than ~.as yours, Ermine?' I asked, with a smile, that-they are so totally unlike. Raymond is "'As good a~ mine? Mademoiselle!' so worldly, so mercenary, so cold-hearted and "It was almost anger that spoke in the as- naTrow-minded, while Alan is-well he is my tonished tone, almost anger that mounted over preux chevalier whose praises I never grow .eheek and brow in a sudden, burning blush. weary of sounding!' "'Because, if you do,' I pursued, very "'But he is no relation of yours,' said I, ~coolly,, 'you are wonderfully mistaken-and a little suspiciously, as befitted forty-five and -either partiality blinds your judgment, or your my preceptress responsibihty. skill is even more instinct than I thought it.' "Yet I could not help feeling a little "For a moment I really did not know ashamed when the soft, dark eyes lifted them- whether she would throw th~ portfolio at my selves to my face, candid and pure as the first impious head, or take me 4by the shoulders, mother's before the fall. and put n~ out of the room, she faeed me "' I have always thought that there are with such indignant eyes; but I held myself some ties stronger than blood, mademoiselle- prepared for either event, and endeavored and that gratitude is chief among them. I meanwhile to look as quiet as possible, so the have never had but one friend since I left i~y storni blew over in words. dear island, and Alan is that one. I shall never "'Mademoiselle, I did not think y~u would forget the first time I saw him. I was a poor have treated me so. I would never never have little wretched, homesick creature, with the shown you Alan's drawings, if V ~had~ ~t heaviest head and the sorest heart that ever a thought you would appreciate them-if~ I b~A child carried about, to its own discomfort and ever suspected that you would have said such the annoyance of other people. I had done cruel things! They are cruel, and-and fool- nothing but fret and wail and weep from the ERLES AND ERLES. 35 hour I went on shipboard to the hour I landed, aud from the hour I landed to the hour I first saw Alan's faee. I had worn out everybody's sympathy, and worried every- body to death. I had even so far exasperated mamma that she forbade my appearing in her presence "until I could behave myself prop- erly." I was ns much an object of disgust to Margaret as she was an object of detestation to me. I hated Mr. Erle, I hated the city, the house, the servants, every thing abput me, I even fairly loathed the daylight; and I was lying on a trundle-bed in the nurseryy, sob- bing my very heart out, and wishing I could commit suicide-you need not smile, made- moiselle, for I remember distinctly that I-was wondering how I could manage to do it- when the door opened, and it seemed to me an angel stood there. But it was only Alan- dear old Alan, in whom there was not much of the angel! He had been writing in the school-room, and heard my sobs. To this day I remember the exprOssion of his face-its supreme pity and gentleness, though he was only a boy, and a very rough boy, of sixteen. To this day I hear his voice as he said, "Poor child ! "-and took me and all my misery up in his arms. From that hour I loved him, and from that hour I have been resigned to my life of exile. Mademoiselle, do you won. der at it?' "I smiled. It was so like an intense Southern nature to magnify such a simple act into such large proportions! "'At the loving, or the resignation - which, Ermine?' "'The loving,' said she, frankly. 'Ah! if you only knew how good and true and ten- der he has always been to me! And they try to make me ashamed of him! Ashan~ed of hint I My brave Alan! Why, I honor him more, as the simple captain of the Adventure, than if he were an admiral of a hundred navies!' "I contented myself with simply asking, Why?' "Then the impulsive tongue was loosed, and she told me a very touching story in a few words: "Fifteen years ago, by f~r the largest and wealthiest business-house in Charleston-one which dealt in all commercial enterprises with a bolder spirit and on a surer basis than any other-was that of Erle Brothers. They were, it seems, for a time, the veritable money-kings not only of Charleston itself; but of the whole rich country which was, in a trading sense, tributary to it. Their ships were on every sea, their endorsement was received as gold in every mart of commerce, their enterprise and prosperity were building up the city as well as their own fortunes, when there came a year to be long ren,~embered, of monetary panic and crash-n time when all credit failed, when gloom overspread the whole country, when disaster and ruin were so common that men merely shrugged their shoulders over a new failure. Yet, even at such a time as this, the tidings echoed like a thunder-bolt that the house ofErIe Brother~ was bankrupt! It was only the old story, with the old tragic ending -for the elder brother, unable to face his darkened life or shattered fortunes, put a pis. tol to his head and ended both! The younger acted more sensibly. Thanks to a very hand- some face and a very beguiling tongue, he married a charming and wealthy West - In- dian widow whom he met while temporarily rusticating in those lovely islands. Then, with his wife's. fortune, h"~ came back to Charleston, and resumed the old liusiness on a much smaller scale. The dead brOther's old- est son brought so much untiring energy and skill to the cause of reiistablishing the fallen credit of the house, that he was rewarded with the position of junior partner; and, from that day to the present, this second firm has - been steadily advancing in the public confi- denc~, until there are now few more influen- tial houses in the city. But, meanwhile, there was another son-this Alan-who, from his boyhood, had loved the sea as only sailors of Nature's own making ever do love it, who was his father's pride atid delight, and who, while Raymond was destined to the gloomy tread-mill of the counting-house, had always been pi~om- ised his heart's desire-a naval appointment. lie received it at last, and had already made his first cruise, as a midshipman, when the awful blow came. It was ~he first news to greet him when he reached his native shore- the first item that met his eye in the first news- paper carelessly thrust into his hand -the one topic upon every tongue. Even the very newsboys cried in his ear, 'Failure of Erle Brothers! Suicide of the senior partner!' It was good for the poor b4 that he had a mother-else the blue water was very close at hand, and youth is little able to bear those two spectres that daunt the oldest and the hardest page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] "SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMES!" - Disgrace and Mortal Agony. He came home, however-to be congratulated that the crash left his prospects comparatively unhurt. His mother-the father's second ~vife-had been moderately independent, and, with a thoughtfulness very rare among American men, her husband had insisted that all her fortune should be settled on herself This was safe, this would support her in ease, and also give Alan an independence of the world; but the two only looked in each other's eyes, and saw the same desire in each. 'My son, it is for your father's good name 1'the mother said. 'Give it up, mother,' said the boy. 'I will work for you.' So, despite the angry re- monstrances of the elder brother, the fortune was resigned to the creditors of the firm, Mrs. ErIe opened a school, and Alan gave np his profession and ambition forever! "'For, you see, he could not continue in the navy,' said Ermine, who had warmed with her story until her eyes were glowing with enthusiasm. 'He had to make money-for he was determined his mother should not drudge at school- teaching longer than he could help-and the navy is the last place in the wodd for that, you know; so ~e entered the merchant - service. Nobody, except his mother, encouraged him in the step-every- body thought it was a dreadful thing for a gentleman's son to dojiRay~ond fairly raged against it-~bat Alan held firm. "I was born for a sailor," he said; j'I shall never be con- tent anywhere but o~ the sea, and I can be content there in an~r capacity. When Na. ture makes a man ohe thing, he never does any good by going against the grain and be- coming another. I shall not cease to be a gentleman because I enter an honest profes- sion, nor lose any regard that is worth keep- ing." And he carried otrt his purpose-his two purposes. He became a seaman, and he has risen so steadily that, although he is only twenty-six nOw, he is captain of one of the finest vessels that leaves the port of Charles- ton. He supports his mother so well that she gave up her school long ago, and lives in one of the most charming little houses in the world, where I will take you to seeher some day, for I love her dearly, and she looks just like a fairy godmother!' "Of course I said I should like it very much, but, staid governess as I am, I believe Ermine's enthusiasm has so far infected me that I feel more in~ined to see her wonderful hero-the naval officer turned sea.captain- than even the mother for whom he made his sacrifice." This is as much of Miss North's journal as concerns us at present. She has told-amply at least-the story of the Erles; and it is to be hoped that her conclusion may find some faint echo in the minds of all readers, gentle or otherwise; for the "naval-officer turned sea-captain," whom she desired to see (and whom, by-the-way, she did see, and liked ex- tremely), wrn soon make his bow before the' foot-lights. CHAPTER VI. SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMES1" "WELL, my dear, how do you feel this morning?" asked Madelon, as she enteredd her epusin's chamber, somewhere about 10 A. iI.~ on the day after the concert. "I should have been in to see you before, but Lena reported that you were asleep, and I thought it a pity to disturb you, One should be allowed to sleep after achieving such a fainting-fit and such a sensation as you did last night. ilfa foi / why do you look so much astonished? Had you forgotten all about it?" "No,, indeed. I remember the fainting' perfectly," said Ermine, ruefully. She pre- sented a very woc-begone and dishevelled ap- pearance just then as she lay among the white dr4eries of the bed, her head on one pillow, and her hair tossed over another, dark circles' under her languid eyes, her lips so pale that they looked as if the blood had been drained out of them, her whole system unstrung, and apparently passive under the terrible reaction, which is the Nemesis following ~dose upon every excitement of the nervous temperament. "I remember the fainting perfectly," she con- tinued. "It was very foolish of me, but I could not help it; it came on me too suddenly. But I don't remember any sensation which I caused. I thought you were all taking it very quietly, when I came to myself." "Oh, then I suppose we were," said Made- Ion, sitting down on the side of the bed, and beginning to sniff at a flafon of cologne which had fallen from the slender hands that looked too nerveless to clasp even a bottle. "But Mr. Sexton, and Major Hastings, nnd the Dun. wardins (who had spent the evening playing whist with Aunt Victorine and Mr. ErIe), were all here when Raymond entered bearing the in. sensible form of Mademoiselle St. Amand in his arms! Pray, can you imagine what a sensation there was in that ease!" "Madelon, how have you the heart to treat inc so! You-you know you are only jesting. It is nbt true." "Jesting! Good Heavens, Ermine, can't you tell jest from earnest? On my honor as a Christian, it is every word true." "Those people were really here?" "Certainly they were-every one of them. Of course it is a pity"(philosophically), "for the Dunwardins are the greatest gossips in Charleston, and everybody will hear of it be- fore noon to-day." Ermine sat up in bed, pushing pack her 'hair with both hands, and looking so piteous that she might have moved even her cousin's e~moassion. "0 Madelon!" (gasping as if for breath), " don't tell me that Raymond took me in there-straight in there where they all were?" "Yes, he did," said Madelon, decidedly. "' It would be a cruel kindness to keep the truth from you, because you will be obliged to hear it as soon as you go out. Instead of calling Aunt Victorine to see about you, he brought you straight into the sitting-room; and I think, for my part" (waxing a little 'warm), "that it was very ungentlemanly con- duct." "It was infamous conduct," cried Ermine, sinking back upon her 'pillows in a wild pas- sion of tears, "and I will never, never, never forgive him for it as long as I live!" Madelon made no answer. In fact, the tears did not give her much opportunity for reply. She quietly waited for them to subside, :sniffing meanwhile, with meditative calmness, at the cologne, and sprinkling herself with a fragri~nt shower now and then. "Don't ~ry so, Ermine," she said at last, ~a little sharply. '~ What on earth is the good of it? You'll only spoil your eyes, and make your head ache. I can tell you" (significant- ly), "you will 1e sorry if you do. Of course, it was outrageous in Raymond; or would have been outrageous, if matters had not been settled. I take it for granted, however, that you are engaged to him." "You know better than that," cried Er- mine; with a smothered, wrathful sob. "You know I would die first!" "Mon Diete!" (with surprise which, if sim. elated~ was the perfection of art), "do you mean to say you are not engaged to him? Well, my dears I congratulate you upon being the most imprudent and the most inconsist- ent woman in Charleston. If I had a fancy to compromise myself; and to be town-talk, I think I should select a man whom I liked, and not one whom I professed to hate." "Profess to hate! I don't know what'you mean by that, Madelon. You know that I do hate him!" "I know it, do I?" said Madelon, sarcas- tically. "Well, really you must excuse inc if I differ with you on1 that point. I know you say you hate him; but actions speak so much louder than words, that incredulity is pardon- able." "What actions of mine have ever spoken any thing but detestation for him?" demanded Ermine, turning round with eyes which began to blaze through their tears. "Did your actions last night speak very mucl~ detestation? Instead of coming home from the concert, didn't you dismiss the car- riage and walk down to the Battery ?-didn't you stay there for an hour or two ?-and didn't you finally make your entrance in Mr. 'Erie's arms?" "Don't you believe that, if I had known any thing about it, I would have done any thing before he should have touched me?" "I am not speaking of~ossibilities," said ~fa~lelon, coldly. "I was simply mentioning facts." "Well, I can mention a fact also," said Er- mine, suddenly changing to ominous calm. "You wonder why I didn't come straighthome from the concert. I will tell you. The music excited me very much-as music always does -and when we reached here, and I saw how many people were assembled, I told Ray. mond "-the very pronunciation of his name cost her an effort-" that I wanted to run. down to the Battery and quiet myself with the sound of ~he water. He refused to let me go alone, and I refused to allow him to accom- pany me, so the matter would probably have ended by my coming in, if you had not gone to the window~ just then with Major Hastings. You remember what you said "-her eyes brightened and expanded until even Madelon's lids sank beneath their glow-"I was not more than a stone's-throw from you, and of course I heard it all. It surprised me, for I could no~ p 36 EBB--TIDE. 37 page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] SEE, TUE CONQUERING hERO COMES!" 38 EBB-TIDE. have imagined that you would so easily recon- cile it to your conscience to give currency to a report which you knew to be false. However, that does not matter. Another disappoint- ment, more or less, is of small importance. I was going to say that what I heard made mc determine to come to an explanation with Ray. mend. I requested him to accompany me to the Battery, and I told him explicitly that the~ things must end, for that nothing on earth should ever induce me to marry him." "In other words, your were kind enough to reject him before he had ever offered him- self." "He said that too; and it hurt me no more from his lips that it does from yours." "And have you any idea what will be said of you-especially after last night?" "I am past caring what is said of me by any gossiping tongues whatever." "I can, assure you, however, that Aunt Vie- torine will care." "She will have no right to do so, since it is her own fault." "I think you will.be sorry for all this one day, Ermine." "Not half so sorry an you will be for lending yourself to4 such a scheme, Made- ion." "The odds are too unequal," said Madelon. "You will be forced to come to terms." Ermine clinched her hands together, and, pale as she had been before, grew still more pale with resolution, no~ with fear. "You will ~ she said. "Yes, I will see," the other rejoined. "I think it right to tell you~ione thing, however: I have made my last effort in your behaW and given you my last warning. I am a soldier of fortune, as you well know: I have my ownway to make in the world, by my own wits, and I cannot afford to let sentiment or feeling hold my hands. Heretofore I have tried to serve you-honestly tried, according to the best judgment I could form, little as you may think it. Hereafter, I shall servo myself. If my interest clashes with y~u'rs, I give you fair warning that I shall not surrender~ an inch." "I can credit that, Madelon," said Ermine, coldly. "I only do not understand why you should think it necessary to give such a warn- ing." "Simply because I wish the point made clear. I owe the world nothing," said the girl, setting her teeth, "and I am determined to take all that I can gain fromit, by cunning oi by force." "Why not follow Margaret's example?" asked Ermine, with bitter weariness. "Why not sell yourself to the highest bidder?" "Nobody has ever bid high enough," answered Madelon, throwing her head back with the air of a De Rohan. "Poor as I am, I have that which many a millionnairess lacks, the knowledge how to spend wealth. Oh, if I were "~clasping her hands with that dra- matic feri'&r which comes by nature to all of French blood-"juste Giel! what a grands dame I could be!" "What a pitiful ambition!~~ said Ermine~~ face-though not her lips. Then she added aloud: "I wonder you don't consider what a sinful thing such an inordinate desire for wealth is; and to what consequences it may lead. It seems to me that it is at the bottom of nearly every crime of earth since our Lord Himself was betrayed for thirty pieces of silver." "Why don't you preach to Margaret?" asked Madelon, with her trenchant sneer. "She practices, while I only theorize." "Margaret has not a tenth part of your sense, Madelon, and therefore she is not a tenth part as accountable. Besides" (with a sigh), "she is only making a ~nariage de con. penance, as hundreds of other women do. No doubt she will be happy enough. She will have laces and j&els in abundance, and they constitute happiness for her.. But you-you are different." "I hope so indeed," said Madelon, shrug- ging her shoulders, "By.the-by, I must not forget that I have two items of news for you. First, that Mr. Sexton has been formally ac; cepted." "I am not surprised at that," said Ermine -and a vision of Raymond's face seemed to rise before her as she had seen it behin ar- garet's chair the night before. "Secondly, that Captain Erle, of the ood ship Adventure, has delighted his loving rela- tions by an appearance this morning. Ermine started, and a flash of rapture came over her face; bathing every feature in such a flood of radiance that, for a moment, she looked fairly transfigured. "Alan!" she cried, eagerly. "0 Madelon, has Alan come?" "Do you suppose I would be likely to tell you so, if he had not?" "And is he here-down-stairs?" "I left him at the breakfast-table when I came up. "And why did you not tell me before? To think that I should have stayed here all this while, and my dear boy down-stairs! Ring the bell for Lena, please, Madelon-I must get up at once." "And make yourself sick." "WJ~o cares? But I shall not; Alan is better Pr me than any tonic. Oh, why don't Lena come? I am so afraid he will go some- where before I can get down!" "I don't think there is the least fear of that; but I can go and tell him that you will be down, if you like." "Yes, thanks, I should like it, if you don't mind~ Tell him he has made me well-or no! Don't tell him that, because he ivill ask what is the matter with me, and I would rather he did not hear about my folly last night." "You may set your mind at rest on that score," said Madelon, coolly. "I left Aunt XTi~torine giving him a minute account of it when I caine up. "0 Madelon! how could she?" "Nonsense, 1~rmine! Could she know by intuition that you did not want Captain Erie to hear of your!flirtation with his brother?" "Madelon, how dare you say such a thing? I never flirted with anybody-much less with Rayniond-in m "Then I have azingly little idea of what flirtation is! However, we won't come to blows; our 'little hands were never made,' etc. And, fortunately, here comes Lena to keep the peace. Au revoii-." Enter Lena, and exit Mademoiselle Lautrec, singing as she went. Ermine heard her clear voice lilting " Chagrin d'Amoui-" all the way down-stairs; and, as she went to her toilet, she could not help wondering how much heart her brilliant cousin really possessed. It Was a question which everybody who knew Made- ion was sooner ~r later forced to ask, and which nobody had ver yet been able to answer to his or her satisfaction. Ermine, as a general rule, was remarkably dilatory about dressing, but on the present oc- casion she went to the business with such a rush of energy (energy which might have as- tonished Lena, if that astute personage had not known the cause of it perfectly well), that her toilet was soon an accomplished fact, every garment donned, every ribbon tied, every hair in its place, if hairs so 'wandering could possibly be said to have a place. ~3he gave one last glance in the mirror when all was com- pleted, saw the graceful figure, clad in mi~ty, transparent white, the sweet, low-browed face, the delicate, sensitive lips, the wonderful eyes, crossed with a shade of languor through all their happiness, and, giving one last touch to the coral-tinted ribbon tied lit a careless knot at her throat, went down. What a day it was which came with fra- grant kisses to her languid brow, as she crossed the lovely, marble-paved hail, the wide-open doors of which let in bounteously the glory outside! The smile of God seemed to rest upon our insigniflci~nt planet, making it for a time almost as fair as heaven's self. It was a triple bridal of earth and sea and sky, which was taking place out where the shining waves were coming so gently to kiss the blooming land; and far, far in the lucid depths of sky- "Where, through a sapphire sea, the sun Sailed like a golden galleon! "- straight on to that high noontide splendor, when men, perforce,~ must veil their faces from the transcending beams of his majesty, and only Nature can still look bravely up- ward, with "till her quaint, enamelled eyes "- sending the while sweet odors, like holy prayers, on every breath of the capricious south wind, which kissed the "plumy palms" of the tropics, before it came to roll ?he sparkling waves upon their golden sand, and die like a god on a royal couch of perfumed roses. These same roses were sending their mes- sages into the sitting-room-filling every nook and corner with a fragrance like no other fra- grance of earth-when Ermine entered. How many people were in the room she. did not know. On crossing the threshold she saw but one face, a bronzed, handsome, thorough-bred face, with limpid eyes, half-blue, half-green, as if they had caught their tint from the sea on which they loved to gaze, smiling a welcome to her. "Alan! Alan! I am so glad to see you again!" was all she could say, as she felt the clasp of those kind hands which embodied almost the whole of tenderness that her life had known. "Glad to ~ee me! I wonder if any words can make you understand how I have wearied for a sight of you-wearied until I knew what it was to be homesick even on the blue water!" '4 page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] / "SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMES!" said the voice, for the sound of which her soul had thirsted even as men, fainting in a desert, thirst for a draught of cool water. "My pet! my pet! what have they been doing to you, that you look so pale? "I am always pale," said Ermine, gazing up at him with the air of one who, having en- tered some long-desired haven of repose, has neither wish nor care left. "Pale! Do you think I don't know that? You were always a lily, but such a pure and stately lily. Now you droop your white petals wearily." "Do I, Alan?" "Yes, you do. And your eyes-they are happy but so languid-as if you were tired in spirit. Come here, and let me look at you. Unless I have lost all my skill, I can soon tell what is the matter with you." "Nothing is the matter withmc now I have seen you," said Ermine with a childish truth- fulness. She was a woman with Raymond- a woman who could hold her own against any odds. But wit~ Alan she was still as much a child-as purel1~r and simply at her ease.-as on that by-gone d~y when he had taken her and all her misery into his arms. As he led her across the floor to the full light of one of those windows through which the sweet breath of the roses came, she noticed for the first time that by some rare, happy chance, the room was empty of all save they two. Where all the rest were-her mother, Margaret, Madelon- she did not pause to wonder. It was enough that Fate for once had been so kin~. She sank with a deep sigh of satisfaction into the easy- chair whiph Alan drew forward, and folding her hands in her lap-they were absurdl~f small, those hands-glanced up at him with an expression of perfect beatitude. "Sit down there," she said, pointing to a low chair in front of her. "I want to look at you, and I cannot do so unless you are on a level with me. Now, that is it. Alan" (gaz- ing at him critically after he had olleyed), "you-are-browner than you wore!" "Then we are quits, since you are whiter than you were," replied Alan, who had man- aged to accommodate himself not very ungrace- fully in the small chair aforesaid, and looked as well contented with his quarters as Ermine did with hers. "How often must I tell you that my paleness is of Natu~-e?" said she. "If you talk of it much more, I will buy or borrow some rouge and use it for your especial benefit." "That would be to paint the lily, indeed. No" (shaking his head), "I see how it is: they have been bullying you among them nIl, while I was away." "No, Alan; on my honor, no." "On your honor, Minnikin?" "Yes, on my honor. Ah, you don't know me" (shaking her head in turn), "I have such a bad temper that nobody could bully me!" "Who ought to know you better than I? Didn't I have the onerous duty of bringing you up? Don't try to abuse yourself to me, for it is perfectly unnecessary, I assure you. I know all the good, and all the bad, of you; and~~O child, child, how little there is of the latter 1" "I am glad you think so, Alan, but indeed I am very wicked." "Are you ?"(with a half.amused, half-sad sigh), "then God knows I wish I was wicked, too. Perhaps those dear little white hands might come and teach inc of their own ac- cord." The dear little white hands in question came, at this, and smoothed back the short, thick curls-not exactly gold,'nor yet exactly brown, but something between the two-from the broad, unmanned brow which lay under them like a snow-drift. "Alan," said the gentle voice, soft and sweet as Cordelia's own, "I hope my hands will wither away, if ever they become too good to touch you-you, who alone have kept my heart from wither all these years." "And do you kn what you have kept mine, Ermine?" "A little warm, I tins ; a little conscious of prayers and blessings following you when you were tossing about on the ocean." "A little pure, too," said the young man, sinking his voice slightly. "lam sinful enough, God knows-it is hard to live a man's life in the world and not to be-but I might have been infinitely worse had it not been for you, Ermine, you stainless lily, praying for me (God bless you! ) far way. Often your sweet eyes have risen and' shamed away some devil's thought from my soul. Often your sweet voice has come to still some tempest, such as you cannot even dream of; in my heart. I wonder, sometimes, what you have ever found worth caring for, worth praying for, in a great, rough fellow like myselV' "What did you find worth caring for in the fretful, tiresome child whom you saw and comforted long ago?" "I found the warmest heart and the sweet- est nature in all the world," said he, taking the tiny, lissome hands and brushing them with his heavily-mustached lips. "How you cricd yourself to sleep in my arms -~hat day! I shall never forget your poor, littl~, pale, tear- drenched face, with its great, dark, tired eyes! Do you know that something in your appear- ance when you caine into the room a while ago recalled that homesick child to me, and I felt \strongly inclined-foolish enough, wasn't it? ~to comfort you again as I comforted you then?" For the first time in her life Ermine felt that she was blushing under Alan's gaze and Alan's words. She began to wish that she was not facing that flood of relentless light from the window, as she felt the roseate flush coming like a wave into her alabaster cheeks. "Your presence is comfort enough," she said, meeting the limpid eyes with her soft, dark orbs. "You don't know how uneasy I have been about you. Your letters sa you would probably be here the first of May, dl haunted the Battery daily, until yesterday mamma forbade it." "And so you concluded to stay in bed to- day! Was that the reason I was so grievous- ly disappointed when I came in and did not find you at the breakfast-table?" "No," said Ermine, appreciating this art- ful trap as it deserved. "I stayed in bed be- cause I was not welL" "And why were you not well? Aunt Vie- torine told me that you fainted last night. What made you faint?" "The reaction from excitement, I suppose. I painted hard all day, and heard some glori- ous music at night. Between the two I was color-mad and sound-drunk. So, when the excitement was spent, I made a fool of myself and fainted." "And Raymond-confound him !-brought you home." "Yes, Raymond brought me home." Silence for a while. Captain Erle gnawed his mustache, and looked out of the window, while Ermine let her loving gaze linger on ltim. "They will kill you among them," the for- mer said, at last, in a tone of exasperation. "From your mother down, they know nothing about you, and every thing they do is harm~ instead of good. The life you are leading here is written in your pale face and your weary eyes. Ermine" (with sudden energy), "you need not deny it, they have been trying to make you do something. Was it" (with rising wrath) "to marry Raymond?" "Nobody has been trying to make me do any thing," said Ermine, astonished at the astuteness of this marine gentleman. "You forget that I have my dear guardian to whom I could apply, if any thing of the kind were attempted. As for ~a~ond" (indignantly), "I detest him." "Do you really, Ermine?" "How can you apk me such a question, Alan? You know Ido." " Then" (with a deep breath) "thank God for that load gone! Ermine, my pet, do you know that when I came in this morning they all hinted, if they did not assert, that you were engaged to him?" "But you did not believe it, Alan?" "Not I, until I saw you. But when you came in, like a pale little statue stepped from a niche in some cathedral, I thought they might have bullied you into measures. But you are all right, and I am as happy as an ad- miral ! " "Foolish boy," but her smile was a caress; "we have been having a liberal allowance of reasonsn, stratagems, and spoils,' however. Do you know that Margaret is engaged?" "And Madelon, to9, I hope. There's in- flammable material in that girl, and the sooner r,~he is safely tied in the halter of matrimony the better. Apropos of halters, Ermine, would you like to go to ride this afternoon?" "Oh, of all things, if I can-if mamma will let mc!" "We'll make her let you," said he, gayly. "A sailor on land is like a school-boy at home for the holidays-a priylleged character, whom it is everybody's duty to humor and amuse. Here comes Aunt Victorine I will ask her." Mrs. Erle entered at the moment, and Er- mine at once understood why this tfte-d-t~fte had been permitted. Astonishment and vexa- tion were plainly legible on the lady's face, as she caught sight of that confidential scene at the window: ~he had evidently fancied her daughter safe in her chamber and in bed. "You here, Ermine I" she said. "I was just on my way to your room to forbid your exerting yourself by getting up to-day. I should have been there before, but I had to N 40 EBB-TIDE. 41 page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 EBB-TIDE. STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS. 43~ settle the new governess in her duties with Ilegy and Louise." (After the departure of Miss l~Torth, Mrs. Erle had eschewed a resident governess and employed day-teachers, who, as a general rule, were changed every two or three weeks.) "You look wretchedly," she went on. "I must insist on your going back to your room and lying down, while I send for Dr. 'Juthbert." "Dr. Cuthbert does me no good, mamma,'~ said Ermiac, wearily. "Please let me stay. I feel so much better down here than I did up- stairs." "You are excited again,~~ aid'~frs. Erle, feeling her ~ulse. "The next thing will be another fainting-fit. I must in i~t on your resting to-day, even if you don't' ee Dr. Cuth- bert." "Let me prescribe for her," sMd Captain Erle, ~vho had risen, and stood tall ~ad stately by the window. "Let, her go t6 ride this afternoon, and I ~~ill wagnr~anytihing that we hear no more of fainting ts." Ermine looked imploringly into her moth- er's face, but a flint could not have been harder than that pleasant, gracious c6unte- nanee. "Impossible!" she said. "It would be The most perfect folly, and, in her present weak state, might bring on a serious illness. Ermine, I insist on your going to/your room." "Very well, mamma," said Ermine, rising; "if you insist, I can go. But it is very use- less.-Good-by, Alan!" "Good-by, St. Agnes," said Alan, smiling, as h9 clasped the soft hand extended to him. The clasp, the smile, went up-stairs with the poor little, lamb-like martyr, and sweetened herexile more than ~t is possible for words to tell. After all, what did any thing else matter? Alan had come t -4-- ~Th CHAPTER VII. STRATAGEMS AND SPOiLS. ERMINE discovered, before long, however, that there were a few things which still mattered to the degree of discomfort-even though Alan had come home. Having been remanded to her chamber, and feeling too happy and lazy even to paint, she subsided into a chair before the open window, and, leaning her arms on the broad sill, bathed herself in the glory and beauty of the day like a very sun-flower. Looking out on the green, happy earth, the wide, laughing water, or far up into the blue, intensely blue sky, arching over all things4ike the dome of some vast cathedral, it was easy to be happy even without any tangible cause; easy to lose one's self ia vague, sweet dreams, and vaguer, sweeter fancies; easy to forget that there were such things as sin and suffering on earth, that, under this hyacinthine sky, hearts were breaking, sobs were uttered, nurses breathed, death-gasps given, souls, alike of sinners and of saints, going forth on the wings of every idle, golden minute, to face the justice of Him who, mid all the mad carnival of human mis- ery, insanity, and crime, is still "patient be- cause eternal." On many a changeless, dead face throughout the smiling land, these quiver- ing sunbeams fell, yet they brought none the less of life-giving warmth in their touch when they glanced athwart the happy face, pillowed on a pair of soft, white arms, in this open window. 0 lovely and ~most loving face! It was well, indeed, that the world had little to do with your short life, that its kiss was never laid on your sweet lips, or weighed down earth- ward the jids of your pathetic eyes. It was truly well, for, among all those glorious bless- ings and tender promises which we call "the beatitudes," what so glorious, what so full of tenderness as the one which tells us that ~"blessed are the clean of heart: for they shall see God?" But golden as Ermine's day-dream was, it did~ not remain uninterrupted. In such trances, we literally "count time by heart- throbs, not by moments," ~so she had no means of telling what exact number of sec- onds elapsed from the time she sank intn her chair, to the time when a knoe)c sounded on the door. "Come in," she ~ lazily, and, lifting her face, looked round as the door opened. To her surprise, Margaret stood on the threshold. "I suppose I may come in," said the lat- ter, hesitating a moment under her step-sis- ter's involuntary glance of surprise. "I thought you were in bed, Ermine." Oh, certainly, come in," said Ermine, ris- ing and drawing forward a chair. "No: I am not in bed-I dressed to go down and see Alan, but mamma insisted on my coming back to my room, though" (with a sigh) "I am sure it was very unnecessary. It is kind qf you to come and see me, Margaret. Sit down." Margaret sat down-a billowy mass of blue drapery, crowned by a lovely but most pettish face. Signs of storm, past, present, and to come, were written on the vivid coral lips, in the violet eyes half veiled by their milk-white lids, on the brow l~ke smoothest marble or finest satin, drawn just now into a petulant frown of discontent. "I am sure I think you look as well as usual, Erm~ne,'~ she said, with a half-offended, half-aggrieved intonation of voice. "Fainting seems to agree with you; and it was a very nice way to get up an interesting scene, and let everybody know the degree of your inti- macy with Raymond." "You are tuistaken," said Ermine, coldly -she was so well used to the beautiful god- dess's ebullitions of spleen, that neither the tone nor the form of this address surprised her-" fainting does not agree with me, for Alau says he never saw me look so badly and, ss for getting up a scene to let everybody know my intimacy with Raymond, considering that I am not intimate with him, I don't see why I should have wished to leave the im- pressioll on anybody's mind." "Not Intimate with him!" repeated Mar. garet, in a high key. "Not intimate with im, when you are out together at all hours o~ the day and night, when you faint in his 9)rms, and when" (a still higher key) "every. body says you ought to be engaged to him, if you are not 1" "Did anybody ever say that to you, Mar- garet?" "Yes, plenty of people-Mrs. Dunwardin said it when she went away last night." "Then give Mrs. Dunwardin my compli- ments the next time you see her, and request her to be kind enough to mind her own busi- ness." "Ohit is very fine to carry off matters in that way; but telling people to mind their own business-which is very uncivil and un- lady-like, by-the-way-won't keep them from talking. Of course you don't care, though" (relapsin~ into grievance); "as long as you can play off Raymond against Ah~n, and Alan against Raymond, it makes no matter to you u~4at people say." - "Margaret, such nonsense is not worth getting angry over," said Ermine, with deter- mined calmness, though two scarlet spots be- gan to burn in her white cheeks. "Will you excuse me if I ask you to change the subject ? I am very tired of my unfortunate escapade of last night; and Raymond's name is fairly hate- ful to me!" "Oh, no doubt it is hateful to you since Alan has come back!" cried Margaret, with quivering lips, and eyes that blazed through all their odalisque softness. "It was very far from being hateful to you when you stayed on the Battery till after midnight last night, however! I wonder you are not ashamed to play fast-and-loose in such a disgraceful man- ner?" "Margaret, I w9n't tolerate this !" said Ermine, rising. "You have no possible right. to speak to inc in such a manner, and I will not listen to it." "You shall listen to it!" said Margaret, rising, too, and stamping her foot to give emphasis to her words. "I have the best possible right to speak, for you took Ray.. mond from me to make a Wy of him for your amusement. Don't I love him better than anybody else in the world?" cried the girl,. with a ring of pathos through all the vitupera~ tivo passion of her voice-" and am I not forced to marry this horrid Saxton, while you -you who might be happy with him, throw him away for a disgiace-" "Hush !" said Ermine, with eyes blazing: in turn. "Say what you please to me, and, for the sake of Christian charity, I will bear it; but you shall not say any thing about Alan! I won't stand that!" "Really, it seems to me that Alan is my cousin, and that unless you are engaged to him, he is nothing to you." "He is a hundred times more to me than any cousinahip can make him to you; and, as. I told you a moment ago, ybu may say any thing you please to me, but you shall say' nothing of him." "I have no desire to say any thing of him -there is nothing to be said. I only want to. tell you that I might have forgiven you for taking Raymond from me if you had loved him and married him; but that I will never~ never forgive you for making him leave me,, only that you might treat him like this!" For the first time Ermine saw how this beautiful, tame face-this face so often petu- lant, so rarely moved by any deeper expression~ -looked, when convulsed, changed, intensi- fied by the master-passion of human nature,. page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS. 45 44 EBB-TIDE. the passion which had stirred even this shal- low nature to its depths. Through her preoc- cupation-her pity mingled with indignation- the quick artist-eye caught, the retentive ar- tist - mind remembered, the transformation, and many a long day afterward the same face stood out clearly on canvas-a loveliness elo- quent of rage and scorn. - "Margaret," she said, gently, "stop a mo- *ment, and be reasonable. How did I ever make Raymond leave you? Have I not discouraged him always, and always plainly showed that I did not like him? Do you think that, because~ you find him attractive, everybody else must do the same? I assure you that, if any thing could make me despise him. more than I have always done, it has been the manner in which he has treated you." "It is no affair of yours how he has treated me," cried Margaret, with a foolish woman's illogical wrath. "Do you suppose I imagine that he gave mc up for ~jou?" she went on, with a scornful laugh. "It is some consola- tion that it was for your fortune, not for your- Self; that he left me." "I am perfectly well aware of that fact," said Ermine, coldly. "But I cannot realize the consolation of it. One would not despise a man for being fickle, but one would despise him for being mercenary. - "And do you flatter yourself that your new lover is any more disinterested?" asked Mar- garet, bitterly. Ermine drew up her slender .~lane~ figure haughtily. "I do no~ know of whom you are speaking," she ~aid, proudly. "You may find out some day," said Mar- garet with a slight gasp-a premonition of hysteria-in her throat. "Biit it is hard that I am the only one to be sacrificed," she went on, sinking bac1~ into her chair, while a shower of sudden tears washed all the fire out of her eyes. "You are not made to marry Raymond -though he told me only last night that it is a matter of life and death to him that yoti should do so-while I am sacrificed to this her-horrible man whom I detest!" - "You are not a Circassian," said Ermine, with an inflection of unconscious contempt in her voice. "Nobody could sacrifice you, if you did not sacrifice yourself." "It is easy for you to talk!" said Margaret, indignantly. "You are rich, and your own mistress; nobody can force you to do any thing. But I am different." "You are a puppet in Raymond's hands, and for Raymond's selfish, mercenary pur- poses," said Ermine, indignantly, in her turn. "Do you suppose that I don't know that you accepted Mr. Sexton at his bidding? It is in- comprehensible to me that you should suffer his influence over you, when he uses it for such an end as th~. Margaret, for Heaven's sake, ask yourself could he ever liave loved you and yet urge you-force you-to such a step as this?" "Whit can you know of his love?" asked Margaret, blazing out once more. "Is it im- possible for any one to love me? Plenty of people have done so besides Raymond; you know that/as well as I do. He did love me, but he sa~ d-he still says-that we are too poor to marry, that we should only drag each other do~wn, instead of benefiting each other. That I must sacrifice myself to make a brilliant match, and he-and he-" "And he will magnanimously sacrifice him- self to my fortune," said Ermine, smiling sar- castically. "It is quite an able programme, and I congratulate you upon carrying out your share of it so well. I wonder" (this to her- self; as she turned and looked out of the win- dow) "if that man ever spoke the truth in all his life?" But meanwhile Margarct's second explosion, like the first, was quickly drenched in a lach- rymal shower-bath, and noticing that the sobs were momently becoming more hysterical, Er- mine began to think of some mode to allay this tempest in a teapot. "Margaret," she said, "if the idea of marry- ing Mr. Sexton makes you so unhappy, why not ask your father to break the engage- ment?" No answer-only louder sobs, and more threateningly hysterical signs about the throat. "I have told Raymond that I can never marry him," Ermine continued, thinking that this information might prove comforting. "If your engagement with Mr. Sexton were broke~i, you might-" What Miss Erle might or might not haVe done can 'only be surmised~ for the consolir~g suggestiOll was very abruptly cut short. "I can do no-thing b-but marry Mr. Sax- ton!" cried Margaret, as vehemently as her sobs would permit. "Somebody must besa- sacrificed, and of course I am the one! You can do as you plc-please, but I hate you w-worse than anybody in the world, and I will never, never forgive you for the way you have treated Raymond!" "Good Heavens, Margaret I "-began Er- mine, confounded by the extraordinary logic of this resentment. But Masgaret was past listening to any thing by this time. Violent hysterics set in, ac- companied by the usual kicking and screaming symptoms, and Ermine flew to the bell. Her first energetic peal brought Lena hurrying up. stairs-for it was not often that her mistress's bell ranglike this-and; as Margaret was bythis time very nearly unmanageable, Mrs. ErIe was summoned. It was surprising how her pres- ence, the first moment she crossed the thresh- old, had a sedative effect upon her step. daughter.1 The screams died away, the kick. ing subsided, and even the sobs soon became less convulsive. By the time that Madelon, the governess, the children, and half a dozen servants arrived on the scene of action, Miss Erle had subsided into an unconscious condi- tion, and was borne away to her own room- notwithstanding Madelon's unfeeling assur- rance to the company in general that she was sure she could walk-without furthefresist. ance-a beautiful but decidedly heavy piece of inert flesh and blood. The train moved away after her-all ex- cept Mrs. Erle, who, giving a few directions to illadelon (over which the latter shrugged her shoulders), came back into Ermine's chamber and closed the door. "My patience is almost exhausted with that girl," she said, sinking down into the chair which Margaret had vacated. "I scarcely know whether her folly or her affectation is most trying. What brought on this scene, Er- mine?" Now, Ermine was perfectly well aware that her mother knew as well as herself what had brought on the scene, but she had lived long enough with Mrs. Erle to give the answer which was expected ~f her. "Margaret has been talking about her aversion to marrying Mr. Sexton," she said, and she worked herself into the state in which you found her by simply giving way to her excitement." "AhI" said Mrs. ErIe, with a world of. meaning in the single interjection, and then sue looked full into her daughter's eyes. - "Was she talking of anybody besides Mr. Sexton?" she asked, with a slight shade of sig- nificance. "Yes," answered Ermine, indifferently. "She was talking of Raymond." "What of him ~" "Indeed, mamma, that is hard to say, for her complaints were rather obscure and very inconsistent. She was apparently angry that Raymond had transferred his attentions from her to myself; and yet outraged that I had not accepted them. I did not sce the reason of it," she concluded with a tired sigh. "Did you expect reason from a jealous and very silly woman?'~ asked Mrs. ErIe, con- temptuously. "I am sure you know Margaret well enough to be aware how little credit is due to any thing she may say. She has ac- cepted Mr. Sexton of her own accord, yet she gives herself the airs of a martyr, and, because she has chosen to fancy herself in love with Raymond, she thinks that she has a fee-simple right over him. You will be doing him a grievous injustice, Ermine" (this very earnest- ly), "if you allow Margarct's jealous folly to prejudice you in any way against him." "Margaret's jealous folly, as you term it, mamma, does not weigh with me in the least; but what I have seen with my own eyes and heard with my own ears, I confess that I believe." "You mean-?" "I mean that if Raymond ever loved any- body besides himself; he loved Margaret, and that he gave her up-nay, more, he forced her to engage herself to a man whom she detests- that he might be free to devote himself to my fortune." "Ermine, I am astonished at you! It is in- comprehensible to me that you should let Mar- garet's absurd complaints weigh with you for a moment. There is not one word of truth in what she asserts concerning Raymond. 1 know lids. With regard to Mr. Sexton, no doubt she made you believe that she is a victim to her family, when in reality she is only a Victim to her own mercenary ambition. ii should think that by this time you would ap- preciate her vanity and selfishness sufficiently to rate her sentiments as they deserve." "I think I do," said Ermine, quietly. "And I should think you might knew that I have no possible reason for representing matters in any but their true light." No answer-to this. Ermine was gazing out of the window at the 'blue sky beyond, and she did not withdraw her eyes or utter a sylla- ble. page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] THE ENCHANTED LAND. 47 46 EBB-TIDE. "While I am on this subject," Mrs. Erie continued, a little sharply, "I must say a few words concerning the occurrence of last night. In the first place, may I ask for an explana- tion of your fainting? Raymond, of course, gave none." "There is very little to give, mamma. I was excited, and fainted from the reaction- that is all." "What excited you!" "The music first, I presume, and my con- versation with Raymond afterward." "And may I beg to know the subject of a conversation which took you down to the Bat- tery at eleven o'clock at night?" "Certainly, if you feel any interest in it." Then she recounted substantially what she had told Madelon, all of which, by the same token, Mrs. Erle had heard before, adding when she concluded, "I am glad to tell you this, mamma, because I am anxious that there should be an end of all expectations that Raymond and I should ever marry. You may believe me when I say that there are no possible circumstances which could bring such a thing to pass.~~ "However sorry I may be to hear this, and on your account I am sorry," said Mrs. ErIe -with dignity, "I must beg to correct you on one point. You speak as if there had been some plot or plan to marry you to Raymond. I owe it to myself and to my husband to de- clare that we have never done more than wish to see you established in life under the protec- tion of a man who, notwithstanding the inter- ested motives which you impute to him, is suf- ficiently attached to you to bear with your pe- culiar and most trying disposition. That we ever formed this wish, you owe to yourself; and the heartless manner in which you have flirted -with him." "Flirted with him - with Raymond I Mamma, how can you say such a thing, when you-you alone-have always thrown us to- gether?" "Did I throw you together last night?" asked Mrs. Erie. "You know my rules-you know how much lam opposed to any thinglike the f~st manners of the day-yet you wander off itt midnight with Raymond, and finally make your appearance, before half a dozen people, in his arms." "Mamma!" The poor, much-tried blood mounted in a torrent over neck and face. "Consider for a moment-how could I help it?" "Not understanding the eccentricities of a sensitive temperament, that is mor~than I can answer," said Mrs. Erie, coldly. "if it was necessary for you to faint after the concert, it was at least not necessary that you should have gone down to the Battery to accomplish it. I confess that I am losing patience with your fancies and caprices, Ermine," she went on more sternly; "and, since you seem to have no regard for what people will say ofjour con- duct, I must endeavor to have some for you. If you were engaged to Raymond, the gossips might hold their tongues. Since you nrc not engaged to him, I can scarcely imagine how se- vere the strictures will be on you; and, natu- rally, also, on me' Ermine was silent. She knew from long experience that there was nothing to be said when her mother took this tqne. Justification was useless-still more useless any thing like softening or appeal. "I know perfectly well where your spirit of rebellion has been learned," Mrs. Erle went onin thesam e hard, passionless voice. "Your guardian has always encouraged you in defy- ing my wishes, and you think that you will soon be the legal mistress of your own actions. But none the less, one thing is certain-so long as you ~'emain under my control, so long I shall insist upon your keeping within the bonds of decorum. I shoi~ld never have al- lowed your flirtation with Raymoi~d to go to the shameful length it has done, if I had not supposed that you meant to marry him. I-Jay- ing had this warning, I shall certainly not allow yogi to enter upon another, as you seem disposed to do." Still silence. Sometimes-often, in fact- the only hope of restraining a torrent is to keep the1~ood-gates resolutely shut. What Er- mine would have said if she had enclosed her lips for the passage of even one word, there is no telling. It was not because she did not feel, that she was silent. On the contrary, burning indignation strove for expression, side by side with that sickening sense of being wholly misjudged and cruelly misunderstood, than which earth has no pang more poignant. But she was resolutely silent. What good would it do to speak? She had learned from long and bitter experience thatcher mother and herself were like two jarring chords in music,- never by any chance giving forth a note in uni- son. This realization had weilnigh turned her child's heart to gall, and it had hardened her face now into something of a statue's white, steadfast immobility. "Understand this," said Mrs. Erie, raising her voice not more than a shade of a semitone, but still enough to mark how keenly she was provoked by the reticence which met her like a granite wall, "I desire to hear no more of your romantic, childish nonsense about Alan ErIe, and I expressly forbid your appearance in public with him, or taking a~ rides or drives of the kind which he proposed this morning. YQu have been already sufficiently talked about; and it is my duty to conduct you, since you do not seem capable of conducting your- self." A pause-then, sharply: "Do you hear me, Ermine?" "I hesr you, mamma." "Do you intend to obey me?" "Is that question necessary, mamma? Have I ever disobeyed you when you explicitly ~tated your wishes?" "Your conduct is indeed most exemplary," said Mrs. Erie, bitterly. "You obey my -wishes in the letter, and make it the business of your life to violate them in the spirit. My duty is none the less my duty, however, and I am determined to give no further sanction to an intimacy which has already done you nothing but harm." She uttered the last words in a tone of de- cision which left no room for demur, if Er- mine had been ineilned to make any. But the girl received this sentence with the same pas- sive calm which had characterized her manner all along; and, after waiting for a moment for - the rejoinder which did not come, Mrs. Erie rose 4 majestically and swept from the room. Ermine remained motionless - changing neither feature nor expression-for some time after the door had closed on -her mother's soft I draperies. Then something like a shiver of passion seemed suddenly to pass over and shake I her from head to foot. "I comprehend it perfectly," she said, half- aloud. "It is my punishment for rejecting Raymond. Ohif they tried to make mc hate a him, could they do it any better?" a She rose from her seat restlessly and paced v the floor for a minute. It seemed so hard, a so cruel! She had longed for Alan with such f heart-sick longing, and~now that he had come, h she was not allowed to be happy for one day. g Even her intercourse with him-that joyous C freedom of manner which it had been so much o pleasure to indulge-was placed under a con- ri strain by this new talk of flirtation and love and marriage. One of her old floods of child- ish grief came over the poor girl-poor, though an heiress-as, throwing herself upon her bed, she buried her face in her hands, sobbing bitterly. "0 Alan, dear Alan, if I were only a child, so that you could come and comfort me!" she said. "It seems as if my heart will break. How they all are banded against me-mamma because I cannot obey her wishes; Margaret, because I have stood between Raymond and herself; Madelon, because she is selfishly bent on her own fortune. If ever there comes to me a time of desperate strait or extremity, may - God help mc, for I cannot count upon one friend among them all!" Looking back afterward, Ermine remem- bered this thought, but it is good to believe and to trust that, in any time of desperate "strait or extremity," God does help those for whom mortal help is not. -4-- CHAPTER VIII. - THE ENCHANTED LAND. ERMINE spent the entire morning and the whole long afternoon in her own room. Of course, she could have comeforth if she had chosen-since Mrs. Erie's purpose had been accomplished when she ended that tender inter- view with Alan-but it may have been that the girl was glad enough of the rest which is doubly sweet after combat or excitement. At ill events, she did not appear at dinner, and it was only when twilight was trembling softly wer the earth that she came down-stairs. The arge, cool, fragrant house was wholly empty, md as silent as that enchanted palace o~m which berlinn laid hiaspell. Ermine wandered through dl the rooms, finding no trace of huml~ii pres- nec anywhere. The beauty of the dying May lay seemed to have tempted all Charleston broad and every member of the household ave herself had caught the infection. She - ras all alone-alone to do what see pleased, nd go where she pleased, to pace back and orth, and wander hem~e and there, in luxurious Illness of motion. She strolled into the arden and decked herself with rQses, like a ~reek divinity; then came back and sat in the pen window with "Te~yson" in her lap, not ending save by snatches, and repeating to her- page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 EBB-TIDE. self; whenever her eye rested on the fair scene beyond, the exquisite "Move eastward, happy earth." If she and Tennyson had had the sunset all to themselves, this would have been vety pleasant; but, unfortunately, there were numbers of other people privileged to enjoy the hour, people riding, driving, sauntering past, bowing tv the pretty face framed in the window and necessitating a bow in return. It seemed(to Ermine that everybody whom she knew went by-everybody except the one for whom her eyes were watching and her heart longing. Even Major Hastings rode past, and uncovered his handsome head-wondering a good deal at the stiff inclination which was all he received in acknowledgment. It was just after this that Ermine rOse. "It is a bore to sit in the wiiidow and be bowed at," she said, pettishly; and then she sauntered away toward the back drawing-room. Twilight, in which it was impossible to read- "Labor's brief armistice! Best, loveliest interlude of dark end liflit had already gathered here; so, putting down her volume, she 'went to the piano, lifted its lid, and, slowly touching "the beautiful 'cold keys," which gave back lovingly their rich tones under her hands, began to play the mar- vellous "Moonlight Sonata." She played it once-twice-thrice-not so much because she loved the repetition of its melody, as because it chanced to suit her mood, and the tender, passionate chords made an accompaniment to her thoughts, which never flowed so smoothly, never so sweetly, as to the sound of music. She was well on in the third repetition, playing, as it were, unconsciously, with her eyes turned on a glimpse of the "fringes of the faded eve," seen through a vine- draped window near by, and her mind far away, when the sound of a distant footstep caught her ear. Instantly the white hands stopped short on the ivory keys, she turned,, her head-the breath suspended on her parted lips-and listened. After a moment, her listening was re- warded. Footsteps crossed the hall, crossed the front drawing-room, came toward her re- treat, ,the silken curtains of the arch were pushed aside, and in the opening there ap- peared-a dog literally as large as a pony, a magnificent creature all tawny gold, dashed with black, whose hair, soft as silk, curled round him in every direction, and whose large, bright eyes were full of indescribable beauty and expression. This formidable visitor en- tered with the stately tread of a lion, his plumy tail drooping, his superb head erect, his whole face-where gentleness and strength were so marvelously mingled-fullof vivid expectation. At sight of him, Ermine made one spring from her music-stool. "Nix!" she ci~ied, joyfully. "Ohmy dear, dear old fellow, is it you?" Nix gave one short, hoarse bark of de- lighted recognition, and, to attest that it was indeed he, then rushed full at her, wagging his tail like an insane dog, and fairly knocking her into a convenient chair with the weight of the two monstrous paws which went at once to her shoulders, while her hands clasped eagerly round the silken mane that covered his im- mense throat. It was an affecting embrace, only Ermine, being much the smaller, had much the worst of it. She was indeed in rapid course of suffocation, and Nix's large, red tongue was licking her face with unmolested delight, when fortunately a tall gentleman stepped from be- hind the arch and came to the rescue. "Nix! you scamp 1-have done! " he cried in a tone which Nix at once obeyed by dropping on all-fours and proceeding to make a comma, of himself.-" Ermine, are you not almost smothered? The rascal is overpower- ingly affectionate if you let him be !-No, sir-- you've done embracing enough for once-stand back!" "Oh, don't scold him!" said Ermine, re- covering her breath. "Bless his great, splen- did, affectionate heart 1-he was so glad to see mc.-Nix, Nix! Oh, you beauty! "-as Nix came and laid his broad head in her lap-wag- ging his tail, meanwhile, in the same frantic manner-" you are more magnificent than ever 1-0 Alan, what a grand, sweet face! Does itnot remind you of Lord Byron's epitaph on his dog?" "What! the verses about- 'To mark a friend's remains, these stones arise- 1 never had but one, and here he lies.' I don't see how that is applicable to Nix-or to me, either," said Alan, standing by, and looking tenderly at the hands that were strok- ing and caressing Nix's silken ears and head. "Pshaw!" said Ermine, laughing. "That was not what I meant. Don't you remember the inscription on the tombstone ?.-Nix, dear old fellow, I hope it may be many a long day THE ENCHANTED LAND. 49 before you need a tombstone, but, if you ever insolence, and courage without feroei~y '-so it do, those words shall go on it." does 1-Get up, Nix, and make a bow. If ever "Nix shall be buried at sea, he loves it you have a tombstone, we will certainly as dearly as I do!" said Nix's master, drawing borrow Boatswain's epitaph for you. Ermine, a deep armchair forward, and sinking into it isn't it amazing th&tthc rascal knows you after "Nix, you unruly beggar, come here! Now" all this time?" -as Nix obeyed-.--" lie down and keep quiet "And he was so young when he went away! while Miss St. Amand pays you a compliment. Do you remember how furious Margaret was the No "-...eatching hold of his silken mane, as he day he came in dripping wet, and spoiled her was springing back to Ermine-" we've had new poplin?" enough of that. I don't wonder your head is "Don't I indeed! I only brought him this turned by the sight of her-so is mine, for the afternoon because I knew they would all be matter of that. But discipline is discipline, out, and I hoped you might be in, Are you Down, sir, down!" still a prisoner?" Nix crouched in couchant, leonine fashion "No. I stayed at home of my own ac- on the floor, but kept his plume-like tail waving cord, partly because I was lazy, and partly in the aii'~ and his liquid eyes fastened on his because I thought you might come. I can't master's face. afford to lose any of your society, especially "Let him alone," said Ermine. "He does since-" not anuoy me in the least." "Especially since what?" asked he, as she "He annoys me, however," said Alan, suddenly paused. frankly. "I am jealous of the scamp when But Ermine' had remembered that dreadful you fondle and caress him so. Not but that I word "flirtation," and the tide of her candor am fond enough of him myself. We are in- was abruptly stopped. She hesitated, and separable companions on shipboard-ain't we, blushed in such an unusual manner that, even Nix ? "-Nix beat his tail assentingly on the in the dusk room, Captain Erie's quick eye de- floor.-" You've had a splendid bath and a new tested the suffusion. collar to-day, haven't you, old fellow? That "What is it, little one?" he asked, leaning was in honor of Miss St. Amand. I brought you forward. "Don't deny that there is something up to see her because she has a dear, little kind -I see it in your telltale face. Nix and lare heart, and is not a bit ashamed to recognize ready to receive your confidence, and to guard old friends, even if they are disreputable fond it sacredly. What is it?" of the sea." "It is nothing of any importance," said Er- Here Nix gave a howl, being perfectly well mine, turning her back on the light, as she felt aware that these r4narks were addressed to herself blushing still more. "I only meant himself; and thinking that civility required a -that is, I didn't mean-I only said-" reply. "You only didn't ~ay exactly what you "Hold your tongue, will you!" said his should have said," interrupted the youngman, master. "Keep quiet till you're asked to cutting her confused sentences short. "Come, speak!-Now, Er mine, let us have the epi- Ermine, who is your' best friend in the taph. Deuce take my memory if I remember world?" a word of it!" "You, Alan." (Without a second's hesi. "I think the deuce must have taken your station ) memory if you could forget it," said Ermine. "Of course I am-and, being your best "Let me see !-dear me! I hope I have not friend, isn't it my business to see that you forgotten it! Don't laugh, Alan-I remember come to no harm, and "-the genial brows at least that he~i-.the dog, that is-' possessed knitted slightly here-" that nobody dares to beauty without vanity, strength without inso- trouble you?" lence, and courage without ferocity.' I also "You absurd boy !-who should trouble remember that 'This praise which would be me?" unmeaning flattery above human ashes, is but "Somebody has been troubling, you, how- a just tribute to the memory of Boatswain, a ever.-We see that plainly, don't we, Nix? "- dog '-and I think that the description suits Nix growled deeply.-" Ermine, you affirmed Nix exactly." positively this morning that nobody had been "'Beautywithout vanity, strength without bullying you. I wonder if you could put 4 I page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] THE ENCHANTED LAND. 51 50 EBB-TIDE. your hand on your heart and say the same thing now?" "Indeed, Alan, I-.--I don't know..-.--Mamma said something this morning-" "Ezactly. I'd have felt safe in wagering any thing that she did. And that something was about me-was it not?" "How coud you know?" "Hew could I help knowing, with her face to enlighten me this morning, and your face to enlighten me this afternoon? Come, Ermine," -leaning 'luxuriously back and watching her closely with the limpid, sea-colored eyes- "make a ~lean breast of it and have done. You can't hurt me, petite. I care for nobody's good opinion but yours-and yours, thank God, I have! As for madame ma tante-I know of old in what estimation she holds me." "She said nothing against you, Alan. I would not have stood that." "She might have accused me of every crime in the, Decalogue, and I shonldhave forgiven her much sooner than for making you look as pale as yen do-or rather as you did. Some- how or other, you've managed to get some color within the last ten minutes, and I am cu- rious to know the cause. Who are you blush- ing about? I am surfeit would never enter your head to blush about me!" "I'm not blushing about anybody," said Ermine, indignantly. "If lam a little flushed, it is owing to the heat, and to Nix." "Oh I It is owing to the heat and to Nix-is ~t? Well I will accept the explana- tion (to save time), and return to the point under discussion.. What did ma tanle say of me?" Ermine moved restlessly under the half- laughing but determined eyes, shrugged her shoulders, and finally said petulantly," Noth- ing that you will care to hear." "But I do care to hear," said he, leaning forward again. "Ermine, don't tantalize so- what was it?" A pause-then impatiently: "Good :Ueavens~ child! why should you hesi- tate? Do you suppose I care for an~ thing she might say? Of course the longer you wait, the more terrible I shall think it, and, if you don't mind, you will make an anti-climax of it at last." - " Who cams about an aitti-climax? I don't mean to tell you atall." "Then I ~baU simply have to guess until I find out. Of course, it must have been some- thing about you, too, or you would not be so reluctant to repeat it. Eureka! I have it: she said I meant to make love to you for your for- tune!" "She never even hinted such a thing!" cried Ermine-and how hotly the blood rushed over neck and brow again. "Then what was it, you absurd little Sphinx? If you don't tell me, I will set Nix on you, and let him do his worst." "Alan," said she, tragically~ "I can't tell you. I cried over it desperately, but I am sure you would only laugh." "I should never laugh at any thing you thought worth crying over, you may be sure of that!" "Well then-for one thing, mamma says I must not ride with you any more.~~ She thought this would be a terrible blow, and she was rather disappointed when Alan's only comment was a cool- "Indeed!" "Nor walk with you, either." "Nor talk with me, I presume?" "Nothing was said abouttalking, but I don't think we shall be able to do much of it, for she also says-" Here the-voice stopped short again, in em- barrassed silence. Captain ErIe was still leaning forward, absently caressing his mus- tache with one sunburnt hand, while his eyes followed every change of the mobile face be- fore him. "Well, what is it she also says?" he asked, dryly, as Ermine paused. "She says that I flirted with Raymond," cried Ermine, with a burst of determined, in- dignation, "and that-and that I shall not flirt with you too!" "How good of her to take such carb of me!" said he, ironically. "But if ~ou have a fancy for flirting, Ermine-an amusement which, by-the-way, I took to be Madelon's and Margaret's monopoly-I hope you won't hesi- tate to make use of me." "I knew you would laugh," said Ermine, struggling with an inclination to tears, "and I really think it is very-very unkind of "lf I laugh, it is because I should like amazingly to do something else; and that be- ing impossible, I must find a vent for my feel- ings some other way," said he. "In short, Er- mine, the upshot of the whole matter is, that you and I are to be kept from seeing any thing whatever of each other," "Yes," said Ermine, in a lugubrious tone, U ~ think that is 'in" "And do you mean to submit to it?" "How can I help submitting to it, Alan? You don't know "-once more a burning blush spread over her face-" you can't tell what things have been said to me." "Yes, I can!" said he, almost fiercely; and, by Heaven! I wish I had the people, who said them, hero this minute, Ermine! "-. his voice changed and softened so suddenly that she fairly started-" will you go and play some for me? I must think a minute, and your music may help me to a decision." "What do you want to think about?" asked she, in surprise. "I w~nt to think how I can best defeat the kind intentions of these dear friends of yours," answered he, bitterly. "I am not likely to sit down quietly and let them have their way. If I had to walk over a dozen moth- ers, I would do it without a thought, so I won my way to you." "It is hard," said Ermine, while her sensi- tive lip quivered slightly. "You have been away so long; and now that you are at home-" "Now that I am at home, I'll have what I want-that is, your society-if I have to fight for it!" "I'm not worth fighting for, Alan." "Let me be judge of that, an't please you! Now go and play for me." "What shall I play?" asked the obedient slave of this marine ~elim I'acha. "Anything you please. Didn't I hear the 'Moonlight Sonata' as I came in? Play that." She went to the piano, and, sitting down, began the beautiful strains for the fourth time. If any one had chanced to glance in just then, the dusk room with the twilight gathering in its deeper corners, and the dying Southern day, outside, would have made a picture worth remembering. Through the soft gloaming the white statues-pedestal~throned......looked al- most eerie in their cold, motionless grace; one large, gleaming mirror caught the orange sun- set, and held it, as it were, imprisoned in its depths; through the vine-draped western win- dow a flush of rosy light fell over Nix, as he lay in leonine grandeur on the velvet carpet, ~ prone at his master's feet, while of this master s himself; the light only caught the white polish ~ of his brow, and the hand that still stroked r absently the long, silken mustache. The I piano was entirely in shade, but its tones-- now deep and rich as an organ, now clear as a silver bell-swelled out softly on the flower- scented air, the ' subtle harmonies melting into that composition which had for its in- spiration the sole attachment of the great master's life, and through which there seems quivering, like moonlight on mountain lake, all that is most exquisite, most tender in passion, all that is most apart from and above the love of the senses. "Whom God loveth not, they love not music!" Oh, poor, darkened minds !-poor, dust-steeped souls !-poor, earth-bound spirits! Do they never feel that there are heights- even on earth-forever beyond them? Do they never yearn to soar aloft-were it only for once-into the realm of light and life which music alone can lend to the spirit still bound prison-house o within its f clay? "Having ears," do they always "hear not" the echo of those marvellous strains which speak to the soul of man as no other mortal power has ever done, can ever do? Do they never long for one moment in the enchanted palace of har- mony and tone, the glowing world of feeling and sensation, shut from their obtuse faculties forever? Do they never lift their heavy eyes toward the' golden cloud-heights far beyond them, and wistfully sigh for one faint glimmer of the influence which eludes all echo in the language of earth, because in it is more of heaven than in any oth moral left us of the time when angels wab~~. ~ with the first man, and when the two in paradise may have hearkened in the purple dawn and rosy twi- light to the silver harmonies of the choirs of heaven?" When the last echoes of the sonata died away, the twilight had deepened like a trans. parent veil through which there still lingered the last kiss that the sun had left to sweeten his brief parting from the fair, entrancing ?arth. A soft, wistful sigh came to Ermine~s ?ar, as the last chord sounded under her lin- ;ering touch. Then there was silence. "Alan," she said after a while, gently, 'Alan-has the music put you to sleep?" For answer Alan rose and, crossed the room o her side. That electric current of sympathy rhich is one of the strangest things about our range organism~whetherphysical or mental, rho can say?-made her conscious of some cood on which her question had jarred, and :ept her from saying any thing more, 'even page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 EBB-TIDE. FLOOD-TIDE. when the tall figure came and stood over her, leaning slightly against the carved instrument. Nix raisedhis great head lazily, and looked after his master; but he did not feel inclined to move, and the twilight baffled even his keen eyes. He could see nothing more than two shadowy forms-two suggestive outlines of manhood and womanhood - at the piano, though his quick ear caught the murmur of a low, well-known voice. He listened for a me. ment, but the subject under discussion did not interest him. He yawned, dropped his mas- sive head again, and dreamed probably of the .last bone he had buried, while Captain Erle was saying: "To sleep, indeed! Could such music put anybody but Nix to sleep? You never played better in your life. I wonder what magic en- tered into your fingers, you little white witch! I thought of the 'Lorely,' and all the songs of the sirens. If I did not go to sleep, I dreamed a dream better than Tennyson's 'Dream of Fair Women '-for mine was only of one fairl woman. Shall I tell it to you?" "Yes," answered the low voice, like music out of the fragrant ~iusk. "Only Iwarn youthat I shall expect something very exquisite, since it was inspired by the 'Moonlight Sonata."' "I think it was very exquisite-at least it seemed so to inc. On second thoughts, how- ever, I won't tell it to you-that is, not just yet. We have business to settle first, you know. I was to find a way out of our dilem- ma, was Inot?" "Of course you were. Didn't you send me to the piano as an excuse to think? And then you tell me that you only dreamed." "Sometimes our best thoughts come from dreams, mignonne. God only knows where mine has come from; but I have it, and I mean to hold it fast. Little one, look at me!" "How can I look at you, Alan, when it is so dark?" "Why, I see you perfectly-or is it be- cause I see you always-absent as well as near? I am inclined to think that your best portrait will be found on my heart, after I am dead, Ermine." "Like 'Calais' on that of your Queen Mary? What a fanciful idea, Alan!" "Love teaches us fanciful ideas. Who was it said that once in his life every man is a poet? There~ is more truth in that than the world wots. ~Little one, gentle one, sweetest one of all the earth, suppose I tell you that there is but one way out of the difficulties which have been placed around us ?-suppose I ask you if you love me well enough to place your hand in mine and let me claim you as my own before all the world?" "Alan!" What a sudden, low cry it was--smiting' almost painfully on the yielding air, and mak- ing Nix raise his head with a deep, bass growl [ It reminded Alan of the cry which she had given when he bade her good-by to go upon his first long voyage. Then he had taken her in his arms and comforted her with softest kisses. Now he only knelt (not as a supplant, but simply to placehimself on a level with her), and, bending his head, laid his lips on the tw~ little hands that lay like fragments of rare statuary in her lap. "Ermine," he said-and the sweet syllables of her name had never sounded so sweet be- fore-" have I startled you? Child, don't you see how it has been? I did not mean to ask you to marry me, because I had no mind to be branded as a fortune-hunter, and I thought you would in time love some man who might be able to match you in worldly advantages. But after all, this is cowardice. Shall I make no effort to win the prize and pearl of my life, be- cause people for whom I care nothing may call me mercenary? If I had feared that yow might think so, I should have been silent for. ever But I know better than that. Even if you cannot give yourself to me so that no human power can ever come between us again, I know you will do me the justice to believe& that I love you so well, so dearly, that every other gift of earth seems worse than useless~ without you!" "0 Alan-Alan!" A different cry, this time-a soft, glad utter- ance of happiness, so pure, so tender, that the angels of God might have looked on and blessed it with a smile! "Will you come to me, my Ermine, my heart's darling?" asked the low voice, infi. nitely gentle in its cadence. "If you say' Yes,' nobody in the world shall ever harm or trouble my spotless lily again!" She looked up at him with something al- most infantine in the sweet, pathetic eyes shining out of her white face in the soft gloom. "Do you really want m~, Alan?" "Has there ever been a day or an hour when I did not want you, my darling, my be- loved? "You are sure that it is not only because you are sorry for me, as you were sorry once long ago?" "I am very, very sure, my pet. Ah, Er- m~c" (with a thrill of passion), "don't hold back like a pale shadow, and tempt me to take you whether you will or no! Come to me say that you are mine!" Then the hands which he had kissed, but, like a chivalric gentleman, left otherwise un- touched, came to him with a quaint min- gling of child.like simplicity and womanly dig- nity. "Here I am, Alan," said the tender, loyal voice. "Take me if you choose: I am yours." Then he took her-safe into his arms, close to his faithful heart. In the fragrant May gloaming, they forgot the past or the future, and, living only in the magic present, passed, like happy childrenthrough the gates of Fancy into that fair, enchanted land where Love dwells forever as an immortal. So they stood, and so they spoke not, for many minutes. Then Ermine lifted her face- her soft tones breaking on the air with a ca- dence like that passionate thrill which we catch in the words of the sweet Ital~n maiden who had "no cunning to be strange.' "Alan dear, was this your dreaiy(?" The last, faint flush of sunse~how loath the day is to give place to night,~Kin the sweet May-time-fell over the shadowy picture which they made, standing together-the delicate, white-robed woman clasped close in the em- brace of her stately lover, her l~ead thrown back a little, and her face upturned to catch the light in his eyes as she asked her ques- tion. "You want to know about my dream?" he asked, smiling. "Ahbest-beloved, there is now, as ever, but one fair woman for me." "And she?" He bent and kissed the eager lips passion- nt~ly, before he answered- "She is here." -4--- CHAPTER IX. FLOOD-TIDE. a good thing it is to be happy [ (IC course it is a pleasant thing-everybody knows that-but I contend that it is also a good thincr; that it warms our hearts, expands our minds, makes us more gentle, more tender, more full of charity to men, more full of love to God! In short, it is to human nature what the blessed sunshine is to the plants of the earth-warming, fructifying, bringing forth fair flowers and sweet fruits even from barren ground, until we are almost tempted to ask why it is that so little of such an influence should be found.in th~world- "Which God created very good, And very mournful we I" Only in this, as in many things else, it is easier to ask than to answer. In this, as in many things else, faith speaks to us of the gracious intentions of a kind Father, and sight shows us the perverse rebellion of disobedient children. We were meant to be happy-- every thing goes to prove that-and we have to thank each other chiefly and primarily for the pangs and tears and bitter sufferings which frustrate that intention. Sometimes, however, we are happy-su- premely and wholly happy-in spite of all that can be done by friends or enemies to re- duce us to our normal warfare with Fate. Sometimes the sunshine comes upon us with a rush, and oh, how we bask in it, how we drink deeply of its tropical warmth; and, even *hen the clouds gather again, how we feel that what we have enjoyed once is ours forever! So it was with Ermine now. Born of the South, and in the South, she was Southern in every fibre of her being, and every tissue of her organization. To say this, is to say that she- lived a whole life of sensa- tion where one of colder temperament would have felt scarcely a throb stirring the even current of existence. It was enough to look at her slight, nervous pky8ique, her pale, in- tense face, her dark, unconsciously passionate eyes, to understand that, for once, Disraeli was right when he wrote-"alI is race: there is no other truth," and that the wonderful Dr. Sarona was equally-right when he added- "all is temperament: without understanding it, there is no arriving at truth." Race and temperament had both conspired to make the faithful, tender, passionate creat- ure, at whose feet the flood-tide of perfect happiness flowed now. This story-being simply the story ef her life-has little to do with others, save iii their effect upon this life; therefore it will not pause to tell how the storm of family indignation burst on the heads of the lovers, who had dared to bring their FLOOD-TIDE. page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54' EBB-TIDE. FLOOD-TIDE. 55 tendresse to an open engagement. If either of them had regarded this tempest, it might prove worth while to devote a little space to what was said, by whom, and how, and when, and where. But in truth they did not mind it in the least. The absorbing preoccupation of passion was upon them, and thhy heeded too little, perhaps, the bitter storm around them. No one had a right to say them Nay, and for simple disapproval they cared nothing. The whole course of their love had consisted in braving this disapprovall, until it had assumed the bearing of a settled and unalterable fact- somewhat disagreeable, it is true, and, if pos- sible, to be ignored. They did ignore it. Oh, how easy it is to let any and every untoward circumstance pass by like the wind, when one is happy! When one has an inner refuge of calm, vexations do not ruffle, and even disap- pointments can be borne with sublime philos- ophy! On high moral and social grounds, Mrs. Erie took her position, and absolutely refused her consent to the engagement; but then (as no one knew better than herself) her consent was a mere matter of form, her hus- band's will having denied her even the shadow of authority over her daughter. She often waxed pathetic over this "posthumous in- justice and wrong;" but the probabilities are that the dead St. Amand knew very well what he was about, and that Ermine's life would not have been gladdened by even its one gleam of sunshine if her mother could have prevented it. prevent it, however, she could not-ex~ept thus far. When Alan came, like the thorough- bred gentleman which Nature had made him, to ask her consent to her daughter's engage- ment, she coldly reminded him that her con- sent was not of any importance, since Ermine's self and Ermine's fortune were quite indepen- dent of her control. Said she, with a keen bitterness which he never forgot: "It is to Colonel Vivicux-my daughter's guardian-not to myself, that you should apply. I must refer you, to him, and I can only speak as his mpresentx4ive to a limited extent, when I say that, although I cannot for- bid, I must decline to sanction the engagement into which Mademoiselle St. Amand has seenfit to enter. Apart from my personal regard for yourself, I consider it a very unadvisable and very rn-judged affair. It is my duty, there- fore, to beg that no steps may be taken toward making the engagement public, until Colonel Yivieux's consent has been formally obtained." Answered Captain Erie with unusual but (all things considered) scarcely unnatural kau- teus-: "You may be sure, madame, that your wishes shall be observed-would, indeed, have been observed even if you had not expressed them. Neither Ermine nor myself is anxious to make our engagement public, and I had no intention of doing other then applying to her guardian for his consent. In coming to ask your approval, it seems that I have made a mistake-but I cannot regret it. I recog- nized-I still recognize-a higher than legal right which you possess in your daughter's happiness. Therefore I ventured to ask your sanction on the only way in which this happi. ness can be secured." "My daughter knows my wishes with re- gard to her," said Mrs. Erle, icily. "She does not recognize 'the higher than legal right' of which you are kind enough to speak, and therefore I may be pardoned if I waive it." Alan looked steadily into the handsome face confronting him, and it seemed to his gaze at that moment as if no human counte- nance could possibly have been more repulsive or more unlovely. "Madame," he said, "I do not need for you to tell me how unworthy you consider me of your daughter-and," he added, half proudly, "I know as well as you do that I am unworthy of her. But, one thing, at least, I thank God that I can give her in abundant measure-that is, love." It is likely that Mrs. Erle felt the rebuke as keenly as he meant that she should. Yet no outward sign betrayed this fact, save only the stinging shaft which she sent back in return. "As I have already remarked, Captain Erie, the onerous responsibility of the guar- dianship of Ermine does not' rest in my hands; but I think it right to warn you that Colonel Vivicux is an exceedingly practical person, andthat he may not think the boundless love which you are good enough to offer an exact equivalent for the 'material advantages' which you would gain by an alliance with his ward." Can anybody offer an insult as neatly and effectually as a woman of the world, when she chooses to try? It is really almost edifying to mark with what perfect &rt she knows how, and when, and where, to plant a sting which cannot be extracted by any degree of mortal skill. In the present instance, Alan had sensi enough to restrain himself, and not to own, ix vulgar parlance, that the cap fitted, by putting it on. When he could speak-which was noi by any means immediately-he answered coldly, but quietly enough: "Allow me to tell you, madame-what] shall tell Colonel Vivicux, when I have the pleasure of seeing him-tlxnt, in asking Ermine to marry me, I do not propose that all the 'material advantages' shall be on her side. That she is unfortunately rich, I know; but- although I am at present a poor mau-.--I, too, have sanguine hopes of wealth. According to my present expectations (by detailing which I could not hope to interest you), I am sure that my next voyage will go far to make mc inde- pendent of any fortune-be it large or small- which Ermine may possess." "In other words, you propose that my daughter shall waste the best years of her youth in an aimless engagement, while you- excuse me if the truth sounds rude 1-are pur. suing some visionaryseheme of wealth on the other side of the globe?" "Not visionary, if you will excuse me, in turn. I cannot think that details of maritime enterprise could be interesting, or even intelh. gible to a lady, or I should endeavor to prove~ to you-as I hope to prove to Colonel Yivieux -that my expectations rest on a very sure bafis. At all events, you may be sure that I shall not press the question of marriage on Ermine, until I can offer her something besides an empty name, and the love which-es you are kind enough to remind me-contrasts but poorly with the wealth which she will bring to her husband." With this assurance-spoken in a tone which it was impossible to doubt-Mrs. Erle was certainly justified in thinking that she had gained an advantage which might prove of very solid importance and benefit. After this, she felt that it was wisest to succumb a little to the inevitable, to com$eal a slight acknowl- edgment of the engagement, to patch up a truce, with a perfect understanding on both sides of it~ hollowness. But harder evdn to bear than the lady's refined sarcasm were the significant comments of Mr. Erie and Raymond. A man cannot well knock another man down, for smiling in very cynical fashion and saying, "My dear fellow, you certainly have wonderful luck-allow me to congratulate you! "-but he can at least feel very much inclined to do so. In truth, nothing tried Alan'spatience more sorely than the consciousness that his uncle and brother measured him by their own standard-as I everybody more or less does in this world- and considered simply that he had been more lucky or more far-seeing than themselves. "Upon my word, my dear boy," said his uncle, smiling benignly, "your quixotism in resigning your mother's fortune is very prettily rewarded-quite like a moral story, indeed. Having no particular interest in Ermine's heiress.ship, I don't know the exact figure of her fortune; but I thjnk I am justified in assuring you that it will reach a very handsome amount-very handsome indeed! I take it for granted that you will retire from the-nh.- sea immediately." "On the contrary, sir, I expect to go to sea again within a month," answered Alan, quite brusquely. He was too proud and too worldly-wise both, to attempt any disclaimer of interested mo- tives to men like these. There are people in the world who arc honestly incredulous of any thing more than what they find in themselves. These people yield you a sort of reluctant admiration while they think you a mercenary scoundrel; but, if you disclaim the scoundrelism or the mercenary intentions, they change their minds only just sufficiently to consider you a hypo- crite. All the eloquence of all the angels, archangels, thrones, nominations, and powers, could not have convinced a singIe-~agniber of the Erie family that Alan sought Ermine sim- ply for herself and the pure, s~eet womanhood which God had given her. So, the young sailor held his peace, and wasted not even a word on them. The misconception hurt him, of course-does misconception ever no~ hurt ?- but be was enough of a philosopher to take it for what it was worth. Or, no-he was not enough a phfl~~sopher to do that. He thought he did, but h~was mistaken. If ha had rated it at its true value, he would never have let it influence him even to the degree of making the resolve which he had opposed to Mrs. Erle's barbed arrows. If be had done what was wise, he would have taken the gift which For. tune had bestowed; he would have regarded the tender, loving, human heart mere than the dross of earth which went with it; he would have sacrificed his own pride to secure the happiness of the woman ho had trusted all to him. But l~e did not is e let his page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] EBB-TIDE. FLOOD-TIDE. 57 opportunity pass, and Fate seldom offers twice a chance which has been once neglected. There are few of us who have not learned from bitter experience that- "We must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures." Delay a day, delay even an hour, let the ebb once come, and not even Shakespeare ever said a truer truth than that the voyage of our lives will be for aye "Bound In shallows and In miseries." But the ebb had not come in the lives of the two of whom this story speaks. Just now that "tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune," rolled its bright waves to their feet. If they had embarked-Ah, well! let the future tell its own story. We deal simply with the present. And how bright the present was! Not even Romeo and Juliet telling over the poetry of their immortal love, "in the land where love most lovely seems," were ever more rapt in golden enchantment than these two, in the spring-tide of that happiness like unto no other happiness of earth. Any one who has ever known any thing of the sensitive, artistic temperament-the temperament so closely allied to genius that we can scarcely dissociate one from the other-may perhaps imagine (for words of common prose can never tell) what this period of her life was to Ermine. She was in a dream somewhat like the trance into which she might have fallen over the "Wal- purgis Night," or the Madonna di San Sisto; only those states of passionate feeling would have been but types of the great love which came to her. now, even as this love was again but a type of the eternal Love toward which our earth-weighed eyes are rarely Ufted. Madelon regarded her cousin during this time with the cool, calm, scientific curiosity of a person to whom such extravagance was ut- terly incomprehensible, and (but for the testi-, mony of sight) utterly incredible. "I try my best to understand you, Ermine," she said, a little plaintively one day1 "but I can't? Are you really so happy as you seem? It is the most extraordinary thing to me that you should be! And, if you are happy, where on earth are your rational grounds for it?" Ermine laughed-a soft, sweet ripple, com- mon to her lips of late. "What do yott call rational grounds?" she asked. The other shrugged her shoulders in the significant Gallic fashion which she possessed to perfection. "Something more than fine abstractions, you may be sure. Excuse me if I speak plainly; but indeed I am so very curious, and if you will only tell me what you find in Alan Erie to elevate you to the seventh heaven at the mere proposal of bestowing all your wealth, and beauty~and talents on him, I shall be con- tented. I can't bear to be puzzled, and this does puzzle me. He really seems to me one of the most commonplace men in existence." "You know nothing about him, Made- Ion." "I am not in love with him, my dear- thank Heaven for it 1-but I fancy I know him all the better 9U that account.' He is moder- ately good-looking-but so are hundreds of other mcix He is moderately clever-but so are dozens at least of others. He is a good sailor, no doubt-but that does not concern you. He is sufficiently amiable and kind- hearted to let that abominable dog of his break other people's vases-but I really don't see the virtue of tkat. Now, tell me, if you can, what else he is?" "Indeed, Madelon, if I talked forever, I could not make you understand any better than you do now, what he is." "Why not? Am I so stupid, or are his virtues so exalted?" "Neither-as you well know. But he is simply Alan, and that is the end of the matter. His character is written on his face, for all to read; if you have not read it there, you would not be likely to read it any better inmy words." "But, Ermine-" "Well, Madelon?" ".Dotry to tell me what you see in him. He is not like you in the least-though you sire both fond of dabbling in paints. What is his spell ?-what is his charm? It can't be only because he was kind to you when you were a child 1" "No," said Ermine, "of course it is not, that. If he had been a different person, grat- itude would have stopped short at gratitude, and never gone on to love. I can't tell you why it is that every thing he 4~oes is pleasant to me, every thing he says, music to my ears; but so it is. You are right in saying that we are not alike; but I suppose we differ in order to cor. respond. At least I am sure there is al. ways harmony with us-we never differ to jar." "In other words, you love him." "Yes, I love him till I tremble. I am so happy that I would not care if the world ended to-night; for I know I can never be more happy, and fear I may be less." "Mba Dieu I" Madelon's astonishment culminated in this exclamation. She looked at her cousin several minutes without speaking-then shook her head with the air of one who says, "I give it up." "For the mere novelty of the thing, I be- lieve I will cultivate a grande passion!" said she, meditatively. "I wonder if any man in the world could ever make a fool of me! I don't mcl~n that you are a fool, Ermine-I don't pretend to decide that point. I only mean that I should be, if I ever fell in love. And when, pray, is the contract of marriage to be formally made out-Ermine H6l~ne St. Amand, of the island of Martinique, and Alan Erie, of-what shall I say, the good city of Charleston, or the good ship Adventure?" "The good ship Adventure always, if you have no objection," said a voice behind the two girls-a voice which made Ermine start and turn, with light flashing to her eyes, and color to her cheeks. Alan stood in the outer door-tall, hand- some, stately-seeming to bring a breath of the fragrant outer world with him, in his smile, or in the rose in his button-hole--it was hard to say which. He looked much more like a cavalier than a sailor, for he wore riding-gloves and spurs; but the limpid eyes had a gleam of amusement in their sea-colored depths, as he lazily answered Madelon's glance of interrogative surprise, "Are you wondering where I caine from, Miss Lautrec? Ask Ermine, and she will tell you that I sometimes riae out of the floor, and then again, vanish in a cloud of sulphur. No- body can talk of me with impunity-I always appear on the scene in time to say a good word for myself." "Then," said Madelon, very dryly, "I shall be careful how I talk of you hereafter. I as- sure you it is by no means a common or favorite amusement of mine to canvas either your character or your local habitation. I only spoke of you by chance a minute ago." He raised his eyebrows a little-so much malicious meaning quivering around his lips, that she knew in a minute that he had either overheard or guessed at more than her closing remark. "Indeed I'm sorry for that," said he, com- ing forward and sitting down by her. "I was in hopes you had been telling Ermine what a nonpareil she had secured.~ Your good opinion would be worth having, because I am inclined to think that you don't give it very often." "You are perfectly right in that." "I wonder if I could not secure itpas-c1~-oit de conqu~te? I've a mind to try while Ermine changes her dress!" "Change my dress! What for, Alan?" "For Mignonne, who is at the door. I did not send you word that I was coming, because I knew from experience how quickly yoas can put on a habit." "I shall not be ten minutes," said she-.. and was out of the room as lightly and as swiftly as a bird. In the course of the next half-hour she came down-looking two degrees more slender than when she had gone up, in consequence of being robed in close-fitting black, which showed every line of her figure to the best advantage. After all, there is no possible cos- tume in which a pretty woman looks prettier thun in the dear, well-known habit, the fashion of which variety not through many genera- tions. Barring the detestable high hat (which is as ugly as any and every other fashion that ever came from England), it is1the most grace- ful and most universally becoming costume that ever was invented. Ermine's artist eye and French taste prevented her disfiguring her toilet with this monstrosity of a head-gear. On the contrary, she wore a soft, low-crowned felt, one side of which was looped with' an aigrette of cut steel, while an ostrich-plume swept entirely around the other. "You look like a pretty little Spanish contrabanda" Alan had said, Iaugbin~,' when she flrs5 male her appearance in this;' but he confessed that a more bewitching ckapean never was invented, and Ermine was doubly fond of wearing what had met with such unqualified approval from him. "Ready, Alan?" she asked, pausing in the hall to draw on her gauntlets, and glance int& the sitting-room where Alan and Madelon were still t~e-d4~te. "Ready? certainly," answered Alan, rising, and coming forward. Then, after making his adieux to Madden, they went out together. EBB-TIDE. page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 ~EBB-TID~E Before the door, a groom was standing with two animals-a graceful, thorough-bred bay mare, and a well-built horse of the color known as chestnut-sorrel-while Nix lay on guard beside them, not having been allowed to cross the threshold, because his ever-waving tail had, a few days before, swept ~ rare r marble vase from its pedestal. What a comfort it is when a man knows how to put a woman on horseback! Alan knew perfectly. He held out his hand, Ermine placed one daintily-booted foot in it, gave one elastic spring, and was in the saddle as se- curely as Di Vernon; the modus ope~-andi on the gentleman's part reminding one somewhat of "Young Lochinvar," who, according to the ballad, must have been an accomplished pro- ficient in this rare art: "One touch to her hand, and one word to her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung. 'She Is won I We are gone o'er buab, bank, and scaur- They'll have deet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochlnvar~' It would not have required very fleet steeds, however, to follow this pair as they rode down the street, escorted by Nix, and followed by the admiring gaze of the groom, and one. small boy who paused and looked, and looked and paused again, while he balanced a tray on his head. Madelon, too, looked over the blind, with a cynical smile curling her scarlet lip. "As happy as a couple of children or a couple of fools!" said she to herself. "Grace d Dieu 1 what incomprehensible absurdity- on Ermine's side at least! Of course, he is doing amazingly well for himself; and, no doubt, he finds it pleasant enough to make a fool of her. Would 1-could I-shall I-ever fall into a like plight? Bah I not I-Nature left the troublesome organ called a heart out of my composition, and hearty thanks I owe her for it How many men would have liked to amuse themselves with me if I had only been of the proper impressionable material! As it was, I think I may flatter myself with having turned the tables on most of them! After all, if I were rich like Ermin~-pshaw! if I were, I should find a better mate than the captain of a trading-vessel, let him be ever so agreeable, ever so handsome, and I must coufess that he. is both. How well he rides, for a sail - There-they are gone. Well" (yaw ng), "where on earth is my novel? That trouble.- some man had it, and~of course" (suddenly spying it out and taking it up) "it smells of horses and cigars! What horrid creatures men are !-and yet they certainly give a spice to life! Even when one don't care for them, one can't well do without them-at least, as material for amusement." CHAPTER N. "LOVE MATH SET oun DAYS IN MUSIC TO THH SELF-SAME AIR." MEANWHILE, Ermine and Alan, having left the city behind, were riding farther and farther into the lovely, flower-scented country, with the dying glory of the June day all around them. They were so happy-and every thing ~emed to conspire to give this happiness such a faIr and gracious framework! Somebody says that Nature apparently takes pleasure in surrounding young lovers with brightness; and that Fate, otherwise a stern task-mistress, finds delight in casting their lines in pleasant places. Certainly it was the case, for a time at least, with these. The sweet idyl of their love flowed all the more brightly in that it was reflected from every bright scene around them; and the dumb face of Earth seemed in this happy summer-time, this glorious June, to be wreathed with gladness in their honor. As they rode they talked, and talking smiled- not so much because their words were other than commonplace, as becausethey had what George Eliot calls "the ineffable sense of youth in common.~~ "What were you saying to Madelon?" asked Ermine, after a while. "She is so pretty. and can be so charming when she likes, that I felt half inclined to be jealous when I came down-stairs an~d saw your confidential-looking le'te-d -tile." "She is pretty," said Alan, coolly, "and I suppose she can be charming when she likes -a woman with that kind of eyes usually can -but she does not often like, so far as I am concerned. If she were a princess, she could not hold herself more haughtily aloof," he went on, with a slight laugh. "I suppose it is on account of the marine taintupon me. Ermine, my darling, you are a brave woman to make up your mind to marry a sea-captain!" "I did not need to make up my mind,~~ 58 'I "LQV HATH SET OUR DAYS IN MUSIC TO THE SELF-SAME AIR." 59~ said Ermine, candidly. "I was very glad to least, if I had not thought so, I should nothave~ take you, sea-captain or no sea-captain. In- asked her something that I did ask her this. deed," she added~ with a little sigh of compune. afternoon." tion, "I am afraid I should take you all the Ermine looked up at hini a little curiously.. same, if you were a pirate, or any thing else "Something that you asked Madelon, Alan?" disreputable." "Yes," he answered, smiling. "Could you "I am sure I should find more favor in the possibly guess what it was? No! I am sure eyes of your cousin in that ease," said he. you could not, so I must tell you. I asked "We became rather confidential during your her to be a friend to you while I am gone." absence, and she was good enough to tell m~ Ermine's lips sprang apart in her surprise;, that the chief reason why she had never liked her eyes opened on him, large and startled. me was that my moral sense was too strong. "Alan! what do you mean?" 'I like a man who would walk to his end over "Nothing to look so scared about, my pet," any thing,' she said; and by Jove! skn looked answered Alan, half laughing. "You know, as~ amazingly as if she would not much mind do. well as I do, that every member of the family ing it herself!" is opposed, either directly or indirectly, to our "You must not judge Madelon by her engagement, with the single exception of Mad- words," said Ermine. "I never knew any one elon. She has no interest td serve in the who talked more recklessly; but I am sure she matter, one way or another; so I begged hei~ does not mean a tenth part of what she to stand by you when I shall be far away." says. Ermine choked back a rush of salt tears, "I am not by any means so sure," said and pulled Mignonne's rein nervously, as she Alan, skeptically. "Where there is so much managed to say smoke, there must be some fire, even if it only "That was quite unnecessary, Alan. Mad- smoulders; and I am inclined to think that a don has always been a good friend to me. smouldering fire is sometimes worse than a But she is selfish. Almost everybody is, I be- blaze. I have always told you that there is gin to think," she added, mournfully. dangerous material in that girl, and 17 never "Of course she is selfish," said Alan, quietly. felt more sure of it than to-day." "As you remark, almost everybody is; but "What did you say when she accused her selfishness can't possibly clash with her you of having too strong a moral sense?" love for you. I considered that point. Do you "What could I say but that if I had been suppose I should have asked her to stand by aware of the reward in view, I should cer- you if it had been her interest to stand against. thinly early in life have turned highwayman or you?" forger?" "o Alan!" "And then?" "What is the matter? Do you think 1 "She shrugged her shoulders aad said that have taken a leaf out of Balzac and Sue? Stop she had no fancy for vulgar villany. 'Crime a moment and ask yourself, would you trust for the mere sake of crime is not at all attrac- Madelon's friendship, if Madelon's interest were tive to me,' ahe explained 'but when a man opposed to yours?" commits a great crime to secure some great Ermine was about to say, 'Of course I end-' 'You are kind enough to approve of it,' would,' when a sudden remembrance of Made- I suggested as she paused. 'I cannot help ad- lon's own words came to check her. She rec-. miring it, at least,' she said, 'provided always elected how her cousin had bade her take that he is subtle, and daring, and. ready, if warningthat, if ever their interests clashed, she the worst comes to the worst, to face the con- (Mad~lon) would not be the one to give way; sequences of his act.'" so, after a moment, she replied: "Nice moral sentiments for a young lady," "Perhaps not, .AIan-I can't tell. But one said Ermine, more amused than shocked, for thing is certain: liadelon's interest is not she knew Madelon too well. "Poor girl! her likely to clash with mine, since~ you arc not. head has been turned with Eugene Sue and likely to fall in love with her, and" (half-laugh- George Sand. Don't let such nonsense preju.. ing) "lam sure she would not marry you if yin' dice you against her, Alan. She really has a did." very kind heart." "She is not likely to have the chance," "I suppose she has," said Alan. "At said Alan, philosophically. "But all the same, page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 00 EBB-TIDE. she promised me to stand by you. 'Through thick, and thin?' I asked. 'Yes,' she an- swered, 'through thick and thin.' Then she gave me her hand on it; and b~r Jove! Ermine, it is a wonderfully pretty one!" "Of course itis a pretty one," said Ermine, smiling, yet pondering a little in her own mind on the difference between men and women. Could she, by any possibility speak in that tone of the hand, or foot, or mustache, or any thing else whatever, belonging to any other man? Her masculine world was as narrow as Eve's. This Adam was all she saw or knew; all other men were to her as if they had not been. But Alan had not the leastobjection to clasping Madelon's white hand, and gazing into Madelon's dark eyes, appreciating both the one and the other as much as if there had been no Ermine in the world. Did this curious fact come of "man's love" being of man's life a thing apart, she wondered; and, so wondering, was silent for so long that Alan spoke. "What are you thinking of, little one? Your face might serve as a cast of Ii Pen- seroso, as you ride along there. Do you im- agine that there is any prospect of your need- ing Madelon's championship while I am gone?" "Scarcely," answered she. " They" (by this ambiguous phrase she meant the Erie family) "knowthatl am independent of them, and they will not trouble me, I am sure. Then there is my guardian. He is a tower of strength." "But an uncomfortably distant tower of strength. 0 Ermine, Ermine-" "Well, Alan, what?" "I was only going to curse the poverty which necessitates my leaving you. But that is cowardly and ungrateful. Suppose I had never won you-suppose I had come home and found you married to Raymond?" "Suppose something possible~whileyou are about it, Alan." "You are sure it is impossible, Ermine?" "Sure, AI~n!" (indignantly). "What do you mean? At this absurdly late day, are you going to pretend to be jealous ?-and of Raymond, of all people!" "Jealous! Well, no. Only distrustful of my own great good luck. What on earth you see in me, Ermine, I am sure I can't tell." "And what on earth you see in me, Alan, I am sure I can't tell!" They look at each other and laugh-happy as the children to whom Madelon had contempt- uously likened them. "Well, well,"said Captain ErIe, witha short sigh, "we shall have to learn the worst of each other hereafter, for we certainly know only the best new. I wonder if you have any worst, Ermine?" "Have you, Alan?" "I! Good Heavens, yes! My dear child, whatever you do, don't go to work and make a paladin of me. I am only a commonplace man, with the devil's own temper, sometimes." Ermine shook her head with a laugh. "I don't believe one word of it! You need not abuse yourself to get into my good graces. I am not Madelon." "Thanks to a merciful Providence, you are not indeed I" "Alan!" (with a ridiculous attempt at a frown), "don't be irreverent." "Is it irreverent to thank God that you are what you are, swc0S&eart? I'll not be- lieve that. But, as for my temper-let any- body molest you while I am gone, and I can promise them a taste of it when I come back 1" Ermine glanced at him from under the 'rolling rim pf her hat, and was a little sur- prised and a good deal edified to observe that a considerable gleam of the temper of which he spoke had flashed into his usually genial face and sunny eyes. She liked him all the better for it, since It is an astonishing but most undoubted fact that women-especially when they are very young and consequently very foolish-do like this thing which of all others most surely promises a plentiful harvest of-future wretchedness and tears. There is a certain popular proverb, which is not in the least complimentary to the weaker, sex-about a woman, a spaniel, and a walnut-tree-but, taking it in a moral sense, we are sometimes compelled to acknowledge that it is in a meas- ure true. Most men certainly like to domi- neer, and most women (until the delightful pastime has lost its novelty) like to be domi- neered over-which is a convenieht arrange- ment of Nature, to say the least. Let it not be supposed, however, that Alan was at all inclined to Ciesarism, or that Ermine would have been at all partial to being browbeaten., Only the instinct of the woman was gratified by that gleam of menacing light which was called forth at the mere thought of harm or wrong to her. EBB-TIDE. 60 I "LOVE HATE SET OUR DAYS IN MUSIC TO THE SELF-SAME AIR." 61 "Alan dear," she said, after a moment, "since you think it right to go, I have not, as you know, even a desire to keep you; only- only-" here the rebellious tears rose up-" I have felt an instinct from the first that if you do go something wrn happen; and that, after this dream is broken, we can never, never be so happy again." "But, my darling, that is nonsense!" "I know it, and I have tried-oh, so hard! -to put it from me. But I cannot. I am sure all this is too bright to last-it is too good to be true. Earth is not heaven-nor meant to be. Now, it would be heaven to me if I spent life with you, as I have spent these last few weeks. So I know it will not be permitted-something will come between us." "But," said Alan, with hard, logical corn- mon.sense, "what can possibly come between us, save your own will?" "I don't know," said she. "But "-and riding along in the warm June air, he saw her shiver.-" I am sure that, if we ever meet again, it will not be as we meet now. You need not reason with me, Alan, for I have reasoned with myself. You need not even laugh at me~ for I have laughed at myself. Nothing shakes the deep, settled impression. Echoing through my mind all the time are two verses which I saw not long ago: 'Some there be that shadows kiss, Some have but a shadow's bliss.' Will it be so with us? Shall we only kiss this shadow of love which seems so bright and sweet?" "You must choose your metaphors bet- ter," said he, trying to smile away the sudden cloud of pathetic sadness which had fallen over her face. "Our love is not a shadow-it is a reality. Ermine, if I know that you are making yourself miserable with such thoughts as these, how can I be other than miserable in leaving you?" "Forgive me," said Ermine, penitently. "I did not-indeedI did not-mean to speak of it. I am sure I don't know why I did. Only, Alan-" "Well, my love?" "Mint you go?" Oh, world of entreaty in three small words! Transcribed, they look like the most ordinary question; but, with the heart.eloquence that stirred them, and the dark eyes that seconded them, Alan Erle had a hard tug with himself before he could answer: "My darling, don'tyou know that I must?" "How can I know it 2" she asked. Then as a sudden rush of tears came, "0 .Alan, Alan, if you were only going to take me with you, I should be contentt,' "But, Ermine-" "Yes," said she, hastily, "I know you can't, and I know, also, that it is not at all 'proper' for me to say such a thing. I love you too well, Alan" (smiling at him through her tears), "I am sure I shall spoil you. They say-experienced women say-that it is al- ways bad policy to show one's affection to the man for whom one cares." "Confound such hypocrites!" said he, un- gallantly. "Let them practise their own pre- cepts if they choose, but, for God's sake, don't you take a leaf from them! I would not have you altered by one jot or tittle, for all the ex- perienced women in the world. I wish to Heaven I could take you with me! But, since that is impossible, I will do this-I wrn leave it for you to decide whether or not I ~hall go." "No, no, Alan" (shrinking), "I cannot accept such a responsibility." "I confess it would be a little sacrifice to me," said he, looking away from her. "You see, Ermine, your wealth stands like a wall between us. I cannot forget it -nor will other people forget it either. The devil him- self seems to inspire most of the congratula- tions ~that I have received!" he went on, sav- agely. "The significant words and looks and tones-nobody in the world will ever know, half the people in the world would never be- lieve, how they have cut me to the quick!" "I know, Alan "-and a tiny, gauntleted' hand went involuntarily out toward him. "It is because I ks~ow so well, that I have not said one word before-that I am sorry for having said one word now. Go, dear, if you must go. I can wait-as I have waited before." The pathetic eyes looked at him as she uttered the last words-steadfast and brave, though the lips quivered piteously. Alan had ridden close beside her, and was holding the hand which she extended clasped close against his breast, as he gazed into the pure, dark depths, trying perhaps to read the riddle of his fate there. The horses, feeling the reins- slack and more slack upon their necks, had come down to a snail's pace, and were indul-. ging. the vagaries of their own sweet wills, in page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 02 EBB-TIDE. 'the way of sociably rubbing their noses to. gather, while Nix stood on the side of the road, and, no doubt, wondered in his own mind what on earth his master was about "Ermine," said Alan, passionately, "my faith in you is like the rock of Gibraltar-it is too great to be placed in a mere fallible creat- ure. Child, for God's sake, take heed what you do! If you should ever fail me-how could I forgive myself for having gone?" "I cannot say that nothing will befall me, Alan," said the sweet, loyal voice, "for life and all the circumstances of life are in God's hand; but I cam say that I will never fail you. Nothing b~it death shall ever take me from you." "I ought to be sure of that," he said. "I have known you as child and woman, and never yet found a flaw in you. They did well to n~sme you Ermine," he went on, tenderly; "the crmin~ is the purest and whitest of all 'God's creatures, and dies if so much as the least spot soils its snowy purity. I ought to trust you-I do trust you, perfectly-and yet, I think your fears have infected m~ Som~- how I feel-What the deuce are you after, sir! Hold up your head, can't you?" This unromantic conclusion was addressed to 'the horse, whose head had gone lower and lower between his legs, as if he meant to in. dulge in a mouthful of nice white sand. One sharp jerk of the bit brought it up again in short order, however, and then Captain Erle concluded his speech: "Somehow I feel more unwilling to go to sea than I ever did in my life. It is natural, 'though, since I leave you behiad~-my hostage in the hands of Fortune. Ermine" (fiercely), "if God does not deal well with you, I shall not believe that there is a God!" "0 Alan, hush!" cried she, shrinking as she might have shrunk from a blow, for she was of a nature wholly and unaffectedly de- vout. "Don't talk in that way, it sounds like a defiance-which is so awful! Don't you re- member what somebody says, not very rever- ently, perhaps, but still very sensibly-' It is never wise to try conclusions with the Al- mighty.' Who am I, that I should be exempt from the suffering of earth?" "You shall be exempt from it when once jyou are mine, to have and to hold-safe from ~ali others," naid he, boldly and not over-rever- -ently. "Ermine, Ermine, stop-think-must I, shall I go?" She stopped and thought-long and deeply. What a struggle it was with her to decide as she did decide, no one, save God, could tell. She fought the fight deep in her own breast, and it was only the calm result of victory which he saw at last. "Alan, dear," she said, in a voice as soft and low as the "wind of the western sea," "I know that you want to go-that is, I know that you will not be content unlessyou do go -so I will not say one word to keep you. Af- ter all, what are these fancies, but fancieb? Nothing can harm me while you are gone; all the powers of earth cannot make me unfaith- ful to you; and I shall remember that our own dear Lord watches over the sea as over the land, and will hear my prayers for you let you be where you will. The days will be and long while you are away; but I can think of you, and look for your letters, and remem- ber that every hour takes me nearer the blessed hour of your return." "And so you say-' Go 9'" "No, I cannot say that-but I will not say, £5tay.~~~ "Then you menu, 'go' - and you are right. A man in the full prime of all his powers would be a contemptible fellow in- deed who threw up all his hopes of fortune or advancement in the world, and sat down to be happy-on his wife's wealth. Perhaps some men might stand it and not lose all self-respect; but it would crush all the man- hood out of mc! Nobody could despise more than I should despise myself-and you would despise me too, Ermine." "Should I, Alan?" "Yes, my pet-my pretty, soft-eyed dar- ling-I think you would, after a time. Even Nix would turn the cold shoulder on me. So it is better as it is. I have lingered in this paradise of roses a little too long already, or I shouldn't have hesitated over such a plain duty. The sea is what I need -the sea will soon take all the nonsense out of me!" "Well," said Ermine, with a sigh, "if it is settled, it is settled. We will make it a ta- booed subject, Alan. I don't mean to think of it any more until it is time to say good-by. Now, let us take a canter." "With all my heart," said Alan; and, touching their horac; away they went, canter- ing lightly down the level stretch of shining road, with the last rays of the sun streaming "LOVE HATIL SET OUR DAYS IN MUSIC TO THE SELF-SAME AIR." 63 over them and seeming to surround them with to their feet, will flow not ever again through a halo of brightness, all the years of life. So, they pass from sight-loving and be- "~Th, never more, loved, crowned, as it were, with every gift of Ali never, shall the bitter with the sweet life, and worthy, one would think, of envy, Be mingled so, In the pale after-years I only that one catches the low, soft murmur of One hour of life immortal spirits possess. This drains the world, and leaves but weariness, that receding tide which, having flowed once And parching passion, and perplexing tears." page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] (I DOES TRUTH SOU~{D BITTER? 65 PART II. TIlE TIDE EBBS. "All's over, then. Does truth sound bitter, As one at first believes?" I,-Fom a Charlestcsa paper~ date Jhae 13, 185-. "Died, at Fort de France, in the island of Marti- nique, on the 29th of May, Henri Charles Yivieux, a na- tive of Bordeaux, France, and former colonel of Volti- geurs In the French service, aged seventy-four years and eight months. May he rest In peace!" II.-~--From the same paper, date October 12,185-. "We regret to learn that the brig Adventure, Cap- tain Erie, homeward bound for the port of Charleston from Buenos Ayres, was caught In the terrific storm which visited the whole Atlantic coast on the 20th of September, and wrecked off the coast of French Gui- ana. A portion of the crew were rescued by a French transport out from Cayenne; but the large majority, it Is reared, have perished, with the captain and cargo. The latter, we learn fl~om Messrs. Miller & Sons, who were the principal consignees, Is partly covered by in- surance. Captain Erie was well known and highly es- teemed in our community, and we tender our condo- lences to his relatives and friends." III.-.Fi'om the same, of a weeA~ later. "We learn, from a New York paper, that the sur- vivors of the shipwrecked crew of the brig Adventure reached that port a day or two ago in the packet Elvh-a, out from Ravre fourteen days. Meetingthe latter, they were transfen-ed from the French transport L'Hiroa- delle, and so reached their destination muchsooner than would otherwise have been possible. The party con- sists of seven men-the mate and six seamen-and their narrative extinguishes the last faint hope that Captain Erie might have escaped a watery grave. This gallant sailor remained on his vessel to the last, and, having Bent off one boat, was preparing to launch the second, when, with an unexpected lurch, the ship went down, carrying all on board with her. Once more we must record our regret at the accident which has thus cut short the valuable life of one so well fitted for use- fulness and honor. Captain Erie leaves a large circle of friends who will long deplorehis loss." IV.-F~om a New York paper of November 10,185-. "Married, yesterday, at the house of the Eev. J. W. Gudrin, Ermine Hdlbne, only child of the late Gustave St. Amaud, of Fort de France, in the island of Martinique, and Esymond Erie, of Charleston, South Carolina. "Charieston and Martinique papers please copy." CHAPTER I. / DOES TRUTH SOUND BITTER? "CHRIsTMas comes but once a year," say the children, regretfully; but it is likely that their elders, as a general rule, are heartily glad of the fact-for, to all, save the ex- tremely youthful, Christmas represents more of annoyance than of pleasure. It is a glori- Ous and thrice-blessed season, regarded from the Christian point of view; but, regarded from the side of the earth earthy-a side which nnluckily every thing more or less pos- sesses-it is a season from which the vast ma- jority of people shrink nervously; a season when the poverty of those poor whom we "have always with us" seems to weigh more heavily upon them than at other times, by con- trast with the wealth and luxury so lavishly displayed; a season when heads of families are sometimes driven to absolute frenzy in the effort to accomplish that financial result known as "making both ends meet;" a season when parties, balls, receptions, and all those gather. ings which go to make "society," are in full blast, and when all the heartaches and head- aches, the torn dresses and torn affections, the outrivalled jewels and rejected addresses, which accompany them, are in full blast also; a season when dolls and tea-sets, hobby-horses and drums, are rampant, when one's house is filled, one's pockets emptied, and one's tem- per, like as not, ruffled to a degree from which it will not recover for so~ime. Yes, Chrirtmas come~~ut once a year, and it came with a leaden sky and stiff northeaster to Charleston on the 24th oC December in that year which had given to Alan Erie and Ermine St. Amand their happy May-time of youth and love. The gay little city wore ~er gayest holiday dress, the shops were thronged with eager purchasers, the streets filled with bright faces, and various penny trumpets had already sounded the pre. l"de of that discord which was to break forth at nightfall, when a tall, handsome man with something unmistakably sailor-like in his ap- pearance, a man who was followed by an im- mense leonine dog, entered the warehouse of Erie & Co., and asked the first clerk he met if Mr. Raymond Erie was in the counting-room. The clerk in question was a new-coiner, and did not recognize his interlocutor. Being in a preoccupied and Christmas-eve frame of mind, he barely glanced at the speaker, saw that he was evidently a person of some consequence, despite a rough pea-jacket and0 a loose hand- kerchief knotted aroitnd his throat, and, an- swering in the affirmative, said something about stating business" and "letting Mr. ErIe know." The sailor smiled a little, and, with a single motion of the hand, stayed his steps. "I won't trouble you to let him know," he said. "I will see him myself.-Stay here, Nix!" he added, to his canine companion. The dog crouched obediently down, and, before the clerk could expostulate or interfere, the stranger had passed into the inner sanctuary of trade. As it chanced, Raymond Erie was alone. On the eve of the great holiday, he was sitting at the desk, his slight figure bent over an enormous pile of ledgers, while the clerks lounged aimlessly aboilt the warehouse, and even the book-keeper read a newspaper over the fire of the outer room. In truth, the ac- counts of the firm needed the careful revising of the master-eye and master-hand, and on this the junior partner-looking more pale and 5 thin than when we saw him last-was deeply intent. Hearing the door open, he looked up, frowning, from a balance - sheet. The tall figure standing before klan uncovered with a smile. "Merry Christmas, Raymond!" he said. "You see I am back, like a bad penny, after all!" Raymond Erle sprang from his seat, white to the lips, and quivering like a man who meets the ghost of one long dead. "Good God!" he gasped, clutching at the table-" Alan!" "Alan, or his ghost," said the other ad. dancing nearer with a smile, "only I'd make rather a substantial ghost, don't you think so? It is flesh and blood, beyond a doubt; shake hands and see! By Jove, my dear fellow, how glad I am glad to see you again!" Oiie would have thought that these cor- dial words should have come from the other, from the pale manwho barely suffered his hand to be pressed in his brother's earnest grasp, as he managed to say: "What an extraordinary surprise, Alan! For Heaven's sake, where do you come from? -how did you escape ?-and why didn't you write?" "Where do I come from?" repeated Alan, with some surprise. "From the brig Dolores, out from Rio Janeiro, that has just dropped her anchor in the bay. How did I escape? That's a long story, and can be given in full another time; only I can tell you that, if it hadn't been for Nix, Ishould be at the bottom of the Atlantic now. Why didn't I write? Why, I did write from Rio to Ermine. Has she never received the letter?" "And she-you all-thought I was dead until this minute?" "Until this minute, I assure you." "Good Heavens! what a lucky thing that I did not go up to the house and startle her! You must go at once and break the news to her, Raymond. She "-through his bronzed skin it was evident that he paled a little as he asked the question-" she is quite well, is she not?" Raymond's hand went suddenlyto his throat and pulled open his cravat. "What devil's luck!" he thought, "has brought him to me!" "She ?-Ermine, do you mean?" he asked aloud-nervously anxious to gain a little time. 65 page: 66[View Page 66] 66 EBB-TIDE. "Ermine, of course," answered Alan, ren- dered suspicious by this hesitation. " Who else should Imean ? For God's sake, speak quickly ! Is she well?" " She is quite well." Hoarsely and with an effort, these few wards were spoken-so hoarsely, with so much effort, despite all the speaker's well-trained powers of dissimulation, that Alan would have been both blind and deaf if he had not noticed it. One other step brought him close to his brother's side ; and he grasped his arm with no gentle fingers. " Raymond," he said, shortly, " you have something to tell me. Out withit at once! I am no woman, to have news ' broken' to me,. Is she sick ?-is she dying ?-is "-he almost choked here-" is she dead?" . "She is neither sick, nor dying, nor dead," answered Raymond. " I-I will telJl you all about it, Alan, if you will sit down and hear me patiently." But, instead of sitting down, Alan tightened his grasp until it was many a long day before the mark of those muscular fingers left his brother's arm. " Tell me," he repeated, savagely-" tell me at once, 'or, by God, I will tear it from your throat ! Where is she ?-how is she ?" Now, Raymond Erle was no coward-physi- -cally, indeed, there were few braver men-yet there was something in the face confronting him, and perhaps-who knows? ?- something -also in his own conscience, that made him shrink and quail. " For Heaven's sake," he expostulated, "re- :member that we thought you were dead." " That is outside the question," said Alan, sternly. " Once more, and for the last time, I repeat, where is Ermine ? - what has she done" The answer came in three short words, trenchant as steel, and cold as ice: " She is married." Alan heard, but, as is often the case with some great and sudden shock, scarcely under-. stood the word he repeated. His hand still re- tained its grasp, but through all its sunburnt hue his face grew ashy white, and his eyes opened in startled amazement on his brother. If he had heard that she was dead, he could at least have comprehencaed the height and depth of the calamity ; but now- " Raymond," he said, hoarsely, " what do you mean ? You are mistaken-you don't un- derstand-it is of rmine I am speaking. You dare not tell me that she is-is-" " Married," said Raymond, as coldly and mercilessly as before. Then to himself, " Thank God, it is over !" It was over indeed with Alan. The strong man staggered. back as men stagger under a mortal blow, and sat down in a chair without another word. What, indeed, could he say ? What do any of us say when the stroke of some keen dagger goes home to our hearts ? Raymond stood still and watched him. Even at that moment, he had time to curse the unlucky fate which had failed to bring the letter that would have prepared him for this. Hypocrite as he was, he was not enough of a hypocrite to go forward and put his hand on his brother's shoulder, or to utter any words of condolence or regret. Besides, he was not sure that it might prove safe. There may be death in a lion's claws even after he has got his mortal wound. So he stood watchfully quiet and on guard, till Alan looked up with a face which hardly seemed his own, so drawn and changed was it. Meeting his brother's eyes again, he rose to his feet and confronted him. " Raymond," he said, huskily, "it depends upon one word whether from henceforth we are brothers or mortal enemies. Whom did she "-he could not force his dry tongue to utter her name-" marry? " There was a glance-in his eye, a tone of menace in his voice, that made Raymond Erie hesitate and look round as if for some weapon of defence, before he answered. Finding none, however, he threw back his shoulders and folded his arms defiantly. The worst had come ; through any thing and over any thing the game must be played to its end now. " Alan," he said, trying to speak kiridly, " believe me I am deeply sorry-believd me this never would have occurred if we had not believed-'' Alan cut him short - sternly and ~eci- sively. "I want no lying excuses to gloss the truth," he said. " Did she marry you? " "Yes, she married me," Raymond an- swered, thinking that, after all, he bore the revelation with encouraging quietness. "You must let me remind you of one thing," he went on-as his listener stood stunned, quiescent, simply looking at him-" my claim on Ermine I 2' page: Illustration-67[View Page Illustration-67] DOES TRUTH SOUND BITTER? 67. t~. C) 0 "5 "0 0 C) C) 5 0 C) 5 a a ci C) "0 a ci a 'C "ci S 0 'a 5 a ci C) C) was prior to yours, and, although she may very likely have deceived you in the matter-" The next instant he found himself planed against the wall, 'r~ith his brother's hand on his throat. "You are an infernal hypocrite and scoun- drel and liar!" said Alan, with his eyes gleam- ing like blue steel. "Do you dare to slander her to me, though you were ten times married to her? The devil only knows by what arts of hell you have gained your point, and gained~ her fortune; but, if the same blood were not in our veins, I would kill you where you stand! As it is, I warn you that no law of God or man shall stand between us if so much as one hair of her head has been injured! Now go, like the carri9a that you are! I will find the truth elsewhere." lie lit~ally flung him from his hand, and, leaving him stunned, almost senseless, strode from the office. Outside the door, an eager group was awaiting his appearance. The sight of Nix told the story of his master's return; and round the dog were gathered the book-keeper, the clerks, and two or three outsiders who had heard the news, and were on the qui vise to see the sailor who had been dead and was alive, had been lost and was found. When he came out, half a dozen hands were thrust for- ward at once in cordial welcome-that welcome which not one of his own kindred was likely to give him. Now, Alan was " game" to the backbone, apd so it is scarcely ~aecessary to say that, stag- gering as he yet was under that cruel blow which had been dealt him ~o suddenly and un- expectedly, he gave no outward token of the fact beyond that pallor which sat so strangely on his sunburnt face. He smiled in his old frank, genial fashion-smiled, however, only with the lips, not with the eyes-as he graa~ed one after the other the hands extended to him, saying to each man a few words of cordial thanks. But they did not detain him long. All their hope of hearing some thrilling story of hair-breadth escape was nipped in the bud. Without a discourteous word, or look, or tone, Captain ErIe made them understand that, hav- ing offered their congratulations, they must fall back and let him go his way, free from mo-~ lestation.. This they did after first wishinghim with genuine heartiness a merry Christmas in celebration of his return. "Thanks," said he, with a slight, almost imperceptible quiver of the lip. "I have looked forward to this Christmas for many days," he went on, with a vibration of pathos which the ears of his hearers were not suffi- ciently finely-strung to catch. "I hope--I sincerely hope-that it mayprove a happy one to you alL" They murmured their thanks; and, with a bow which each man appropriated as a special compliment to himself, he passed from among them, followed by Nix. Out into the crowded holiday streets he went, out amongthe gay holiday crowd; crowd not so intent upon its business of pleasure, but that many old friends recognized the returned wanderer, and greeted him with &mazcment and delight. roor Alan! Brave as he was, his endurance and seW-control were tried to their utmost within the hour following his de- part&re from the counting-house ivhere he had left his brother. Everybody was overjoyed to see him, everybody was eager to welcQme him back with enthusiasm, and more eager (with natural curiosity) to hear his story. But no. body heard it save in the baldest and barest outline. Courtesy bore him through the or- deal-together with a dull, leaden, yet unreal- ized sense that all was ovcr-bu~ talk atlength he could not. After the first congratulations and inquiries, people felt, as the clerks of ErIe & Co. had already felt, that they were detain- ing a man who was feverishly anxious to ac- complish some end apart from them~ They hoped to see him soon again, and to hear his story, they said; so, bidding him merry Christ- mas, they passed on. Merry Christmas! Ah, happy the heart whose grief has never felt the sting of mockery in those words of peace and good-will, whose leaden heaviness has never been beyond the reach of Christmas smiles and cheer; happy the eyes that have never been t~o thickly blinded by tears to catch a gleam of earth's brightness, or even of that brightness not of earth, which streams from the Manger of Bethlehem; thrice happy the soul for whom no bitter trouble or dust-stained care has ever darkened this most fair and glorious Feast of all the Christian year! Troubleseems twice trouble, grief more than grief, wheutevery voice-human and divine-bids us lift our heavy lids and rejoice. We turn our eyes from the brightness, we close our ears to the mirth, we cry out, "This is not for us!" and 4 60 page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] THE TRUTH ELSEWHERE. 69 68 El~B-TIDE. we forget- 0 hearts of little faith !-what few, short steps, along the bloody Via &ucis, lead from Bethlehem to Calvary, from the new-born King to the crucified God! The words of Christinasgreeting which fell from every lip scarcely jarred on Alan, how- ever-at least not yet. His preoccupationwas too great. Wounded and bleeding as he was, he felt also dizzy. He could not rid himself of the thought that he was going to Ermine-~ hi. Ermine-to the meeting for which his faithful heart had yearned, which his faithful fancy had painted, through all these months of absence. Married! He said it over and over to himself; but, say it as often as he would, he could not realize it. He ha~.l not yet realized it when hin footsteps paused on the well-known threshold of the Erie house. There he stopped a~ moment. How could he meet her? What should he say to her? He knew that some black treachery had been at work to make her Beem so bitterly faithless; but, none the less, a gulf had been dug between them which no human power could span. THis Ermine-his pure, spotless lily-had beenwrested from him, and the robber who had done the deed was no man whom he could shoot down like a dog, but his own father's son! Alan was not much more than a savage, as he thought of the cruel and enduring wrong that had been done to the tender and helpless creature whom his supposed death had left unfriended, lie steeled himself against all the tender memories of love (mem- ories which would only have unnerved him), and thought only of the stern duty of yen- seance, when at last he put his hand on the bell, and sent a resounding peal through the house. The servant who opened the door looked so amazed-so utterly aghast-at sight of him, that he remembered for the first time his ghostly character. "It is I, Robin, not a spirit," he said, with ~a faint smile. "Don't look so scared ! There, isn't that real?" He held out his hand as he had held it for the same purpose to his brother, and Robin- who had known him from their common boy- hood-seized it in a grasp different indeed from the fraternal one, his whole face changing from amazejnent to delight. "'Fore God, Mass Alan, I'm glad and hap- py to see you back, sir!" h~ said, forgetting his usual decorous "Captain Erie," in the ex- citement of the moment. "I always said there wasn't water deep enough to drown you, sir ~. but we all heard, sir, that you were drowned, and no mistake about it." "I wasn't though, you see-the worse for me, perhaps! Thank yoit for being so glad to see me, Robin. I am not sorry that somebody is glad-l4ere. flow are-all?" "All very well, thank you, sir; but "- Robin hesitated a moment-"but our family is not as large as it was when you left us, Mass Alan." "I suppose not," said Alan, turning away -for he did not wish even a servant to read his face just then. "Is any one in here?" ho went on, walking toward the familiar sitting- room. "No one at all, sir," said Robin, going for. ward to open the door. "Shall I let my mis- tress know that you afe here?" "No-let Miss Ermine know." (He would not say' "Miss St. Amand," and the tortures of the rack could not have drawn the other name from him.) Robin stood motionless-transfixed, as it were, by astonishment-with the doorhandle in his fingers. "Miss Ermine!" he repeated; "I thought you knew, sir. She's-she's married!" "I do know," said Alan, through his set teeth. "All the same~ let her know that I am here." "But she's not here, sir!" said Robin, with his eyes like saucers. It was now Captain Erle's turn to stare. "Not, here!" he repeated. "What do you mean? Where is she, then?" "She's in Mart.ncck, sir," said Robin, with dignity. "Miss Ermine has never been back since she was married." "In Martinique!" Alan was absolutely stunned. "Are you mad?" he asked. "Do you know that-that Raymond Erie is in the city?" "Mr. Raymond came back only last week, sir-and he said he left Miss Ermine quite well, and so pleased with the island she wouldn't leave it. I assure you, sir, she has never been back' since she went away last summer." "Last summer! Where was she mar- ried?" "In New York, sir." There was silence for a long minute-then Captain ErIe walked into the sitting.room, saying, briefly: "Tell Miss Lautrec that I will be glad to seeker." "Miss Lautrec is in Europe, sir," answered Robin, compassionating this wonderful degree of ignorance, yet not insensible to the pleasure of enlightening it-that curious pleasure which the vulgar always feel in telling news either good or bad. "What!" said Alan, facing round in new astonishment. "Miss Lautrec is in Europe, sir," repeated Robin, modestly. "I told you, sir, that the family is a good deal changed. Miss Mar- garet's married, and so is Miss Ermine, and Miss Madelon's gone away." "Is anybody left?" asked Alan, gazing at him in a sort of blank desperation. "M4s. Erle is at home, sir, and Miss Louise, and Mass Regy." "Tell Mrs. Erle that I shall be glad to see her." He said these words almost mechanically, and, as Robin closed the door, he looked round the room, searching wistfully for some token of the presence for which his heart was yearning. Alas! there was not one.' Like the golden May sunshine, that presence had passed away, and the place which knew it once would know it never again. -4-- CHAPTER II. THE TRUTH ELSEWHERE. ROBIN'S announcement to his mistress, that Captain Erie-" Mass Alan that we heard was drownede, xna'am "-desired to see her, proved by no means the shock which he had doubt. less anticipated. He had not been in the secret of a note which was brought to the house by a panting messenger and delivered into Mrs. Erie's own hand, half an hour be- fore. The first use which Raymond had made of his recovered senses was to scribble three lines of warning to Ermine's mother: "Alan has turned up, as you prophesied, and received the news like a 'madman. He will come to you for particulars. For God's sake, take care what you say to him! "R. B." Thus warned-thus given half an hour for reflection-Mrs. Erie, who was a born Talley. rand in petticoats-felt justified in considering herself fully equal to the emergency. She went downstairs with her mind fully made up concerning every word she meant to titter. A distrust of her own diplomatic address did not once occur to her, for she had known Alan of old as entirely so belonging to that class of men who ar~ like wax in a clever woman's handsthat she had no doubt of finding him plastic under her fingers. "Men are so clumsy," she thought to herself; in that scorn with which women often repay the cool superi- ority of the stronger sex; and, so thinking, entered the sitting-room with one hand ex- tended in cordial welcome-now, as ever, the stately and gracious lady whom Alan well re- membered. "My dear Alan, this is a most unexpected pleasure 1" she said, in the old, clear, well- modulated voice, which somehow seemed to him now to have a metallic ring. "I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you back again-alive and well! It has been su~h a long time since your shipwreck that we had almost surrendered all hope of your escape. It is true, Istill trusted that you might return; but then a woman is more influenced by her own wishes than by reason, you know. Have you only just arrived?" (This, with a glance itt his costume.) Alan looked at a small French clock over the mantel before~which he stood. "I landed two hours ago," he answered, briefly-and, as he said it, he stopped a mo- ment to wonder if it was only two hours. k~"Indced! How kind of you to come at ones" said Mrs. Erie, still graceful, still cor- diaL "Of course, you are going to stay with us" (He had never done such a thing be- fore; and it was strange, to say the least, that she should imagine hL~ likely to do it now.) "Will you go to your room at once, or will you sit down"-(she drew a chair forward)- "and let me hear the story of your escape? I am sure it must be thrilling." Now, next to his brother, Alan Erle's heart *as hardest toward this woman-this smiling, courteous model of elegant propriety-and he felt no inclination to spare her one of the bit-' ter truths burning within him. He frowned a little as she drew forward the chair. Uncom- promising Arabian that he was in all his ideas of hospitality, it would have gone hard with him to accept even a seat under his enemy's roof. "If you will allow me to stand, I should p page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] prefer to do so," said he, courteously but coldly. "I shall not detain you many min- utes. I did not come to claim your congratu- lations on my escape-~which, just now, God knows, I cannot consider very fortunate-but to ask you a few plain questions. Few as ~they arc, however, I must beg you not to let me detain you standing while I ask them." "I am not in the habit of sitting while my guests remain standing," said Mrs. Erie, with dignity. "If your questions relate to my daughter," she went on, "I shall be happy to answer them; although" (she~ emphasized this), "I do not recognize that you have any right to ask them." "No right!" he repeated. Steeled as he was against the rebuff which he had expected, the blood rushed over his cheek and brow at this cool retraction of the pledge once given him in that very room. "No right!" he said again. "Allow me to ask if you have forgot. ten that I had the honor to be engaged to your daughter with your own consent?" "With my sufferance," quietly corrected Mrs. ErIe. "'If you will do me the justice to remember, I merely tolerated the engagement until Ermine's guardian could be communicated with. I have every reason to believe that Colonel Vivicux would have regarded the affair exactly as I did; and therefore any one would hold me justified in considering that no actual engagement ever existed. A foolish love-affair is quite a different thing. This was the view which I forcibly represented to Er- mine before her marriage." "And found a willing listener, apparent- ly!" said Allan, bitterly. Yet the words were hardly spoken before he repented them, and, true as the needle to themagnet, his heart flew back to its allegiance. No I Let circumstances say what they would, let the whole world say what it would, he defied any or all of them to shake his faith in the gentle creature ivho had ever been to him so "tender and true." Is it Dc Maistre who says that~ mankind should be divided into two classes, "Ic chat et le chien?" Certainly Alan had much of the canine nature in his stubborn, dogged fidelity. There was in him no making of an Othello. A thousand hand- kerchiefs would not have shaken his trust in the woman he loved. They had played him false, they had wronged her deeply, they had parted them forever; but, none the less, she still remained firm on her pedestal, a pure, faithful, passionate woman, who might be be- trayed, but who could never betray. "My daughter proved herself amenable to reason," answered Mrs. Erie, coldly. "I should have been exceedingly disappointed in her if she had not done so." "Did she prove herself amenable to reason or compulsion 1"' asked Alan, striving hard fdr self-control. "Knowing Ermine as long and as well as I have done, I cannot believe- and, by the God who will judge me, I do not believe-that she acted in such a manner of her own free will and choice 1" Mrs. Erie drew herself up haughtily. "When I agreed to answer your questions, I should, have made a reservation that they should be sufficiently respectful to be worthy of attention," she said. "Since you have known Ermine so long and so well, you might also have known her stubborn and intractable disposition. Will you tell me how I should' have set about exercising 'compulsion' Qvcr a self-willed girl whom the law emancipated from every shadow of my control?" "There are many modes of compulsion besides those of' which the law takes cogni- zance," said Alan, bitterly, "in all of which you, madam, are, I am sure, an able proficient. At least you cannot deny that it has always been your wish that your daughter should marry my brother." "I have no intention of denying it," said. Mrs. Erie, speaking still with haughty dignity. "My daughter has always been a source of great anxiety to me, and I have always desired to see her happily married to some man wh~ could bear patiently with, and yet firmly con- trol, her wayward fancies. Your brother is such a man, and his suit received from the first my *armest sanction." "Yet you were kind enough to give this same sanction to my engagement." "Pardon me" (she made an ineffable, and as it seemed, inexpressible gesture of scorn), "I gave only my tolerance to that. To have given more would have been impossible-yet, under the circumstances, I could not give less." "And these circumstances were ?" "The' fact that I was not Ermine's guardian." "You were her mother." "Yes, I was her mother," said Mrs. Erle, with one single flask of her clear, hazel eyes- the scabbards had been thrown away before 4f EBB-TIDE. I' EBB-TIDE. THE TRUTH ELSEWHERE. this, and for the first (and last) time, the naked swords of these two combatants clashed blade against blade-" and, as her mother, I felt deeply disappointed and deeply wounded by her choice." Alan suddenly raised his hand to his face. He did not choose that his adversary should see how the strong, white teeth involuntarily went deep into his lip under the shade of the heavily-fringing mustache. Even when he spoke-and that was after a minute-his voice shook a little. "And may I venture to ask if Colonel Vivicux agreed with you in your view of the engagement?" Mrs. Erie looked at him a little curiously- this savage of the sea, who seemed in utter ig. norance1of facts long since grown old and stale to the dwellers of the land. "Colonel Vivicux never heard of the affair at all," she answered. "He was dead before the news of it reached Martinique." Alan passed his hand over his eyes. He felt like one who, having waked from sleep, begins to recall some dormant recollection. "I had forgotten that Ermine's first letter contained the news of her guardian's death," he said aloud. Then in a lower tone: "My poor darling! so you had not even one friend to fight your battle for you!" There was silence after this for several seconds. Standing strictly on the defensive, it was no part of Mrs. Erie's policy to speak first, and Alan shrank nervously-shrank "like a woman," as he indignantly thought to him- self-from opening the immediate subject of the marriage. At last, however, he steeled himself and spoke. "Will you allow me to inquire the date of Miss St. Amand's marriage?" "The 15th ~f November," answered Mrs. Erie, briefly. "And may I also ask when she heard the news of my shipwreck ~ "As well as I remember, it was somewhere about the middle of October." "And did she accept the fact of my death at once, or did she require a little time to verify it?" "She accepted it at once," said~ Mrs. Erie, decidedly, "especially after she had seen the sailor-your mate, I think-who escaped." At these words, the scarlet blood rushed in a tide over Alan's face. "She saw that cowardly dog!" he said. ~C She took the account of my death from 1dm! My God, madam, if it hadn't been for that man, none of my poor fellows would have been lost, and I myself should not have needed to be save(I almost as it were by a miracle I" He said this passionately-then stopped, and the blood died down again." My story will not in- terest you," l~e went on; "so I will not weary you with it. I came home full of hope and faith and happiness-all of which one hour has end- ecl. But I have something yet to do. I have to hear the truth of her marriage from Ermine's own lips, and to right her, wherever or how. ever she has been wronged. This is my work; and for this I shall always believe that God brought me back to life out of the jaws of death." The concentrated passion and resolve of his two last sentences seemed to move Mrs. Erle a little. She looked at him, a there was a slight whitening about the lips, which betrayed that she felt some emotion when he mentioned Ermine's name. "I waive any notice of the insult which your suspicions are to me," she said. "For the gratification of my curiosity, I should like to know what you suspect. Who could have wronged Ermine ?-.-or what interest do you imagine that I, her mother, could have had in suffering her to be wronged? Alan replied by taking from the inner pocket of his coat a very battered.looking pocket-book of Russia leather. From this he extracted several letters, discolored with salt- water, and handed to Mrs. Erie. "Will you look at these, madam," he said, "and will you judge whether I am likely to credit that the woman who wrote these letters -the woman whom I have known from her childhood as the most faithful of God's creatures-could willingly have married an- other man in less then a month after she heard of my supposed death?" Mrs. ErIe declined the letters by a gesture. She had no sentimental weakness about the matter; but it would have been exceedingly disagreeable to her to read the words of pas- sionate affection addressed by her daughter. to this man whom she hated as much as it was in her to hate anybody. "Such evidence as this is apart from the question entirely," she said. "I decline to read the record of a folly which my daughter has happily outlived. Your obstinacy," she went on," compels me to assure you that if you page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] had not been shipwrecked-if your voyagehad been successfully accomplished-you would not have found Ermine the foolish girl you left her."' "You mean-?" "I mean that she had begun to appreciate life a little better, and to learn-what many another woman has learned before-that her first matrimonial choice was a very unwise one." "In other words," said Alan, with deter- mined calmness, "you assert that she was pre- pared to break her engagement whether I proved to be dead or alive?" "Since you prefer to put it plainly," said Mrs. Erie, with decided dignity, "I confess that I am prepared to assert and to maintain that fact." "Then, madam,'~ said he, curtly, "you com- pel me to decide between your assertion and my knowledge of your daughter. When Er- mine assures me of such a fact with her own lips, I shall believe it-not before!" The lady flushed a little, enough to show that she felt the full meaning of his words. "Mindful as I am of the excitement under which you are laboring," she said, with stately 1~auteur, "it is impossible for me to endure such a conversation as this much longer. Will you be kind enough to end it, or shall I be forced to leave the room?" "I am sorry to have inflicted my society upon you even for these few minutes," he an- swered. "I should be still more sorry to inflict it upon you any longer. With one-more ques- tion, I am done. Will you tell me why Miss St. Amand was not married in Charleston?" "That is easily answered," said Mrs. Erie, coldly. "We had been spending the summer in Canada, and since it was necessary thatErmine shOuld go to Martinique to look after her prop- erty-Colonel Vivicux being dead-we con- cluded that it would be better to hasten the marriage so that she could sail at once from New York." Alan answered nothing. What could he - say to such reasons es these? They looked plausible enough on the outside, but a voice within him cried, "False, false, false!" "I regret not being able to see Miss Lau- tree," he said, at last. - "I had hoped-very much hoped-to meet her." "Madelon also left us in New York," said Mrs. ErIe. "An opportunity offered, and she sailed for Havre, intending to spend some time with her relations in France. By a chance1 iher departure was given in the same paper which published Ermine's marriage. She crossed the floor, and, opening a small secretary, took from it a newspaper. Return- ing, she pointed out two paragraphs to Alan. One was the marriage of Ermine H~l~ne St. Amand to Raymond ErIe; the other, thename of Miss Lautrec in a list of passengers who had sailed for Havre in the steamer Golden Bells. Thinking at the time merely of the paragraphs in question, it was not until afterward that the manner in which the paper had been re- tained and brought forward struck Alan as a little singular. When he laid it down, Mrs. ErIe saw that the interview was at an end. He turned to go, and his last words~-being indeed the very last that were ever spoken between them-were such as she was not likely to forget. "I came to you for the turth, madam," he said. "I have obtained only evasion. But this I beg you to remember-Iwill kane 1/sat trutls. I resign my profession, I put aside every aim and object of my life, until I shall explore this mystery-for mystery it is to me -to the bottom. And I warn you-Ermine's mother-as I have already warned the man who calls himself her husband, that, when the day of reckoning comes, I will return a hundredfold, upon those who have wronged her, every pang which she may have suffered, and every tear which she may have shed!" She did not answer. With those passionate words still vibrating on the air, he turned and left the room. -4-- CHAPTER III. "GO TO MAIiTINIQUE!" "ALAN I Is it possible this is you!" These words, accompanied bya half-startled cry, fell on Captain Erie's ;ears as he was making his way, with an apathetic disregard of the comfort of other people, through a crowd which jammed the sidewalk almost to suffoca- tion before a large fancy establishment on King Street. He turned sharply-wondering a little who would be likely to call his name in that familiar tone-and faced a beautiful, golden- haired woman who, followed by a servant with his arms full of bundles, was stepping across the pavement to her carriage. The color had EBB-TIDE. fled from her cheeks, and her turquoise eyes expanded with amazement, almost with flight, as she looked at him. As he turned, she put out one daintily-gloved hand and touched his sleeve. "Alan!" she gasped, rather than said. "Is it-is it you?" "Of course it is," answered Alan, recogniz- ing her in a moment. "My dear Margaret, don't look so frightened! It is I, in veritable flesh and blood; and very glad lam to see you again. Must I congratulate you on having changed your name and estate?" he went on, taking her hand and looking at her with a smile. She was of his own kindred, and she, at least, had done nothing to wrong him. Why should he not smile and be honestly glad to see her? / Instead of answering his question, however, Margaret, according to her old habit, burst into tears. "0 Alan! Alan!" she cried, "they ~told me you were dead!" "Instead of that, however, you see that I am alive," answered he, considerablyastonished by this unexpected display of emotion. "My dear cousin, let me put you into your car- riage," he continued, as he saw how the scene w1~s drawing an interested crowd around them. "You almost make me think that you are dis- tressed to find me alive!" be said, with a smiling attempt to quiet her, as he drew her hand within his arm, and led her to the car- riage. "No, no!" cried Margaret, with a tragic emphasis' which amazed him. "God knows how glad I am, Alan-how truly, honestly glad -to see you back in safety. I 'would have done any thing sooner than-than been glad that you were dead." - "Indeed, I should really hope so," said he, smiling again. "What possible reason could I l~ave for suspectingyou of such an enormity? Are your bundles all in safety? Yes, that's right! Now tell me where you live, so that I can come to see you soon, and good-by." He put out his hand. But the words had not left his lips before Margaret interposed eagerly: "No, you must come with me now. I am sure you are not going anywhere-at least anywhere that matters. Come, Alan-I in- sist upon it! I have so pinch to say to you."' He hesitated; but, as she had said, he was not going anywhere that mattered, and he felt I EBB-TIDE. "GO TO MARTINIQUE!" in that mood of recklessness when one is glad to escape from the society of one's self into any other whatever. Besides, she was his cous- in, and she was glad to see him. His heart-. yearning for hopeless affection-caught even at this. "Really, Margaret," he began, wavering and evasive. But Margaret swept aside her silken skirts, and beckoned him imperiously into the car- riage. "Come!,' she said. "You must come; I will take no denial. What! risen from the dead, as it were, and leave me like this! Come!" Her 'feverish anxiety influenced him, whether he would or no. He entered the car- riage, the footman closed the door, and they rolled away. Then the crowd began to chatter! Heaven only knows how many different versions and interpretations of the scene flew from lip to lip, the favorite rendition being a modified form of "Add Robin Gray." "Did you hear about Margaret ErIe?" people asked each other. "You know every- body said she married Mr. Sexton against her will, while she was really in love with that cousin of hers who turned sailor, and was drowned, or reported to be drowned at sea. Well, it was all true enough. On Christmas. Eve she suddenly met him-the cousin, I mean-just as she was coming out of Guth- ne's, and, right before everybody, she* went off at once into hysterics, assuring him she would never have married if she had not thought he was dead!" The subjects of this bit of popular history -then in active course of preparation-had meanwhile stopped before an "elegant man- sion" (that is the correct term for a comfort- able house, I believe), into which Captain Erle followed his cousin. The mAnsion in question was elegant within as well as without; and the sailor, fresh from the sea, could not but be struck by the judicious manner in which the ethereal inspiration of poets and painters had in the end feathered her nest. "I am inclined to think that, after all, Mar- garet, you made a wise choice," he said, a lit- tle sardonically, as he was led into a dim, flower-scented, rose-hung, mirror-embellished room which Mrs. Sexton called her boudoir, and inducted into a chair that might have tempted an anchorite to repose. "Love page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] sometimes flies through the window," pursued the cynic, "but statues, and mirrors, and French furniture, are not disturbed by any such freaks of passion. One's heart might break, but a chair like this would be a com- fort all the same." "I am not so sure of that," said Margaret, laying aside her bonnet, and sinking into a corresponding chair, with her wealth of amber hair crowning her like the halo of a saint. "Sometimes I would not care if it all did fly through the window," she went on. "Some- times, Alan, I can't help thinking that I have paid a little too dear for-for every thing." "What do you mean?" asked Alan, bluntly. "Didn't you choose your husband of your own free will? That being the case, what right have you to complain because your bargain may not be exactly to your taste?" "My own free will 1" repeated Margaret, scornfully. "I wonder when a man-a man like ~you-ever comprehends that a woman's free will, from her cradle to her grave, means less than nothing? 'No right to complain!' I don't complain, I'd die before I would com- plain. My husband is good and kind to me- kinder by far than I deserve-but none the less I suffer more than you would believe if I were fool enough to tell you!" Tears rose to her eyes-hot, angry, scorch- ing tears; but she choked them back. Life was beginning to teach even this spoiled but- terfly a little self-control, and the wisdom which is learned only by experience. Alan's heart-always a tender heart to the distress of women or children - was touched, lie leaned forward and took the hand with which she has just dashed away one or two briny drops. "Forgive mc if I spoke roughly," he said. "God knows I am the last man in the world to jest at scars, when I carry within my own heart a gaping wound. Come, Gretta "-this had been his name for her when she was a child, and she had n&t heard it since-" you used to be fond of me long ago, and, although of late years you have ou't'grown all the fond- ness and acquired instead a considerable de- gree of shame for your sailor-cousin, I am sure you still know that I can be trusted. T~I1 me your troubles-it will be some relief tp"you-and let me see if, two heads being better ~than one, we cannot find a remedy for them." To his surprise, Margaret drew her hand quickly away from him, and shrank-.-nervous. ly shrank - into the depths of her chair. "Don't, Alan-don't!" she gasped, rather than said. "I-cannot!" "You mean you can't talk of them?" "Yes, I mean that. I can't talk of them -at least not to ~iou." "Better talk of them to me than to any one else, Margaret. I would hold your confi- dence sacred." "And you think nobody else likely to do so? ~Vcll" (with a sigh), "you are right! You must not think that I have any complaint to make of my husband," she went on, with an eagerness which surprised him. "He is devoted to me-much more so than I deserve, as I cannot help thinking when I remember that I married him caring no more for him than for that dog of yours!" "But you care for him now?" "Yes, I care more fo~ him now," answered she, a little doubtfully. "He gives me every thing in the world I want, and is as kind as he can be; but-but-" Here the turquoise eye~ filled up with tears again, while Alan's face grew hard. He began to suspect that his cousin's heart was still yearning after the accomplished gen- tleman whom he had the honor of calling brother "M~rgaret," he said, sternly, " I know you once h~d a foolish fancy for-for-" he hesi- tated, struggled d with himself, finally wrenched the wo~ds out, and fairly flung them at her- "for m~ brother'; but it is impossible that you can stilt waste a thought on such a scoundrel! If so-'~ An ~inexpectcd gesture from Margaret in- terrupt~d him here. Her eyes blazed through the tea~s which had welled into them, and she suddenly brought one foot down with an un- mistakable stamp on the carpet "He is a scoundrel!" she said. "Thank you, Alan, for calling him so. No, I would tear my heart out sooner than-than care for him! lie has poisoned my life for me-that is what he has done! It was bad enough while I thought you were dead," she went on, with passionately-clasped hands and a strangely- excited face, "but now-now-oh, I don't know what to do 1" She broke down in this way with another burst of tears, and Alan-.after looking at her silently for a moment-rose, came to her side, 74 p EBB-TIDE. '74 EBB-TIDE. "GO TO MARTINIQUE!" '7 a I and laid one sunburnt hand down on her silken-clad shoulder. "Doat, Alan-don't!" she said, shrinking away from his touch, as she had shrunk be- fore. "I-did not mean any thing!" "Yes, you did mean something," said Alan, in a low, determined voice. "Margaret, look at me-I insist upon it! You won't? Well, then, listen to mc at least. You know some- thing about Er mine-and I charge you, for your soul's sake, to tell it to me instantly!" "Why should you think I know any thing about Ermine? What is Ermine to me?" she asked, still without looking up. "I-I never liked her. You know we never got on well together." "I won't stop to ask whose fault that was," he answered, in a tone that fairly awed her, it was so grave and stern. "But this I see plainly-you know the truth about Ermine's marriage, and you must tell me at once what it is-what it was!" "Why do you come to me with such a de- mand?" she cried, drawing herself away from his hand. "Why not go to Ermine's mother or to-to her husband?" "I have seen them both," he answered, "and found them as false as false can be. Margaret, you are my last h'pe-here, at least. Tell me the truth, for God's sake1 and you will never regret it." But, as he made the a4uration, he saw 4 how-hopeless it was. His influence, and the I influence of her own conscience, were both I but weak and faint compared to the influ- ences which had ~~uled and fashioned her whole life, and which still held their sway, almost, if not quite, as strong as ever. Let her I inclinations be what they would toward hon- esty and truth, Raymond still stood like a lion in her path. She might talk of hating him, I but his spell had been laid upon her for good or for ill, and she was now, as ever, his obedi- ent slave. r "I can tell you nothing," she cried out, passionately. "What is there to tell? For Heaven's sake, let me alone! What is Er- I mine to me, and what is she to ~,iou, now? I I should think you would hate and despise her." "Then you know very little of her, and a still' less of me," he answered. "She is every I thing to me now, and she will be every thing to me till I die. I know that there has been v foul play in this marriage, because I know that she is the most tender and faithful of s God's creatures-utterly incapable of betray- ing any trust once given to her. . There is no- fear that I will not find out the truth sooner or later," he went on; "for I have already- devoted to the task every energy which I pos- sess; but I am sure that you can help mc, Margaret, and I trust that you wilL" "No, I cannot hel~i you," said Margaret,. "except "-and here she looked at him witlt suddenly shining eyes-" I can tell you this: if you want the truth-yo to 2lfartinique/" Now, Alan had already made up his mind to go to Martinique, but the tone of this recom- mendation seemed suddenly to fill him with vague apprehensions. Most of us have known what such apprehensions are, most of us have' known how an accent, a look, is sometimes more darkly suggestive of unknown terror than any spoken words could be. "Margaret," he said, quickly, "for God's sake tell me what you mean! Has any thing befallen Ermine? What have they dared to- do to her? Speak, if you have any mercy! Don't leave me to torture myself with every black fear that love can suggest!" "Ermine was very well when I saw her- last," said Margaret, a little sullenly. "If any thing hqs befallen her, it has been since then." "And when did you see her last?" "I parted from them all in New York, in. l~ctober. Mr. Sexton was anxious to come Lioine, while they decided to remain there for bhe marriage." "You were not at the marriage?'~ "Then why do you advise me to go to Mar-. ~inique?" "I thought you wanted. the truth," said. ~Iargaret, looking steadilyand studiously away' ~om him. "I do want it, and" (with an emphasis rhich sheneverforgot), "by the Goclwhomade- ne, Iwill have it!" "Well," said she, with something of the ame glance which he had noticed before in icr usually languid odalisk eyes, "it is to- ~Eartinique that you must go to look for it." "But you will not condemn me to days~ nd weeks of suspense, when a word from your ips could end it I" said he, passionatelyr 'You will not send me to Martinique to learx~ ~hat you could tell me here and now?" "I have nothing to tell you," she aii~ werecL page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] EBB-TIDE. "'But, Margaret-" '"I know nothing!" she repeated, facing round upon him suddenly. " How should I? Do you think Raymond is likely to take me into his confidence ? Leave me alone ! I am -sorry that I brought you here to torment ane like this !" "And I am sorry that I came,"' he said. 'You have, if possible, given an added weight to the anxiety which is already wellnighecrush- ing me." He sat down again in the chair from which he had risen, and almost unconsciously his head sank into his hands. Strong man as he was-strong, indeed, in a higher sense than -the mere physical-something like a deadly faintness came over him. If the shadow of mystery looked so black, who could say how much blacker the reality might prove ? As for Margaret, she sat still and looked at him; sorry for him somewhat, but sorry for herself still inore ; lacking courage to be silent, lacking yet more the courage to speak. After -all, she was of a very commonplace type, by no means wholly bad, yet assuredly by no "means wholly good. After a fashion, she was capable of friendship, gratitude, and love ; after a fashion also, of hatred, enmity, and revenge. But her love would never have been equal to a sacrifice, and her revenge would have always -taken the form of petty malice. Of any thing positive her nature was literally incapable. She had not strength of character sufficient to proclaim her cognizance of a guilty scheme, and yet she had enough of a conscience to be restless under the weight of its knowledge. The medium course which she took at the present time was the temporizing course which moral cowards always take. She was not true to either side ; she did as much harm both ways as she was capable of doing, and then shrank back, hoping to go scot-free of the blame which she dreaded more even than the responsibility of crline. "There is one thing I can do," said Alan, vaismng his head at last, and speaking a little hoarsely. "I can go to your husband. He, I presume, knows something of the matter as well as yourself, and the world mistakes him greatly if he is not an honest man. At least" . -not a little bitterness rang in the tone here -"he will not be afraid of Raymond." " Are you mad ?" cried Margaret, spring-. 'ing forward with a pale, excited face, and catching his arm. " Do you want to rui me forever? If you do, go and put such suspicions as those into my husband's head ! He will never forgive you, never, and he will never forgive me, either!i He is honest-as honest as the day-and hoe knows nothing which might not be published to the whole world. If-if he even suspected that I knew any thing which was wrong, I don't believe he would ever speak to me again. 0 Alan, for Heaven's sake, don't -don't go to him!" . "Then tell me the truth," said Alan, seeing his advantage in her imploring face, and so in- tent upon his point that he did not stop to consider the means by which he hoped to gain it. - For answer, Margaret burst into passionate tears. " You are cruel! you are cowardly !" she cried. " I have done for you what no one else has done-I have shown you how to gain the truth-and, for thanks, you try by threats to force me into betraying secrets which are not mine, secrets which would be my ruin if I did betray them, Is this honorable ? - is this mauly ? I am a weak woman, and you come and- overawe me-why don't you go to Ray-. mond and make him tell you what you want to know ?" "I appealed to your honor and conscience," said Alan. " You know, as well as I do, tfiat I might as well appeal to the honor and con- science of the devil as to those of my brother,. It seems, however," he wen on, gloomily, "that it was quite as useless to appeal to yours. I beg your pardon, however, for having forgotten myself so far as to utter what seemed like a threat. Since you assure me that your hus- band knows nothing of' the matter, I shall not speak to him. But I think it would be well for you to ask yourself whether the path you are following is likely to lead to happiness. You have confessed that you hold secrets which would be ruin if you betrayed them. Stop and consider whether they are most likely to be your ruin when told voluntarily by yourself; or when exposed by another ; as they will be if God gives me life to do it ?" " We do not know what may come before the exposure," said Margaret, evasively. "' Lu, I, any of us, may be dead. Besides, if the matter is merely exposed, my husband will have no proof that I knew of it. You may believe me, Alan-I speak as I might if I were on my death-bed-Ihad no share in i" She laid her hand on his in the 'energy of I CHECKED AND CHECKMATED. '/7 her last words, but he shook it off as though the fair, white flesh had borne the taint of lep-. rosy. " What do you call the share of aiding in a.- criminal concealment ?" he asked, hoarsely,. " Don't blind yourself; don't think that your hands are clean because they were passive. Remember that you have had the opportunity to clear your conscience, and to right those who are wronged, and you have refused it. Hereafter I shall not trouble you. But when the day of reckoning comes, I shall not spare you, the passive instrument, any more than I shall spare the active authors of the wrong. I will take care of my life, too-iindful always with whom I have to deal-and trusting that I may not gyatify you in the death on which you build your hopes." " Hopes ! 0 Alan, hiow you wrong me, how bitterly you wrong me! Was I sorry to see you a little while ago ?" "No," said he, softening somewhat. " I believe you were not. But you have taken your first step on a dark road, Margaret, and who shall say where it will end ? " " It should end here and now, if I only dared," said Margaret-" if I only dasred !" she repeated, wringing her hands. "Dare for God's sake, for the sake of your -own conscience and your own soul 1 " said he, with passionate earnestness. " While I was considered dead, you had an excuse for silence;- now I am alive you have none ! Trample your fear of Raymond under foot ! I will protect you against him !" - But she shrank back, her whole nature re-- coiling from the path which he marked out. r otter, hesitate, temporize, if need be, but .never face a direct issue, og tell a direct truth. -That' was her creed-the creed which every natural instinct seconded so strongly that per- haps sfie did not merit all the indignant wrath and contempt that Alan felt. Do we not pity the man whose cheek grows white in the face of a danger from which he dies, not one but a thousand deaths ? - And should we not doubly pity the soul which shrinks from any and every ill; save, indeed, that ill which is eternal ? " I see that it is useless to urge you; I see that you will not take courage and do the thing which is right," said Alan, after a pause. unti th truth has seena th lgto RmR ember -if; indeed, we should not ever meet again, that you might have spared me much suffering, which, instead, I shall go forth on my errand bearing with me. Now, good-by. Will you-- can you-wish me God-speed ?" "Yes-yes-with all my heart," said she, speaking through tears. "Believe me, Alan, I would tell you, if I could ; and, believe me, you. will be very near the truth when you reach Martinique. But don't make this goodby- pray, don't 1" she went on, eagerly. " Come back and ~dine with us-Mr. Saxton likes you. so much, and will be so glad to see you." "You are very kind," he said ; " but I should be ill company for any one just now- save the one whom I shallgo to see," he added, lowering his voice. -"And who is that one ?" asked Margaret, a little curiously. " My mother," he answered, simply. " Your mother ! "-the blue- eyes sprang wide open, for, two years before, while Alan was far away, the reaper Death had come and garnered into his sheaf the fair, sweet lady for- whom the young man chiefly toiled, leaving to him, when hie returned, only a short mound of earth, and a memory which could never die- " Alan-what do you mean? " " Not that I have turned spiritualist," said Alan, smiling a little sadly, " or that I would call her back for an hour, if I could. But I always go to her grave when I come home. Somehow I think she may know it and like it." " You are as faithful as a dog," said Mar.. garet, touched unawares ; and is it not a fine irony on this human nature of ours that we can find no higher praise or better comparison for its fidelity than this ? So they parted, not in anger, nor yet with that cold challenge of opposing interest and aim which had been Alan's farewell to Mrs. Erle. Their hands clasped, they bade each other good-by (which, being interpreted, means, " God be with you "), and if Alan had notheard from his cousin's lips the truth for which he thirsted, he had at least heard that recom- mendation which accorded so well with his own desire- " Go to Martinique!" CHAPTER IV. .ANK D ~CHtcKMATED. THE dusk of Christmas -Eve was dying away over the city roofs and spires, and the page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 48 EBB-TIDE. CHECKED AND CHECKMATED. "night before Christmas "-eagerly watched, eagerly desired by how many childish eyes and hearts !-had already fallen, when a sharp peal of the door-bell echoed through the ErIe house. For a marvel, Regy and Louise chanced to be, not in the nursery with their bonne, but in the sitting-room with their mother-the sit- ting-room brightened just now by the glow diffused from a vivid mass of coal which heaped the glittering grate, and looking rarely attractive with its bright pictures resting ease- fully in carved frames on the softly-tinted walls, its slender vases full of those fragrant flowers which the sweet South rarely refuses to her children, and one fair, cold statue stand- ing in motionless grace just within the bay- window, thrown into relief by therich sweep of the maroon curtains, and "bathed in the bloom of the firelight" which reached even 'this distant nook. "Now you must go, children," said Mrs. Erle, as soon as she caught the sound. "You know I only allowed you to stay on condition you gave me no trouble in case any one came in. You shall come down again after a while, ~but you must go now." "Mamma, you n'iqltt let us stay!" said Bogy, in a tone of expostulating persuasion. This young gentleman was lolling luxuriously in the depths of a capacious chair, and looked like a Louis-Quinze page in his blue-velvet suit, his delicate lace ruffles, and long, fair curls. "It's sure to be nobody but Cousin Raymond, or Mr. Saxton-and it's Christmas- Eve. There isn't any good in dressing up to go and stay with Marie. Do, please, pretty mamma, let us stay!" "Yes, mamma, please let us stay !" pleaded Louise, fired by the contagion of example, and mindful of her rose-colored silk and the broad sash which Marie's Parisian fingers had tied so deftly. "We won't say a word-will we, Regy?" "Not unless somebody says something to us," answered Regy, not quite ready to make such an unconditional covenant of silence. "Reginald, take your sister and leave the room at once" said Mrs. Erle, concisely. "Go up-stairs and stay with Marie until I send for you." Maste~' Reginald, somewhat crestfallen, tum- bled out of his cosy retreat and took Louise's tiny, outstretnlied hand. They were both beautiful children, and they looked like a lit- tIe fairy prince and princess, as they made their graceful courtesy (the courtesy taught to French children as soon as they walk), and left the room. Poor little elves! Their rear- ing was a queer mixture of two essentially dif- ferent systems - the nursery, which is un- known in French life, being their habitual home; while they were sedulously trained in that charming courtesy and docile obedience so remarkable in French childrenand, forth lack of which, English (and, how much more American!) children are, in nine cases out of ten, veritable little boors and plague-spots in society. As the small pair ascended the staircase, with disconsolate faces, Robin opened the front-door and admitted into the haIl a gentle- man who, only stopping a moment to throw off his overcoat,1 passed directly into the sit- ting-room. "It's nobody but Cousin Raymond!" said Louise, in an injured tone, pushing back her yellow curls and peering down through the balustrade which she was not tall enough to overlook. "Mamma might as well have let us stay," said Bogy, also injured, and commanding a better view of matters and persons on account of his more exalted stature. "It's a shame to send us up-stairs Christmas-Eve," pursued the young gentleman. "I say, Louise, don't let's go to Marie. She's in her room, finishing a present for her sweetheart-he knows all about it, though, for I saw her working his name on it, and I told him so-and we can go and have a peep at the Christmas-tree without anybody knowing it!" "Oh, but Bogy, there isn't any Christmas- tree yet," said Louise, breathless and open- eyed. "You know Santa Claus never comes till midnight." "Then what is the nursery locked up for?" demanded Bogy, with superb skepticism. may believe' in Santa Claus, Louise, because you are a very little girl; but I know better.* I saw Robin carry the tree into the nursery, and I saw Marie hanging the lights on it. She shut the door in my face, but I knew what she was doing. Now, if we go and peep through the key-hole, we can find out what we arc going to have." "Can we?" said Louise, yielding to temp- tation with Eve-like readiness-violet eyes wide open, and coral lips apart-"then, Bogy, let us go!" "All right," said Bogy, "come this way ! ~ And, hand-in-hand, the two young conspira- tors marched down the thickly-carpeted corri- dor to the nursery-door. There they remained, engaged in alternately applying one eye to the key-hole and being rewarded by a view of the extreme corner of the table on which the Christmas-tree was supposed to rest. Meanwhile, Mrs. ~rle was saying to Ray- mond, with an unust~al degree of solicitude in her voice: "Do sit down and get warm-I am sure the weather must be horribly damp. You look pale. Are you sick? Will you have a glass of wine?" "No, thanks," said he, sinking into the chair which Bogy had vacated, and basking in the genial warmth of the fire very much as that youn~ gentleman had done before him. "Do I look pale?" he went on, tossing back one or two dark locks that had fallen across his gleaming forehead. "I am not at all sick -only, perhaps, a little tired." "I am afraid you have had a very trying day," said she, looking at him closely, almost anxiously. "Rather more trying than I anticipated this morning, certainly," he answered, care- lessly. "But I can take my ease to-night" -he leaned back in the soft velvet depths, and looked as if he was taking it-" with the consciousness of rest well earned-of difficul- ties and dangers successfully met and left be- hind," Mrs. Erie started and glanced at him keen.. ly-a shade of color which was not cast by the fire, flickering into her alabaster cheek. "You don't usually underrate difficulties or dangers," she said; "else I should think that you were surely unaware what an enemy this day has raised up for you2' "Do you think that an enemy who comes and throws his intentions like a challenge in your teeth, is mu6h to be feared?" he asked, with a curl of his well-cut lips. "Not to be feared, perhaps, but certainly not to be despised. That would be a great ~rror-the greatest of the two." "My friend, I never despise anybody," said Raymond, more earnestly than before. "I know the world too well for such folly. Nobody is too insignificant either to serve or to injure one's interest. It should be a cardi- nal principle with every wise man never to make an enemy wantonly-never to offend the most humble, unless absolutely forced to do so. There are few better fables than that of the lion and the mouse." "Yet you make enemies without heed- apparentlyl without care-when compelled to do so." "You say right-when compelled to do so. If I have a great end in view, I don't let a few individuals bar my way to it~ but 'neither do I ever neglect any reasonable precautions against their malice. Of course, these precau- tions are rendered much more easy when my adversary is kind enough to show me his hand, and make me a confidant in his plans for my defeat." "Do you think that Alan has done this?" "I received your note, written just after he left. If he had conceived any plan more brill- iant than the one with which he favored you, he would certainly have returned to let you hear it." "Don't be too sure of that, and don't, don't let your contempt for him lead you into carelessness. If ever a man was in earnest, that man was in earnest today! If ever a man was dangerous, that man was dangerous today! Don't deceive yourself-don't think that his bitterness will evaporate in idle threats. There was the look of a bloodhound in his eyes when he said he would track the matter down!" "Very likely!" said Raymond; but, with all his superb carelessness, there was some. thing of a dangerous gleam under his own sweeping lashes. "The bloodhound is an un- reasoning brute, who is simply useless when you throw him off the scent." "You will find it hard to throw this man off the scent." He laughed-a low, slightly mocking laugh -which would have roused Alan to frenzy if he could have heard it. "On the contrary, very easy-so easy that the fact may be regarded as accomplished." "How can that be possible?" "How could it be other than possible when you consider how lacking in acuteness, how full only of brute strength and brute tenacity such a man is?" "But-do you know that he is going to Martinique?" "Have I not said that I received your note? Of course, therefore, I know it." "And he will find-" "The island, and the mountains, and no doubt some old friends-these sailors know page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 EBB-TIDE. people everywhere-but not the person of whom he is in search." "You talk enigma;" said Mrs. Erle, with an impatient gesture. "You forget, that the risk is as much mine as yours. I must hear plainly what you have done." "You will hear in a moment," he answered. "Is not that my uncle's step?" He turned his head as he spoke, and Mr. Erie-handsome, smiling, debonair as ever- entered the room. If Raymond looked thinner and paler than he had done the preceding May, Mr. Erie, on the contrary, looked even better in health and spirits than on that by- gone evening when we saw him first. Con. treating the two faces, almost any stranger would have regarded the nephew as the elder man of the two, and would certainly have been astonished to learn how the difference of age in reality existed. In truth, the slight, graceful, blond ~gentleman who came forward, did not look as if the vexatious and cares of life had ever cost him many unquiet moments, or as if his mind was ever ruffled by any thing deeper than the tie of his cravat, or the ar- rangement of his golden curls. Regarding him abstractly, it might have proved hard for the apocryphal stranger aforesaid to realize that this was indeed the man of whom his very rivals admitted that no keener, shrewder, subtler intellect had ever come within the range of their experience-the man in whose hands Raymond, clever as he was, had been throughout life little more than a puppet, and with whom had originated every well-planned scheme which had gone to make or to secure their common fortune. As he passed on his way to the fire, he ,,lightly brushed his wife's forehead with his amber mustache, a ad gave Raymond a note of recognition. Then he took his stand on the rug, and surveyed the company. "Have you been talking sentiment, that the gas is not lighted yet?" he asked, smiling. "This firelight is very pretty, and makes my Clytie yonder look as if she were veritable alive; but I have a weakness for bright light as well as for warm fires. Do you object, rn'amie?" This to his wife, as he took a prettily twisted and fringed allumette from a stand on the mantel. "Not at all," Mrs. Erie answered. "Indeed, I should have had the gas lighted before this, only dusk deepened into night so rapidly that I forgot to ring for Robin; and neither Ray- mond nor I have been doing any thing to feel the need of light." "You have been talking," said Mr. Erie. "Do you call that Dot doing any thing? For one fact that you learn from words, you can learn twenty at least from the eyes and the expression of the face." "But that is a sword which cuts both ways," said Raymond. "Ah," said his uncle, with smiling benigni- ty, "you mean that your own face might turn traitor and tell tales? Bah I my dear boy,~iot if you discipline it properly. Did Richclieu's waxen mask ever betray him? And why should we not all be Richdicus in private life? There I-is not that beautiful?" He lighted the a~lumet1e as he spoke, and held it to the cup of a bronze lily, from which instantly sprang a sheet of vivid white flame- filling the whole room with dazzling radiance, and banishing mercilessly the soft, rosy tint of the lire. Mrs. ErIe and Raymond shaded their eyes from the sudden glare, but Mr. Erie regarded it steadily. "There cannot be such a thing as too much light I" he said, emphati- cally; yet in consideration of the optical weak. ness of his companions, he tempered the jet with a porcelain shade,.that mellowed the white glow to a lustrous moonlight. Then he came back and resumed his place on the hearth-rug. After a moment's silence, Raymond looked up and spoke. "I am sure you would not have left the office unless some answer had come," he said. "What was it?" *" Now that the gas is lighted, you can read for yourself" said Mr. Erie, taking a folded paper from his pocket and handing it to him. The young man received it with something of a flush on his clear, dark cheek. When fortune or. ruin is staked on a single chance, a. single turn of the wheel or throw of the dice, does not the most immovable gambler betray the sharp tension of hope and despair by so e such token as this-some token so slight thpt only the keenest ~ye could detect it? Raymond's dark lashes swept his cheek as he glanced pver the few lines written on a slip of paper eon- taining the printed form of the telegraph company-but when they lifted, there was a bright, satisfied glow in the eyes thus un- veiled. "You asked what I had done," he said to Mrs. Erie. "Read that." I CHECKED AND CHECKMATED, She took the paper eagerly from his out stretched hand. It was a short telegram dated in New York, at four o'clock that after noon, and signed by a business agent of the Erie house, containing these words: "Your message has becn received and en closed in a letter to Mrs. Erie's address. The steamer leaves punctually at twelve, 'to-mor. row." She read these lines twice over, before looking i~p. Then: "I see-.partly but not entirely," she said, "Tell me exactly what it means." "What it means," repeated Raymond, rising like a man who flings off some great weight, and standing by his uncle's side. "It means that your 'bloodhound' is thrown off the sccnl-that he is checked and check- mated at ~is very first move." "Belt'airne, you do injustice to your own quickness of perception," said Mr. Erie, break- ing in here with a smile. "Placed in Ray- mond's position, your own instincts would have suggested, I am sure, exactly what Ray- mond has done. When Alan was kind enough to tell you that he was going to Martinique (or at least something equivalent to that), what was your first thought?" "One of despair," answered Mrs. Erie. "I knew that he could go there as soon as Raymond could, and equally of course as soon as a letter. I confess I saw no mode of escape." "And I confess that I shared the same feeling for a short time after he left me," said Raymond. "I did little more than curse the fate which failed to bring his letter, and thus left me unprepared for his appearance. But my uncle came in, and his first word was a ray of light in the darkness." "I merely made a suggestion," said Mr. Erie, modestly. "Your mind at once caught at it, and supplied every thing necessary for following it out. You had been shocked, and had not quite recovered from the effect of it- that was all. In a little while the same idea would have occurred to yourself." "I am not so sure of that," said Raymond, a little bluntly. "Your suggestions, sir, are always somehow the germ of all that comes after. Well, at all events" (speaking to Mrs. Erie), "my unule asked me when the mail. steamer for the West Indies left New York- and, like a flash, I saw what to do! I remem- 6 81 - bered that the steamer left either to-day or to- morrow, giving, as you perceive, no time for a - letter or for my own departure, but being as conveniently ready for a telegram as if it had been my private property. I telegraphed, therefore, to Forbes to the following effect" (he took a note-book, from his pocket and read): "'Write by the Martinique steamer to Mrs. Raymond Erie, care Delaroche & Co., St. Pierre, Martinique, giving this message: "Do not wait for me, but leave the island at once for France, via any port on the continent of Europe, Do not delay a day, but write me from Paris. I will meet you there." Enclose the present telegram as an authority, and an- swer at once, saying when steamer will leave.' Now" (closing the book and returning it to the breast-pocket of his coat), "you have heard that the stearher leaves New York to. morrow at twelve o'clock. Could any thing, short of a balloon, get a man who is in Charles. ton now, there in time to leave in it?" "When does the next steamer leave?" "The next direct steamer does not leave for a month. He must therefore take some indirect steam-line, or else go in a sailing- vessel. In either case the bird will have flown before he reaches the island."' "Are you sure that she will go?" "Perfectly sure of that"(very dryly). "I cannot help doubting it. She is both perverse and obstinate." "Not with me," said Raymond, dryly, again. "She knows that whenl amin earnest, I am not to be trifled with, and I am perfectly satisfied that she will obey that telegram as soon as she receives it." "But he / Will nothis suspicions be more than verified when he reaches Martinique and finds her gone?" "Whyshould they be when he wiihave no proof of my having had any communication with her? Not that it matters, however, if they are. She will be gone." "He can follow her to France; and I think he will!" Raymond shrugged his shoulders. "Let him! Once in Paris, I defy him!" "And then," said Mr. ErIe's quiet, pleasant voice, "you forget, my love, that in Paris he will find ~adelon Lautrec; and Madelon has wonderful dramatic capabilities undeveloped. I always told you that. Trust me, a little self- interest will develop them amazingly." Mrs. ErIe glanced from one to the other-. page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 EBB-TIDE. AN EMPTY NEST. from the clear, handsome, dark face, to the fair, handsome, blond one-as if trying to take in the full significance of her husband's words. Then the white lids fell over her eyes, and the white hands lying in her lap clasped them. selves together. "I see!" she said. "But it is a dangerous game. "What game worth the playing is not dan- gerous?" asked her husband, with something like an inflection of disdain in his well-modu- lated voice. "By-the-by, I forgot to say that Major Dunwardin will look in after tea for a game of whist. Do you think you would care to play if you were entirely certain of the result?" "I am no coward," said Mrs. Erie. "But some risks seem to me too great to be run. I may be wrong, or I may be right, but 1 distrustt Madelon; an&I should never, un- der any circumstances, allow her to meet Alan." "You forget," said Mr. Erie, with un- moved quietness, "where Madelon's interest lies. She is in the same boat with ourselves, and no degree of sentiment is likely to induce her to throw herself out, only to be drowned." "Still it would be safest-" "Always to play a bold game," interrupted he, putting out his hand and smoothing her hair with a caressing motion. "Cowardness has wrecked more fortunes than rashness ever did, rn'atnie. If the ebances were a thousand to one against success, I should still ~take all on the one chance. But as it is " "The chances are a thousand to one for success," concluded Raymond, as he paused. "Exactly," said Mr. Erie, smiling. "And after a time we may hope that our marine Don Quixote will fall in love with somebody else ann go back to his legitimate business. Until then, our friend here" (smiling at Raymond), "will have to prosecute his training in a diplomatic point of view, for I agree with you" (this to Mrs. Earle), "in thinking that even brute cour- ag~1 when once roused, may be dangerous. But muscle is no match for mind, in the long. run, and what Raymond has I am sure Ray. mond will keep." "To the last gasp 1" said Raymond, be- tween his set teeth. His uncle patted him on the shoulder ap. provingly, then turned away, and, humming in a soft tone of voice the "Ak! eke la mot-te," walked across the room toward the lovely statue in the bay-window; before which he paused. "Women of flesh and blood," said he, med- itatively, "are sometimes sources of great an- noyance, but, to compensate for it, wemen in marble are certainly sources of rare enjoyment. Could any thing be more exquisite than this Clytie? Ah, Raymond my dear boy, when will you learn to love art as art should be loved! For myself," he ~vent on, casting a regretful sigh over his shoulder, "I confess that I should have been the happiest man in the world if Fate had only been kind enough to have made me a sculptor!" CHAPTER V. AN EMPTY NEST. .4.s all the world knows (or might know, if it felt any interest in the matter), communica- tion with the different islands of the West In- dies is not quite so open and direct as with Liverpool, Havre, or Bremen; in coasequenec of which fact it followed that, despite a great deal of fiery impatience, Alan Erle verified his brother's kind prediction, and was some time in reaching his destination. In truth, the month of January was wellaigh spent when a steamer from St. Thomas touched at St. Pierre, the commercial metropolis of Martinique, and landed several passengers. Of these passen- gers, Alan was one. Declining the kind in- vitation of a fellow-traveller (a creole planter who had taken a great fancy to him, and who pointed out his pleasant country-seat as they ran along the shore of the island), the young man made his way to an hotel, and thence, without loss of time, to the commission-house of Delaroche & Co., whom he remembered as the business agents of Colonel Vivicux. Arriving at the latter place, the mention of his name proved a passport which admitted him at once to the senior partner-a white- haired old Frenchman, courteous as all Frenchmen are, and sallow as all inhabitants of the tropics soon become-who manifested a considerable degree of surprise at sight of him. "Erie !-Monsicur Erie!" said he, looking in almost amusing bewilderment at the tall, stately figure, and bronzed, handsome face be- fore him. "I beg your pardon, Monsieur; I fancy there is some mistake" (bowing as only a Frenchman can bow), "I was told that Afon- j eyes which age had net robbed of their bright- aieur Erie desired to see me." J ness or their keenness. Then, dropping the "Erie is my name," answered Alan, in glass with a little click, he answered with Un. French as good as he could muster. "But it diminished courtesy: was my brother, Raymond ErIe, perhaps whom "Madame Erie is on the ocean at present, you expected to see." monsieur. She left the island last week." "Yes, it was Monsieur Raymond Erie whom "Left the island!" I expected to see," said M. Delaroche. "But" If a chasm had ya~vned beneath Alan's (with another bow), "you have the happiness feet, he could scarcely have been more aston. to be his brother" (" A very precious happi. ished. Left the island! Ermine left the isi. ness 1" thought Alan, grimly). "In that case, and, while her husband was in Charleston! it affords me great pleasure to make your ac- Thought has lightning.wings, as we all know, quaintanee, monsieur." and, while he still gazed silently at M. Dela- It was now Alan's turn to bow, and to roche, he was wondering if despair had driven mutter something about "pleisir" and "ken- her to this desperate step-if, like many an- neur" under his mustache. He certainly had other wretched woman, she had found too not come with any intention of exchanging late the weight of the chain which she had as- complime~its with Ermine's business agent, but sumed? the graceful and unaffected courtesy of the "Left the island, monsieur 1" he said, at Frenchman shamed the brusque directness with last. "Pardon rae, but I scarcely think that which his countrymen (learning a faithful can be possible. My brother is still in Charles. lesson front those admirable models of breed. ton-unless" (a sudden angry thought send- ing, their English forefathers!) thought and ing blood to his brow and fire to his eye) "he still think it necessary to treat every thing relat- has reached Martinique very recently." ing to the ordinary affairs of life. Having ac- "Your brother has not returned to the cepted a seat, he was silent for a few minutes island since he left it in December, monsieur," -trying to collect his thoughts, which of late answered M. Delaroche, quietly. had acquired a habit of deserting him at the "And yet his wife has gone! How did moment of need-and, since he did not pro. she leave ?-and when ?-and with whom?" duce any thing like the letter which M. Dela- Up went the eye-glass agnia. With all his roche very likely expected, that gentleman courtesy, it was very evident that M. Dela- spoke again. roche did not understand this excessive anx- "In what way, monsieur, can I have the iety and interest in-a brother-in-law. honor of serving you?" ~ "Madame Erie;" said he, a little formally, Alan started. His truant thoughts came "came over from Fort de France last week. back with a flash, and he blushed like a school. She did my wife and myself the honor of re- boy as he said, quickly: mining with us a few days-having business "Pardon me, I should have explained. I to transact before she took her departure. have often heard Mademoiselle St. Amand- She was anxious, also, to procure a companion that is, Madame ErIe-speak of you, and, hay- for the voyage. Fortunately, a lady-an es- ing just landed in Martinique, I thought I timable widow of our acquaintance-was re- should save time if I came to you at once to turning to France, and Madame Erle-" inquire where I can soonest find her." "To France!" said Alan, interrupting this "I am always happy to afford information history with merciless impetuosity. "To to any friend of Madame Erie's," was the suave France, monsieur! You must be mistaken! reply. "But, in the present instance, I fear Surely Ermine-surely Madame Erie went to that you will be disappointed. The lady of America, if she went anywhere?" whom you speak cannot be found anywhere "Your pardon, monsieur, she went to very soon. She is not in Martinique." France," said M. Delaroche, with unchanged "Not in Martinique!" repeated Alan, pal- courtesy. "I had the honor of attending to lag as suddenly as he had flushed the moment all her arrangements, and of bidding her adieu before. "Good Heavens! What do you mean? on the deck of the steamer Vile do Paris, Where is she, then?" which sailed for Marseilles last Wednesday." The old Frenchman put up his eye-glass and He spoke with a positive certainty, which regarded the young man for a moment with could not have failed in carrying conviction t~ AN EMPTY N1sST. page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 EBB-TIDE-. the most obstinately incredulous, since we cannot well disbelieve that which a man tells us he has seen with his own eyes, and heard with his own ears. To poor Alan-for whom the tide of fortune had, to all appearance, ebbed indeed-the realization of this second shocki was terrible. Almost involuntarily, he put out his hand to grasp some steadying sup- port. Gone ! But whsy had she gone ? That was the question which sprung instantly to his mind, and which his lips uttered-a little hoarsely: " This is strange news," he said ; " so strange, that I shall be glad if you can throw a little light upon the matter. What reason did my sister-in-law" (he uttered the last words 'with a sort of savage emphasis) "give for such a sudden and extraordinary departure ?" " Monsieur," answered the old Frenchman, with an air so stately that it would not have misbecome a Dc Rohan, " Madame Erie gave no reason for her departure, and it certainly never occurred to me to ask her for one."' " Perhaps you think it singular that I should ask for one," said Alan, amused in a certain unamused way by the quietness of this rebuke. "But you must do me the justice to remember that the lady of whom we speak is my brother's wife " (why is it that we some- times find a fierce pleasure in stabbing our- selves with our own words, as Alan stabbed himself with these ?); "I have a right to feel some interest in her movements, therefore." "It is a right which I have not denied," said M. Delaroche, with another bow." After this, there was silence for several i minutes. M. Delaroche coughed gently be- hind his hand, and tried not to look as if he expected his singular visitor to take his de- parture ; while the singular visitor tried vainly - to think how he could best introduce several questions which might fairly be said to burn his tongue. He would quite as soon have thought of cutting his throat as of giving to this stranger even a hint concerning his story, yet-how else excuse, how else account for his interest in the affairs of his "brother's 4 wife ?" " Monsieur," said he at last, with a wistful accent in his voice, and wistful look in his eyes, "you say that Madame Erie spent sev- eral days in your house before her departure. I You must therefore have seen her very con- stantly." Again M. Delaroche bowed. Surely, by- the-by, a Frenchman's backbone must be composed of much more pliant material than that of other people (people of the race of pokers, otherwise Anglo-Saxons, especially), else how would the constant demand for bows. be so constantly honored as it is by that ur- bane and charming people ? " I had that honor, monsieur," said he. "Perhaps, then," said Alan -desperate now, and determined to fight his way to the. truth through any opposition or misunder- standing-" you will allow me to ask if she- impressed you as a happy or a contented woman ?" " Monsieur !" The old Frenchman moved a little back- ward in his amazement. For a moment he thought of lunacy, and cast about in his mind for a means of rescue from this ecentric com- panion-but something sad as well as Isane in the clear sea-colored eyes regarding himn, went far to reassure these fears-. " Monsieur," said he, " I confess that I do- not comprehend you." " I am aware that my French is by no, means very good," said Alan, smiling faintly. "Still I think you might comprehend mne-if you desired to do so. Understand this," he went on, earnestly and a little proudly, " I ask nothing which the strictest sense of [honor could prevent granting. I came here hoping to see Madame Erle. I am an old and deeply- attached friend, besides being" (a bitter ac- cent here) " a newly-made relative. You tell me that she is gone, and that I have had my voyage for nothing. ,At least, then, I can ask a 'question which my own eyes would have answered for me, if I had seen her-at least you can tell me if she seemed happy ?" Said Ra'ymond once, in speaking of his brother: ".The secret of Alan's success in life is his moral force. That gives him an ascen- dency over men independent of any other power. He says to them, 'Do this,' and they do it before they stop to consider that he had not the least right to issue such a command." On the ground, then, of this moral force-a subtle but certainly a manifest weapon of ag-. gression-we may account for the effect which this last speech had upon M. Delaroche. The eye-glass came into play again, but Alan's- honest face seconded his honest words so well. that the old man could not distrust their evi- dence-full as he was of shrewd, worldly cx- perience.' Now, although we are accustomed. I I U AN EMPTY NEST-. I 85 to think that worldly-wise people are also, of necessity, suspicious people, it remains a ques- tion whether the man who suspects every thing is not farther removed from trustworthy knowledge of his kind, than he who believes every thing. One thing is certain: if worldly wisdom indeed be worth the price which some of us are willing to pay for it, it should be- stow upon us the power of discriminating be- tween what is true and what is false, what is genuine and what is sham, by some infallible test. Real worldly wisdom does this ; spuri- ous worldly wisdom (the kind which flourishes before our eyes to such an aggravating extent) never achieves it. With the disciples of the latter school, "to doubt," is the only verb which they are able to conjugate. This, liowever, is a digression. Said M. Delaroche, kindly, but with a certain stiffness . " If you had seen Madame Erle, monsieur, I think you would have been satisfied that she bears no outward signs of unhappiness. Of her inner life ".-with a French shrug-" God and herself alone can tell." " Does she seem in good health ?" -asked Alan-thirsting as men in a desert thirst for water, for one glimpse of the face on which his companion's eyes had rested so recently. " In very good health, I think," said M. .Delaroche, looking a little puzzled. "She is pale and slender, but I should say that both these facts were constitutional with her." "Yes, she was always pale and slender," said- Alan, remembering, with a sharp pang, how often he had likened her graceful, stain- less beauty to adl1iy. ' There was another pause. This time M. Delaroche did not try not to look as if he ex- pected this peculiar visit and more peculiar catechism to end-and Alan saw the expecta- tion very plainly. He rose to his feet, there- fore. " I have to thank you for a very courteous reception, monsieur," said he, "and to express my regret at having troubled you. Before I leave Martinique, however, I should like to see and to enter the St. Amand house, of which I have heard Ermine speak very often. Is it possible to do so ?" "Perfectly possible," answered M. Dela- -roehe. -"I shall be happy to furnish you with a letter of introduction to the persons left in charge of the establishment, and they will give you admittance at once." "It is in Fort de France, is it no " "In the neighborhood of Fort de France- a most beautiful place, and I assure you, mon- sieur, the finest sugar-plantation on the island. Its yield during the past year has been enor- mous." "Indeedi!" said Alan, listlessly. "But it is only the house I desire to see." In fact, he felt wrathful toward the unof- fending plantation, and would have been glad- to invoke the green waves of the sea to cover its fertile acres. Would not Ermine still have been his but for those hogsheads of sugar, and the tempting sum which the accumulation of their proceeds had made during a long mi- nority ?" After this, he -and M. Delaroche parted very amicably. Having been questioned con- cerning the mode of reaching Fort de France, and having answered that the small passen- ger-steamer which plied between the two ports would not go down until the next morning, the latter yielded to a sudden attack of that mania of hospitality which afflicts everybody in these "Summer isles of Eden, lying in dark-purple spheres of sea"' and begged Alan to do himself and his wife the honor of dining with them that evening. This, however, Captain Erle declined, pleading the weariness of being just off a voyage- which would have been a sufficiently absurd excuse from any one, but was most particularly so from a sailor-and, with renewed compli- ments, and much moreplaisir and Aonneur, on both sides, he and M. Delaroche parted and went their ways like two ships of different na- tions, which, having met in foreign seas, ex- change a few words of friendly greeting, and then pass on-to cross each other's paths never again. Often as Alan had been within the tropic belt-often, indeed, as he had cruised in the enchanted waters of the Spanish Main, and lingered among the fairy islands which these waters encircle-he was almost tempted to think that he had never appreciated the full glory of tropical scenery until he stood on the. deck of the steamer which ran from St. Pierre to Fort do France, and looked at the panorama of sea and shore spread before him. Was it because this was Ermine's native island--the island of which she never spoke save in tones of tenderest affection-that it bore to his eyes such a radiant seeming ? This may have been page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 88 ~~~~EBB-TIDE. AEMT S.8I so, since we J~now that love has power to gild all things connected with the beloved.. Yet, apart from such association, any one blessed with that keen sense of the beautiful which is classed under the general and indefinite head of "loving Nature," might well have been en- raptured, for, in all the lovely tropical world, there is no lovelier spot than the fair isle of Martinique! It is mountainous, as everybody knows (that is, everybody who has paid proper atten- tion to the study of geography), and when we put mountains, and sea, and tropical vegetation, and a tropical sky together, what more of beauty can we have, short of that Celestial Country o*vhich we dream, ~na of which St. Bernard wrote? Indeed, there are some of us who, would freely sign away three hundred and sixty-five of life's short, golden days to gaze at length upon the scene on which Alan gazed that morning. It was a glorious morn- ing-even for the tropics-and, through the sparkling purple air, the blue, misty hills in which the birthplace of the Empress Josephine is pointed out to strangers, seemed marvellous- ly close at hand, while the foreground of the coast, with its shining beach, its feathery palms, its fields of Bugar-cane, and its pictu- resque country-houses, tunde 'a picture never to be forgotten. Of the nearer mountains, robed in the gorgeous robes of tropical verdure, there are no words to speak! And then the sea, the divine, translucent sea! Ah, it was a thing of which to dream; stretching away in lustrous calm beneath a sky like a vault of sapphire, yet changing and shifting in opales- cent glory with every ray of light which the sun sent through the wide world of space to kiss its laughing waters! The quiet little town of Fort de France looked as quiet as tropical towns always look after sunrise and before sunset, when Alan reached it. The St. Amand residence-by name Lieu Ddsir6-was ~a f~ miles distant, and, the climate rendering pedestrian exercise out of the question, it Was some time before the young knight-errant could find any mode of conveyance to the shrine which he had made up his mind to visit. At last, however, his efforts were crowned with success, and he set forth in the face of a heat which inhabit- ants of the temperate zone would find it hard to associate with the thought of January. But sunstroke, like hydrophobia, is fortunately un- 'known in the tropics, and the roads, like every thing else in the island, were admirable. Leav- ing the town and the beach behind, Alan soon found himself in the open country. To one less absent in mind, less heavy in heart, the ride would have been like a glimpse of fairy- land, like something too bright and magical for reality; 'the eye was charmed at every step by some new vista of ~chantment, ~ome new com- bination of trees and shrubs, while on every hand gorgeous creepers and parasites seemed running riot in very wantonness; eventhe fields of sugar-cane and the red-tiled countryLhouses adding to the general impression of abounding beauty in form and color. The road, for some distance, at least, was of a quality that would have done credit to a colonial Baron llaussman. In fact, it was more of an avenue than a road, macadamized to perfect smooth- ness, and lined with the magnificent shade- trees of the tropics-gigantic cactuses and waving palms making an archway overhead like the groined roof of a cathedral On approaching a spur of the hills, on a ridge of which Lieu D6sir6 was situated, the path, however, grew less even, and the scenery changed greatly in character, becoming more bold, though scarcely less luxuriant, and unit- ing the grandeur of a mountain-region with the glowing verdure of the tropical belt, in a manner' which defies all description. Sad and more sad as Alan felt, he could not but halt now and then to gaze in silent rapture on the marvellous wealth of loveliness around him. Grand hill-sides rose over him, crowned by plumy sentinels, and covered by broad succu- lent leaves and myriad flowers - fairy-like clefts and ravines opened on every' side, giving glimpses and suggestions of beauty, such a~ no words could paint-now and then there was a distant view of the sea, then a flashing stream sent up a shower of silver spray as it tumbled over a precipice, or sang to itself with a sweet, rippling murmur, as it glided far away into the dim, aromatic recesses of the forest. Everywhere flaunted the wide leaves of the cactus, everywhere drooped the graceful foliage of the palm, everywhere shone the passionate- hued flowers-crimson and scarlet, golden and purple-of this land of the sun; and every- where a sweet, spicy fragrance came, like the soft south wind, on "subtle wings of balm," to add to the intoxication of the senses. "It is no wonder that my darling is an ar- tist!" thought Alan-forgetting how many are born in the midst of this lavish glory, for whom it has no more meaning or expression than sun- light to the blind. When he reached Lieu D6sir6, he found a graceful and airy country-house, on the usual tropical model-colonnades without number, perfect irregularity of outline, French windows opening on every side of the ground, and a court-yard containing a fountain, overhung by orange and lemon trees, of which he had often heard Ermine speak. He was admitted with- out difficulty-thanks to M. Delaroche's letter -and as he roamed through the spacious, ele- gant rooms, and the wide, empty galleries, the very echo of his footsteps seemed to addto the mournfulness of his heart. How often in that brief; golden month of their happiness, had Ermine and himself talked of her tropical home, hqw often had she dwelt on every detail of its loveliness, and how often they had pict- ured the manner in which they would live here-together! Now he stood on the threshold-a stranger and alone! Well, it was bitter, but men's hearts are tough, and Alan's did not break, however much it might throb and ache. Oh, those creams of which they had spok~n-drcams never to be made reality! Oh, those "Days of summer-colored seas, Days of many melodies," which they had lived in fancy, and would never live in fact! Could any sting of earth be sharper than their mockery now? They seemed to haunt him, as he roame~l to and fro, through the house ~nd over the garden, drink- ing in the glorious prospect on which l~rmine's baby-eyes had opened first, and longing, poor fellow! with heart-sick longing, to be some- where-beyond the blue sea and blue sky-at rest from this gnawing pain. "Am I mad?" he thought, sitting down under the orange-tree of which he had heard Ermine speak most often-the one whose golden fruit brushed her casement-" does every man love like this? What is life to me now that she has gone oat of it? Nothing! less than nothing !-save for its duties; and they still remain to be fought out to the end. I should be glad. to fling the useless burden down into the dust. I would fling it down at her feet, God knows, if by such a means I could spare her one pang. Oh, my darling! my darling! my fair, stainless, gentle lily! what devil's art has come between us and torn from you the one man in the world who would give his heart's blood to serve you!" Alas! answer there was nonc. Serenely the fair sky looked down, serenely the fountain sent up its soft murmur and misty spray, se- renely the glossy leaves rustled overhead, and the cry ofthe passionate human love fell back on the passionate human heart like the unalter- able sentence of God. After a while he rose and went into the house. One more last glance around the dainty room which the cicerone (with whose services he had dispensed) told him was "madame's boudoir," and then he would be ready to say good-by forever to this fair, tropical paradise, this sweet, empty nest from which the bird had flown. Round and round this room he wandered.' It was so hard to go! Some aroma of her presence seemed to his fancy to linger here, and it was almost like the pain of farewell to leave it. Every thing in the room he touched with tender reverence, the tall Parian vases which he could fancy her hands filling with flowers, the keys of the piano over which her fingers had moved, the table on which her writing. desk and work-box had evidently stood, and the deep, luxurious chair in which he could almost see her slender figure nestling On a ccuch near the chair, he sat down for a few minutes, and, as he did so, displaced a cushion evidently placed to support the head of a re- cumbent figure. Under the cushion lay abook which he took up-not because he cared in- trinsically for any hook under the sun-but because Ermine's hand had n&doubt placed it there. Turning over the leaves absently, he saw that it was a novel,, and that there were two marks between the pages-one of these was a faded flower which he gently kissed; the other, a card on which was written a few words in pencil-brief yet in a measure significant, since but for them the description of this visit might have been consigned to the class of "All the fine books that have neverbeen written, And all the brightthingsthat havenever been said." Still absently, Alan glanced at these pent cilled words; but, as his eye fell on them, some. thing like light and life flashed into it. "By Jove!" he said half aloud. Then he turned the bit of pasteboard several times over, read the inscription again, pondered a while, finally took out his pocket-book and carefully stored it away. After this he rose, and, with one last AN EMPTY NEST- 87 86 page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 EBB-TIDE. A NEW CHAMPION. 89 glance around the vacant shrine, went out with something almost approaching to alacrity. In his state, a straw depresses or raises that subde mercury which we call the spirits; and this straw had been beneficial in its ef- fect. Yet if anybody wonders what it was, there lane need to make a mystery of such a trifle .-trifle, at least,, to all appearance-for those few words in pencil merely jotted down a Paris address. To some people this would not have meant very much, but to Alan it meant a great deal, for ii~ knew that this card had been mis- placed through carelessness or mistake, and that it was to tide address in Paris that Er- mine must have gone. We have spoken of his dogged fidelity and tenacity of purpose be- fore; it is almost useless, therefore, to say that this fruitless voyage to Martinique had not damped his resolution to see his lost love, and "learn the truth from her own lips," and that he was still determined to follow her to France, or, if need be, to Persia. But France is a large country, and has a considerable number of feminine inhabitants. A search through the country at large would have been rather vague -almost as vague as that of Japhet for his father-and therefore we see the importance of that forgotten card, left in the novel with which Madame Erie had whiled away some languid siesta. When Alan returned to Fort do France, the sun had gone down-sinking like a great ball of fire into the placid, azure ocean-and the world of Fort do France had begun to bestir itself~ the first gentle movement of the land- breeze having ended the reign of heat and wakened that multitudinous insect choir which the katydid leads. Poor Nix had been left at the hotel (the heavy weight of hair which he carried making pedestrian exercise under a tropical sun impossible ~or Aim), and woe- begone enough he looked as he lay with his enormous muzzle on his leonine paws, waiting and listening through many long hours for his master's return. When that master came, he rewarded his patience with the thing which Nix liked, next best to a swim-a walk. A military band was playing at the .?'lace d'Arme2, and thither Alan bent his steps. It was necessary to lounge somewhere, and this was as good a place as any other-or better p~rhlLps. If he had been in anotherr mood, he would have asked nothing b~ghter or more attractive than the scene which he found, for the Place d'Arrnes is situated on the very margin of the bay; and, in the midst of the graceful, well- dressed throng who loitered to and fro, Alan took Nix down the beach and gave him his heart's delight, a sei~mper in the rippling tide, Many bright glanc4s f%~lowed the handsome stranger and his su orb companion; but even these fair countrywomen of Ermine and the Empress Josephine could not win a glance from those abstracted eyes, or quicken interest in the abstracted face. Yet the scene was very fair, and sometimes came back with pict- ure-like distinctness to his memory; the rip. pling music of the tide on its smooth, pebbly beach, the martial strains of the band, the laughter of rosy lips, the sound of sweet voices, the lovely bay with its anchored ships, the dis- tant ocean in its twilight veil, the silver sickle of a new moon over the background of moun- tains, the heavy drooping verdure lightly swayed by the fragrant breath of the newly- risen land-breeze, and, above all, the pict- uresque assembly, the dark-eyed creole ladies, full of French grace, and clad in French toi- lets, the army and naval officers in their gleam- ing uniforms, the priests in cassocks, a siste~ of charity in her white headdress followed by a merry crew of children, here and there a flower-girl, or vendor of sherbet and ice-cream. It was a picture worth hanging in the gal- lery of memory, and, as Alan went back to his hotel, he could not be sorry that he would carry away one such scene to gild with its brightness the remembrance of Ermine's birth- place. -4-- CPTER v~. A NEW CHAMPION. Or all things in the world, a day of early, opening spring is the most enticing. To make a slight parody on Dr. Johnson's famous re- mark about Marathon and baa, I do not envy the sentiments of the man, or woman, or child, Or horse, or dog, or cat, or rabbit, or any thing that has eyes in its head and blood in its veins, that does not feel in every fibre the divine ex- altation of such a day! Who can willingly stay in-doors during its bright hours? Who does not long to bathe in the tinted sunlight, to inhale the sweet fragrance of violets, to listen to the merry chirp of birds, to be as merry and chirp as loudly as they, perhaps, to fling care to the winds, to feel the magical softness of th purple air on cheek and brow, to watch thE opening ~blossoms and bursting buds, to pull tiny, feathery leaves off' the trees, and, in short to be thoroughly pastoral and happy and foolish. fov once in life? And if people feel this everywhere, how much more do they feel it in Paris-Paris, where the only question is, what place of sweet idleness' to choose! The gay sunshine of such a day was gilding with a flood of glory the palaces and gardens, the arches and columns, the boulevards and bridges of that fairest of all fair cities, when a lady, dressed evidently for promenade or driv- ing, stood at the window of a pleasant saloon overlooking a handsome, bu~y Paris street. The lady was young, taIl, slender, and dark. eyed; the saloon was imposing and luxurious, full of long mirrors, and cabinets, and vases, while the hangings and furniture were all of white-and-gold. It seemed a fitting shrine for the stately creature who moved slowly to one of the mirrors tad stood th~re knotting into negligent grace the lace strings of her bonnet, while the silvery tint of her costume seemed in harmony with the tender budding verdure and the soft. blue sky outside. She had arranged the strings to her satisfaction, and was~begin- ing to draw on her gloves, when a sudden peal of the door-bell made her start. She frowned' a little and stood listening with her head slightly bent, while something of an altercation went on between thc visitor who rang the bell and the servant who answered it. Finally the latter brought in a card. "Would madame look at this?" he asked, in a somewhat injured tone. The gentleman was very persistent. He insisted upon seeing madame, and would take no denial. He was the same gentleman who had called twice the day before, and to whom, on both occasions, madame had been denied. Madame looked at the card and frowned "Did you tell him' Not at home? '~she naked. "I 'told him so several times, madame." "And what did he say?" "He said he would wait at the porte-cockire till madame came in, or-.-.went out." At this~ madame stamped her pretty foot. "How dare he be so insolent?" she cried~ "I will not submit to it! I will not be perse- outed in this manner, or be blockaded at my own door! I will call in the police first-you may tell him so, Joan." "Oni, madame," said Jean, quietly, and walked toward the door. But cooler reflection prevailed in madame's I mind before he had more than half crossed the polished floor. She called him back, and then asked quickly- "Did he say any thing else?" "He asked to see Madame Villarot," an- swered Jean, still quietly, "but I preferred to speak to madame first." "Then why did you not speak to me, stupid?" demanded madame, impatiently. "That is just the thing! He shall see Madame Villarot. Why did I not think of that sooner? Admit him at once," she went on, "while I go and toll my aunt." As Jean walked out of the saloon by one door, the lady left it by another. It was as close a thing as possible-as close as we some- times see in dramatic situations on the stage- for the latter' door had scarcely closed on her silvery draperies, when the former door opened as Jean admitted the persistent visi- tor. This visitor, it is scarcely necessary to say, was the tall, bronzed gentleman whom we saw last in the Pla~ie d'Armes of distant Fort do France-the gentleman who had found the ad- dress of these charming apartments auprimier, under a sofa-cushion in the boudoir of Lieu D~sird-who looked a trifle paler than he had done in the tropics, but who sat down quietly in the midst of thes~ Parisian splendors to wait for Madame Villarot. After a short interval-during which he heard a band playing away in the garden of the Tuileries near by-the door of the saloon agailx opened and admitted a slender, elegant woman of middle age, dressed exquisitely in half-mourning, with something about her clear features and dark eyes which, reminding him of both Ermine and Madelon, proved that, whatever she was now called, she had been born St. Amand. Alan rose to his feet, and, as he looked at the pale, high-bred face before him, something like reassurance crept into his heart. There are some people who seem to carry in their mere presence the most eloquent assertion of that grand old motto-.Ybblesse obli~ye. Of these, Madame Villarot was one. No man could see her and believe for a moment that she could ever be made an active or passive page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 EBB-TIDE. A NEW CHAMPION. 91~ agent in any deception, far less in any fraud. 0niy to look at her was sufficient conviction that her white, blue-veined, aristocratic hands were not less stainless in reality than ii~ seem- ing. "With such a woman as this," thought Alan, "my way will be clear." "Madame," he began, respectfully, "I have been bold enough to beg the favor of an interview with yourself because I have been denied all access to your niece, Madame Erle. It is her whom I desire to see; but, failing this, I should like to know her reason for de- clining to hold any communication with me." "As far as I can judge, monsieur," said the sady, in pure Parisian French, w'~ich made Alan exceedingly conscious of his own short- comings in the matter of language, "my niece is acting very prudently and with my entire ~probation in declining to see you. Will you allow me to inquire in turn what possible reason you can have for persecuting her as you have done within the lasttwo days?" "Persecuting her!" repeated Alan, while a sudden flush dyed his sunburnt face. "Par- don me, madame, but I cannot think that Er- mine-that Madame ErIe regards my desire to see her in the light of persecution! If so-" He stopped suddenly, and swallowed his indignant words with a gulp. "If so," said Madame Villarot, seeing her advantage and following it up with a very gra- cious smile, "I am sure th~t monsieur is too much of a gentleman to pain or distress any one-especially a woman whom he may have loved." "A woman whom I do love, madame," cor- rected monsieur, coolly, " and whom I have followed across the Atlantic that I may learn from her own lips the truth concerning her marriage. Have you heard my story, ma- dame?" he went on, "or shall I weary you if I repeat it? Otherwise my conduct may seem to you to need an excuse." "I have heard the outline~ of your story, monsieur," answered Madame ~Villarot, kindly, "and I willingly grant to you all the excuse which you ~ay desire to claim. But do you not see that you are too late ~ The marriage- knots once tied, cannot be ui~tied, and what good, therefore, could ensue from explanation * of what is past? Harm, rather, might-nay, would-follow if you met Ermine. She herself shrinks from the meeting. Can you not realize this feeling, and generously respect it? Sure- ly, if you love her, you must desire to serve her." "God knows that I desire nothing else,'~ said Alan, gravely. "Then, monsieur," said the lady, with her dark, eloquent eyes fastened full on him, "as a gentleman and as a Christian, leave ker. I, who have a woman's heart to feel and to sym- pathize with you-I, who admire and respect your rare fidelity-I bid you do this in that holy Name which you have invoked! If you love her, you are the last man in the world who should linger by her side, or look into her eyes! You are the last man in the world who should bring dissension between herself and the man to whom she gave her hand be- fore God's holy altar!" "She was mine before she was his!" said Alan, fiercely. "She has been stolen from me! Madame, madame, do not try to make me believe that I have not a right to say to her what I will!" "It is not necessary for me to try to make you believe it," said Madame Villarot, still kindly, still gently; "your own conscience, -your own sense of right and wrong-speak to you with more authority than my feeble voice. Monsieur, I pity you from my soul, for I see the fight which you will have to wage-and it is a fight in which there can be no compromise. Now, listen to me-you ac- knowledge that you love my niece?" "Yes," said Alan, bitterly, "one does not unlearn the lesson of a lifetime in a few months." "You acknowledge also that she is mar- ried-why or how, does not matter. It i~ enough that, being married, she is irrevocably lost to you." "Yes," said he, between his set teeth. "I acknowledge that. She is irrevocably lost to me." "Then," said the lady, "realizing these things, why do you still wish to see her? What end can you possibly desire to gain by' distracting her mind and harrowing her heart by a last interview-which," she added, with keen, worldly wisdom, "if once granted, would not be the last." "I desire one thing, madame, which you have not taken into account," said he, almost sternly-" that is, revenge! You are a wom- an-a good one, I am sure," he added, ear- nestly-" therefore, it is impossible for you to imagine the manner in which a man's thoughts I turn instinctively to that resource, when he has been injured beyond hope of cure. I know that there has been some black villany in this work-and I will yet lay my hand on it. But Ermine alone can enable me to do this." "And what would you think of Ermine if she gave you the information you desire, if, in so doing, she turned against the man who, whether for good or for evil, is her hus- band?" "You don't see-you don't understand__" he broke out, vehemently. But a white, slender hand, raised for a mo- meut, stayed the words on his lips. "Believe me, I understand perfectly," said Madame Villarot, gravely. "Ah, yours is no new casjs. We all agree that moral laws arc very useful things as long as they do not hind our own inclinations. When they do this, however, we all think that we have some ex- ceptionally good reason for bursting them asunder. Monsieur, I am sure that you are honorable, and I think that you will prove reasonable-therefore, I speak to you plainly. I entered this room inclined in a measure to your side-thinking that Ermine might con- sent to see you-once at least. I recognize now that she was wiser than I. She distrusts herself-no doubt with good cause. She dis~ trusts you-no doubt with better cause yet. The interview, she says, would be acutely pain- ful to her. I see now that it would be worse than painful-it would be dangerous. Such passions as yours are not made for playthings. You must go! Being a gentleman, being a Christian, you will go! And, if you are wise, you will put land and sea between yourself and this woman whom you love, and who is now separated from you-irrevocably." We have all of us heard of personal magnetism, and once or twice in life we may have met it, as Alan met it now in this fair, graceful Frenchwoman. Whether the power was in herself or in the words which she ut- teredit is bard to say. But power of a cer- tain subtle kind existed in every glance of her eye, every accent of her voice-power which it was impossible even for his obstinate will to resist. Like wax exposed to the white heat of fire, his fierce passion and steadfast resolve seemed to melt away before the simple words ok' this stranger-tlifwoman whom half an hour before he had never seen. When she laid her delicate, thorough-bred hand down upon his, in the energy of herlast word, he felt as if the' blackness of despair were gathering round hint -as if; indeed, she left him no alternative but to go. "Madame," said he, after a paus~ "you are right--I am wrong. I have acted and wished to act like a mad fool. God forgive me if; in trying to serve Ermine, I have only pained and injured her! I see that I must re- sign the hope of avenging her wrongs, since' the blow which struck Qthers would, in a. measure, recoil upon herself. But, madame-" and Madame Villarot never forgot the passion- ate eyes which met her own here-" when a man is going forth on a long journey, never to return, can you deny him one farewell? Can it injure any one if he looks his last into the eyes which have been the sweetest eyes in the world to him for many years, or if he clasps the hand which has lain in his a thousand times, and was to have been l~is own? I promise y6u that I will say nothing which the whole world might not hear. Only let me bid adieu" (if he had been speaking his native tongue, he would have said "good-by," but there is no equivalent for that sweet word in the French language) "to the one light of my life-and go." Ah, love makes poets as well as fools of us all! There was not in the world-in that fine,, English-speaking world which has set its surly' face against "sentiment "-a more practical. person in the ordinary affairs of life, than Alan. Thie. But his love for Ermine had been, in- deed, and in a different sense from that in. which Byron meant the expression, "of his. life a thing apart." This life had been like a. rough cloth, strong in fibre and coarse in grain, but through which there ran a single golden thread-the poetry of a love which the rare, sweet nature of its object exalted above' the ordinary passion which bears that much abused name. So, when he made an appeal to say good-by to that love forever, the love it- self loosed his tongue, and inspired the words whose unconscious eloquence Madame Villarot long remembered. "Ah 1" she would often say in speaking of him, "believe me, there was a chevalier ~f Nature's own making-a gener-. ous nature, a faithful heart, a love such as we do not discover in the fine gentlemen of our nineteenth century. T4ey fritter away their' hearts (or whatever is supposed to do duty for their hearts) on a hundred different follies and fancies, until a feeble liking is all that.. page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 EBB-TIDE. DRAMATIC CAPABILITIES. 93 they have left to give .to any one; but that man-there was passion which deserved the name in him!" She did not say this to the " chevalier" in question, though-she only shook her head and gazed at him with kind, steadfast eyes. "Be brave!" she said. "Do not ask it. Go without it. You do not realize-you can't imagine-how mueh harder it would make the separation. You would transform a wound which is closing-I do not say healing-into one which would be open and gaping. ~o, my friend, no! Be generous-be courageous -go!" "I must see Eer-I wilt see her!" said he, hoarsely. "You shall Dot keep her from me! My God! madame, have you no heart, that a you cannot even grant me this 1"' "It is because I have a heart 'that I refuse it," answered she, gently. "Monsieur, do you know what you ask! When you do know, you will thank me for standing between you and your own desire. Once more I warn you that this passion of yours is no plaything. On the contrary, it is a mine of gunpowder which one spark will ignite-and I know enough of human nature to be sure that one sight of Er. mine (whom you acknowledge you have not seen for nine months) would prove such a spark. Therefore, no such meeting shall take place within my doors, and I am sure you are too chivalrous a gentleman to meet my niece elsewhere." "0 madame," said he, bitterly, "do not trust to my chivalry in such a matter as this. I would set aside any thing-break through any law-to reach Ermine. She is mine! I have a right to meet her when and where I will!" "Not against 'her ow~i will," said Madame Villarot, gravely. "Your chivalry will grant that much, I am sure-especially when I pledge my word as a Christian, and my honor as a Frenchwomanthatthe thing ofallothers which Ermine is most anxious to avoid i~ an inter- view with yourself. The fear of meeting you has kept her a prisoner in, the house ever since you~have bcei~ in Paris. Now, will you force this which she dreads upon her? Will you distract her mind, which has settled itself to accept the inevitable 1' Will you inflict pain upon yourself, and worse pain upon her, merely to gratify your own desire? Monsieur, I think not." Again she conquered. He looked at her for a moment with a pale, blank face-then quietly rose to his feet. "Madame," said he, simply, "you have left me nothing to say-but farewell. I shall leave your doors a little wiser than when I en- tered them, and shall leave Paris to-night. Your niece, therefore, need no longer be a prisoner on my account. If you ~cll her any thing f~om me let it simply be 'find bless her!' For course~ I shall never forget the generous kindness and sympathy with which you have received and listened to me. The reward, your own heart must give you. Adieu." She held out her hand, and, as if he had been born and bred in France, he bent and kissed it. "Monsieur," said she, gently, "take with you not my pity, but my admiration. Out of such stuff as you heroes are made!" They were brave, gracious words, and, as he passed out, they went with him like a cordial. But for them, his strength might have failed when the door closed behind him, and he felt that the last strand of hope had slipped from his grasp. Meanwhile, it is hard to say what Madame Villarot would have thought if she had only seen, in its true colors, the cause in which she had fought and triumphed. Pure and noble lady that she was, we may be sure 'that it would have gone bitterly hard with her to know that her efforts had turned the scale of victory for wrong against right, for treachery against truth. Yet she might have consoled herself by the reflection that she had battled not for an individual merely, but for an ab- stract principle-and that principles never change. Yet it was at least a strange freak of circumstance which thus arrayed such a champion on such a side, and lent such stain- less weapons to such a warfare. But then it not unseldom happens "in this riddling world" that weapons stainless as hers are unsheathed to do battle for some cause 'which cloaks the malicious form of a demon under the stolen raiment of an angel of God! When Madame Villarot went to the chain- 'ber of her niece, she found her sitting by an open window, with the quivering sunlight pouring down upon her idly-clasped hands, her shining dress, her rich, dark hair (the bonnet had been laid aside), and her white, sculptured face. The immobility of the attitude ruek. the elder woman with pain, as she enteredd the room-and, crossing the floor, she said a few words-purposely tender-hoping that tears might break through this rigid calm. But no tears came. Gravely, quietly, without a movement of feature, or of glance, the girl heard the circumstantial account of the interview- and, when it was ended, she said in a low, even i~oice: "Thank you, ma tante, for your great goodness and kindness-to him as well as to me. Now, if you will not think me ungrateful, will you add one favor to the rest? 'Will you leave me, and see that I am not disturbed until dinner?" "But, my child, you were going to drive with me," said Madame Villarot, kindly. "Do you not think it woula do you more good than staying here alone?" "Nqt if you will excuse me. My head aches, and I should like to be alone." "At least let Clemence stay with you. You may need something." "I prefer to be alone," wus the answer. Then with passionately uplifted eyes, dear aunt, grant me to-day! To-morrow I will be all you wish!" "My child, do as you please-~-.no one,~sall disturb you," said Madame Villarot, gently. Then she bent down, kissed the white brow, and gently rustled from the room. "After all, the child is wise," she thought -"wise to take it in this way. Perhaps it is best to let her fight it out alone. She has a brave heart, and the holy angels are near to help her." Ah, sweet lady, near indeed-ever near- but bearing no part save that of sad spectators in such a conflict as this. Soon afterward , Madame Villarot drove away fro4 the pot~te.cock~re; and soon again, after that, a daintily-dressed lady, wearing a heavy veil, passed out of the same door, and took her away along the Rue Iloyale, across the Place de la Concorde, and into the open gates of the Tuileries, where a tall man and a large dog had entered not long before. -4-- CHAPTER VIL DRAMATIC CAPABILITIES. Tm~Tuilcries! Ali, what a chord of bitter grief and more bitter rage-to which there has come as yet no comfort-that name awakens! Alas for the beautiful palace, and its beautiful gardens! A1as, yet more, for that fair and noble France whose own un- grateful children have proved her bitterest and direst enemies! On that by-gone day of which I write, however, the bright spring sun- shine still slept on the stately column of the Place Vendbme, the imperial city still wore her crown of peerless beauty, the golden grain and the purple vintage still ripened peacefully on the broad plains of Normandy and the sunny hills of Provence, the noble fortresses of France still echoed the reveillv~ of French drums, and the royal fa9ade of the Tuileries still crowned its beautiful terraces, while its many windows gave back the sunshine in a blaze of glory, like an illumination over some great victory where French heroism and dar- ing had again received their baptism of blood! In the garden, with its fountains, and statues, and green arcades, soldiers still paced, military music played, the glittering crowd moved' to and fro; children, followed by white-capped nurses, scampered along the paths; people sat on the benches under the budding chestnut- trees, reading or gossipping, while numberless other people strolled past; birds twittered in the boughs, early spring flowers gleamed along the borders, and the fragrance of bursting buds seemed to fill the air ~ivith a delicious sense of Nature's awakening vitality. Fresh as Alan was from the enchanted tropical world, the beauty of the scene pleased and soothed him. Followed by Nix, whom he had not admitted to Madame Villarot's saloon, he strolled down one path after another, past merry groups of children playing hide-and-seek about the statues, past old gentlemen ani young gentlemen, past grand ladies, and ladies' who were not grand, finally paused for a mo- ment near the music, then rose and began to. stroll away again toward the Rue de Bivoli. But he had not taken many steps in this direc- tion, when a lady rose from a bench under the soft, flickering shade, and, lifting her veil with one hand, held out the, other. For an instant, Alan recoiled as if he had been shot. Ermine was so entirely in his thoughts, that, for the space of a second, he~ almost thought she was before his sight-the graceful figure, the clear, white complexion, the delicate features, the large, dark eyes, making an ensemble strikingly like her own. Then he recognized Madelon Lautrec. "Madelon!" said he, eagerly, so surprised~ and delighted to see her that he made one I page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] -94 'EBB-Ti -quick step forward and clasped the extended htind in both his own-" what extraordinary good fortune that I should meet you-other- wise I might have left Paris without knowing 'that you were here! What are you doing ?- where did'you come from ?" " Have I not a right to see the world as well as my betters ?" asked she, looking up at 'him, with the bright, mocking smile which he well remembered, and which carried him back -to the familiar scenes in Charleston, as if by a flash. "Xa~ foi, M. le Capitaine, i'ailroads from every part of the world run into. Paris, ~and for the rest-even a penniless maiden may enjoy a bench in the gardens of the -Tuileries for nothing!" ~ "May she?" said he, smiling a little; "but then she must expect to share it, if an -old friend comes by. You will sit down again, won't you ? I have so much to say to you." -" Yes, I will sit down again," answered -she, lowering her veil, "but not just here. You must remember that we are not in Charleston now. My aunt wodld be shocked if she knew that I was in the open and fla- grant act .of talking with a man-absolutely a man-without any chaperone near by to over-. look my deportment. Under these circum- stances, I don't care to meet any of our ac- quaintances, and therefore I should prefer some more secluded part of the garden." "We can easily find one," said he. And, side by side, they walked away, leaving the mussic and the chief part of the glittering throng behind them. In Paris nobody is observed, unless it be a pretty woman quite alone, and they soon found 'thenook of which they were in search, a pleasant 'seat just large enough for two, under a spread- 'ing horse-chestnut-tree, with a fountain play-. ing not far off; and a group of statuaryin front. As they sat down, Madelon felt sufficiently -secure to take off her veil, and Alan could not 'forbear saying: - "You are handsomer than ever, Madelon, if that be possible." "Am I ?" asked she, with bright, half- lifted eyes. "I am so glad to herr it. I was always vain, you know, and never made a pre- tence of concealing my vanity, as most women ~do. I am proud of my beaux yeux, and I mean to make them do me good service in this gay -orld of Paris. Ah, Alan," with a sigh, not of -pain but of deep enjoyment, "now I know what ~It is to live. Before this, I have merely existed." rIDE. ( "When did you come here ?" asked he, absently, pulling Nix's silken ears as he spoke-. "About a month ago," answered she, then correcting herself with a blush, as he quickly looked up, " How foolish I am!I You mean, of course, when did I come to France. That was last November. But I came to Paris a month ago, to meet Ermine, who wrote that she would be here at that time." "Are you staying with Ermine ?" asked he, looking at her in some surprise. "Did you not know it ?" said she, re- turning the gaze with .eyes which did not blench or turn away. "Did not Madame Vil- larot tell you?" "No, she did not tell me. Why did you not come in to see me? It would have been only friendly to do so, and we were always good friends, w ere we not ?" " In America-yes. But in France there is no such thing as friendship between a man and a woman, unless they are brother and' sister, or ftancei, or old as-as Mount Horeb." Alan laughed. One can laugh even when one's heart is broken, you know-. "And if Madame Yillarot is such .a drag- oness-she does not look it. By-the-by, how do you come to be wandering about the Tuile- ries alone ? " She glanced up at him with a petulant mo- tion of her scarlet lip, which was very pretty and piquante. "Your gratitude, monsieur, is only equalled by your discernment. I came because Ma- dame Villarot has gone to drive, and because I wanted to see you-for old acquaintance' sake, perhaps-or because I thought you might like'to hear the news of Ermine from Ermine's Siamese Twin, as they called me in Charleston." " I see that I was not wrong when I used 'to say that, notwithstanding all the keen thrusts of that sharp sword, your tongue, your heart was in the right place," said he, smiling kindly. " Thank you very much, dear Made- lon, for coming to see me, whether for old ac- quaintance' sake, or for that other, better reason. But " (looking a little puzzled), "how did you know that you should find me here ? " She smiled-the smile of one secure of her own discernment, and proud of her own skill-. " I was sure of it," said she. " Could any one-especially a stranger in Paris, with no. friends, and no places of familiar resort-pass I ' I the open gates of the Tuileries without enter- ing ? C'est impossible!/ I felt confident you would be here, and so I caine. I saw 1dm" (motioning toward Nix) " before I saw you. Then I knew I had not been mistaken." " And," said Alan, drawing his hat a little ,lower over his eyes, and setting his lips a little more firmly under the drooping mustache, e' and you come from Ermine ? Did she know that you were coming to me ?" Madelon shook her head, her bright, dark eyes meeting his as steadily as ever. - " No, I dared not tell her. It would have served no good purpose, but would only have unsettled her, and wakened the storm again. When things are at rest, they had bcttcr be left so," said she, with an~ expression, whiel- he did not exactly understand, flitting across her clear-cut, resolute lips. " Ermine's passion has expended itself-for the present at least- and where would be the sense of rousing it again, of overturning every thing and of mak- ing everybody miserable ? ,It would be worse than folly, worse than madness, and it shall not be done!/" "Did you come to tell me this ?" asked he, looking at her a little curiously, for he did not comprehend what interest of hers could have inspired the passionate energy which lent force to the last words. "Not entirely," answered she. "In fact, scarcely at all. I thought that Aunt H6lene might have been unnecessarily peremptory, in refusing to allow you to see Ermine, and that I would come and explain any thing which might need explanation." " You are very kind," said he, gratefully, "kinder than I deserve. Don't mind my brusquerie, Madelon. I never was much of a prevux chevalier, at the best of times, but this trouble has made me harsh and suspicious toward every one. Your aunt was gentle and considerate in the extreme, a woman among ten thousand," said he, smiling slightly, " for knowing how to govern the flux and reflux of a man's mood. I have promised her that I will not trouble Ermine again, and you may be sure that I shall keep my word." - ." Did you ever fail to keep it ?" asked Madelon, her voice toned to sympathizing soft- ness, with just a thrill of admiration through it-a voice admirably calculated to sink into the depths of the confiding masculine soul. She scorned herself for the part she was play- ing, scorned herself with a scorn that fairly DRAMATIC- CAPABILITIES. 95 tingled to the ends of her fingers; but, all the same, she took an artist's pride in doing well what she attempted to do at all. "I have known you a long time," went on the sweet woman-tones, seconded by the-lovely woman- eyes, "and I never knew you to break a prom- ise yet, Alan." " It is more than can be said of some other people, then," answered Alan, forgetting his gallantry, in a sudden remembrance of his wrongs. " Madelon, what promise did you give me-in Charleston last May ? And how have you kept it ?" "If you mean the promise to befriend Er- mine, " said Madelon, quietly, "I have done my best toward keeping it, from that day to the present." " And do you call it your 'best' to have let that scoundrel ofsa brother of mine in- veigle, force, or persuade her into a marriage ? -a marriage accursed, not blessed of God, since fraud was at the bottom of it !" " There you are mistaken," said Madelon, still quietly - as, leaning back, she held a dainty, lace-covered parasol to ward off' the sun, from which the leafless boughs above were but small protection-" there was no in- veigling nor forcing-nor persuading, I was about to say ; but I presume there was some of 'that-in the marriage, and certainly no fraud. Everybody clearly understood the terms of his or her bargain, for" (with a shrug) " there certainly was not much senti- ment in the affair. Raymond wanted money: Ermine wanted freedom to leave America. She furnished the first-he gave the last. 'Voila tout!/" " But she was engaged to me !" said Alan, fiercely. "Engaged to you!" repeated Madelon, staring at him in honest astonishment. " Is the man mad ? Engaged to you ! Why, you were drowned !" " Was I? " (with a short, unmirthful laugh). "You see I have managed to come to life, nevertheless." " Well, we thought you were drowned- which comes to the same thing. It never oc- curred to us that you would overturn things by coming to life again-so nobody took the event into consideration." " Apparently not. It showed great want of foresight and consideration in you, Nix " (pulling the dog's long, silky ears again), " to drag me on that sand-bank when my strength page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 EBB-TIDE. had given way, and I was comfortably going to the bottom, unconscious of the good news in store for me. We made a hard fight to live) down there under the scorching, tropical sun, didn't we? How much better every thing would have been, old boy, if ~e had not made any fight at all, but had resigned our souls to God, and our bodies to the sharks, with what philosophy we could muster!" "Don't talk that way," said Madelon; "it is sinful, and it is foolish. Of course, it was your duty to try not to be drowned. But then, when you came to life and found that things were irrevocable, why could you not have kept quiet, like a sensible man? Why need you have come and tried to disturb and distract Ermine's mind when it could do no good?" "You follow the laudable example of the world," said he, gloomily. "Hit a man when he is dow~i- the harder the better, by all means! You ask me seky I did these things. Good IThavens! You might as well ask a mad dog why he turns and bites." "So, you have been mad? Well, I can believe it. But you are sane now, are you not?" "After a fashion-yes. At least I am sane enough to see that, since things are ir- revocable, I must endure, if I cannot accept them. But it is hard to go away without see- ing Ermine-without hearing from her own lips why she married that man; and why she could not have paid me the slight respect of waiting to learn whether I was really dead, or of giving me a few months' mourning if I were." "It is not necessary for you to see Ermine that those questions may be asked," said Ma- delon. "I can answer them as well as she. In the first place, you know how acutely sen- sitive she is, how intense both her sufferings and her enjoyments always are. You ought to be able to imagine, therefore, what a blow the news of your death was to her. You can fancy, perhaps, how it stunned every faculty of her mind, and seemed to wrap her in such a state of lethargy that she did not care what became of her. Her only active wish was, a desire not to return to Charleston-where, as she often said, she had been 'so happy.' She wanted to leave the country, but Aunt Vie- torine refused to accompany her, and she could not go alone. Just then, she learned that Mr. Erle's house was on 'the verge of bankruptcy. You know Ermine-you know her impulsive generosity. Can you not realize that, stunned us she was, hopeless for you, caring nothing for herself~ she should have been willing to sacrifice herself and her for- tune in the only possible way?" "But the news of my death was merely a rumor. She should not have acted so hastily -she might at least have waited to hear the truth." "And do you suppose that she did not take every means to learn the truth? Do you think she would ever have consented to the step of which I speak, unless she had been sure of your death? She clung desperately to hope, until she had summoned to her pres- ence, and drawn every particular from, a sailor-your own mate-who said that he had seen you perish. After that, how could she doubt?" "The infernal liar!" said Alan, between his set teeth, while one strong hand twisted itself in Nix's luxuriant mane, as if~ that had been the throat of the liar in question~. "Well, life is long, and I shall pay off that score some day-until then, the devil can af- ford to wait for his instrument. Good God!" -what a passionate cry it was which seemed wrung from his lips - "why is it that our lives, our loves, our ver~y souls, lie at the mercy of such villains as these?" Life is full of such questions; but from the blue sky above there comes no answer. Never yet has human despair, or human pre- sumption, wrung a solution of its perplexities from that dread yet glorious Presence, behind the veil of our mortality. In truth- "Our warfare Is In darkness. Friend for foe Blindly, and oft with swords exchanged, we strike: Opinion guesses: Faith alone can know Where actual and Illusive still are like." "Well," said Madelon, after a pause, you can see the rest for yourself. When Ermine heard of your arrival in. Charleston, and of your intention of coming to Martinique, she left the island at once-preferring to take a long ocean-voyage alone sooner than meet you. Judge, therefore, what she felt, when you presented yourself in Paris! Judge, if you are acting kindly or generously in thus making her hard lot infinitely harder to bear!" "Is that so?" said he, in a low voice. "Did she leave Martinique to avoid me? Poor child! To think that I-of all men-should become her persecutor!" I I DRAMATIC CAPABILITIES. He uttered the last words to himself. Then, almost unconsciously, his face dropped into his hands and he sat silent for several minutes. Madelon would not disturb him. Unlike most women, she knew when to be silent-when to rest on her oars, conscious that the current was doing her work for her better than she could possibly do it for herself. She read Alan thoroughly, and she did not even need to ask "How goes the fight?" for she felt sure that it was going excellently well from her point of view, and that victory would soon perch on her banners. Meanwhile, two little birds were singing the most charming possi- ble duet on the lightly-swaying bough just over her lace-covered parasol; the music in the distance was thundering away at a grand march that made military visions dance through the most soberly civilian brain; the waters of the fountain rose and fell in their marble basin with a soft plash; every now and then loiterers strolled past, of whom one in ten, perhaps, admired the pretty picture made by the group-the lovely, freshly-dressed girl, the bronzed, handsome man, the magnificent dog lying at their feet, and the tender shadows flickering over them. There was quite an idyllic grace about the little scene. -Unluckily, it is not always that the poetry of reality and the poetry of appearance go together. After awhile Alan looked up-somewhat to Madelon's surprise, smiling a little. "How quiet you are!" he said. "Did you know that I was saying good-by to-to every thing, and were you silent out of re- spect? Well, it iS over-and you may be sure I don't mean to be melodramatic about it. I am not the first man who has lost the woman he loved-though I can't help thinking that mine is an aggravated case. lint, if Er- mine can only learn to be happy, I can. bear my own share of the robbery-for it is that. Madelon, do you think that she is-that she will be-happy?" "She has learned content, at least," an- swered Madelon. "In time-if you leave her alone-she may very reasonably learn happi- ness. I think she is on the road to it." Poor Alan! Loyal and -unselfish as he was, this was hard to hear, hard to receive as good news," while his own heart was still sore and sick and throbbing with great pain. "You arc not deceiving me, Madelon? " asked. "People sometimes think themselves privileged to do such things, 'for your own 7 good.' For my part, it- is saying very little to say that I should have no patience with such a pious fraud; I would never forgive it, or trust the author again~" - "Don't be so fierce," said Madelon, smil- ing. "I have committed no 'pious fraud.' I have told you the simple truth." "Honestly?" - "Honestly." "Then," said he, with a great effort," she shall have the opportunity to 'learn happiness' -if she can! God grant that she may! But it is not like the Ermine whom I have known all my life-the most faithful and gentle of women-to find even content such an easy lesson. I do not understand it, Madelon." "Why not?" asked Madden, with an un- easiness which she could not entirely conceal. "You made a goddess of Ermine, but in reality she is only a woman-neither better nor worse than most of us. Then you should remember that this blow, which is4resh with you, is old with her. But" (eagerly), "you must not misunderstand me-you must not think that she is not suffering acutely, suffering so much that I speak as her best friend when I beg you to go out of her life, and, if possible, not to let even your memory come back to torment her." "I will go," said he, sharply. "If possible, even my memory shall not come back to tor- ment her! I promised Madame Villarot that I would leave Paris to-night, and, as you re- marked a little while ago, I always try, at least, to keep my promises. I shall keep this one. I shall go to-night." "Where?" asked she, eagerly-a little too eagerly, as it chanced; but it is hard to be al- ways oft one's guard. He shrugged his shoulders. "Who can tell? Not I. To the devil, probably!. That is where people in my condi- tion mostly go." "Not to America ?" (again a little too ea- gerly). He looked at her keenly. As she had good cause to know of old, those sea-colored eyes could occasionally be very keen. "No," said he, slowly, "I scarcely think I shall go to America. Thanks for your inter- est. But why do you ask?" "Ermine will like to know, I amsure-for, if you remain in Europe, her life will be passed in a continual fever and dread of meeting you. - page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 EBB-TIDE. "MON CAMARADE!" 99 He laughed bitterly. "And so you think the Continent of Europe not wide enough to keep us apart? Why, are you not content, will she not be content, if 'I covenant not to return to Paris?" "But she may leave it." "Tell me where she is likely to go, and I will avoid all such places." "It is hard to tell exactly," said Madden, drawing her straight, dark brows together. "We have relations in different parts of France, and then Aunt H~ltsne talks of Baden for the summer-of course, too, Ermine will go to Munich and Dresden, on account of art." "Then," with a smile which she did not altogether like, "I am fo~rnal1y excluded from France and Germany. Pray does Italy share in the prohibition?" "I don't know," said Madelon, rising and looking a little offended. "You seem to think that I have some interest to serve in the mat- ter. I only spoke for your own good and for Ermine's~ Of course it is a matter of indiffer- ence to me where you go." "Forgive me, Madelon," said he, rising too, and standing before her. "Don't let us part in vexation. That would be a poor return for your kindness in coming to meet me. I had no right to speak so rudely; but I meant ziothing-save that such things come hard on sne. I will do my best to keep clear of Er. mine's path-I promise you that. Now, must you go?" "Indeed I must," answered she, with a dismayed glance at her watch. ."Aunt H6- lone will be back, and what will she think of m&? No, no, Alan, you must not come with me-that would be adding double weight to the enormity of the misdemeanor. You must say good-by here, please "-putting out an ex- quisite little gray hand. ~' I suppose you know best," said Alan, tak- ing it, regretfully, "but it seems hard lines that I cannot even walk with you to your own door. Think better of it, Mtsdelon, and let me make your excuses to Madame Villarot. We are such old friends!" " Good Heavens, no ! " cried Madelon, aghast at this proposal-as well, indeed, she might be, since the game which she was play- ing would have delighted Mr. Erle for its bold- ness !-~' she would never forgive me! And you, Alan-surely you would not return to the very house which holds Ermine." "This minute, if I thought only of myself," answered Alan. "No-you needn't start. I try to think of her, and so it is not likely that I will do it. Confound that impertinent fel- low!" (glaring at a loiterer who had lifted his eye-glass in passing, and taken a scrutiny of the pair more keen than polite). "Are these French manners, Madden?" "They are manners of all over the world, I fancy," said Madelon, smiling, "when a gen- tleman continue$ to hold a lady's hand in the most affectionate manner on a public prome- nade. Say good-by, Alan-I really must go!" "Good-by, then," said. Alan, giving the hand in question a pressure which made it ache for a good ten minutes afterward. "God bless you, dear Madelon-and stand by her as a faithful friend!" "I will," said Madelon. And she absolutely meant it. CHAPTER VIII. "MON CAMAB4DE!" "Lx micux est l'enncmi de bien," says a sensible French proverb-and a better exam- ple of its truth could not be given than that which the interview just concluded had af- forded. "Le micux" had certainly proved with Madelon, in marked degree, "l'enncmi de bien." Every thing which she desired had been effected for her by Madame Villarot, yet she distrusted so thoroughly the sincerity and stability of Alan's resolution that she was not content until she had endeavored to lend to this resolution added force. The result was, that she overshot her mark-as many a clever archer has done before. Having already spoken of the spell of good- ness and honor which seemed breathed like an aroma over Madame Villarot, it is almost un- necessary to sa~ that it was this alone which enabled her to conquer Alan's stubborn will, and to induce him to leave the woman he loved. But there was no such magnetism about Madelon. Fascination of a certain sort was hers, in I~ountWul measure; but it was the fascination which dazzles-not that which in- spires an abiding sense of trust. No one could ever say of her, "I believe in this woman be- cause goodness and purity are written on her face;" it was only possible to say, "I believe in this woman because she is of exceeding fairness because her voice is sweet, and her I I eyes are eloquent." Now, this is a mode o reasoning with which ninety-nine men out of hundred are eminently satisfied, and, no doubi if Alan had been in love with the fair face, th sweet voice, and the eloquent eyes in question he would have found it satisfactory alse But, as it chanced, he had always distrust the beautiful creole; and never did this dis trust press so strongly upon him as after he ha( given that parting clasp to her daintily-glove hand, in the garden of the Tuileries. When she was gone, he sat down again oi the bench from which he had arisen, and ad dressed himself to the task of" thinking over' the interview just ended. The more he though it over, the stronger the feeling of distrust which at first had been purely unconscious, be came. Her s~ count of Ermine's marriage wa~ plausible enod~h-that he acknowledged-.bui her eagerness to send him out of Paris, hei desire to keet( him far from Ermine's possibh path of life, struck him as suspicious. It was true this might have been accounted for on thc score of unselfish affection toward her cousin -but no one who knew Madelon could possi- bly have affirmed that unselfish affection was her strong point. Self had always subordi- nated every other consideration with her, de- spite a certain fitful attachment to a few per- sons, a certain fitful power of making now and then a sacrifice-provided always that there was some element of grandeur about it. With the glamour of her eyes and smile with- drawn, her words, which still lingered in Alan's memory, seemed to have the ring of false coin -coin which, instead of being sterling gold, is base metal-and, try as he would, he could not baniak this impression. When he left Madame Villarot, notwithstanding all his Nt- ter pain and sadness, he had felt secure, secure that truth, and truth only, had been spoken to him, secure that, with that gentle lady, Ermine would at least be free from annoyance or pain. He was ready to leave Paris then, ready to go back to America and covenant never again to look upon the sweet face of the woman he loved. But all this was changed when Made- len's ill-omened beauty and fascination crossed his path. He distrusted her-he said that again and again to himself-swearing, too, a deep oath that she would not compass her end, whatever that end might be. "She is Raymond's tool, no doubt," said he, bitterly- "paid, very likely, to keep me from seeing Ermine! Wellwhat I have promised, I will C do-the more readily since Ermine herself is a anxious to avoid me. Madame Villarot's word ~, is good for that. I shall leave Paris to-night.-.- e but I shall not leave the Continent of Europe. , My health is suffering from the hardships of my shipwreck, and a little travel will do me I good. We need to shake off morbid feelings and thoughts, don't we, Nix? We wilt shake I them off, too, old boy! We'll climb Mont I Blanc, and sail on Lake Leman, and go to see your canim~ brethren at the Hospice of St. ~ Bernard. Mademoiselle Lautrec is very clever, - but w~h all her cleverness she has not disposed of us ~t-and by the Heaven above, old dog, she never shall!" From which it will be seen that Mademoi- * selle Lautrec had certainly overre~tched herself in no slight degree. ,After all, it is a fortu- nate thing that the good old times of poisoned roses and gloves are over-else Captain Erle's days might have come rather ab\uptly to an end, if Madelon had chanced to overhear or suspect the resolution with which his soliloquy * had closed. * Madelon, however, had gone home con- * gratulating herself on the successful issue of her bold experiment , had looked approvingly at her fair face in the mirror draped with p~le-blue hangings, had laid aside her prome- nade costume for a gold-colored silk with a golden rose in her dark hair, had clasped on her statuesque arms and neck the jewels for which she had signed away her honor, had finally gone forth to astonish Madame Villarot by "her wonderful fortitude," and to win the admiration and flattery which had become as necessary to her existence as the air she breathed. She was so exultant over the bright prospect opening before her, that it required all her well-trained dramatic power to preserve even a semblance of pensive sadness. She would have liked to laugh, to sing, even to dance along the polished floor, bidding life come and be enjoyed. Did she feel no remorse over her accomplished work? She would have laughed in your face if you had suggested such a thing, and told you that she was not "sentimental." These things were her rights-.-this wealth, and enjoyment, and happiness-and Alan was the robber who had come to wrest them from her. Why should she not be~glad, then, that she had so successfully met obstinate strength with subtle strategy, and done the best, not only for herself; but for everybody else? 98 EBB-TIDE. " MON CAMARADE ! " page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 EBB-TIDE. "Belle it faire peur!" said she, making a sweeping courtesy before one of the grand mirrors of the saloon, as the soft wax-lights - flashed, back from her diamonds. "Now, at last, I am happy !-now, at last, I live the life for which I was born! If that horrible man would only go and be drowned in earnest, my cup of felicity would be full to the brim!" The horrible man, thus devoted to watery destruction, had, several hours before ~this time, left his pleasant seat in the garden of the Tuileries, and strolled away into the busy city-the city so wonderful that one might think it enchanted if one did not know that here, as well as elsewhere, tears are shed, pangs suffered, and death-gasps given. But~ these things seem far away out of sight. To the stranger there is nothing to suggest such awful, and, alast such common extremes and possibilities of human anguish. It is her brightest face which the fair city shows on the Rue do Rivoli, the Faubourg St.-Honor6, the Palais Royal, the Champs Elyades, and the beautiful Bois with the glory of sunset re- flected in its magical lakes. The very atmos- phere seems golden' with the glamour of fan- cy and the poetry of romance! In Notre- Dame the air is full of faint fragrance, like a dream of incense, while a stream of light, fall- ing athwart the marble pavement, pales with its glory the steady lustre of the sanctuary lamp suspended in front of that majestic altar on which the hands of martyred prelates have offered the consecrated Host. Under the grahd old arches that have echoed the divine eloquence of Lacordaire, shadowy forms pass to and fro; here and there, at the difibrent chapels, candles flicker in the redllow gloom; every thing is full of harmony, every thing is wrapped in tranquil silence and holy repose. Little as Alan could boast of any thing save that natural reverence which it speaks ill for any man to forget, the gay sunshine and the jostlln~ crowd jarred on him, as he came out from the dim, religious hush of the great cathedral, and bent his restless steps toward the Louvre. If he was not an artist, at least he had artistic appreciation in no common de. gree; so it was no wonder that the remaining hours of the afternoon were all spent among the marvellous paintings and statuca gathered in those great, golden halls. It was worth while to roam and loiter there at will,,and after a time to watch the close of the radiant 'day from the tall windows, to see the sunset tints streaking the tender sky, the evening vesper of light and perfume ascending, the wonderful glory spreading over the heavens and resting like a benediction on the churches and palaces, the flashing river and stately columns, the an- cient quarters and new boulevards of "the town of Clovis, of Clotilde, of Genevieve, the town of Charlemagne, of Saint-Louis, of Philip Augustus, and of Henry IV., the capital of the sciences, the arts, and of civilization."" So absorbed in the beauty without as to be forgetful even of the beauty within, Alan scarce- ly noticed how the galleries were thinning, how the well-dressed loungers and the busy artists were alike departing, but strn stood with folded arms gazing on the matchless scene outspread before him, when a hand was suddenly laid on his shoulder, and, turning, he faced that which he least expected, and perhaps desired-an ac- quairitance. "Thi~ is Alan ErIe, I am sure," said a slender, dark-eyed young man. "I have been watching you for 4 least ten minutes, but you would not turn roundand sol was obliged to claim your notice in this way. Have you for- gotten me-Stuart Lamar, of Georgia? I went to school with you, if you remember." "I remember perfectly," said Alan, frank- ly shaking the extended hand. "In fact, we have met since then, I think. Didn't I dine at your father's house in Savannah, two years ago?" "Certainly you did!" responded the other, smiling; "a didn't you return the compli- ment when I went over to Charleston, by in- troducing me to three of the prettiest girls I ever saw ?-Have you been long in Paris?" "Long enough to be tired of it. And "Well, I am fresh at sight-seeing - I haven't been here more than a fortnight, so I have not begun to be tired yet. The greatest drawback to my enjoyment has been an inca- pacity to understand or be understood. I thought I was a pretty fair French scholar, but the confounded people will talk s~ fast. Don't you find that ratherpuzzling?" "I am a sailor, you know, and used to speaking many tongues of many lands. I un- derstand, and manage to make myself under- stood-after a fashion, at least." "It is very refreshing to meet you," said * Letter of the Count de Chiunbordon theboinbard- ment of Paris. I "MON CAJ Lamar, with evident sincerity. "After a man has been roaming about in a foreign land, he appreciates a familiar face." "And a familiar tongue,~~ said Alan; "that's better yet, isn't it? see! unless we mean to spend the night among the pictures and statues, we'd better be moving. This place will soon be shut up. Are you with a party?" The other made a comical gesture with his shoulders and eyebrows. "No such good luck! Several of us start- ed from home together, but, somehow, no two had the same idea about the tour, and we had scarcely landed before we separated. As for me, I came to Paris, and devilish heavy work i've found it all alone! My principal amuse- ment has been to walk about the streets, listen to the bapds-does it strike you that a band always is playing somewhere ?-look in at the ixtfis, end say with Hood: "'When yo~ go to France, - Be sure y~,u know the lingo, For, If you don't, like me, You will repent, by jingo!' Let me return your question, by-the-by, and ask if ~1'ou are with a party?" "No such bad luck!" answered Alan, shrugging his shoulders, as they went down- stairs, "Where are you staying?" he went on. "I sin leaving Paris to-night, but still-"' He stopped in his speech, amused by the dismay which came over Lamar's face. "'Leaving to-night!" he repeated. "Good heavens! what4o you mean by that? Why, Paris is glorious just now-and I have been thiniring what a splendid time I should have, with you to do the talking for' me. We would ~go to Versailles, and Fontainebleau, and St.. Cloud, and-and the opera every night. I like that better than the theatre, because I can understand the music. My dear fellow, pray think better of it! Consider-" "The lilies of the field?" asked Alan, laughing. "It is rather early for them,' my dear boy-at least just here. Perhaps I shall find them in their glory when I reach Italy next week." "Italy!" repeated the other, still petulant. "What the devil are you going to Italy for? Do you expect to meet anybody there?" "One never knows who may turn up in the way of friends and acquaintances-vide our pleasant encounter-but I have no such definite cxpectatioh." "Then why on earth do you go? Excuse tIARADE!" iQi itie! I'm afraid I'm awfully rude, but it is really enough to try a man's patience! Stay, Erle-do stay! I'll wager any thing you won't regret it. You can't have seen every thing in Paris, you know-or, if you have, it will all bear being - seen over again." "My dear fellow-" "Oh, deuce take it !-thnt tone tells the tale. 'My dear fellow, I am sorry to be dis- obliging, but must really, etc.,' etc.' 'Pon my honor, it is too bad! It is like the dear ga- zelle, when one finds a friend, only to lose him. Look here, Erle !-will you be honest and say 'No,' if what I am about to propose does not suit you?" "Without the least hesitation," answered Alan, truthfully enough. "Then tell me frankly if you are anxious to go to Italy alone, or if you would like a companion?" "Yourself?" "Myself; of course. Now, don't say 'Yes,' unless you mean it." "Let me think a minute," said Alan So, as they walked along in the dusk, he considered the proposal. He knew very little of Lamar; but that little assured him'that the young Georgian was a thoroughly good fellow, a genial, frank gentleman, and the person of all others to cast the sunshine of bright spirits over a journey by land or sea. If Alan wanted a companion at all, certainly he might go far- ther and fare worse than with the one who was ready to his hand just here. But die! he want a companion? That was the rub, and, if he had answered the question according to his first impulse, he would certainly have uttered a negative. But Lamar's fresh, cager face and the accents of the home-voice had uncon- sciously attracted him. After all, he was set- ting forth to shake off morbid thoughts, not to nurse them, and, if he travelled alone, was there much hope of his doing the former, or his ezot doing the latter? Would notsucha companion as this be really worth more than any amount of Qther remedies? As he hesitated-and ah! would he have hesitated at all, if he had only known how much hinged on this decision! -one fair, pure star quivered into sight above the, house - tops, and his decision was sud- lenly taken. "Lamer," said he, "don't misunderstand ny silence. I shall be sincerely glad if you z411 go with me to Italy. I meant to go to switzerland, but it is too cold for that just yet. p page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] But I must start to-night. That is imperative. Would you care to make such a sudden move?" "I sha'n't break many hearts by my depart- ure," answered Lamar, with one of his boyish grimaces, "and my traps are few. I don't see why I can't start to-night, therefore. If you'll tabe me, I think I'll got I feel like a man who, having bees~ shipwrecked, suddenly meets -Hallo! What the deuce-.--why, man alive, I have just remembered that the last I heard of you, you were drowned! How, in the name Neptune, did you come to life again?" "Under a galvanic battery," responded Alan, grimly. "Nature's patent, not likely to be stolen by art-only, as a friend, I wouldn't advise you to try its effect. A sand-bank in the tropics isn't the best possible place foray constitution short of a salamander's. It is in consequence of this that I am going to recruit mine in Italy." "I thought you looked badly," said Lamar, simply, "but, like a fool, I did not think of the cause. Really, I am ashamed of myself!" "Don't be, my good fellow! There isn't the least need of such a sentiment." "But I ought to have remembered! I recollect well how shocked I was when I read the announcement of your death. But, some- how, the whole thing went out of my head when I saw yourfamiliar shoulders this even- ing. I said to myself, 'There isn't such another pair in the world,' so up I marched, without thinking for a moment that the shoul- ders in question might be ghostly' nothings. But I forgot-.wheredid you say-you were stay- ing? I'm at the H6tel du Lotivre, near by." "And I at the H&tel du Ithin. Will you come with me? I left my dog there, and, un- less I go to him, he will enliven the establish- ment by such a series of howls that the police will very likely have to be called in. That is a Parisian's remedy for every ill, you know. Come, and you shell order the menu yourself. We don't leave till 11.50, so that will you time enough to leek after your tr .' "All right," said Lamar, receiving any and every proposal with the utmost amiability, pro- vided he was not called upon to relinquish sight of his new-found comrade. having refreshed the inner man, the two friends found that their "traps" required very little arrangement, and that, after this duty had been dispatched, a wheW evening yet hung heavily on their hands. Lamar yawned so piteously, that, compassionating his ennui, Alan carried him off to the Com~die Fran~aise, where they saw a sparkling comedy charmingly acted, then they strolled back to their hotel through the illuminated streets, and, as Madelon was taking the golden rose from out her hair and the brilliant ornaments from off her arms, they dashed away into the night, with the head of their fiery horse turned straight toward the fair South. CHAI'TER IX. "ONE FACE!" UNDER the blue, rarely blue sky of Italy, the Lago di Como lies like a sheet of lapis-lazuhi in the noontide sun. There is scarcely breeze enough to ripple the glassy surface of the water, or steal through the closed jealousies of the palaces and villas which gem its winding shores, while in the shade of their deep arched entrances, or beside the marble steps, against which the azure waters softly plash,,hie the brightly-cushioned pleasure-boats, motionlesss and unoccupied. The rustle of a leaf is scarce- ly heard on the steep mountain-sides, which, girt by the olive and fig, the laurel and cactus, tower above the placid lake, flanked by the grand, snow-clad peaks of the higher Alps. In the fairy hanging-gardens, and on the ter- races studded with baskets of orange, olean- der, and myrtle, every sound is mute. The embowered convents and the picturesque vil- lags with their tapering spires lie wrapped in such absolute repose that it is almost possible to imagine that an enchanter's wand has hovered over the fair scene and bound it with a spell. Even the swarthy, sunburnt fishermen have fallen asleep in their boats, secure in the grale- ful shadow of some olive-shaded, land-locked bay. In truth, a potent enchanter has been at work-that high-noon of the South, whose imperative ardor proclaims an armistice of labor. Spring has melted into summer, and even on the Lago di Como the scorching heat of the latter season holds triumphant sway. Scorching it is; for not one breath of the welcome north breeze has come down from the Alpine hills, to stir the drooping leaves of the foliage, or ruffle the mirror-like surface of the lake. On the terrace of a villa near the beau- tiful promontory of Bellagio, two ladies are 102 EBB-TIDE. 102 BBTDE." ONE FACE !" 10 seated under an awning, both of them waiting eagerly for the first breath of this breeze, and one of them now and then leaning over to fan the other. A shry strong, pleasant face the latter has, a face surrounded by bands of iron- gray hair, and brightened by keen, intelligent brown eyes. These eyes are a little sad and very tender as they rest on her companion, a pale, slend ,dark-eyed girl, who seems wasted away to a ~h adow; whose fragile hands as they lie in her lap look almost transparent; and whose feet are plainly standing on the verge of that unknown sea which mortals call im- mortality. After a while, she looks up at her companion with a sweet smile, speaking Eng- lish with a soft, Southern accent. "Thanks, dear Miss North, you are so kind. ~3ut please don't tire yourself; it is al- ways tiresome to fan anybody." "Not to me," answered the elder lady. "But, if it worries you, I can call Lucia. She does it well, and never tires." "No, no, let poor Lucia sleep. You know she was awake all night. My cough is so annoying at night, and then the fever makes me restless. I am afraid" (with a short sigh) "that I am very impatient, and give a great deal of unnecessary trouble" "You impatient! My darling, how can you say such a thing? Only the other morn- ing I found Lucia crying, and I asked her what was the matter. 'The signorina is too good,' she said, shaking her head and sobbing She is ready for paradise.' So you see" (with a faint smile) "she does not find you very troublesome." "That is because she is so faithful and de- voted. Ah, how fortunate I have been to find such a friend as you, and such a servant as Lucia, in my hour of need! Dear Miss North, I wonder if you will thoroughly realize, when you go back to your own life and your own friends, what gratitude and love the girl for whom you have sacrificed so much felt for you?" "I have sacrificed nothing," said Miss North, hastily. "Ermine, my child, don't you know that you have grown nearer to my heart than anybody else in the woi'ld, nearer by far than my own kindred? Is it a sacrifice to live in these beautiful lands with you, and try to take care of you? My bonnie darling, stay with me! ~!hat isalliaak." "But that Is not forane to ~raat," said Br- mine, putting out her frail, buming hand- burning with the fever which had sapped the foundation of life. "Dear friend, kind friend -the kindest, save one, that I have ever known-I am not sure that I would grant it jf, I could! Life is very sweet to those who are rich in its gifts and goods-but what have I ?" "You have youth, beauty, great talent, and many possibilities of happiness.~~ "When health is gone, youth is gone,~~ said Ermine, sadly, "and beauty too. With my talent-such as it is-I have done what I could, and, if God spared my life, I should hope to do more. But He knows best. As for the possibilities of happiness-well, Art is fair, and Nature is fairer. But are not these only types of that Beauty on which the eyes of the spirit shall open? We think that nothing could be more exquisite than this lovely lake; but surely the hand which gave this to the material senses can give something better yet to those which are immortal?" "My child, who doubts it?" "Ab, then" (with passionately- clasped hands), "why wish to stay? If love is sweet, think what it must be to love Love itself! * If beauty is fair, think what it must be to see Beauty such as 'it hath ~eot entered into the heart of man to conceive!' Now, those have been my two passions-..-love of love, and love of beauty. t~od made them both. It can- not be wrong, then, to climb by them to "Wrong!~' Miss North could say no more, for tears rose up and choked her. "Am I paining you?" asked Ermine, gem. tly. "Ak, dear Miss North, don't shut your eyes to the truth. I talk of these things be- cause I am very near them-so near that fear seems to have left me, and I feel the trust of a little child who is led by its mother's hand into the dark." "Ermine," said Miss North, suddenlydrop- ping her fan, and seizing the girl's delicate hands, "tell me-in the midst of your grief, did you ever pray for death?" "Never," answered Ermine, simply. "How could you think such a thing? I have never been so wicked as that. But, somehow, the l*rden of life seemed too heavy for me when my boy went out of it. Y~u know it was not as if he had been any ordinary friend or ordi- * These words are borrowed frees an expressloa Is "La ~Aclt4'nne Benr." 103 page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 EBB-TIDE-. nary lover-but he had been the stay and idol of my life. I hope I was not sinful in my grief-I tried not to be. But existence looked so blank-so dreary. I thought to myself, 'How shall I bear this desolation through the long years of a lifetime?' Of course, people told me I would forget it; but I knew better -I knew that I never forgot anything. I was a little child when my father died, but I shed tears for him now as bitter as those which I shed then. Iknew that, if I lived to be seven- ty, I should still mourn for Alan. And God knew it. So He called me from the burden and heat of the day, and I-how can I be sor- ry 1' If I lived longer, I might commit some sin which would shut me out from heaven for- ever. Now I have not much to reproach my- self with-except being too little resigned when love and happiness went from me-last Oc- tober." "Child," said the elder woman, sorrowfully, "I never knew before what a good thing in- constancy is." "Is it?," said Ermine, smiling-a shadowy but ineffably sweet smile. "Ah, no! Blessed be God for memory! If every bright gift of earth were offered to me in exchange for the recollection of my darling, do you thing I would take them I' Do you think I would buy health, and beauty, and happiness, at such a price? Do you think I could even resign my- self to death if I did not know that the recol- leetion wrn go with me into life? Perhaps I think of it too much" (with a wistful, pathetic look), "but I cannot help it. The saints loved God purely in and for Himself, but u's must go to Him through our' earthly passions. I am sure our dear Lord will not be hard upon me for being too faithful to my poor human love. But see !-here comes the breeze!" She turned her pale face toward it as she spoke-klrinking in its cool refreshment eager- ly. As her gaze wandered toward the distant snow-clad heights from which it came, Miss North'p eyes dwelt on her. Ab, what ravages the last few months-nay, even the last few weeks, had made! Over the pale face and the fragile form, the very shadow of Azrai~l seemed to hover. Life, deprived of its onlylight, had indeed proved too much for the great, passi4wi- ate heart, the gentle, faithful nature. Some people have one gift, sonic another; few are so poor as to be without any. Ermine's was the gift of constancy. Alan ErIe might have been dead to all the rest of the world, but to the tender heart which, winni~ig once he had won forever, he still lived, and still- "One Sice, remembering his, forgot i'o smile." The wasted lines of that face spoke so elo- quently to Miss North's heart, that many salt tears dropped in her lap before she could find voice to speak. Then she said, gently: "Ermine, darling, don't you think you might be better if you tried to cross the Alps? It seems to me that this climate may account for your extreme debility." "I cross the Alps!" said Ermine. "I could not even cross that promontory yonder! Dear, kind friend, why won't you see the truth? I would rather you did, because there is no telling how soon the realization may be brought home to you. If I needed any con- firmation of my own knowledge, I should have found it in the doctor's face when he saw me this morning-and in P~re Aubr~'s" (this was a French priest who chanced to be staying at Varenna), "when he left me a little while ago. No, the end is very near, and I think I may say I am ready for it. If it came to-night-as it may do-I can go, having left no duty knowingly unfulfilled. I have written to mam- ma and to Madelon. You will find the letters in my desk. Then I left some instructions-a will, I suppose it might be called-concerning the little property which I retained. Some of it goes as a marriage-portion to Lucia; the rest I have left to charity. For you, my kind and only friend, I have but my love, my grati- tude, my prayers, and every thing personal to myself which you may desire to keep. What you. do not keep, give to Lucili. No one else will care for them. I did not leave you any money" (smiling a little), "because I know that, with the property left by your brother, you are able to provide for all your wants, and it would have seemed like-like paying you for all you have done!" "I am glad you did not," said Miss North, between her tears. "Love's service can only be paid with love." "I know it," said Ermine, softly. After this there was silence again. Lightly the breeze came over the water, rippling it into a myriad tiny waves which broke with soft, musical plash against the flight of steps reaching from the terrace, not to the water's edge, but to the very water itself. The eyes of the dying girl gazed wistfully on the fairy beauty and brilliance of the scene-the azure 5 105 lake, the lofty mountains, covered with almost tropical verdure, the gleaming palaces, temples, and villas, the nimbus of golden sunlight over the distant Alpine peaks, the fish darting to and fro in the pellucid water. Happy fish, to live in the waters of Como, we are almost tempted to think. But no doubt even fish have their troubles-especially when they are caught. As Ermine gazed in silence on this wealth of magical beauty, a small boat, which had been lying in a shadowy cove near the proniontory, pushed out from the shore, and, propelled by lazy but evidently practiced strokes, began to move over the water, leaving a track of glorified sunlight behind. It had an awning, and, as well as could be seen, con- tained only one occupant, though, as a matter of fact,1another recumbent figure lay in the bottom, while a large dog crouched motionless at the stern. Though the little craft was far from being one of the gay barciolinas which tourists and sight-seers patronize, it made a pretty adjunct to the scene, and Ermine watched its course with that interest which trifles sometimes waken in the sick. Near and mo,~cai~ itcame, until at last it glided in front -the villa only a few feet distant from the terrace on which the ladies sat. The oarsman-a young, handsome man, wear- ing a broad-brimmed straw hat-suffered it to float slowly by, as he caught sight of the two figures under the orange-trees. Sickness had not robbed Ermine of all her beauty. 11cr eyes still remained-larger, darker, softer than ever-and the outlines of her face were all fair and pure. Just now she looked like a / "marble saint niched in cathedral-wall," with her white robe falling to her feet, her hair pushed back behind, her dainty ears, and in her slender fingers the glittering beads of a gold-and-amethyst rosary. Something like a luminous calm seem breathed over her. The struggle had been bitter and fierce-had drained, indeed, the very life-blood of the suffering heart-but victory had brought a peace like unto no peace of earth, a peace which comes only as the avant coun-jer of that dread angel whom the children of men account a destroyer, but the children of God a deliv- erer. "Look, Alan!" said Lamar, in a low tone -"look what an exquisite face that girl has! There's something half divine about it, only it seems to me I have seen it somewhere before." "It isn't the extreme of good-breeding to " ONE FACE !" stare at people as you chance to row by their terraces," said Alan, lazy and sleepy, and thoroughly indifferent to all the exquisite faces in the world. "Beauty is the birthright of these Italian women; and as for seeing this face before, you may have seen it on the Corso the other day: a great many Milanese have villas on the lake here." "But look!" persisted Lamar. "We shall be beyond sight in another minute, and I don't think that' a sweeter face was ever seen. The com~?lexion is like a magnolia. petal, and the eyes are full moons, as the Turks say." "Full moons they. may remain for me," -said Alan. "I would not lift my head just now to see Sabrina herself rise from the lake. I begin to appreciate what dolce for niente means, and-Nix, keep still, sir! What the dcvii is the matter with you ?-Hallo I Look out there, Lamar, or the fool will upset this cockle.shell !" The warning came too late. Nix, who had been whining and moving restlessly ever since they came in front of the terrace, now made a sudden dart overboard, which capsized the craft, and, in a second, the two young men. found themselves in the lake. Now, a plunge-bath is never pleasant, not even when you have had time to think about it. But, when it has the additional drawback of being totally unexpected, it is difficult to imagine any thing more absolutely disagree- able. Leaving the two struggling swimmers to their fate, let us go back a moment and ex- plain the cause of the disaster. It is probable that, by some sympathy known only to canine intelligence, the dog had been aware of the neighborhood of his quon- dam playfellow and patroness, as soon as he came near the villa, but he only manifested this consciousness by restless movement and whining, until they were abreast of the spot where Ermine sat. It was then that she sud- denly exclaimed: "Ah, what a magnificent dog! Look, Miss North-in the stern of the boat! Does he not remind you of-..-of Nix 1"' Low as it was, her voice was singularly clear, and Nix's ears were attentiirely pricked. Lamar saw her lean forward with sudden in- terest and speak to her companion, but he did not catch the words-in consequence of not being gifted with the auditory powers of a dog. The word "Nix" had scarcely passed page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 EBB-TIDE. THE TIDE GOES OUT. her bps, however, when the owner of that name sprang overboard; and, disregarding the Ca- tastrophe which he left behind, swam straight toward the terrace. "I never saw-" Miss North was begin- ning, when this event occurred.-" Good Heav- ens!" she cried, springing to her feet. "The dog has capsized the boat I-the men will be drowned! What on earth are we to do?" Though she was unable to do any thing, she ma down to the steps excitedly, while Er- mine sat still, with sympathizing eyes of inter- est on the scene. She soon saw that there was no question of drowning, for both men were expert swimmers. Instead of making any eJlhrt to save their lives, they were simply endeave~iing to save the boat-to catch it, and, if possible, to right it. This, however, was difficult. "Bring it here! -bring it here!" cried Miss North, standing on the steps, and gesticu- lating wildly. The familiar words (used quite unconsciously) rang clearly over the water, making Lamar say to Alan in somewhat splut- tering fashion: "By Jove! those people yonder are Eng- lish-and the old lady is a trump! Look at her, standing on the steps waving her hand- kerchief!" Then he shouted in return: "Thanks 1-we are coming I" "How ridiculous they look!" said Miss North, beginning to laugh as soon as she saw that there was to be no tragedy. "And they are En-~-Oh, you horrid creature! I don't know how you dare to show your face! You are the cause of it all!" These last remarks were addressed to Nix, who just then emerged from the water, and, without stopping fer even a single shake, I rushed past the dismayed lady, full at Ermine. "Nint-it is Nix!" cried the girl, in a voice of mingled amazement, terror and de- t light. "0 my God, what does this mean?- Nix!" a "flow, wow, wow!" said Nix, lifting up l~ his great throat, and opening his great mouth to attest his joy. Thea-with a perfect river i~ of water pouring from him-he sprang, in his t~ old fashion, straight on the trembling gui. a * kiss North gave a shriek, sad flew to the I reseae--for she thought Ermine was verily be- ii lug eateu. .&hin heard the shriek, and, having b seen Nix b~Aind up the steps, suspected what g was the matter (suspected, that is, that the tI dog was making himself obnoxious); so, leav- b ing the boat tto the care of Lamar, he struck out with a will for the villa. In a minute he reached it, and, as he sprang on the stej~e, Miss North turned round. "Oh, sir!" cried she, "for Heaven's sake come quickly! I can't get this dreadful dog away, and I am afraid the young lady has fainted." "Nix, you scoundrel, get down this mm- cried Alan, in wrath, as, giving himself vigorous shake to relieve his clothing of its superfluous weight of water he strode has- tily forward. But the first tone of his voice had fallen like a thunder-clap on the little group. Nix dropped to the ground as if he had been shot -Miss North dropped into a chair, as if she had been shot-while Ermine rose to her feet with a look of such transfigured joy on her face, that "ecstasy" is the only word which will apply to it. There was no amazement, there was no doubt, there was no questioning. Joy was so great and so overwhelming that it swallowed every other feeling, as the ocean swallows the rivers which flow into it. "Alan!" she said, in a tone which neither of the two who heard it ever forgot. Then she made a step forward, and fell lifeless into his arms. -.4-- CHAPTER X. THE TIDE GOES OUT. "H&s she fainted?" Alan asked, looking ~t Miss North, as his eager words remained unanswered, and he felt the fragile form grow seavy on his arms. "God only knows," was her reply, as she ame forward and touched the marble brow, he nerveless hands, the thread-like pulse. She has only fainted-as yet," she said, after moment. "Bring her into the saloon, and ~t me try to recover her." She led the way, and he followed without a Tord, bearing the light burden which he had [sought never to bear again. With him, amazement subordinated every other feeling. row did Ermine, whom he imagined in Paris ~ith Madelon and Madame Villarot, come to e here on the Lago di Como with her old overness? His whole frame thrilled with ic passionate delight of feeling her close to un once more; but, even in the first moment of meetiug-that bitter-sweet moment when she came to him straight as the needle to the magnet-he had remembered that she was his brother's wife. Not his-not his-never again his-was the thought which ran through his heart and mind, even while he pressed kiss af- ter kiss on the dark, silken tendrils of ~sair, the pale, unconscious, sculptured face. "Put her down here," said Miss North, in-. dicating a broad couch,~ on the cushions of which a faint impression bore evidence to its having been lately occupied by the same slight figure. "Take that pillow from under her head-now open the blinds, and fan her gen- tly." She crossed the floor and rang a bell-then came back, and, kneeling down by the couch, began to chafe the girl's hands. Her heart sank within her-the swoon was so deep that she almost feared breath would never come again to those halt~unclosed, motionless lips. "On that table yonder you will find a flagon of ammonia," said she, to the drenched Triton beside her. "Bring it here." He moved away-leaving a pool of water on the marble floor to mark where he had stood-and in a second returned with the fia9on. Thcn he, too, knelt down, and laid his hand over the almost silent heart. I can scarcely feel it," he said. "Are-.--- are you sure she is not dead?" "Not yet," said Miss North, a little bitter- ly, "but this may kill her. The shock was enough-and then look at these drenched clothes! They must be changed at once. Will you ring the bell again?" He was rising to do so, when a dark-browed Italian maid came hastily into the room. "Ah! Ia signorina, la signorina!" cried she, breaking into lamentations as soon as she caught sight of the motionless, death-like form on the couch. She, too, came and flung her- self on her knees beside it. "Silence, Lucia," said Miss North, in Ital- ian. "She is not dead-she has only fainted. Help me to bring her back to life." "But she has been in the lake, signoral" touchingg the damp, clinging draperies won- deringly). "Not quite---.only something very near it. Go quickly for dry clothes-and bring the brandy with you. As for you" (looking up at Alan, and speaking in English), "you must go, too. Her eyes must not open on your face- that is, if they open at all again. If you will wait yonder "-she pointed to the terrace-" I will come to you in a few minutes." "But you will let me return as soon as she is conscious!" said he, almost imploring- ly. "That will be for her to say," answered Miss North, almost sternly. "Ah, see I-life is coming back. Go!" Life was indeed coming back. Faintly, slowly, with a long, tremulous sigh, the breast began to heave, the lips parted a little wider,. and gave a glimpse of the teeth, like pure, white cocoa-nut within, the dark lashes quiv- ered, and it was evident that in another mo- ment the white lids would lift. "Go!" repeated the ex-govemness, impera- tively. "It will never do for her to see you here. Go l" "I am going," he answered, in a low voice.. And, with one lingering glance, he went. On the terrace outside Nix was lying, look- ing very crestfallen; on the steps Lamar was standing, a dripping Triton number two, watch- ing the boat with a rueful face as it lazily floated farther and farther away. "I say, Erie," he cried, as soon as Alan appeared, "don't you think these good Sainar-- itaus must have a boat? Everybody has, you know. If they would be good enough to lend it to us, we could catch that confounded craft quick enough. As it is, what the devil will. old Beppo say?" "Let himsay what he pleases," said Alan,. flinging himself into the first one of the vacant chairs. "The thing will be picked up some-- where-and we can pay him foi~ damages." "He'll swear it hadn't a sound plank left in it!" grumbled Lamar, watching the truant~ craft. "And yonder goes my hat following leisurely in the wake! Well" (sitting down on the topmost step), "I suppose it is the will of God! That is what these ?ious people- say whenever any thing happens-Nix, you raseal, come near me, will you, and I'll take~ pleasure in breaking every bone in your* body!" "Here's a chair, Lamar," said Alan. "I look like sitting in a chair, don't I? " said Lamar, surveying himself grimly. "By.. the-way, Alan, was the young lady hurt or only- frightened? I think that dog of yours must have gone out of his wits." "Nix recognized her," said Alan, putting out his hand to pat the dos's great, curlr head. "But for him, I should lnwe passed b~ page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 EBB-TIDE. without even faintly guessing who was so near me." "What! you know her?" "Know her! It was Ermine St. .Amand!" Lamar sprang to his feet-sat down again -gave a long whistle-and finally said: "By Jove!" After a while, ho recovered sufficiently to add something else. "I thought I knew her! I thought I could not be mistaken in imagine. ing that I had seen that face! What did she do when she saw you, old fellow?" "Fainted," said Alan, laconically. "And has she come to, yet?" "Not yet." "By Jove!" said Lamar, again. Then he suddenly dashed his hands into his hair and tossed it about in such an extraor. diary fashion, that he speedily assumed the appearance of a well.drenehed maniac. "This is horribly awkward," said he-" for you, at least. I say, Alan, can't we get away? There must be some way of leaving here by land! For Heaven's sake, let us try it!" "Isball not stir a foot," said Alan. "Fate, chance, the mercy ot God, what you please, brought me here. Being here, I shall stay." "But, my dear fellow, you know you can't -you know it is impossible! What good will it do? Come, be reasonable! You will do the poor girl herself an inestimable benefit, if you will only go before she comes out of her swoon." "Stand back, Lamar!" said Alan, shaking off the hand which the other, coming forward, had lain on his shoulder. "Don't try to preach to me! By God, I will not endure it! I see in her face that she is dying !-do you hear me ?-dyinq I-and no power of earth shall tear me away from her now." "But w~at is the good of it?" persisted Lamar. "Youknow as well as I do that she is married." "That she is what? " asked a sudden, deep voice behind the young men. They both turned quickly, and faced Miss North. Unperceived, she had come through the open window of the saloon, and, advan- cing on them from the rear, had caught Lamar's last words. "Of whom are you speaking?" demanded she, looking from one to the other. "Who is married?" "We were speaking of Miss St. Amand," said Alan, as Lamar's self-possession entirely failed. "My friend was reminding me that she is married. It is a fact which I had not forgotten-which I am not likely to forget." "It is a lie, rather, of which you have come in time to hear the contradiction," said she, almost fiercely. *" Come away-farther away! Ermine must not overhear this." She walked quickly to the farther end of the terrace, and Alan followed. Lamar, with instinctive delicacy, remained where he was. "The devil is to pay!" he thought. "They won't want me!" They did not want him in the sense of needing him, but neither of them would have heajtated to speak freely before him-Miss North, because she would willingly have told her indignant story to the whole world; Alan, because a sincere and abiding friendship had long since sprung up between himself and the young Georgian. If Lamar had followed them, he would have seen how quickly two honest, straightforward natures can tear away the veil which falsehood or intrigue may have woven before the truth. Alan's side of the story we know. Miss North's was this: The year before she had been teaching in Montreal, when she met the Eric party, who, en masse, had accom- panied the Saxtons on their bridal tour. Er. mine was delighted to see her ci-devant govern. ess, and they were together a great deal. The girl was very sad concerning Alan, from whom she had not heard for a long time, and it was evident to the keen eyes of the shrewd English- woman that the family determination to marry her to Raymond was, if possible, on the in- crease. "But she was like a ~ock," said this faithful friend; "I have never seen constancy and resolution that equalled hers, with all her childlike gentleness. After a while, they re- signed their persecutions for a time; and I think they had almost resigned all hope of compassing their end, when the news of your death came. "I cannot tell you what that news was to Ermine. You must look at her face to read it there. My poor words would very faintly de- scribe such a death-blow to hope, and love, and life. It has simply killed her. Well, they scarcely gave the desolate child time to realize her grief, before the plots, and plans, and per- secutions, began afresh. Mr. Erie came on in person, and I have always suspected that he originated and was chief in executing the scheme which was finally carried out when I, THE TIDE GOES OUT. they found that the will which opposed them was like granite. He paid me the compliment of suspecting that I inspired Ermine's ob- stinacy, so his first move was to carry the whole party oft' to New York, under pretence of seeing the sailors who had arrived at that port and hearing the whole truth of your ship- wreck. I confess I was very uneasy after they left. Ermine was in that horrible numb state which follows a great shock, and I feared that, in her lethargic indifference to every thing concerning herself, she might be persuaded or forced to ruin her life forever, as such a mar- riage would ruin it. Judge, then, of my relief, when, after an ominous silence of several weeks, I received a very gracious letter from Mrs. Erie, begging me to come to New York and thknce accompany Ermine to Germany, where she desired to go and study art. I threw up my situation and went at once. When I reached New York, I found your brother engaged to Madelon Lautrec." "To Madelon Lautrec!" "Yes, to Madden Laiitrec. Worked upon .by every possible appeal to her generosity, in- different to every thing save her determination to remain faithful to your memory, and anxious only to be left in peace, Ermine had made over her fortune to her cousin, between whom and your brother a mercenary bargain was speedily struck. I found that, of all her wealth, she had retained only a portion suffi- cient to insure a support apart from exertio~as which might have proved unsuccessful, and at least could not soon have been remunerative. The whole thing seemed simple enough to her. To be relieved from the anxiety of wealth, for which she had no love, to be able to go to Europe, and to endeavor to forget her desola- tion in the' arf to which she was born, this was all for which she cared. This was all she did. Of the fraud which came after, her hands were skinless." "How, then, did it come? How could she be robbed, not only of her fortune, but of her vcry identity, without at least permitting it?" "Listen: you shall hear. 'If you are going to Europe to study art as a profession, and if you mean to make your bread by it,' said Mrs. Erie, 'you must take some other name than your own. I cannot suffer my daughter to do such a thing as my daughter.' (You remember Ermine had surrendered her fortune to save her step-father from bankrupt- cy.) 'Well, mamma,' said Ermine, listlessly, 'I promise that you shall not be disgraced by my labors. Tell me what name to take, and no one who knew me as Mademoiselle St. Amand shall know me as an art-student. What shall I call myself?' I remember how Mrs. Erie seemed to think for a moment before she said: 'Suppose that, as Madelon is about to re- sign her name, you were to take that? It is a family name; there was a autrec St. Amand several generations ago, a d therefore not like one which would be only assumed.' Ermine assented to this as indifferently as she assented to every thing else, and also bound herself not to seek out her relations in France. You will consider me very stupid, perhaps, that I did not see the drift of all this, that I did not sus- pect the contemplated change of identity, but in truth people are slow to see such things when they occur under their own eyes. In books we are always expecting wiles, and in- trigues,~and villanies, but, in real life, nothing is farther from our thoughts. We can scarce- ly realize it, in fact, when it is forced upon our perception. Ermine and I sailed from New York before the marriage, and it was not until long afterward that I began to think what had been done. I was not sure of it, however, until I came out and heard your friend say that Ermine was married. Then, like a flash, I understood every thing. "Well" (as he stood utterly silent, utterly passive, stunned apparently by the blackness of the abyss of treachery into which he had fallen)," you wonder, perhaps, how we came here. We went to Germany, as I have already said, to Munich, to Dresden, to Dusseldorf. But even art had lost all power over Ermine. She looked with strange, absent eyes at the most beautiful pictures; she would sit before her easel with her brush in her hand all day, and scarcely paint a stroke. At last she took a cold, which very much alarmed me. She never complained, but she wasted away like a shadow, and at last I called in a physician. He told me that the climate was too severe for her, that I must bring her to Italy. 'She is a child of the South,' he said, 'and the South alone can cure her.' But he was wrong; the South has not cured her. Slowly but surely she has faded awaybefore my eyes.. We spent the spring in Rome, and, as summer came on, moved gradually northward. I was anxious to go to Lake Leman,~but Ermin& clung ~o Italy. She could not bettr to cross the Alps; and so we stayed here until her strength was page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] 'I '110 EBB-TIDE. ~too far spent to take any journey whatever. An English friend of mine who occupied this villa was suddenly summoned home, and we moved into it. It would bave been a charm- ing place to linger in, only-only She stopped short and her fortitude gave way, Leaning down on the carved balustrade below which the magical waters, that a hun- .lred poets have sung, were softly plashing, she burst ~into a passion of tears. "0 my God! my God! is not this too bitter 1" she cried. "If you had come one month earlier, there might have been hope- who can say? Now, you have only come to fill, with the longings of time, the ~pirit which stands on the brink of eternity! Oh, it is too cruel! Oh, it is too hard! Oh, why has it been permitted!" So she moaned to herself in the anguish of her grief and love, while Alan-dry-eyed, and as he felt, almost dry.hearte4.-qnietly watched her. With him, even grief ~was swallowed up in the passionate desire for revenge which took possession of his soul like a burning tem- pest. There were solace and comfort there at least. He would fulfil his vow, he would re- turn every pang which she had suffered, every tear which she had shed, on the authors of this treacherous wrong He would hurl them down from their high places in the world's esteem, and point them out as the cowardly traitors which they were. He would hold them to account for the life which they had murdered. And then he, too, broke down, not in sobs, but in one great groan, which seemed as if it might have rent his chest asun- der. The thought which proved too much for him was, how near he had been to the truth in Paris; how only a thin veil had sepa- rated him them from the knowledge which was now gained, too late. Alas! it is just such veils as these-such fine, impalpable tissues of falsehood, or deception, or r1iisunderstanding- which make more than hale the bitter misery of this bitter life. "Don't regret that I have come," said he, at last, almost harshly. "Don't grudge me one hour of happiness to sweeten a lifetime of desolation! Don't think that, if angels and saints arc calling her, she will pine to stay with me! God did not mean that she should pass away holding a lie for truth, and so He sent me. So long as He gives me life, I shall thank him that He did so. After Him, I thank Lamar, who would insist on coming here, though I have long been feverishly anxious to go back to the sea." "And so you had given her up?" "Could I do other? Ah, how could I dream-each day I have hoped that, perhaps with every hour, she was drawing nearer to happiness?" "And so she has been," said Miss North, gently. "After all, does not God know best? Nothing is chance. He would have sent you before this, if he had meant you to come. But" (with a sudden start), "you must go now and dry your clothes, you and your friend. I have neglected it so long, that I am afraid you will both be ill. Yonder is Lucia; she will show you a room. When you are ready, come back here to the terrace, and I will let you see Ermine." / Three hours later, the golden day is slowly drawing to its close. Fair, on the immemorhl mountains that mirror themselves in the azure waters below, sleeps the incarnadine glory of an Italian sunset. A thousand sweet sounds and perfumes, sounds and perfumes fraught with the aroma of enchanted Italy, steal in through the open easement of the saloon to the dying girl lying there so quietly at peace. The loveliest ~cene of earth is spread before her eyes, but it may be that already the gaze of the spirit h~s caught the marvellous towers and battlements of that fair "city of the saints of God," beside which all earthly beauty pales into insignificance. At least these things * appeal but faintly to her now. The tide is going out, going so gently, that those around can scarcely realize how near at hand is the last ebb. Alan, who has seen men die, can scarcely force himself to believe that this is death, that any child of earth can lie in the embrace of the terrible messenger as if en- circled by a mother's arms. At one side of the couch he kneels: at the other, Miss North is seated; Lucia is at the foot, sobbing over an ivory crucifix; Lamar slowly paces the ter. race outside. It is only within the last few minutes that these have been called in. For nearly three hours the two so cruelly kept asunder, so strangely brought together, were left alone. What passed in that last interview, none knew, save, indeed, that Ermine's dying prayer had made her love forego his revenge. "Leave them to God, dear love-oh, leave them to God!" she said. "It seems almost too hard that we should have been kept apart THE TIDE GOES OUT. so long !-that we should meet now only to say good-by !-that we should have suffered so much and so bitterly !-but remember how they will have to answer for every causeless pang at God's tribunal, and ' do not darken your soul by usurping His office. You see" -putting her tender arms around the throat, which something was almost choking-" I am going first, but I shall watch and wait for you, and 0 Alan, dear Alan, try to come! It seems to mc that I shall miss your face even in paradise!" "My darling, I will try!" he answered, brokenly. "Tell mc how." Then in her sweet, low voice she told him things which have no place in such a page as this. Some themes are too holy to be handled~ save by ~ reverent pen for reverent eyes to read. It is enough that on her death-bed this frail, dying girl spoke some simple words which God was good enough to touch, as it were, with Ills divine power, and which, falling deep into the heart of her listener, brought ~rtls good fruit in the after-time. But all this is over now. The long exer~ tion has taxed her strength so much that she can only lie with her head pillowed on Alan's arm, her eyes in their deep gladness fixed on his face-aud, so resting, softly pass from time into eternity. The good priest who was there in the morning had given her the last rites of the Church, and she had refused to allow him to be summoned again. "It is useless," she said. "It would only trouble him-and he looked sick when he left this morning. Give him my love and my rosa. ry, dear Miss North, and tell him how grate. ful I am for his great kindness to me." No one was forgotten in these souvenirs- even Lamar received a tiny gold charm from her chdtelaine, "In memory of your shower- bath," she said, with a smile, which the y6ung man thought was the sweetest he had ever seen. And so, while they watch and u ait, the sun begins to sink. The "vast-skirted clouds" gather about the lofty peaks, and form har- monies of color for which language has scarce- ly a name. The waters of the lake catch the glory and give it back increased a thousand- fold. The golden and rose-colored tints fling a tender radiance into the saloon, filling it with a strange, luminous light, like the atmos~ phere with which some of the old painters sur- round the figure of a saint. 111 "How lovely!" says Ermine, turning her languid gaze to the shining waters outside. "Alan, do you remember the evening before you went away, when we stood on the Battery and watched the sun go down over the bay of Charleston? It was not half as fair as this peerless Lago di Como, yet it seems to me that I can see it all now-and your smile when you said, 'Only four months to wait!"' Alan cannot answer. The scene of which she speaks comes back to him, too-the famil- iar h -scene on which his eyes have gazed a t usan times-on which, if they ever gaze a am, it ust be alone! He remembers how looming and lovely with the tints of youth and health was the pale face beside him, then -and, so remembering, a great ocean of bitter: ness once more wells up in his heart. "Oh, my darling! my darling!" he cries, throwing his arms around her and straining her passionately tb him. "Stay with me!- stay with me! My God, what shall I do with this useless life of mine when you have gone from it forever?" "Forever is not of time," answers she, softly-even this passionate cry being unable to stir the ineffable peace which Death brings with him to the great in faith and the pure of heart -"that belongs to eternity, Alan. 0 ddar love, may it indeed belong to eternity for us!" "But I cannot give you up to eternity-I will not give you up!" cries he, madly. "0 Ermine, try to stay! Are we not told that all things are possible to will? Surely your place is here! Surely God does not want you as I do!" cried the poor fellow, in the greatness of his grief unconscious of his own irreverent words. Something like a look of pain crossing her f&ce, however, makes him suddenly aware that this fever of earth is marring the calm which is already of heaven. "But suppose I would rather go?" she whispers. "For a long time death was very terrible to me, and I shrank from it-but now it seems so easy. Pain and strife are all gone -and would you bring them back? Ab, Alan, you say our Lord does nQt want me. At least He loves me, for He takes me from every possible grief of life, to give me this painless death in your dear arms-and ah, who can tell what more beside! But for your grief, poor love, I should be quite happy!" At this he chokes it back. After all, life I page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] 112 EBB-TIDE. is long, and he has all its years for mourning -if he choose to use them for such a purpose. Surely, then, he can refrain from breaking the divine peace which hedges around this gentle handmaid of the Great King-this tender mar. tyr, who bore her cross unflinchingly until she sank in the dust of the wayside, and to whom has come now the rest which follows faithful combat. " Alan," whispers again the sweet voice whose music will soon be hushed for earth, "will you promise me once more that you will not endeavor to avenge our wrongs.-on any one9?" -- She had read well the direction of his thoughts, she had understood well the ominous knitting of his brows. He started, and blushed like a convicted school-boy. " My darling," he said, " can you not trust me to do what is right, can you not believe-" " You must promise me,"' she interrupted, eagerly. " I cannot die in peace unless you do. I will not leave you with a possible sin to stain your soul, and perhaps-who knows-. keep us apart forever.-Lucia!1" She extended one transparent hand, and Lucia-seeing what she meant-placed the cru.- cifix in it. "Promise me on this!" she said to Alan. " See !-I cannot argue with you any more ; I can only ask it of your love. Remember it is the last gift you will ever be able to give to mec." - He bends his head, and, taking her hand, kisses the crucifix which she holds before him. " I promise," he said ; then, with a burst, "0O Ermine,- there is nothing I would not promise you !-but this is hard !" " Is it ?" said she, with a tender smile. " Where there is no sacrifice, there is no merit. Our Lord will know how to repay you nll it costs. One thipg more, and I am done: will you give this to Mdelon "-she unclasped a small cross and chain from her neck--" and tell her from me that I beg her, by the love she used to bear me, to take her own name, and, for her soul's sake, not to live under the weight of a constant lie ?: Give her my love, but say noth- ing of my forgiveness-I cannot think that it is needed ; I cannot think. that she dreamed of this." '. He took the chain and looked at it irreso.- lutely. -He knew that he could not trust him- self to see the treacherous woman from whom he had parted in unsuspecting friendship. " Cnn I not send it in a letter ?" he asked, at last*. "Yes," she answered, "that will do. I have written myself." Then, after a short pause, she glanced at the maid.-" Lucia, is it not nearly time for the Angelus ? " . , " It will ring in a few minutes,sinr, answered Lucia, sadly-.. "Then say the Litany for a Departing SouL' I am a little tired now." The girl at once began the litany in the usual sing -song Italian fashion. All was hushed and silent in the saloon, while her voice rose and fell over every supplication-. The cadenced tones came out to Lamar, and, though he did not recognize the beautiful words which they chanted, instinct made him pause in his tread. He knew the end must be at hand. Meanwhile, Ermine lay white and silent as a lily in her lover's arms, and, even when the last supplication had died away, she remained so motionless that Miss North's heart stood still. " Ermine !" she said, leaning over. But the soul had not yet gone. The lids - lifted from the dark eyes-the light of affec- tion flashed into them. She held out her arms toward her faithful nurse. "Kiss me!" she faltered, gently. "I-I think it is very near." After this long embrace was over, she gave a kind farewell to Lucia-whose passionate grief alone found vent in sobs-then, looking up at Alan, she smiled faintly, and said- "Nix ! " In a few minutes the dog was brought. IHe seemed to know that something not usual was the matter, for he scarcely needed his master's warning, and placed his leonine paws with great gentleness on the couch. For the last time those slender, wasted arms went round his massive throat. " Good-by, dear old fellow !" she said, with loving tinderness-and kissed him gently between the ty s that were gazing at her with such strangji, w stful intelligence. "Let hi~ saay," she murmured, brokenly, as Alan triegl tc make him go away. " He re- minds me of the old times-the dear old times! Love, do you remember them ? Ah, how happy we were -Is it not something to have been so happy onc? " Then the Iids fell again. Her head lay on his shoulder-for ie had raised. her that she might give her fiirewells-and her pure, ala- I I THE TIDE baster cheek rested against his own, hot with the fever which was consuming him. His passionate kisses woke no flush on the white skin, kindled no fire on the sweet lips. Even when he called her name in love's tenderest tone, the dark lashes which veiled her eyes scarcely trembled-. But now the sun had gone, and suddenly over the shining waters came the soft sound of a bell chiming from the tower of an embow- ered convent not far away. As Lucia sank on herknees, and Miss North involuntarily followed her example, the lids lifted once more from those eyes which Alan had thought closed for-. GOES OUT. 113 ever. Feebly she raised her hand and made the familiar sign of the cross. Her ear caught the familiar words which Lucia was sobbing forth. When the verse was ended, she joined softly in the "Ave." " Hail, Mary, full of grace-" There the voice stopped-forever The last words she spoke on earth were the words uttered eighteen hundred years ago by the angel of the Annunciation to the Holy Virgin of Nazareth.r And so, while the whole world of faith were on their knees, the tide ebbed gently away upon the Unknown Sea. S THlE END. I page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 'a A STORY IJV~ SIX CHAPTJiR~ CHAPTER I. '~r WONDER what she will be like?" said .1-. prel~ty Rose Inglesby, half musingly, half pettishly. "She might have had con- sideration enough to send one her photo-~ graph! It is very tantalizing to be expect- ing a woman, and not even to know what she looks like-not even, in a generaL way, wheth- er she is pretty or ugly. Suppose I toss up a sixpence, and decide that point at least by heads and tails? Mamma, have you a six- pence?~~ "Don't be foolish, Rose," answered Mrs. Inglesby, placidly. This was Mrs. Inglesby's usual reply to her daughter's usual flow of gay nonsense; and on this occasion the remark had a de- cidedly sedative effect. Miss Inglesby leaned back, yawned, and said no more. The flies hummed drowsily, the clock ticked obtrusive- ly, and for five minutes an unbroken silence reigned in the bowery drawing - room, with its lace curtains and India matting, its grace-. ful furniture, and cool, Venetian blinds. The two ladies, who were its only occupants, had the width of the room between them; and, although it was evident that they were both enduring that unpleasant expectation which is the same in kind, however much it may differ in degree, whether a battle or a guest is impending, yet it was also evident that they bore this trying ordeal very differently. Mrs. Inglesby-a model of the "fair, fat, and forty" type of good looks-seemed indemni- fying herself for her broken siesta by a luxu- rious rest in a deepfauteuil, while Rose-wh~o was seated in an inscrutable school-girl fash- ion in the corner of a sofa-did not keep still for two consecutive seconds, At last, rest. lessness prevailed over indolence, and with a quick motion she rose to her feet. "This is intolerable I" she said. "What with the heat, and the waiting, and the un- certainty, I am so nervous I don't know what to do with myself. Mamma" (indignantly), "I believe you are absolutely asleep!" "No I am not," said Mrs. Inglesby, inn. suspiciously drowsy tone of denial. "I only wish I was!" said Rose; and then she began pacing to and fro. As she moved across the floor, practising various steps, and various modes of carrying her shoulders and arms, by way of passing the time, she suddenly caught a glimpse of her- self in a large mirror, and this glimpse made her pause. She stopped and gazed, fascinated, as any one else might have been, by the fresh. ness of her complexion, the grace of her feat- ures, the sheen of her hair; and as she gazed she smiled-.-.first unconsciously at her own loveliness, then consciously at her own vanity. "Mamma," she said-paused a moment, considered, and finally went on-." mamma, I wonder if she will be prettier than I am?" "Prettier than you are!" echoed Mrs. Inglesby, with a start. Then she looked up at her daughter, and it was easy to see from the coolness with which she went on that this egregious want of modesty was not uncommon on Miss Inglesby's part. "I can't say, Rose; but I should think it was very probable. She had quite a reputation before she was married, you know; and Harry-..poor fellow ?-always spoke of her as a great beauty." "I have something of a reputation, too," said Rose, still looking at herself In the glass "and if I married r am sure I should feel very page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] 116 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 11 ~' badly if my husband did not think I was a~ great beauty. Thank you for your informa- tion, mamma; but neither of those two points is very novel or very conclusive. She really might have had sufficient consideration to send one her photograph," repeated the young lady, impatiently. "This uncertainty will drive me distracted I" "Isn't that five o'clock striking?" asked Mrs. Inglesby. "The train is due so soon now that it would hardly be worth while to go distracted, I think, Rose." "It is due at 5.10, I believe," sa~id Rose. This reflection sobered her, for she walked to the window and looked out silently on the broad street with its rows of green shade- trees, the golden sunshine streaming through them, and the long shadows thrown across. She made a pretty picture, standing by the window in the green dimness of its half-closed blinds, with the lace curtains all around her, and a hanging basket swinging just above her head-such a pretty picture that a gentleman, who at this moment came down the quiet street, paused suddenly at sight of it. He was a dark, slender man, of medium size, who, as he paused, took off his hat and spoke in the tone and with the manner of a familiar acquaintance. "Good - evening, Miss Inglesby. What miracle have I to thank for the unexpected pleasure of seeing you? It surely must have been a miracle to bring you down from your siesta at five o'clock on such an afternoon as this-the warmest of the season, everybody says." "Good . evening, Mr. Keunon," returned Miss Inglesby, with a smile and a blush. "You haven't any miracle at all to thank for seeing me. I cut short my siesta unwillingly enough, I assure you; and I only did so be- cause we are expecting my sister-in-law this afternoon." "Your sister-in-law I" he repeated, start- ing slightly, and, as it were, unconsciously. "Yes, my sister-in-law. Is that a vety disagreeable anticipation? You look as if you thought so." "Did I look so? Well, it is disagreeable so far-that I can't ask permission to ring the door-bell and profit by your exemplary virtue." "No, I am afraid you can't. The train is due by this time, and no doubt they will be here very soon-more's the pity l" added she, with a grimace. "Yes, the train is due," said he, glancing, at his watch; "but it will be some time be- fore your sister-in-law can arrive - fifteen minutes, at least. That gives me ten. I hope I am not detaining you from any thing more pleasant?" "Oh, not at all," answered Rose, quite deaf to various significant sounds that were proceeding from the part of the room where her mother sat. "If you don't mind stand-~ ing on the pavement, I am sure I don't mind standing here. It's rather entertaining, in fact." "Come out on the balcony, then, won't you? That Undine light is very becoming, but I should like to shake hands, and I can't well manage that across the balcony and. through the blinds." "You will have to dispense with thaV gratification, I fear. I cannot come out on the balcony at this scorching hour of the day -(No, mamma-I have not an idea of going ,-and I must say you look very comfortable where you are, Mr. Kennon." "I am very comfortable," said Mr. Ken. non-which in truth was not remarkable, as he was leaning against a large elm, with his face to the window and his back to the tree, thus enjoying at his leisure the shade cast freely down upon him, and the pretty picture arranged before him. "I am very comfort.. able indeed; and I will unite usefulness to comfort, by letting you know as soon as the carriage containing your sister-in-law comes. in sight. Does your brother accompany her?" "My brother I" For an instant Rose opened her eyes~ "Oh, you are thinking of my other sister-in-law-my brother Robert's wife. This is the widow of my brother who. is dead-my poor brother Harry. She is travelling alone, and papa has gone down to~ the station to meet her. - We have never seen her," proceeded the young lady, waxing' quite confidential. "She and Harry met in Europe, and were married there, and went straight to Brazil, where he had a position as. engineer; and "-her voice fell-" he died there. When his wife came back, she went. to her own friends, and so, though it is three years since she returned, we have never seen her, and-O Mr. Kennon, we do wonder so. much what she is like!" KI "Do you?" said Mr. Kennon. "1 am a little surprised at that. Of course most wom- en have reason to be curious about another woman; but you need not fear a rival near the throne." "I am not sure about that," said Rose, candidly; "Widows are very fascinating; and I think I have heard that she is a beauty." "Her beauty ought to 1e worn off by this time," said Mr. Kennon, with the sneer that often disfigured his handsome mouth. "Can a woman bury husbands ad libiturn, and show no sign of it? If there is one popular be- lief more than another which fills me with disgust, it is the belief that widows have any attraction to men who do not prefer all their goods and chattels second-hand," he went on, with a bitterness which surprised Rose, yet pleased her, too; thoughitwould have waked the suspicion of a more worldly-wise woman. "There is something about a widow that smacks of the charnel-house," he continued. "Either she loved her first husband, or she did not-in either case, who cares to be his successor?" "Then I suppose the I~elle veuve of French comedy has no attraction to you?" said Rose, half archly, half shyly. He laughed-not pleasantly, by any. means. "If ever I make up my mind to marry one," he said, "I shall order my wedding- coat from a pawnbroker's. There would be an exquisite fitness in the association of,, things. But I thjnki see the carriage corn- ing-so your c4~osity with regard to this particular widow will soon be gratified. I hope she will prove every thing she should be, and I hope you will let me come to see you soon.~~ He lifted his hat and bowed. But Rose did not return the salutation. She had turned to tell her mother that the expected guest was near at hand; and, when she turned back again, he was already walking rapidly away. She had meant to say something before he went-something that would bring him back soon-but it was too late now. The carriage was approaching, and, even while Mrs. Singles. y was saying, "You might really hav~ some egard for ray wishes, Rose, in the matter of encouragingthat Mr. Kennon," it drew up before the house. The two ladies went out at once to wel- come the stranger. As they reached the front door, they saw Colonel Inglesby assist- ing a tall, graceful woman in a long crape veil, and a long black cloak, from the car- riage. Rose's heart gave a bound. "A beautiful figure, at any rate," she thought; "and still in widow's weeds!" The next moment, there was the rush of reception and greeting-hands clasped, kisses given, half- uttered words spoken~, a few tears shed, per. haps, for this visit coi4d not be other than sad in the thoughts and ass iations which it wak- ened, and, when all t~ft(s subsided, the young widow was within her husband's home. "You would like to go to your own room at once, would you not, my dear?" asked Mrs. Inglesby, as they entered the hail. "Thank you, yes. I am very tired," the stranger answered, in a sweet voice. So she was borne away to the upper re- gions, while Rose-who was intensely curious' to see that veiled face-found herself left to endure her curiosity as best she might. She did not endure it very well. She was impatient and unsettled, and she roamed rest. lesnly about the drawing-room waiting for her mother to return, and quite unconscious that Mrs. Inglesby had come down-stairs and been absorbed into the dining-room, whence proceeded, ever and anon, that friendly clatter of dishes which speaks so confidently f coming cheer. John was a good servant, but rather stupid; so his mistress, who was natu- rally anxious that, on the first day of the stranger's arrival, everything should be right and proper, had thought it best to go and superintend matters in person. Hence, Miss Inglesby fidgeted in the drawing-room quite alone; and hence, 'also, she went to the win- dow and stretched her neck to gaze. up and down the street, in faint hope of seeing Mr. Kennon on the visible horizon. While she was thus engaged, the rustle of a dress sounded behind her, and a melodious voice said: "Have I drifted Into the right room?" and, turning suddenly, she faced h~ sister-in- law. In a moment she saw what she was lil~e, and in a moment, too, her heart, without. rhyme or reason, sank down into her very shoes. "Yes, this is the right room," she said, "and I am very glad to see you. Pray sit down." Meanwhile, she thought, "What a vain fool I was to wonder if she would be prettier than I ~km I" In truth, Mrs. Henry page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] 118 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. Inglesby was a woman such as one does not see very often. As eke stood in the soft, golden light, with her graceful figure, her flowing dress of lustrOless black silk, and the folds of sheer white crape at her neck and wrists, she looked so queenly and imposing that pretty, dainty Rose shrank into absolute insignificance before her4 Then, what an ala- baster complexIO~k; what statuesque features; what large, full eyes of the rare golden-brown tint; what rich, heavy masses of magnificent golden-brown hair? Altogether, she was a woman whose beauty ilo one could deny, a woman born to lead hearts captive by right divine of her witching face, and a woman v~ith a fascination quite independent of these per- sonal gifts, as Rose herself was soon forced to acknowledge. For, beginning with soft, ~ad remembrances ~f the bright young engineer, who had been the link between them, Mrs. Inglesby soon won her way to the girl's heart. Her man- ners were very ~*eot and graeious-.a little too dignified, perhaps, for the taste of the present day, but '~erj perfect, for all that; and very well oal~ulated to wear away, by gentle degrees, the bsr~lers of shyness and~ reae~ve. Thoughthe'dead "Harry" had been only' Rose'S half-brother, she was very tender towardd his memory; and, despite the beauty which at first had startled her, was very well disposed' to like the wife of whom he had been so proud. The two 'Were talking like old ac- quaintances when Cololiel Inglesby came in 'aft8r 'awhile-a little shaken from his ordi- nar~y' calm, a little subdued in his ordinary manner; for, "though he had said nothing about it, this visit was a trial to hini, recall- ing, as it did, the son who had been, of all the 'children, hi~ favorite and pride. He was re- lieved when he ~aw how matters were pro. greasing, for Rose was an uncertain girl at alltimes~ and in nothing more uncertain than her likes and dislikes4 It had been a matter of doubt how she would receive the new sis- 'ter.in-law; and, therefore, her father was re- lieved to see that friendly relations were al- ready established between them. Soon after his entrance Mrs. Inglesby appeared, and, presently, dinner WaS announced The evening which followed, though a strictly domestic, was far from a dull one. The Ingleshy house was, of all houses in Nor. thorpe, the most popular )n & social way; and, though to-night not one of its usual vis- itors rang the door-bell, or dropped in for the "half-minute" that always lengthened into a half-hour, or probably several half-hours, no one missed them, or felt time tedious because of their absence. True, Rose looked once or twice wistfully toward the street, as a mascu- line step rang on the pavement, oi~ a mascu- line voice floated through tl~e window; but she bore the unusua'I isolation very well, and even she acknowledged, when the even- ing was over, that the new sister-ia-law was a singularly charming person. What the latter had said or done that was specially attractive nobody knew; but that whatever she said or did had a grace of it~ own they all felt. .Af- ter she had bidden them good-night, and re- tired to her chamber, they each looked at the chair where she had lately sat, and where the fragrance of her presence still lingered, and each expressed, in different ways, the same degree of admiration. "Poor Harry !-poor fellow!" said the colonel, rising and walking to and fro "It was even harder on him than I thought-to leave all his bright prospects in life, and such a wife, so soon. I have not seen as fine a woman-I don't know when," he went on, quite regardless that his wife and daughter were listening to him. "I hope you will take some lessons from her, Rose. Her manners are perfect." "They are very good, papa," said Rose, with a slight toss of her bead; "but, as for their perfection, that'S all a matter of taste, you know~ Some people might think my manners perfect, and then I should be sorry that I had changed them forthose of my sis- ter-in-law. She is as pretty as she well can ~be, however-don't you think so, mamma? Oh,'if I only had such a complexion, and such a nose, and such eyes, and, above all, such a figure, I should be happy-happier than I ever shall be again after seeing them in the possession of another woman, and tbat woman a widow!" "Widows are usually considered very at- tractive," said Mrs. Inglesby, in her quiet way. "I remember, when I was young, I used to be more afraid of them than of girls, a great deal. Alice is so lovely, too-I don't wonder poor Harry used to rave about her. She won't be a widow long-you may depend on that, Rose!" "It don't concern me one way or an- other," said Rose, carelessly. "I like her very p 'I MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 119 4 much-a great deal better than I expected- and that is all. I believe I'll go to bed. I'm a little sleepy and tired, though I haven't the excuse of a journey, as Mrs. Inglesby had. By-the-way, I must make up my mind before tomorrow what I shall call her. 'Sister' is absurd, and I can't say 'Alice.' She is far too grand-I should much sooner think of saying 'your majesty.'-Good.night, papa. I will practise manners, if you think I need im- provement so badly." The spoiled child kissed her father, bade her mother good.night, and went her way up. stairs. When she entered her chamber, and closed the door, she walked straight to the toilet-table, turned up both jets of the gas, and looked at herself from head to. foot in the larg9( swinging mirror. This careful survey lasted about ten minutes, then a satisfied smile came over her face, and she nodded complacently to the reflection smiling back at her. "You don't lose so much by the com- parison, after all," she said. "And Kennon admires little women-he told me so himself." -4-- CHAPTER II. La belle reuse, as Rose inwardly styled her sister-in.law, made her appearance the next morning in a becoming trifle of a Marie Stuart breakfast-cap, of the sheerest white crape, which gave to her costume the last possible touch of refined elegance. "Why did Providence ever see fit to make such a ravishing creature a widow?" was Miss In- glesby's thought,' as she watched the graceful entrance of the stranger, and exchanged a moderately affectionate greeting with 'her. "Am I early or late?" asked the latter, in her rich, sweet voice-'--the voice of a born contralto. "You did not mention the break- fast-hour last night, and I am always lazy on the least, provocation." "You are early, as it chances," said Rose, watching her with unconscious envy, and al- most wishing herself'a widow, that she might be able to wear such an irresistible coif. "Mamma is not down yet, and breakfast is not ready." "And are you' always so early?" asked Mrs. Inglesby, glancing at a hat and veil near by, which had apparently just been laid aside. "Not always, but I have been a little Un- well this spring, and Dr. Ilawdon advised a walk before breakfast, so I try it occasion- ally. There is a very pleasant square near us, and it is always deserted early in the morning. One might practise gymnastics there with perfect impunity." "Indeed!" said Mrs Inglesby, smiling. "I am rather fond of a constitutional my- self," she went on. "If you have no objec- tion, I think I will join you some morning." "I-of course I shall be very glad," said Rose-but she stammered, and, despite her- self, looked unmistakably dismayed. This expression, qifickly as it was ban- ished, did not escape her sister-in-law. The beautiful brown eyes gave one keen glance which Rose did not soon forget, and then, as a flush came over the delicate guelder-rose complexion of the girl, Mrs. Inglesby walked to one of the low French windows which overlooked a garden blooming with the royal beauty of May. "What beautiful flowers you have!" she said. "I suppose the dew is gone by this time, and one mayventui~e out with impunity?" "Jackson, our gardener, is so careful to keep the walks clear of grass, that you need not fear any amount of dew," said Rose, fol- lowing her, and unclosing the sash. They walked down the garden-paths to- gether; but, while Mrs. Inglesby was de. ~lighted with the dewy freshness and fra- grance of every thing around, and while she stopped continually to admire or gather some tempting, bud or half-blown blossom, Rose seemed strangely indifferent to the winsome charm of these bright darlings of the spring. She sauntered listlessly along, and looked so often in the direction of a house' near by-a large, handsome, old-fashioned house, set in a large, old-fashioned garden, Which was di- vided by a high wall from their own-that at last her sister-in-law remarked the fact "Who is your next-door neighbor?" she asked. "Being so .near, you ought to be so- ciable." "We have n~ next-dooi' neighbor," an- swered Rose, a little shortly. "The house is unoooupied." Mrs. Inglesby stopped 'in the act of pull~ ing a Noisette bud, and' looked at the house in question. For an unoccupied dwelling it certainly presented a strange appearancejust thea-blinds were open, windows were raised, stir and movement were plainly ~isibIe Within. As she looked, a gentleman showed himself page: 120[View Page 120] 120 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN--LAW. at one of thlopen windows, and then hastily vanished. "If your house is not occupied, it must be haunted," said she, turning to Rose with a smile. But hose was frowning as she-gazed in the same direction, and her companion, whom nothing escaped, saw that one tiny foot was beating nervously on the gravel~path "The new owner must have. come~" an- swered she, almost bitterly. ~ When I said it was not occupiedI sn~ jha~ the old man who used to live 'there is dead, and that his nephew, who inherits the ~p1ace, had not ar- rived." "So it ha~ changeiJihands," said Mrs. In- glesby, looking with considerable interest at the stetely house over which the bright May sunshine slanted as lovingly and gayly as if no coffin hed ever passed across the thresh- ol4 "I think I should hate to leave such a lio~e. What was tha name of the old man of w~hom you speak?" "He was an old wretch," said Rose, yin- dictively, "and his name was Devereur" More than this meagre information Mrs. Inglesby did not receive. As Rose uttered the last word, there came through the open windows the clear, ringing sound of the breakfast-bell, and the two ladies retraced their steps to the house. The day passed very quietly, and so, like- wise, did the evening. But again no visitors dropped in; and it really seemed as if thO curiosity of Northorpe was to be restrained in simply heroic degree. This evening, how- ev~; Rose showed unmistakable signs of enntd. She strolled listlessly to and fro, haunted the neighborhood of the front win- dows, started whenet~ev there was a step on the pavement near the door, and finally com- mittedthe enormIty of anundisguised yawn. Somewhat a~liamed of this last achievement, she went to the piano; but, in the midst of her very first song, there came a Sharp peal of the door-bell that made her start and turn. .A.iioment lati~t John passed through the hail t~ answer the summons, nnd Mrs. Henry In- glesby, who was listening, ~with exemplary pstlenseto h~r mother-in-law's placid stream of small-talk, loOked up with a little Interest in the inter*~sj~tlon. As she looked up, her eye chanced to fall on Rose, and something in the girl'% fa~e attracted her attention. She was listening eagerly-listening with lips parted and color varying-to the sounds at the froji~,4oor; to John fumbling an instant or tw~.t the handle before turning it, and to a v#ee-a round, jovial voice-inquiring if Cqhinel Inglesby and the ladies were at home. ,The bright brown eye~ that were watching it saw a swift flush of vexation come over the listening face, and the lips meet only to be impatiently bitten. "Poor child I" thought the elder and more experienced woman, "she is looking for some man who has not come." Somebody had come, however; for, be- sides the voice aforesaid, a hat and stick were audibly deposited in the hall, and a stout old gentleman, in a wig, soon made his appearance at the open door. He was greeted cordially by the colonel as "Brent," and was plainly an intimate friend, from his own greetings to Mrs. Inglesby and Rose. When he was presented to the young stranger, he at once claimed the privilege of shaking bands, on the score of having been a life-long friend of her husband and her hus- band's family, The bustle of reception being over, and all due compliments paid, he sat himself down and plunged at once into social topics, in which Rose alone seemed to take no interest. While he talked at one end of the room, she went on playing at the other, and it was not until the name of Kennon caught her ear that she took her hands from the keys and turned round. "What was that, Mr. Brent?" she asked, quickly. "Did you say that Mr. Kennon has left town?" "I said he intended to leave," said Mr. Brent, while Mrs. Inglesby exchanged a quick glance with her husband. "I met him on the street to-day, and he told me that he was of -to be gone a week, I think he said. But I rather incline to think "-here the old gen- tleman looked very significant-" that he has gone for good." "Why?" demanded Rose, with ill-re- strained eagerness. Mr. Brent glanced round at his audience before he tapped his snuffbox gently, and an- sweked, with a smile, "Because Philip Deve- reux has arrived." T~ say that this item of news made a sen- sation would be to state an extreme fact as mildly as prSsible. Whoever Mr. Philip 1' I page: Illustration-121[View Page Illustration-121] MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 121 cd S 0 C.) C) C) "C 0 C) U) 0 "C ~0 C) C)) a U) a Cd -4. Cd Cd U) C) 0 a a -a. C) a 0 C 0 C.' a S C) a C., a 0 Devereux might be, it at least was evident that his arrival in Northorpe was a matter ol importance. The colonel said: "Bless my soul! yot don't say so?" Mrs. Inglesby dropped he, crochet-work and said: "Dear me! is it p05 sible?" while Rose, turning first red and thea pale, uttered never a word. "Devereux!" said Mrs. Henry Inglesby speaking quietly in the pause which ensued "Is not that the name of the person who lives next door?" "It was the name of the person who lived next door," said Mr. Brent, "and-yes, it is the ni~me of the person who does live next door. Mr. Devereux, the old gentleman-a fine old fellow he was, too-eh, Inglesby ?- is dead; but his nephew, who succeeds to the property, and who, I was just saying, has arrived in Northorpe, is named Devereux also." "It is a good thing that the old name won't die out among us," said Colonel In- glesby, straightening himself back in his chair. "I tiwught I noticed a great commotion of house-cleaning over there to-day," said Mrs Inglesby, in her mild way; "but it really did not occur to me that Philip Deve- reux had arrived.-Dcar me, colonel, you must call on him at once. We were such good friends with old Mr. Devereux; and you remember how he used to come sociably through the garden of an evening to play whist with us?" "I shouldn't be surprised if Mr. Philip Devereux learned to be sociable in the same way-to play something besides whist, per- haps," said Mr. Brent, with a laugh and a glance at Rose, both of which Rose treated with silent disdain. "Odious old wretch !" she thought to herself; but she would not gratify him by deigning to resent the point of his feeble lit- tle joke. "Of course he has come to take posses- sion of the property," said Mrs. Inglesby, after a minute. "But will he-a young man and a bachelor-live in that rambling old house, Mr. Brent?" "He needn't always be a bachelor, you know, my dear madam?' answered Mr. Brent, with another "odious" chuckle. "There'll be caps enough pulled for him among the girls of Northorpe, you may be sure-that is, t if he stays long enough to give them a fair chance." "He may sell the real estate," hazarded the colonel. "Unless he does mean to marry and settle down, such a young man would - scarcely care for that kind of property." "That is more than I can tell you," said Mr. Brent. "Nobody knows-I doubt even if he knows himself-his final intentions about the property. A very fine property," pur. sued he, "and a very fine young man to inherit it. No comparison between him and * a reckless adventurer like Kennon, eh?" Before the colonel could give the assent which was plainly expected, down came a mu- sic-book on the piano-keys with a crash, and Miss Inglesby rose to address the company. "That is the way of the world!" she cried, with a ring of genuine indignation in her voice. "Everybody is always against the unfortunate, and-and always ready to cali them names. I don't suppose that Mr. Ken- non is any more of an adventurer than all poor men are obliged to be; and, if 1w had obtained the fortune, Mr. Brent, you would say of him exactly what you now say of Mr. Devereux!" There was quite a pause after this. No- body answered the impetuous girl. The three old people looked at each other, while ~Rose looked at them; and, if anybody had gIan~ced aside at Mrs. Henry Inglesby, he would have seen that she was smiling a peculiar sort of smile to herself as she bent her face down over a photograph-album which she had taken up. It was Mr. Brent who stoke first, indul- gently and kindly, as one might speak to a child. "That's hardly a fair conclusion, Rose, when I say of Kennon only what every- body said long before his grandfather's death, and before the suit about the property was decided. Everybody knows, too, that he baa only himself to thank that his cousin inherits the estate. Mr. Devereux would never have disinherited his gran4son for his nephew if he had not had good reason for it." "His mind was poisoned against Mr.. Kennon," said Rose, with the promptness of one who has learned a lesson and knows it by heart. "Nobody who knew him is likely to credit that," answered the old gentleman, with a shrug. "There never was a juster man, or a 121 page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 MISS INGLESBY'S 5ISTER-IN-LAW. MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 12a man less likely to be deceived. It must have gone hard with him when he was obliged to leave the bulk of his fortune away from his own grandson; but I doubt if anybody who knows any thing about Laurence Kennon could blame him." He spoke the last words gravely; then, before Rose could reply, turned to the colonel and proposed a game of whist. "We are four," he said, "even if Mrs. Inglesby "-glancing at the stately young widow.-'-" does not play." As It chanced, however, Mrs. Inglesby. did play, and willingly agreed to take a hand. So the card-table was brought forward, and the quartet sat down-Colonel Inglesby claiming his daughter-in-law as partner, and bidding Rose give them some music as ac- comptnimenL The girl obeyed, playing waltzes, galops, and the like, for some time; but at last the gay strains ceased, and, when her father looked up at the close of a hard-foughtgame, the piano-stool was vacant, and the musician gone, Several days went by, and the tide of Northorpe society flowed in again upon the Inglesby family, receiving, indeed, an unusual impetus from Northorpe curiosity to see the beautiful young widow, concerning whom many good judges of beauty had already be- gun to rave. "How does Rose like a rival so near the throne?" people asked each other, shrugging their shoulders; but as yet nobody could say that Rose showed any signs of uneasiness or jealousy. It was rather providential, from a social point of view, that just in this languid sum- mer weather, two sensations came to Nor- thorpe at the Same time-i. e., Mrs Inglesby and Mr, Devereux. According to the spirit of the gallant French proverb, we have given precedence to the lady; but the popular mind arranged the matter just the other way. During these days Mr. Devereux was the theme of every visitor who came in state, or dropped in sociably at the Inglesby house. "I am sick of his very name," Rose de- clared, passionately; while even her sister-in- law, who said nothing, began to look a little weary when the threadbare subject was again, and yet again, lugged to the front of conver- sation. But Mrs. Inglesby did not weary of it, and seemed to feel as much interest as the rest of Northorpe in penetrating the shell of reserve which, provokingly enough, Mr. Deve- reux had seen fit to draw around himself~ He mingled freely enough with men, but to ladies he was an enigma who deliberately avoided their society. "Very pleasant fellow, indeed, but shy as a girl," was the verdict of all the gentlemen who had called on him and been received with courteous cordiality; but the invitations which society showered upon him had so far been persistently declined. It was of no use at all to worship the rising sun when he ob- stinately refused to let his rays shine upon them. "Laurence Kennon would have done bet- ter than that," people said, indignantly; which was going very far indeed, since, as a general rule, Northorpe held Laurence Kennon in holy horror. At last, however, relief came to the af- flicted community. A certain Mrs. Reynolds, who was the ac- knowledged leader of fashion in Northorpe, returned from a visit of some weeks in a neighboring town, and armounced her inten- tion of storming Mr. Devereux's castle in person. "His mother was a dear friend of mine,~~ said this lady-who belonged to that benevo- lent class who have "dear friends" in every direction-" and I mean to bring her son for- ward. It will never do to let him make a hermit of himself like this. Shy men need to be forced into society. I shall give a din- ner next Thursday, and take no denial with re- gard to his appearance. This gratifying intelligence spread like wild-lire through society; and, wh~n the in- vitations to dinner appeared in due form, it threw all dinner-going Northorpe into a twit- ter of excitement, for, knowing their leader, they knew well that the matter-the Devereux~ appearance, that is-was an accomplished fact. It was during this momentous time that Mrs. Henry Inglesby (whom, to cut a trouble- some title short, we shall hereafter call Alice} was alone one morning in her room, when there came a slight, hesitating knock at the door. When she said "Come in," the door slowly opened, and her mother-in-law stood on the threshold. I "Excuse me, my dear," she said, hurried- ly, "but here is a note which I brought for you to read. I should not have disturbed you, only it must be answered at once." She came in, and, closing the door behind her, extended an open note. Alice received it, and, glancing over the few lines which it contained, found that it was an invitation to the dinner, from Mrs. Reynolds, who had called on herself the preceding day. "This is for you to decide," she said~ after a minute. "My decision will depend entirely on yours. Do you mean to go?" "My dear, that is exactly what I came to see you about," said Mrs. Inglesby, solemnly, whereupon she sat down and heaved a sigh. "Rose is the best girl in the world," she went on, "but she is very wilful sometimes-so wilful Vbat neither her father nor myself can do any thing with her. You would scarcely believe that, for half an hour, I have been trying to induce her to accept this invitation, and that she absolutely declares she will not do 50 1" She paused after this statement; but Alice's only reply was a slight arch of the eyebrows. She had been long enough in the Inglesby household to find no difficulty what. ever about crediting the assertion. "It is quite true," said Mrs. Inglesby, i~i reply to this little token of attention. "Now, for a particular reason, I am. very anxious that she should accept it, and-and-but, my dear, I may speak to you in confidence, may I not? Well "-when Alice had assured her that she might-" the truth is, that a gentle- man whom I desire very much that she should meet is to be at tbis dinner; and, if she does not go, she will lose the best opportunity of attracting his attention. Other girls will be there, you know; and, though Rose is the belle of Northorpe, still, my dear, there's nothing like being first in the field, especially when a young man is a stranger in a strange place." "I suppose the gentleman is Mr. Deve- reux?" said Alice, who had not listened for nothing to all Northorpe's stream of conver- sation. "Yes, it is Mr. Devereux," said Mrs. In- glesby, blushing a little. "But," she went on, hurriedly, "I must not let you think that it is only because he has inherited a fortune that I want Rose to attract him. He is a young man of whom everybody speaks well," * said the mother, looking pathetically into the beautiful eyes bent on her. "He is steady and well-principled, and he would make a good husband for Rose; while, oh, my dear,. my heart aches to think she may be led away to marry a man who is none of these things! " "Let us hope not," said Alice, touched by the tone of these last few words. Then her voice grew quiet and indifferent again, as she added: "I suppose you mean that she may be led away to marry Mr. Kennon?" "Yes, I mean that," said Mrs. Inglesby,. too full of her subject to wonder at this knowledge of it in a stranger. "Rose seems. infatuated about him, while he-my dear, I am confident that he is nothing but a fortune- hunter, who, because she is an heiress-my fortune was all settled on her, you know- thinks he will be doing well to marry her." "Some men who are fortune-hunters make tolerably good husbands," said Alice~ in a cold, abstracted way. "But this man is a wretch!" said Mrs. Inglesby, indignantly. "You have no idea what he is. Why, he acted so badly that his. grandfather disinherited him, and left his es- tate to Mr. Devereux. And that man for my Rose! I-I had almost rather see her in her grave." "Think twice about that," said Alice, quietly. "Every thing in the world leaves room for hope, excepting death, you know~ I see your difficulty, and I appreciate your confidence. Tell mc how I can help you, and I will do it." In her own way, Mrs. Inglesby told her, and, after a good deal of questioning, Alice arrived at a knowledge of the service she was. requested to render. In brief, it was this- that the invitation of Mrs. Reynolds should be accepted by herself, but that Mrs. Ingles- by should decline going-an attack of rheu- matism from which the colonel was suffering giving her a convenient excuse for remaining at home. In this case, Rose was placed in an awkward dilemma. Either she must be guilty of the rudeness of allowing her sister-in-law to make a first appearance in Northorpe so- ciety quite alone, or she must change her mind and accept the invitation. Alice having given her consent, Mrs. Inglesby went to place the matter before the young insurgent, and soon returned with a submission in due form. The invitation was, therefore, accepted; and, the principal points being settled, all other- page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 125 issues were allowed to rest until Thursday- the day of the dinner-should arrive. -4-- CHAPTER III. WHEN Thursday at last arrived, it brought quite an assemblage of guests into Mrs. Rey- nolds's drawing-~oom. Northorpe was not only a flourishing place, but lt was also an extremely fashionable place, and, as has been said before, of all the fashion in Northorpe' Mrs. Reynolds was the acknowledged leader. It cannot be saying too much to hazard the assertion that, on the Thursday in question, this lady was a very happy woman. She was not only giving a dinner, such as no one in Northorpe besides herself could give, but she had secured for this dinner the persons of all others concerning whom Northorpe was most full of curious speculation. Then, the beau- tiful Mrs. Inglesby would also make her first appearance in public on this occasion; and, if Mrs. Reynolds had been a euchre-player, she would certainly have said that, if Mr. Devereux was her right bower, Mrs. Inglesby was her left. The gentleman was the first on the field of action, and was made warmly welcome by Mrs. Reynolds. When he was presented to the assembled guests, they all expressed their pleasure in extremely flattering terms; but they all acknowledged to themselves that Mr. Devereux was by no means so distinguished in appearance as they had been induced to expect-why, it is hard to say-that he would be. It is true that he was tall, and that he had a well-built figure-two trump-cards in the popular estimation of good looks-but his manners werQ reserved in the extreme, and his face was of that excessive fairness which, blotting out all tints, leaves only the beauty of feature and expression. In this ease, the features were very indifferent, and the ex- pression, like the manner, very reserved. A physiognomist, looking at the face, might have seen that it would light up well, that the gray eyes would grow luminous under ex- citement, and the quiet mouth break into pleasant smiles. But people in general thought the countenance dull as "well as plain; and, if its owner had not been a per- son of importance, would not have hesitated -to express this opinion. Hp gave them good .opportunity t~scrutinize his appearance; for, instead of devoting himself to the entertain. ment of some of the ladies who were moment- ly growing more numerous, he kept his place by Mrs. Reynolds's chair, leaning against one corner of the mantel, eying the gay company with the gaze of a contemplative recluse, and looking, as more than one young lady de- clared, "the very picture of a diffident man." Suddenly, however, there arose a diversion -suddenly, for a moment, even Mr. Devereux was forgotten. At the door there was a Stir, in the room there fell a pause, and while everybody was gazing eagerly around, Rose Inglesby and her stately sister-in-law swept up the long drawing-room. Mrs. Reynolds met them half-way with great empres8ement, and, while her greetings were made, a whisper of irrepressible ad- miration was passing from group to group. "Is she hot superb?" "how dazzling she looks to-night!" "77~atis my idea of a beau- tiful woman!,' "What graceful manners!" etc., etc.-men and women rivaling each other in open, honest praise. For once, no- body even noticed Rose. Pretty as she was looking, charmingly as she was dressed, the belle of Northorpe obtained scarcely a glance in the scene of her own triumphs and in the midst of her own vassals. No eye left Mrs. Inglesby to dwell on the dainty, blue- robed girl beside her. "Rose looks very nice- ly," was all that people said; and they only said that after time, with a start of recollec- tion. If Mr. Devereux made only a questionable success, Mrs. Inglesby created a sensation. Mrs.. Reynolds iVas fairly besieged for intro. ductions; and before long the young widow's gracious manners had completed what her beauty had begun. Every woman in the room was charmed, and every man was at her feet. The finishing touch to this success was given when the duty of taking her in to din- ner devolved on Mr. Devereux; and, having thus safely paired off her lions, Mrs. Reynolds felt the ease and repose of a well-satisfied conscience. At first Alice fell into the common error of taking Mr. Devereux's quietness for stu- pidity, and pitching the tone of her conversa- tion accordingly. But she was too clever a woman not to learn better than this from his first remark, and in a few minutes she had drawn him out sufficiently to see that his re- serve was not unconquerable, nor his quiet. ness of that troublesome kind which degen- erates into heaviness. He was a cultivated man himself~ but it had been his misfortune to know very little of the society of cultivated people; so, a. woman who was young and beautiful, with sense enough to meet him on his own ground, and lightness enough to lend grace to the dullest themes, was a phenome- non to which he bowed at once. Before din- ner was over, Rose saw how matters were drifting. And, though she had angrily re- pelled the idea of attracting Mr. Devereux, and had even gone so far as to declare that she would have nothing whatevein~ to say to him, she felt a throb of genuine disappoint- ment that she was not to have the opportunity of showing that she did not care for the at- tentions of this desirable cavalier. l3ef4re the evening was over, everybody saw that Mr. Devereux was quite captivated by the beautiful widow. He did not abso- lutely spend the whole time at her side; but, whenever he was with anybody else, he re- lapsed into his usual reserve and silence, proving such a very unsatisfactory companion that several young ladies were reduced to the verge of despair by a total exhaustion of their conversational ideas. It was only when he was again under the influence of Mrs. Ingles- by, that he revived and became once more a genial and pleasant companion. Of course there was but one explanation for a state of affairs like this; and that explanation the company in Mrs. Reynolds's drawing-room were not slow to give. "Your handsome sister-in-law has accomplished what all the young ladies in Northorpe promised the~-~ selves the pleasure of doing," said an lady to Rose; and Rose made the most fooIl~ ish speech in the world when she answered: "1 beg you will make one exception when you speak of the young ladies of Northorpe, Mrs. Holmes. Ihave neither promised myself the pleasure, nor felt any desire to attract Mr. Devereux." "Oh, my dear, you can't sup. pose that I was thinking of you," said Mrs. Holmes, apologetically. And in truth she had ~ot been thinking of Rose at all, know- ing that she wa~ an heiress, and therefore quite able to please herself in a matrimonial way. But, after this speech, her eyes were suddenly opened. Soon everybody in the room knew that "Rose Inglesby was ready to bite off her sister-in-law's head because she had secured Mr. Devereux." Great was Mrs. Inglesby's dismay when she heard how matters had gone on that momentous evening. Too late she recognized her own folly, too late she felt that she would have given any thing to undo her own work. It is the highest compliment to the good lady's simplicity to say that such a fear as this had never entered her head. Rose, in her eyes, was invincible, and she had boldly thrown Rose in juxtaposition with a woman whom any ordinary mother would have avoi&- ed as men avoid the plague-a woman of beauty so remarkable, of attractions so great, that no girl could safely have encountered her as a rival. When Rose made her mali- cious report of how the fortunes of the night had gone, Mrs. Inglesby could freely have choked herself~, if choking herself would at all have mended matters. But, as that was out of the question, she could only think, "Perhaps he will change his mind when he sees Rose by daylight." The fallacy of this hope was soon demon- strated. Two days later, Mr. Devereux called -supported by the liberal aid and counte- nance of Mrs. Reynolds-saw Rose by day- light, and barely said six commonplace, civil words to her. It is impossible to be very devoted in the course of a ceremonious morn- hig call; but, as much as was possible, he de- voted himself to Alice. His eyes followed her, his whole attention was engrossed by her; and, when he left, Mrs. Inglesby was justified in her despairing thought-" It is all over. That dreadful Kennon is inevita- ble." A week passed; another week followed, and still the dreadful Kennon had not made hj~ appearance. Some people smiled, and Aid he would not come back at all, that he ~ad no desire to see his cousin basking in the prosperity which might have been his own, and that he had quietly taken himself off the scene. Others tl\ught differently; and among the latter was Miss Inglesby. Rose kept her opinion to herself; but, in her own mind, she was firmly persuaded that Kennon would return. That fund of vanity, which often stands a woman in good stead, assured her that he would come back, if only for the farewell that had not been said, for the last words that had not been spoken. "He might leave Northorpe in this ungra- cious way, but he never would leave me," she thought, considering the while what a pleas- page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. MISS INCLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 12~ 'sire it would be to show him that she at least *did not court Mr. Devereux's society, nor de- sire his attentions. True, it would be several degrees better if she could show him that these attentions had been at her command, and that she had declined them; but, since this was impossible, she was fain to console herself with the thought that it was at least the more dignified position never to have re- ceived them--never, as she flattered herself, to have appeared conscious of MrDevereux's existence. 'This. dignified pose, however, became rather trying and awkward, as time went on, tind, the ice having once been broken, Mr. Devereux found his way very frequently into the Inglesby circle. At first he came like every other visitor, in orthodox and formal fashion, through the front-door; but before long he discovered that a short cut through 'the garden was much more convenient, and that it was very pleasant indeed to drop into a sort of ami de la maisots place in the bowery drawing-room, full of the scent of roses, the graceful presence of women, music now and then, bright smiles and social ease always. Despite her bitter disappointment, Mrs. In- glesby could not help liking the young nian. He was so quiet, so unobtrusive, so thorough- 'ly refined, so genial, when he once fairly thawed. "Oh, if he would only fall in love with Rose!" she said to her husband. But, provokingly enough, the colonel seemed cx- ~cellently well satisfied with matters as they were. "lie's a trifle too grave and dignified for a butterfly like Rose," he said. "I think he shows his sense and his taste in choosing Alice. She's a grand creature, and, by George! any man might be proud to win her. 1~here is nothing I should like better than to 'see her settled with us for life-just over the -way, in that fine old Devereux house, too!" "The house where I have always hoped 'to see Rose!" said Mrs. Inglesby, in a tone of exasperation. / It was trying to the poor woman, beyond doubt-.4--and the more trying because she had 130 sympathy from anybody, unless, indeed (as she often imagined), there was sympathy in Alice's large, golden-brown eyes. Mr. Devereux's devotion to the fair, young wid- ow tiecame, in a short time, exceedingly nianifest, but it was impossible for the most hearing tongue in Northorpe to say that she "encouraged" him. Neither did she repel his attentions. The gentle stateliness, the ab- solutely perfect courtesy of her manner, was the same to him as to every one else-a trifle warmer, perhaps, because of the familiar po- sition which he had gained, and also because she liked him sincerely. Rose, on her part, could not help feeling a little sore about the unconscious yet most successful rivalry of her sister-in-law. Every- body in Northorpe was raving over "that beautiful Mrs. Inglesby," and Rose would not have 'been human if she had not felt that it was a little hard. Her own friends, her own admirers, her own vassals, were offering their incense at another shrine before her very face. "I can't see why a woman should not be satisfied with having had one husband !" thought the girl, resentfully, as she watched some of these scenes of homage. "Ithink widows ought to shut themselves up in con- vents, or spend their lives doing good to the poor, instead of looking ravishingly lovely in black silk and white crape, and Marie-Stuart caps, to-to turn silly people's heads!" It was a matter of satisfaction during this time that Kennon did not swell the number of these silly people. Often when Rose was worn out with the manner in which every- body chanted the praises of her sister-in-law, there was a very great and sensible satisfac- tion in recalling those bitter words concern- ing widows which Kennon had spoken when she saw him last. As was said at the time, the girl was not enough of a woman of the world to suspect what might underlie this bitterness. She only smiled to herself as she thought there was no fear that he would ever swell the new beauty's train! She might en- snare the rich cousin, but the poor one could be trusted to withstand her fascinations. It was about this time that Mr. Devereux came to Mrs. Inglesby one day and asked if she would be kind enough to do the honors of an entertainment which he had thoughts of giving. "It is not a pleasant thing to do," he said; "but I have been very hospitably received in Northorpe, and a return is only courteous. Besides, since I intend to live here, I-perhaps I should begin to cultivate society a little." Mrs. Inglesby agreed that this was entirely right, aiid, smothering a sigh, asked what kind of 'entertainment he wished to give. "I leave all that to you," said he, looking a little puzzled; "but I thought of a dinner, and a-a dance, perhaps, in the evening." "That is just the thing," said Mrs. Ingles. by; "but you must not ask me to do the honors of the occasion. You must go to Mrs. Reynolds. She would be mortally offended if you did not ask her; nnd she has so much taste that, if you give her carte blanche, she will arrange something very charming for you." "But I would rather you managed the af- fair," said the young man, simply. She shook her head, laughing. "I have *oo much regard for your inter. est to do it," she said. ~' I could arrange the dcunestic part of your entertainment- and I will give you any assistance in my power T but, for the social part, you need somebody like Mrs. Reynolds." "Won't you plead for me I"' said he, turning to Alice and Rose. "Mrs. Reynolds will simply extinguish me." But he found that there was no appeal. Everybody decided against him, and said that Mrs. Reynolds was the only person for the occasion; so, he was forced to submit, and, with what grace he could muster, go and lay his petition before that ~oeial sovereign. It Was very graciously received and granted. All was grist, in the social ways that came to Mrs. Reynolds's mill; and soon Northorpe rang with the anticipatedf~te, and the splendor of the preparations which were in progress at the Devereux house. For the space of an entire fortnight every thing with- in the staid old mansion was turned upside down in the most complete and exnsperati~ manner. Sounds of hammering resounded all over the neighborhood. Curtains, car- pets, furniture, allwere renovated and changed. Having obtained entrance into the house, Mrs. Reynolds found it delightful to give her taste (which was certainly excellent, though rather extravagant) full rein for once. Par- titions were knocked down, and partitions were put up -the quiet old looms scarcely knew themselves in their bright, new guise. As for Devereux, having called down the infliction upon his own head, he felt that there was lie hope of redress, no refuge but submission. He might, however, have igno- miniously fled, or ended his existence with prussic acid, if he had not possessed the quiet retreat of the Inglesby house, and the Inglesby garden. But, coming over in the dewy softness of the summer evening, and pacing by Alice's side up and down the green paths, with the fragrant roses blooming all' around, the stars faintly gleaming into sight, and a mocking -bird singing a sweet love- song in the jasmine-hedge, he could almost, forget his troubles, he could regard carpen- ters and upholsterers without enmity, he could even cover with the mantle of Chris- tian charity the whole race of "society.lead. ers." When' at last the day of trial came, he girded himself up like a soldier going to battle, and really acquitted himself so well that he surprised everybody.( Alice, in espe- cial, was charmed with his bearing-its quiet dignity and graceful courtesy. "You don't know what credit you have done yourself," she said to him with a smile, when he came to her after dinner. "You don't know what agonies of shyness I have endured," he answered. "And conquered," she added, with a glance of approbation that would have repaid him for any thing. "You arc very good to say so," he replied, gratefully. "But, since duty is over, pleasure ought to follow. Will you let me name my reward, and-give it to me?" "You are at liberty to name it, of course; but how can I give it to you?" She looked at him so kindly as she ut- tered the last words, that he did not lapse into the diffidence with which a cold or a flippant reply would assuredly have over- whelmed him. "I have a friend who is an artist at Dus- seldorf," he said, "and by my request he sent me several paintings, which I have received within the last few days. They all have great merit; but one, in especial, I should like to show you. It is an exquisite bit of Thuringian landscape. I have hung it in the library for the present. If you would come and let me show it to you-" ~"So it is a pleasure you mean to give me," she said. "I thought U was to be the other way. But, of course, I shall be very glad to come. By special stipulation, the library had not been included in the transformation wbich the rest of the house had undergone. About it, therefore, still hung the mellow aroma of age. It looked very inviting when they e'?l~ tered-with its books and pictures, and white page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. busts gleaming in the shaded lamplight. The windows were all set wide open to the soft summer night, while the fragrance of roses, jasmine, and honeysuckle, was wafted in on the night breeze, and seemed to fill every corner of the room. Removing the shade from one of the lamps, Devereux held it up so that she could see the picture of which he had spoken. She had no special repossession toward art, but her culture had been too thorough for her not to cordially recognize and fully appreciate excellence in this respect. She praised the picture-which was truly worth praising-as much as he could possibly have desired. Then she began to look about the room. Some of its old family portraits elicited her admiration-in the very old time, family por- traits were not alwa~,'s daubs-and then she began to examine various French and German engravings hung here and there in nooks and corners. "So this is where you write!" said she, pausing before a table upon which signs of literary occupation were to be seen. "What a pleasant place for authorship-at leisure! You ought to be a poet, Mr. Devereux, sit- ting in this charming old library, with a rose-garden under your window, and a view of lovely scenery beyond! But what is this hanging over your table?" "Only an engraving I found among my things the other day," answered he. "I hung it here because I thought-or I fancied -that the feminine figure resembled your- self." "Indeed!" said she, smiling. "In that case, I must see it more closely." He held the light for her, and she saw that it was a scene such as some of the mi- nor English artists are rather fond of paint. ing. Even in the engraving, it showed con- siderable art and skill. A fair, stately woman dressed in widow's weeds-a woman whose general appearance was so like her own that the resemblance was patent even to herself- stood in a church-yard by a large white mar- ble cross that marked the head of a freshly- made grave. It was evident that she had just arisen from her knees, for the grass was bent down all around her, but the proud, ex- pressive dignity of her attitude was match- less, though there was a certain pathos on the lines of the steadfast fae. A strong con- trast was made by the figure at tha other end of the grave-a slender, handsome man, who stood with folded arms fixing on her a glance of fierce passion and fierce disdain. The background of the picture framed these fig- ures admirably. There were green yews drooping over an old Gothic church, quiet graves and crosses hung with wreaths of un- mortelles. "It is a good picture, and, I should think, well painted," said Alice, at last; "but I don't like the subject. There is something repulsive about a love-scene in a grave- yard." "Do you call tAct a love-scene?" asked Devereux, in surprise. "I should call it any thing else. It is evident that he is an old lover whom the lady had forgotten or re- jected; but it is also evident that he has come not to sue, but to upbraid. See, how- ever, the magnificent repose and dignity of her whole face and manner! That is what reminds me so much of you." "You flatter me," she said, smiling. But she moved away from the picture, as if she did not like to look at it. "Take my advice," she said, after a min- ute. "Hang this exquisite head of St. John over your writing-table, instead of that scene which leaves one in doubt who was right or who was wrong, and gives no clew to the re- sult of the dramatic situation." "Uncertainty is not always the worst evil," said he, half sadly. "There are ninny others much worse. Sometimes certainty is one of them." She answered nothing, but moved ona little farther, and paused before one of the open windows, gazing out on the fragrant stillness of the summer night. She looked like a fair dream-lady in her sweeping white dress, yet her pulses were beating very quickly, and the atmosphere about her seemed full of a certain thrill She knew that a word - nay, a glance-would bring upon her the issue which she had fully ex- pected to meet that night. But, somehow, this picture had unnerved her, and she could not resolve to meet it. Old memories came back with strange force. Something in the dark, scornful face of the man at the foot of the grave-something of expression, not of feature-had wakened much which she had thought long since dead. For once her usual stately self-control did not come at her call. Devereux, for his part, felt chilled by her U MISS INGLESB3 sudden silence and reserve. His heart san -he feared more than he hoped. He hes, tated-doubted-asked himself if he had nc better wait. They were still standing apart in this wa when a whist-quartet came in, and the oppoi unity was lost. CHAPTER IV. "Ir there is a bore in this world great' than the bore of going to see 'views,' I don' know what it is!', said Rose Inglesby, a~ she sat at the breakfast-table in her riding habit, eating her muffins and drinking hei coffee with the air of a martyr. "I hat scenery!" the young heretic went on vi ciously~ "and of all kinds of scenery I thinly I hate cascades most. There is no end tc the shoes I have worn out over those abonui nable rocks-you need not laugh, papa! You really haven't an idea what it is to be made a victim in this way." "My dear child, why don't you stay at home, then?" asked Mrs. Inglesby, mild- ly.. "That is just like you, mamma,"' said her daughter, hopelessly. "If I did stay at home, you would be the first to say that it was awfully uncivil to let Alice go alone, espe- cially since the party was made up for her. I fancy she is nearly as much bored as I am, only she takes good care not to say so." "It isn't everybody who is as blind to the beauties of Nature as you are, Rosie," said her father. "I've do doubt Alice will enjoy the cascade very much." "Well, perhaps she may," returned Rose the skepti~.al. "I forget that she is going in Mr. Devereux's new dog-cart, with Mr. Deve- reux himself to talk 'the sublime, the heroic, and Mr. Carlyle,' all the way. These things may season the cascade for ~her. Not pos- sessing them, they naturally don't season it for me." "Mr. Anson is very pleasant, Rose," said Mrs. Inglesby, in deprecating support of the gentleman who was to have the honor of riding at Miss Inglesby's bridle-rein. "He was pleasant six months back," said Rose, coolly; "but I exhausted him long ago -most men are not good for more than three months-and he tires me to death now. Oh dear!" 9 ~'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 129 k This apparently rather irrelevant sigh was I. addressed to the memory of Kennon. "It' As t were only here!" Rose thought. In that case it is probable that her martyr excursion would y have worn a very different seeming. Mrs. henry Inglesby entered just here, and her appearance ended the conversation. She was dressed in driving-costume, and dis- played a pair of wonderfully strong boots for the colonel's admiration. "They have told me so many frightful r things about the rocks," she said, "that I t have shod myself as if for an Alpine ascent. I am afraid I am late. Rose, isn't it nearly - time to start?" "Indeed, I don't know," said Rose. "I only wish I had been there and was safely - back again. It may be well to premise that the excur- sion which Miss Inglesby regarded with so * much discontent was one that no stranger visiting Northorpe was ever Buffered to neg- lect-to wit, a visit to a certain famous cas- cade near the town. On the present occasion the excursion was to take the form of that most tiresome of all social amusemepts-a picnic. At the Devereux entertainn-~ent the plan had been mooted. Mrs. Reyt!olds, who was the most obliging of social purveyors, paid at once that she would cli.aperon any party desirous of visiting the's falls; and a party was forthwith arranged. Of course, Mr. Devereux placed his equipa'e at Mrs. Ingles- by's command; and whe~, this attention was gracefully accepted, Nrirthorpe, of course, nodded its head niore' sagely than ever, and said, "What a suital',le match it will be!" It is one thing to drive with a man, how- ever, and quite wKlother to marry him. Mrs. Inglesby found 'the first very pleasant as she bowled along in the early freshness of the bright, sumlrAer morning; but perhaps it ;5~q because sb'8 had not quite made up her mind with regard to the second that she kept the converse ation steadily on the smooth ground of o9iinary subjects. Those topics which Roe',, included under the general, or father vague, head of "the sublime, the heroic, and YLr. Carlyle," served very well for the five or six miles of moderately good road traversed before they reached their destination. "I believe we must alight here," said Mr. Devereux, drawing up his horses on the sum- mit of a hill, where the road they had been following suddenly came to an end in the page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. midst of some woods. "You see the eques- trians have dismounted," he went on, pointing to several horses -fhstencd under the trees, "and the best thing we can do is to follow their example. Now"-after they had alighted "shall we make the descent?" "Had we not better wait for Mrs. Rey- nolds?" said Alice, who felt indolent and ready to stay where she was, at least for atime. "The others have not waited for us," said her companion, in reply to this; "and it is a case of every man for himself in the matter of descent. Mrs. Reynolds has three or four people with her; but, if even she were alone, I am sure I could not render assistance to any one beside yourself." "Wait and see if I need it," said Alice, smiling. "I am trained in the matter of mountain-climbing--and the only time I ever absolutely needed help was in ascending Mont Blanc. That was terrible! Is this the way we go? Then lead on, and let me see if I ~s~annot dispense with the assistance of which ~u speak." ~' You surely will not be so unkind as to de- .~piive ,ine of the pleas!lre of rendering it," said he, ~wfiti~ a great deal of seriousness in his 4eyes,~&esp~itc the jest in his voice. "'I will make no rash resolutions," she ;~answered. '"Lead~n, and let me see." Without another word, he obeyed, leading ~4he way along a ~narrow path, and, after a mo- nient, down an ~jjmost precipitate hill-side. 'The way was very ~\)nding, so winding that it was hardly possible ~ ~ see more than a step in advance, and Alice ~ on found herself slip. ping and sliding from oLe steep rock to an- other, with the least possi~\~le amount of per- sonal ~volitiiui, and the lea~Ot possible idea ~where '~imwas going next. j~, 'fore very long, ~~he (eame to a halt. ~L U~ink yo~z will have to hAP me over this place, Mr. De'resunx," she said~ in a hesi- tating voice. And Mr. DevereuX~whO had been li,.~tening with painful intensity f~r this sound, tvrrned in an instant. "I thought you would find it very rough~" he said, as if apologizing for tbe rougbnes~ Then, with a thrill of pleasure, l~e took the small, gloved hand outstretched to him, and carefully assisted her along the descent, which momently became more difficult. "Surely we must be nearly down, now," she said, at last; and, as she spoke, they made a sudden turn, stumbled over some sharp rQcks for about twenty feet farther, and then found themselves on smooth ground, with the cascade before them. Now, there can be no doubt that there are many cascades far more beautiful than this which was the pride and boast of Northorpe. Still it was beautiful enough to warrant a considerable amount of enthusiasm from en- thusiastic people, and beautiful enough to startle Alice Inglesby into silent admiration when she came upon it thus. She had not expected much, and it was with a feeling of surprise that she found herself quite taken by storm. Looking round, she saw that they were in a deep gorge between the hills, or rather in a sort of basin, which at one end opened into a ravine. On the opposite side to where they stood rose a stately hill, crowned to the summit with foliage almost tropical in its luxuriance; on the other, a frowning cliff of dark gray rock leaned far over, and threw its deep shadow down below. This cliff ex- tended round in circular shape, and, where it met the green hill already mentioned, a small stream forced its way between enormous moss- covered rocks, and sprang over the precipice, sending up a shower of spray and foam, and spreading out at the bottom into a glossy pool that lay likea sheet of crystal at Alice's feet. As it glided away down the ravine, falling in miniature cascades at every step, the same stream filled the solitudewith the fitful mono- tone of its voice, like a poem of Nature's own singing. After a long silence, Mrs. Inglesby turned to her companion. "We are poorly off for adjectives," she said, "or else we must use them too freely. 'Beautiful' seems to me a weak word for all this lavish glory; &et what better word does the language afford? Can you suggest one?" "There arc a good inuny," he answered, "but they are all liable to the same objection. We use them for lesser things, until they lose force, and are unfit to express our admiration of the greater. When you see a green mead- ow, or a sunny hill-side, or a stretch of shad- owy woods, what do you say?" "Generally, 'How beautiful!' or else, 'How Jovely!"' "Or else, 'How picturesque!' or some- times even 'How grand! Well, when you stood on the summit of Mont Blanc, what did you say?" I MISS INGLESBY'! "You have never stood there, or you would not ask me. I said-nothing." "And you said nothing here-and I can suggest nothing that is worth saying. We must blame ourselves-~.not the language. It gives us terms, but I am afraid there is no doubt that we debase them. Unless we say 'Stupendous!' I really think we must hold our peace." "Let us say 'Stupendous!' then, by all means," answered she, smiling; "and, having said it, let us sit down." "Stop a moment," said he, as she was about to suit the action to the word, and sit down on i~ convenient rock near by. "This is such a public place-that is-you know Mrs. Reynolds and her party will be upon us before long. Let us explore a little, as those who reached here first have done." She hesitated an instant, then consented, and they moved away. As they skirted the pool, and crossed the stream that was hurry. ing down the ravine, they caught sight of several of their companions-some making very picturesque effects as they were perched on overhanging rocks, and others climbing, with laborious energy, up the steep mountain- side. 'i" We will go over yonder by the cascade," said Devercux. "Are you fond' of 'ferns? I see some beautiful ones growing there on the rocks." So, over to the cascade they took their way, and led on, partly by Devereux, partly by the ferns, and partly, also, by her own in- clination, Alice ascended from point to point of the rocks, until at last she found herself elevated much above her former sttnid.point, but profiting very little in the way of pros. pect. The dense undergrowth of the moun- 1 tam shut in the view on one side; on the 1 other, the whirling rush of the falling water was all that could be seen. "I hope this is sufficiently secluded for your taste," said she, looking up at Devereux I with an air of resignation. "I am very tired -may I sit down now? Thanks - yes, I would like my ferns." She sat down on a stone, and, leaning back against the massive 'gray rock, began examining the ferns and lichens which her I companion laid in her lap. She had taken a ofr her hat, and laid it beside her, as a recep- f ta~le for the selected specimens. Her rich t' hair caught the sunlight as she bent her head, s SISTER-IN-LAW. 131 and exercise had given a very clear and brill. iant color to her cheek. Beautiful always, she was almost more than beautiful now; and it was not strange that Devereux held his breath as he stood looking at her. She did not notice the gaze, partly because it was her policy to ignore it, but kept on talking in her light, graceful way about botany in general, and fer~as in particular, until at last his con- tinued silence forced itself on her attention. She looked up, then, with a laughing question on her lips; but, despite her self-possession, stopped short. The moment that she met them, his eyes told her that the issue was at hand. Now, it is not to be supposed that she needed to be told.-but she had not expected it just then. She was off her guard, as it were, and a shock is always unpleasant, let it come how it will. She colored vividly-flush- ing, indeed, t the very roots of her hair-- then, as he was bout to speak, rose to her feet. "I think we had better go back," she said, hurriedly. "I am quite rested now." But Devercux had no mind to let his op. portunity sliii in this way~ There had been nothing premeditated in the matter. The situation had taken him as much by surprise as it had taken her; but it was upon him now, and he meant to seize its advantages. The fever of sudden resolution took posses- sion of him, and, as is the case with a great many quiet men, its very novelty lent it force. lie had not meant to speak just now; but her beauty first unnerved him, and then her strange embarrassment lent him courage. When she rose, he stepped before her. "No, Mrs. Inglesby," he said, "don't go back now. Stop-at least for a minute. I have something to say to you.,~ "You can say it down below," answered &lice, suddenly, unaccountably, nervously an~- ous to get away. "Pray, Mr. Devereux-.. ray let us go." "Of course we will, if you desire it," he aid; but with such a look of pain on his face hat, although he moved aside, she stood still. liter all, what Ibily was this 1' Why should* he act so rashly? Why should she not hear din? She knew, or thought she knew, what nswer she intended to give. Why not, there. ore, have it over at once? In a second these houghts flashed -through hermind, and, in a econd, also, she acted on them. page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LkW. 133 182 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. radonn mc," she said, looking at him with her own gracious glance and manner. "I did not mean to be rude. I will stay if you wish it." "Thank you," he answered, hastily. Then he was silent for a moment, looking at the spray of the cascade as it dashed by, and striving to grasp words in which to express the feeling that overmastered him. Words did not come to him readily at any time, but now he seemed to have lost all command of them. As her embarrassment had given him courage, so her self-possession robbed him of it. He hesitated so long that, at last, in des- peration, he was about to speak, when there came the sound of crackling boughs and twigs, as somebody forced a way through the luxuriant undergrowth, and a distant shout from below was answered by a voice near at hand, saying, "Thanks, yes-I'm looking for Miss Inglesby." The next moment a man's hand and arm appeared over the rock, grasped firmly the bough of a tough shrub, and, with this help, the body to which the arm belonged made an agile spring and lighted at Alice's side. As she drew back, the new- comer gained his feet, and she stood face to face with Lawrence Kennon. If Mr. Devereux had been questioned half an hour later, it is to be feared that he would have been found to entertain but a confused remembrance of the events, of the next few minutes. The appearance of his cousin (whom he thought fur away from Northorpe) was surprising enough in itself; but this sur- prise deepened into amazement wheii he saw that a recognition instantly took place be- tween Kennon and Alice Inglesby. "You I" said tl~e former, catching his breath with a gasp, while his face paled, and his eyes dilated almost instantaneously- "you!" "Yes-it is I," said Alice, quietly; then, after a minute, she held out her hand, saying a little wistfully, "Fate has ordained it, Mr. Kennon. You see I remember that we are old friends," But, instead of taking her hand, Kenuon folded his arms, and recoiled a step. "There is no question of fate or friend- ship in the matter," he said, coldly "This is simply a mistake. I was looking for Miss Inglesby, and Iwas told that she was here. I see that she is not, so I beg pardon for my intrusion, and leave you to the 1~te-cl-te~te which I disturbed." He shot one dark, resentful glance at Dcv- ereux as he said the last words; but the lat- ter was too puzzled to notice it. Indeed, as it chanced, there was nothing in his mind but cordial kindness toward his kinsman, and, if he could have secured a moment's time be- fore complete bewilderment overtook him, he would have liked nothing better than to ex- press this kindness. As it was, he stood still, and said nothing. Not so, Alice, how- ever. She was mistress of the situation by right of her supreme self-command, and, as Kennon turned to go, she laid her hand on his arm. Holding him captive thus, she spoke to Devereux with the san~e gracious smile that had given him hope when she agreed to stay, ten minutes before. "Mr. Kennon and I are old friends," she said. "We knew each other long ago, and he is naturally surprised to see me again-to see me here. If you would not mind-if I might ask you to leave us for a little while? He will take me safely down the mountain, I am sure." Within bounds of civility~, a plainer re- quest could hardly have beeii made. What Devereux replied, or how he got away, he never knew. He went, of course-there was no alternative to that-but he carried a sore heart with him, and it would have been yet sorer, if he could have heard the first words which Alice spoke after he was safely out of car-shot. CHAPTER V. "So this is the meeting for which we hoped ten years ago," she said, in her soft, full voice. "We meet, and you repulse even my friendship, because you are looking for Miss Inglesby, and I-am her sister-in-law." There was a tone in this sentence that stung Kennon with some latent meaning; for a flush came over his face, and he lifted his dark eyes suddenly to her own. " You know that is not true," he said quickly, almost fiercely-" you know I have not forgotten ten years ago-or the woman who promised to be faithful to me, either. That woman, however, was Alice Chisholm, and not "-he paused a moment, and added bitterly-" Miss Inglesby's sister-in-law." "We won't tear open the old wounds, or reopen the old quarrel," said she, gravely. I "It is all over-utterly past and gone. But fate having brought us together-in a man- ner, too, that will make it hard for us to avoid some slight intercourse-you will pardon me if I ask why Alice Chishoim cannot be your friend." "Alice Chisholm was a woman of the world ten years ago," he answered, still full of bitterness. "She has not so far forgotten her worldly knowledge that she should need to ask that question now." "Granting that she was a woman of the world," said she, with a vibration of scorn in her voice, "do you think that she did not know then, and does not know now, that you -you, Laurence Kennon-are the last man in the world to feel deeply or resent bitterly a mere love-disappointment 1' If you still re- fuse t~ take the hand which I offer-for the last time, remember-I shall know that it is* not wounded love, but wounded pride, which has made you so implacable." "You can think what you please of me," said he, leaning back against the rock from which she had risen, and looking passionate- ly at the beautiful face before him. "My God I how I ought to bate you I" he went on. "To think of your treachery and your co- quetry-to think how you have wrecked my life, as much of it as was left to wreck-and then to think that I should come here now-" He broke off here with something like a gasp. She did not answer, her color did not deepen, her eyes did not quaiL She stood before him like a proud, calm statue, daring him, as it were, to say and do his worst. Suddenlyhe advanced a step and grasped her arm. "You talk of Alice Chishoim," he said, almost fiercely. "What if I were fool enough to call her back to life and accept her 'friend- ship!" Would she like to play the old game over again? I believe once was enough for me. Am I any better, any more desirable now than when so dutifully and obediently she gave me up-left me to live or die as best I could-and married-" She lifted hei~ hand with a silencing gest- ure. "Hush! For the sake of the old time, you can say what you please of rue; but he was my husband-and he is dead." "Yes, he is dead: and I did not mean to speak ill of him. Why should I? No doubt he was a good fellow enough-only I hated him too much ever to find it out. Well, you married him-not me. Now, that you are free again, would you marry me if I gave my heart up for your sport again, and asked you to do so?" Passionate as the question was, and full of bitter scorn-the scorn of one who meets some sore temptation beyond his strength, to which he must succumb-it was earnest with an earnestness that few things possess in this world of sham and sentiment. Perhaps the fire that rang in every tone stirred the heart of Alice Chisholm sleeping in Mrs. Inglesby's breast. But she was a woman of the world, and no outward token of this appeared on her proud, calm face, no glance of it flickered into the clear, brown eyes steadfastly facing his own. When she spoke, her voiq~e was soft and even: "Tell me, rather, if you would advise me to do so? Those prudent counsellors of whom you spoke are all gone now. I stand quite alone, with my own life in my own hand to make or mar as I please. Laurence, should I make or mar it by marrying you?" There was something of solemnity both In the form and in the tone of her appeal. For reply, the lids sank slowly over Kennon's eyes, and once more the dark flush rose in his cheek. "You know yourself," he said. "You know what people say of me. Why ask me?" "I ask you because you can tell me best." "Then I tell you that you would mar it beyond all hope of redemption," he answered, violently. "Is that enough? Ten years ago, when they warned you against me, I was a paladin compared to what I have been since. You did well to marry Inglesby then. Trust me, you will do better still to marry Devereux now." She started. "So-you knew that?" "Know it! Would I not have been blind and deaf if I had seen him standing here, and not known it? But I did not need to dis. cover it for myself. I reached Northorpe this morning, and I heard the news from half a dozen people before I came out here." "You credit it, of course?" "Yes; why not? We are both ten years older, and you are beautiful and poor, while Devereux, thanks to my folly, is rich, and ready to be won." $ page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. "You forget yourself," said she, haughti- ly. "No," answered he, recklessly, "I only forget my new rdle-that of being an 'old friend' of the charming Mrs. Inglesby. Alice, Alice)" he went on, suddenly changing his tone, awl seizing her hands, "Fate, as you say, has brought us together once more-let us not throw away our last hope of happiness. Why should we not cast away all these bit- ter years, and their bitter memories? Why should we not live our lives out as we once dreamed of doing?" She left her hands in his clasp, but she smiled coldly "You forget," she said, "you forget that we are ten years older, and-poor." "I forget every thing but you," he an- swered, passionately; "every thing but the hope that iS shining for me in your eyes." "Shining only to deceive, then," she said, bitterly; but suddenly she cried out as if in pain: "Laurence, let me go. I-I cannot bear this. Let me go-let mc think I" lie let her go; and, as she sat down on the same stone where she had been sitting when Devereux's glance startled her, he turned his back, and, walking to the extreme verge of the rock, stood looking down at the white waters of the foaming cascade. After awhile she called his name, and, when he turned, he saw that her resolution was taken. "It would never do, Laurence," she said, gravely. "When you think it all over, you will see for yourself that it would never do. Just now you have been led away by im- pulse, and you forget the gulf that lies be- tween us. No, I don't mean your life or any thing connected with it," she said, as he was about to speak. "I mean the change that time has wrought in our characters, in our very selves. If we had been let alone ten years ago, the end might have been very dif- ferent-but now it is too late. We have grown apart, instead of together: you have lost your inheritance-I am entirely without fortune. We should, in every sense, mar each other's lives if we cast them together. Laurence, is it not best for us each to go our own way, and live, in the future as in the past, apart?" "It is for you to decide," he answered, striving to repress the emotion which he could not altogether conceal. "You were always reasonable and prudent in the cx- treme-even ten years ago. You mean, then, that we shall each continue our present game -that you will marry my precious cousin, and that I must play the fortune-hunter with that girl down yonder?" " Laurence" (she turned on him sharply), "do you mean to say that you do not-that you never have-cared for her?" "I mean to say that I never cared for but one woman in the world, and that she threw my love away, like t1~at "-(he snapped oft' a twig and tossed it on the whirling waters)- "I mean to say, too, that you may judge whether this love was dead when I tell you that the mere sound of your name was enough to drive me from Northorpe as soon as you entered it; and I came here to-day-and this is the end I" She put one merciless question directly to him: "What did you come here to-day for?" lie answered as briefly: "To ask Miss In- glesby to marry me." "And yet you have asked me?" "Yes, I am a fool. I have asked you." "Well, I will not be a fool and take you at your word. We are old friends-that is all. On the strength of that friendship let me wish you success in your wooing. Only promise me one thing-that you will be kind to her." "She would thank you for such ~onsidcra- tion," he said, bitterly-adding, with a sudden passionate vehemence, "and I thank you for proving to me, once for all, that ten years ago or to-day I am equally nothing to you!" "Laurence!" she said, startled in spite Qf herself. But she spoke too late. He had already flung himself from the rock and was gone. Poor Rose! It was hard on her when she heard-as she did hear before long-that Kennon had come to the falls with Mrs. Rey- nolds; that he stayed but a short time; that he saw Mrs. Inglesby; and that ho had gone back to N9rthorpe without seeing her. "No doubt it was on account of Mr. Devereux that he went," people said to each other, as they ate their luncheon, scattered about in pict- uresque groups over the rocks. But Rose knew better. A sudden instinct, an intuition of the truth, enlightened her; and, when she was told that he had met her sister-in-law, nothing more was needed for its confirma- tion. "So she has got him, too)" thought p I MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. the girl, looking with gloomy eyes at Alice as she sat in all her brilliant beauty not La ofi'. It was very bitter-it was surely ver; hard. Was it not enough that Devereux who had been predestined her own captive should fall into the stranger's toils, but Ken non, too, must be a victim? Could not Alici be content with the rich prize, the desirable cousin, but must she lay hands also on tin one whom everybody cried out upon as unde sirable, and for whom she could have no pos sible use? Of course it will be seen that Mis~ Inglesby was taking a great deal for granted but that was her way, as it is the way of most imaginative people. And her instinct certainly pointed very shrewdly to the truth. It would be difficult to say whether her fears were most relieved or realized when, as she sat~ silent and district in the drawing- room that evening, Ke~non made his appear. ance. She knew his step in the hall, and animation flashed instantly into her languid face. Alice knew it, too, and her eyes im- mediately sought Rose with a strange, intent gaze, of which the girl was wholly unaware. lier own color did not vary by a shade, nor did her manner change in the least, even when Kennon entered, and when she was obliged to explain their former acquaintance to Mrs. Inglesby. Rose heard the explana- tion, and, when Kennon came over to her, she was too much disturbed to notice his bearing as closely as she had wished to do. Instead, he was able to notice and to set his own interpretation upon the flushed checks and wistful eyes uplifted to him. But, in truth, this preoccupation mattered very little. If Rose had been able to judge, she would have found that he was entirely the same in manner as when she had seen him last. He had been quite unnerved that morning; quite thrown out of the artificial self which years and much experience of life had fashioned; but with such a luau such a state of feeling is only temporary To-night he was himself again; and all the more steeled in his pur~ pose by a fierce contempt for his own senti- ment and folly. When he saw Rose's emo- tion, he thought, "The game is won;" and when he sat down by her ~side, it was with the determined resolve to make good use of his time. Good use of his time he certainly made; for, though he did not absolutely ask her to marry him-Mrs. Inglesby's watchful care 185 , and the lack of opportunity prevented that- r he did every thing else which it is practicable ~ to do in a room full of people. When he ', went away at last, he left Rose in a fever of excitement, triumph, and indecision. He had - asked her, at parting, if she meant to walk s the next morning, and she had told him yes -feeling confident that he would meet her, and ask the question he had not been able to - ask that night. Yet, strange to say with re- - gard to her answer, she was by no means clear. It is one thing to like a man and flirt with him to the very verge of love-making, and quite another to promise or intend to marry him. Rose had long since taken the first step, but, when it came to the second, she had still sense enough left to pause. She knew what a storm of opposition she must expect from her parents; what an outcry from the world; but these things counted little with her. In the ignorant boldness of youth, she was ready to defy them. The fear that tugged at her heart-strings, the fear that made her hold back, was the fear of Kennon himself. Not the fear of what his life had been and might be yet-for there, again, her ignorance made her bold-but the fear of his love, the distrust of his sincerity. She had felt it always, more or less; but, z~otwithstanding that he had never been so devoted as on that night, she felt it that night more than ever before. perhaps it was his strange departure from the cascade, or thftt "foi'mer acquaintance~~ with her sister- in-law, of which he had spoken so lightly, or the earnest gaze in Alice's eyes when she met them once or twice, or perhaps only that in. tangible something which can always be felt, if not detected, 'in an acted or spoken false- hood. Whatever it was, the fact remained the same. Once at least, before it was too late, she wavered-once at least, asked her. self whether the gain was worth the risk. But such questions are easily answered when years are few and impulses strong. "If I must be miserable," thought the girl of' eighteen, "it is better to be miserable with him than without him. Besides, I do b~lievo -I will believe-that he loves me!" And so' the die was cast. When she laid her head down' on the pillow that night, her decision was made-she would accept him, and abide the consequences. Meanwhile there was another person be. sides herself whom indecision and coriflictkept I page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-iN-LAW. la~ wakeful during much of that night. Long after Rose's eyes had closedin slumber, Alice Inglesby still paced her room, with a face strangely set and brows strangely knitted. It was evident that she was thinking deeply; and truly she had cause enough for thought. In the course of our lives it chances that most of us influence directly or indirectly, in greater or lesser degree, the lives of others. But, as a general rule, we do not recognme even this influence until after the effect has taken place. We are rarely conscious of it at the time, for we walk ever in a mist; and the day of our death is not more effectually hidden from us than the consequences of our least actions. Yet sometimes this veil of ignorance is lifted -partially, at least. Sometimes we are able to behold, as in a mirror, the direct results of certain acts, and, beholding them, we must be strangely reckless of things present, and things to come, if we do not pause-awed a little by our own responsibility. It Was such a moment, just now, with Lice. She was painfully conscious that she held i~z her hand the thread of fate for three lives besides her own. She was oppressed with the sense that, on her decision, rested the future of three people; and that circumstance-the potent monarch of human life-seemed for once pas- sively awaiting her command. All day the sense of this responsibility had been with her, and all day she had rebelled against and de. nied it. "I am only one of the actors," she thought. "I have no more control over the drama than they." But to-night this flimsy self-deception was at an end. To-night she saw before her the stern array of inevitable consequences, and, since they were inevitable, faced them steadily. "Once for all, I will weigh the matter in every aspect," she thought; and, as the hours went on, she still paced the floor, and still weighed it. She had summed up the whole case in its personal application to themselves, when she spoke to Kennon in the morning; but there was the other side, the side not personal to themselves, to be considered. When she said to him, "You have lost an inheritance; lam wholly without fortune. We should, in every sense, mar each other's lives if we cast them together," she stated a truth which he could not gainsay; but when she was called upon to decide for Devereux and Rose, it was not so easy "They go into the matter with their eyes open," she said. "Rose loves Kennon, and Devereux loves me-is not that enough?" But then came the question-Did they go into it with their eyes open? Would Rose be likely to marry Kennon if she could hear him declare that he had never loved but one woman, and she the woman who had given him up ten years before? Would Devereux accept even her hand if he could read her heart and see how persistently it clung to the man who had first wakened its romance and passion? Yet what of these things'? Was it once, in a thousand cases of marriage, that love was equal on both sides? Did not hun- dreds of men and women marry from motives more unworthy than Kennon's or her own, and yet make excellent husbands and wives? She could answer for her own after-conduct, she was sure. She liked Devereux well enough to do more than tolerate him. His character was pleasant to her, his manners suited her, and his tastes agreed with hers. This was a good foundation, and of herself she had reason to be confident. But Ken- non! There, indeed, was cause for hesi- tation. What his life had been, she knew; what it would be, she had sufficient experi- ence of the world to foresee. Knowing the one, ~'oreseeing the other, could she stand aside and let Rose rush headlong on her fate? In vain she thought that it was none of her affair; that the girl's self, and the girl's par- ents, were alone concerned. Conscience rose up in reply, and said: "It is you alone who can save her." "But why should I save her?" she asked. "She is nothing to me; while Kennon-whose interests I am serving-is very much." -She had scarcely asked the question when she stopped a moment, and her glance, by some strange magnetism, was attracted to a miniature that lay on her toilet-table. Almost unconsciously, she took it up and opened it~ When the lid of the case flew back, the face of a young man looked at her from the ivory. It was the likeness of her husband. For a second she was startled, since usually this miniature remained in her writing-desk, and she could not think how it chanced to be here, until she suddenly remembered that Mrs. In- glesby had asked for it several days before, and that doubtless it had been returned that day during her absence. But, however the fact of its presence might be explained, there was no ignoring the effect which this presence produced. She looked steadfastly at the bright, young face, until large tears gather in her eyes, and misted her sight. She ha( loved this dead man very tenderly - more perhaps, as she might have loved a favorite, brother, than as women usually love thei: husbands-but still with a depth and pathos that could not but rush back over her wher she gazed thus on the shadow of the face thai was forever gone from earth. "My poo darling !-my poor, gallant boy! "she thought weeping softly, and wiping away the tears a~ they fell. "lie loved me very dearly, and can never prove my love for him 1-I can never repay the tenderness he gave me." She said this half aloud, and she had scarcely finished saying it, when she started. Were her eyes bewitched, or did the face bear a likeness to Rose which she had never noticed in it before? reople spoke of the resem- blance, she' knew; but she had never been able to discover it until now. Now suddenly it flashed upon her. Those violet eyes, look- ing up at her, were strangely soft and wistful for a man's; and how like they were, in form and tint, to those she had seen gazing into Kennon's face that night! Those lips, so softly curved and clearly cut, wore Rose's own smile-the smile half arch, half sweet, which she so well remembered. Then it came back to her, like a fo~gotien dream, how the dead brother loved the little sister who had been his pet and darling, how tenderly he spoke of her, and how often he wished that Alice could see and know her. "You would be able to do her so much good," he had said; and now-it was no wonder Alice closed the case with a sharp pang, and turned away. W~s it good she was about to do this sister of her dead husband? CHAPTER VI. Iv may be imagined that, with thoughts such as these for her companions, Mrs. Singles. by was little disposed for sleep. In fact, she still paced her chamber long after the other inmates of the house were wrapped in quiet slumber-.-long after even Rose's white lids had sunk over her violet eyes. It was well on toward two o'clock when, at last, she sud- denly stopped and made an impatient gest- ure. "Things seem fantastic and unreal at night," she said "Somehow, they are al- I ways magnified, and events or feelings of I really small importance assume gigantic pro- portions when viewed at such a time. I know perfectly well that all these absurd scruples on the one hand, these old, sentimental recol- lections on the other, will fade into absolute insignificance to-morrow morning. There- fore, why should I torment myself with them? Has the surprise of the day un- strung rue? Am I mad that I don't see, not only what I could, but what I must, do?" She walked abruptly across the floor, and drew back a curtain from ouie of the windows -a window looking out over the garden and toward the Devereux House. The fragrant stillness of the starlit summer-night seemed to come to her like a soft caress; there was not the faintest gleam of light anywhere, not the faintest sound of moving life-only the perfume of the flowers, the brightness of the stars, and the dark outline of the stately roof cutting against the steel-blue sky. As she stood quite motionless, she heard a clock, far away in the heart of the silent town, striking two; and at that moment, almost as if the stroke had been a signal, a wild glare of flame burst forth from the hitherto dark and silent Devereux House. For an instant, Alice stood petrified, ab- Bolutely doubting the evidence of her senses, and chained to the spot by sheer amazement; but this inaction did not last more than an instant. She was a woman of rare coolness and presence of mind, and she realized at once that, owing to the lateness of the hour, the flames were likely to make fatal headway before any one was roused in the quiet neigh- borhood. She could see that the fire had burst forth in the kitchen wing of the house. If the alarm was given immediately, there- fore, it might be possible to save the main build~ig. She sprung from the window, and, running hastily down the corridor on which her chamber opened, she was soon thunder- ing vigorously at Colonel Inglesby's door. "What's the matter? Who the deuce is that?" cried a startled voice within. "It is I-Alice!" she answered. "Mr. Devereux's house is on fire! The alarm ought to be given at once! Oh, sir, pray-pray get up!" Colonel Inglesby needed no further adjura- tion. She heard him say, "The devil!" and make one spring to the fool,. "P11 be there page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 138 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. in a minute," he answered. "Rouse the ser- vants, Alice! Send somebody to knock 'em up over there. Where did the lire burst out? Has no alarm been gi~en?" "I have not heard a sound," she replied. "There are never any policemen in this part of the town, and everybody seems asleep. The glare must wake them soon, however." "Is the fire serious?" "Yer~ serious, I should think." She waited to say no more, but hastened back to her own room to see how matters were progressing. Even in these few minutes, the fire hadgained considerably; but the house itself was yet wrapped in utter stillness. A sudden, horrible fear came over her. What if one of the tragedies so rife in these days of terror had been perpetrated? What if the household had been murdered, and the house fired to conceal the crime? Anything seems possible in a moment of panic, espe- cially if that panic comes at night. Her heart seemed to stand still for a minute; then a sudden flood of resolution came to her. She turned, left the room, ran down-stairs- thinking, even in this moment of supreme excitement, that it was fortunate she had not undressed-and, groping her way through the dark house, managed to unbar one of the dining-room windows, and let herself into the garden. The whole thing occupied such a short space of time that she saw scarcely any change in the state of affairs when she stepped out into the open air. She did not stop to wonder at the quietness which still brooded over every thing, nor to admire the effect of the flames so vividly thrown into relief against the deep-purple sky. She sped swiftly down one of the paths which led to the gate open- ing into the Devereux grounds. It was as she reached this, and laid her hand on the familiar latch, that the first cry of "Fire!" rang out in the street; and, the next moment, the deep tones of the alarm-bell sounded. "Thank God!" she said-but still she held on her way, knowing that succor could not come for some time, and that meanwhile the fire might render the escape of those within difficult, if not dangerous. Quickly she sped across the flower - beds, quickly through the hedges and under the drooping vines laden with odorous blossoms, quickly 'across the lawn damp with clinging dew, quickly up the broad stone steps into the por- tico. Then seizing the bell-handle, she pulled it violently again and again. Still, no sound answered-though she could hear it tinkling far away. "Good Heavens! what can be the mat- ter!" she thought, turning round to see if no rescue was at hand. As she looked, she saw a man come dashing hurriedly over the lawn toward her. The front gates were still fastened, so that he had evidently leaped the pilings. As he sprang up the steps, and they stood face to face in the bright glow, she saw that it was Kennon. "Laurence!" she cried. "Alice!" said he-in the tone of one overwhelmed with surprise. But the next instant he remembered him- self and drew back stiffly. "I beg pardon, Mrs. Inglesby. I was sur- prised to see you here; but I suppose that, like myself~ you wish to rouse the inmates. Is it possible nobody is awake yet?" "Nobody has stirred," she answered. "It seems to me exceedingly strange! I am very glad you have come. I saw the fire first," she went on, quickly, "my room is on this side-I left my father-in-law dressing-and- and-oh, pray ring the bell!" This confused speech did not sound very much like the stately Mrs. Inglesby, but in truth Kennon's dark eyes were reading her face so keenly, and she was so well aware that he was wondering how she came to be awake and dressed at such an hour of the night, that her usual self-possession quite forsook her. "Ring the bell!" she repeated, sharply, as he still stood looking at her. "Surely they m~~st wake after awhile!" Peal after peal at the bell, knock after knock on the door producing no effect, Ken- non shrugged his shoulders. "Devereux always slept like one of the seven champions of Christendom," he said, "and it is evillent his servants share the pe- culiarity. It' you'll stay here, Mrs. Inglesby, I'll go round and try to get into the house another way. This really does begin to look serious!" "Surely the fire-company will be here soou," said she, anxiously-very anxiously, he thought. "The alarm has just been given," he an- swered. "They are not likely to be here very soon. I am afraid the old house will certainly go." "Oh, what a shame-what a pity!" "Quite a pity!'~ said he, philosophically. "119w are you going to get in?" she asked, as he turned away. "I shall break a window of the conserva- tory," he answered, coolly. Then he walked off, but when he reached the conservatory, he fouz~d, much to his sur- prise, that she had followed him. "If you have no objection, I will go in, too," she said. "I can wake the servants, while you rouse Mr. Devereux." "Are you afraid to trust mc with him?" asked he, with a sudden bitter tone in his voice, a sudden angry flash in his eye. "I have not taken a degree in assassination yet." "You know better than that," she an. swerod, haughtily. "Mr. Devereux is no more to md than any other acquaintance whose life I desire to save-no more than one of his servants. But if the house is doomed, I may be t~ble to save a few valua- bles; and since there is nobody else to do it, I feel it right to go in." "I feel it right to tell you that there's risk in it." "Scarcely just yet, I think." He glanced up at the root' which was al- ready beginning to blaze in several places- shrugged his shoulders again-smashed a window, climbed in, and opened a door for her. Together they entered the house, and soon found their way to the upper regions. While Kennon went to wake his cousin, Alice roused the startled servants, who 'scarcely waited to throw on their clothes before they fled in wild alarm. Then suddenly, as if by magic, the grounds became thronged with people, the engines of the fire-company came up at a gallop, and be- gan to play upon the roof, adventurous spirits thronged the house, tossing the costly furni- ture recklessly out of the windows and injur- ing far more than they saved. Other~ again, came in to pilfer, the flames rushed steadily on, the people talked, the engines played, the flowers stared at the light of the great con- flagration, or withered away beneath its fierce heat-a sce4e of wild pandemonium replaced the odorous quiet of the summer night. In the midst of this, Devereux came has- tily up to Kennon, who stood on the outskirts of the crowd, talking to Rose Inglesby. It struck them both, as he approached, that he looked singularly pale and agitated, even for a man whose house was burning down. "Kennon," he said, hastily, "do you know where Mrs. Inglesby is? Have you heard-have you seen her anywhere ? ~' "Mrs. Inglesby!" Kennon repeated, start. ing, and growing so pale that the pallor of the other face was, by contrast, insignificant and natural. "My God-no! Is she missing?" "I can't find her,'~~the other answered,. "and one of the servants says something about seeing her in the library. But she can't have been so foolish-so mad-as to stay there until now. Perhaps she has ~one home.-Miss Inglesby, do you know?" "I am sure she has not gone home, Mr. Devereux," Rose answered, trembling with a. sudden, vague fear. The two men looked at each other. In. all their lives neither of them ever forgot that horrible, sickening moment. "Did you leave her in the house?" Deve. reux sharply asked. "I left her for you to bring out," Kennon as sharply answered. It was easy, then, to see how the thing occurred. Devereux had not heard of her' presence in the house when he hastily left it, Kennon had quitted it even before that, thinking Alice safe under the guardianship. of the man she had been so eager to save. She, on her part, had lingered in the library' until escape was cut off by the flames. "What are we to do?" Devereux asked,. in the midst of the awful, hushed panic which seized them. "You may do what you like," said Ken-~ non, fiercely. "lam going after her." He turned quickly toward~ the house, but Rose caught his arm. At that moment she forgot evety thing-her sister-in-law, Deve. .reux, maidenly reserve, every thing but the fear that he would rush madly into danger. "0 Mr Kennon," she cried, "don't- don't be rash! Perhaps Alice Ass gone' home!" Kennonanswered nothing; he only brushed. her aside as if she had beex~ a butterfly, and went on his way. Of what' ensued he had never more than a. vague remembrance. He recollected mount- ing a fireman's ladder to the library.window' -that same window at which Alice had stood. a few nights before, thinking of him-aixi I page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] 140 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 141 climbing into the room already full of dense, black smoke. But all this was. singularly confused; nothing was clear, until he found himself kneeling over a half-suffocated and unconscious woman on the sward below. Even in her unconsciousness, however, she did not relax her clasp of a small picture which she held. Strangely enough, it was the engraving which had hung over Devereux's writing- table. How brightly and joyously the next morn- ing broke over the blackened ruin of the once stately Devereux House! How gayly the birds sang among the roses, how softly the shadows flickered over the green turf! How little any thing in Nature seemed to reck of the destruc- tion which had been wrought between the set- ting and rising of the sun! "And it would be all the same if it had been a human life instead of a house!" thought Alice Inglesby, as she rose and stood at the same window where she had been standing when the flames broke forth the night before. Her attack of unconsciousness had been very slight-for she was not a woman prone to fainting-fits-and, thanks to a superb constitution, had left no ill effects beyond a little languor and paleness. There might have been more, however, if she had not been "kept up" just then by the ficti- tious strength of excitement. During her vigil of the dawn, she had taken a resolve which had been lacking in her vigil of the night. Somehow, light had come to her, as well as to the world. Things which had been conflicting before, seemed thoroughly harmo- nious now. Standing there in the bright sun- light, her future life showed itself in a new aspect. Every thing within her was so changed, that the whole outside world seemed changed also. Should she ever forget the look in Kennon's eyes, when she opened her own on his face, there on the turf last night? it had gone straighter to her heart than if he h~~leaded with all the passionate eloquence that 4ver stirred a human tongue. And here let it be said that, being a woman of sense, and not a sentimental fool of any age (for sentimental folly is not limited to sixteen), she did not for a moment think of attaching the least importance to the mere fact of his having, in romantic parlance, "saved her life." She knew perfectly well that he would have done the same good office quite as will- ingly for the cook or the chambermaid. It was that look in his eyes which haunted her -which seemed to beckon her on to the per- petration of the rankest act of folly ever per. petrated by a "woman of the world." Then the thought of Rose and of Harry- the two strangely mingled-came back to her as they had come the night before. She seemed to see the fair, rose-bud beauty of the girl, and to feel the same pang of absolutely painful pity which she had felt the night be- fore, when she saw her falling into the toils of the adventurer, who avowedly wooed her only for her fortune. Yet the night before she had steeled her heart and said, "Where is the remedy?" Now she seemed to see the remedy. "My lif~ does not matter," she said aloud. "I have only myself to consider; and, there- fore, why should I consider at all? Nobody can be injured or aggrieved if I throw myself away; while Rose-ah! it is different with her. She has a mother's heart to be broken. Poor~ foolish child! she has even a heart of her own to suffer !-and how it would suffer when she learned the truth! How little she will thank me for such consideration," she added, with a short laugh; "and yet-if she only knew it-how infinitesimal is the heart- ache or two she will suffer now, to the ocean of anguish I will spare her! Am I mad, I wonder?" she went on, walking to the mir- ror and looking at herself. "I should cer- tainly have said so yesterday. But to-day I feel inclined to act before sanity comes back." Mrs. Inglesby, senior, who, like all the rest of the household, felt singularly restless and unsettled after the night of adventure, had wandereQinto the garden, and was blank. ly surveying the smoking ruins which marked the place where the house had so lately stood, when, to her amazement, Alice advanced from one of the dining-room windows toward her. "My dear, you up?" she cried, aghast. "Thanks, yes, I have quite recovered," Alice answered. Then, hastening on to cut short the remonstrance she felt to be impend- ing: "I saw you from my window, and I hur- ried tlown at once, because I thought I could not find a better opportunity for speaking to you-in confidence, if you have no objec- tion." Of course, h~rs. Inglesby had no objection, and only a few words were necessary to put matters on a confidential footing between them. The mother's heart was too sorely anxious not to be glad of any counsellor, much more of any helper; and Alice spoke with the quiet composure of one certain of her own power. Before very long, Mrs. Inglesby's worst anxiety was relieved, and her worst fears allayed. "Find some excuse for detaining Rose, this morning, from her usual walk," said Alice, "and I will guarantee that Laurence Kennon shall never trouble her again." "But-but, my dear, how will you manage it?" Mrs. Inglesby cried. "Never mind how I shall manage it," the other answered. "I promise to accomplish it-that is all. You will hear the result be. fore very long," she added, as she turned tow- ard the ho4se; "and I hope you will be a little sorry when I say that it will probably force me to leave you." "But-Mr. Devereux?" exclaimed the elder lady, who n~w began to have an inkling of the truth. "Rose will console Mr. Devereux, I dare say," Alice answered, quietly. And then she walked away. It would be hard to say how deeply Rose was chagrined when her mother made an ab- solute demand for herpresence that morning, and when she found that, without betraying a most undue anxiety for her usual walk, she must submit to remain at home. Prudence, for once, carried the day. She submitted with a very bad grace, consoling herself with the thought that Kennon was again safely domiciled in Northorpe, and that opportune. tics for seeing him were many. So, although it is to be feared that Mrs. Inglesby did not have a very amiable companion, she still car- ried her point, and the field was left clear for Alice. At the hour when Rose was in the usual habit of going out, Alice came down-stairs, and left the house. As she descen~led the front steps, she met a servant ascending them with a letter in his hand, and, when he touched his cap and extended it, she saw that it was addressed to herself. In a second, her heart gave a great leap. The writing told her at ~once that it was from Devereux, and she must needs have been dull beyond the meas- ure of ordinary dulness, if she had not at once divined the nature of its contents. For a moment she stood still, looking at the en. velop as it lay in her hand-.thinking, per- haps, how hard it was to fight against fate. She had thought to put temptation aside, and here it met her at the very threshold of her new determination. She had thought it would be easier to ignore the rich prize which chance had thrown into her life than to absolutely nerve herself to the point of rejecting it; yet here it was in her hand, and acceptance or rejection was now a matter of necessity. She would not have been a woman, if the tempta- tion had not been great-so great that she dared not trust herself to consider it, that she dared not cuter the house to answer that let- ter while still free to answer it as she chose. After a minute, she turned to the servant. "I am just going out," she said. "I can- not stop to read this now. Tell Mr. Devereux that I will send an answer as soon as I re- turn." The man bowed and departed with this consolatory message. Turning hastily in the opposite direction, Alice went her way toward the square in which Rose usually took her morning walk, and where she was sure of meeting Kennon. When she entered, she strolled up and down the paths laid out so trimly between plats of green award; but no sign of Kennon appeared. Several nurses were sitting round the fountain that played in the centre of the square; children were trundling hoops up and down the walks; one or two men were resting on shady benches, reading morning papers; and a pair of school-girls strolled past, with their heads bent over their French grammars. For a short time, Alice was puz- zled by Kennon's absence from the tryst; but then she remembered that she was early, and, choosing a walk which was uninvaded, she sat down on a bench to wait. Waiting is, at all times, tiresome work; and, being in a state of excitement, she found it more than usually tiresome this morning. So tier band soon found its way to her pocket, and brought forth Devereux's letter. Having brought it forth, the next step was to open and read it. She had read it twice, and her face was still bent over the page, when a ringing step on the gravel-path made her look up just as Kennon's shadow fell over her. He looked astonished-as, indeed, there was good reason that he should be. "I am glad to see you so entirely recov~ page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] 142 MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. ored," he said, stopping before her, but speak- ing very frigidly. "I feared that the results of your adventure last night might prove -very serious." "It might have proved serious to some people," she answered. "Fortunately for me, however, I do not feel a nervous shock very much, and there was little else in that. If you had been ten minutes later, though-" " You might have been beyond recovery," said he, coolly finishing her sentence as she paused. He was on his guard now, and not even into his eyes flickered any thing more than the quietest courtesy. . "It was very horrible," said she, in a low voice. "I never knew be re what suffoca- -tion meant ; but the dense moke quite over- powered me, and I suppose I must have beej insensible for some time before you came." - " Why did you go there ?" he asked, ?nX able to repress his curiosity on that points " There were some very fine pictures there," she answered. "I wanted to save some of them. After all, how ever, I did not succeed in doing so." Then there was a pause. Kennon was still standing before her, but he now made a -movement as if he would have bowed and passed on; only just then she looked up and poke quickly-with the manner of one who had nerved herself to an effort. "I believe you have an appointment with Rose," she said. " She is not here--will not be here this morning. If you do not object, however, I should like to say a few words to you." - She pointed to a vacant place on the bench beside her, and, after a slight hesitation, Ken- non sat down. "I-confess I do not understand-" he be- gan; but she interrupted him. " You do not understand what brought me here ? That is very likely ; but, if you will be patient a moment, you shall hear. We are old friends, and I wish to ask your ad- vice. Will you read that?" She held Devereux's letter toward him, i ~and, with increased surprise,.he received it. He gave a start as soon as he saw the open- ing words, but he did not raise his eyes and, as he read it, she watchefl him keenly. He held his face under tolerably good control, but she had once known its least weather- sign, and her eyes were not likely to deceive tier now. Yet, whern he finished, he looked up and spoke with more passion and less bitterness than she had expected. "Well," said he, "tell me now the mean- ing of this. You did not use to be cruel for the mere sake of cruelty, and I am loath to think that you have learned to find pleasure in the infliction of pain. Yet your motive for giving me such a letter puzzles me. Do you want me to go and cut this man's throat," he went on, with ill-restrained vehemence, "that you show me the words of love with which he offers you my inheritance ? " "I told you what I want," she answered. " I want your advice." . " My advice ? I can give it to you in two words-marry him, lie is rich, and he is a fool-marry him !" " He is not a fool," she said, with some- thing like indignation in her voice. " He is a man of whose love any woman might be proud -whom any woman might well learn to love. That letter "-she pointed to it as she spoke -" has touched me more than I can say. Only a fine nature and a gentle heart could have written such words as those." " Marry him, then !-for Cod's sake, mar- ry him!" .She rose from her seat, and took a turn down the walk---then came back and stood be- fore him, the flickering shadows falling softly over her resolute face and earnest eyes. . "Laurence," she said, " do you remem- ber yesterday ?-do you remember telling me that Fate had brought us together once more, and that we should not throw away our last hope of happiness ? Is yesterday to-day with you ? Think for a moment, and then tell me -can you say that now ?"n' In a moment he understood her, and he, too, rose to his feet. They faced each other steadily in the golden sunlight before he pointed to Devereux's letter. " I say it now as I said it then," he an- swered. "But, with this before me, I am constrained to add-don't let me stand in your way. There is the path to fortune-- take it now, as you took it before." " You are unjust !" she cried, passionate- ly. "It was no path to fortune that I took before. And if I take it now it will only be because by such words as these you prove to me that Rose Inglesby's heiress-ship is more to you than I am." Her shaft struck home. Adventurer though he was, Kennon had still enough of 142 At this point our story ends. At this point the sister-in-law, who had entered Miss Inglesby's life, and changed its whole current and meaning, went out of it again, and left-- for a brief space, at least--not a little of deso- lation behind her. Of course, Rose was too proud to showghow, deeply and sharply the blow had struck ; but, despite her bravery, she suffered many a sharp pang, and knew many a dreary moment, before it even slightly healed. Can we wonder at this ? The girl had not given her heart unasked, as some girls do, and therefore she had not incurred the legitimate penalty of folly. She had merely suffered it to be won; she had merely fallen into a snare which might have en- trapped an older and wiser woman ; and, in- stead of waking slowly, and with a sickening consciousness of " too late " to this knowl- edge, it was forced on her by one sharp stroke.~ It may be said that she had cause) for gratitude in learning the truth so soon. T rlE E N D. MISS INGLESBY'S SISTER-IN-LAW. 14 honor and sincerity left to feel it. A dark-red flush surged over his face, and, stepping for- ward a few feet, he caught her hands,. " Tell me what you mean ?" he demande, almost roughly. "I am .dull at reading r'id- dles, and this has grown beyond my comn- prehension. Why have you come here ?- why have you showed me that letter ?-why do you speak to me like this ? You know that Rose Inglesby is nothing to me; and that you--are every thing. Do you mean that you are willing to give up him for me?/" lie pointed once more to the letter-now lying on the ground at his feet--and Alice's gaze followed the gesture half sadly. Stoop-. ing, as if by a sudden impulse, she lifted the open sheet of paper, gently folded it, and laid it aside on the bench. Then she turned back to Kennon, and held out her hand. -," Just that way I put him out of my life," she said. "If' you wish to take me, here I am." '148 No doubt she had, and no doubt she felt this before very long; but at first--well, suffering is apt to make even the wisest unreasonable, and it was not strange that at first she only felt the sore bitterness of affection wasted and trust betrayed. She was very young, however; and the young rally quickly from even the deepest blows. After a while, her parents took her abroad, and then Alice's prophecy came true. While travelling they met Devereux, who-whether to solace his disappointment, or to improve his mind--had also left Northorpe. Rose thought that he improved on acquaintance very decidedly ; and, when she returned to America, he ac- companied her. The latest news from Nor- thorpe leaves no doubt but that they will soon be married. And Alice ? Well-Alice is not unhappy. In the first place, she is married to a man whom she loves, and, in the second place, she is married to a man who loves her. These two facts would enable her to bear much, if she had much to bear, which, in truth, has not been the case. Men of Kennon's stamp do not reform suddenly ; but there is at least reasonable ground for hoping that with him the worst is over, and that he will never fling himself quite as recklessly against public opinion in the future as in the past. Let what will come, however, his wife has girded up herself to bear it; and, if gentleness, and courage, and devotion, can save him, he may yet be saved. With all the troubles that have encompassed her, it is not probable that Mrs. Kennon has ever regretted her choice. From the first she realized how inadequate Rose's strength would have proved for the burden laid on her; how terrible on both sides would have been the marriage which her intervention alone prevented. Feeling this, she is recompensed ; but it is doubtful wheth- er Miss Inglesby ever has known, or ever will know, all that she owes to her sister-in- aw. page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] I T was a very pleasant group that was as- sembled ia the drawing-room of Colonel Dulaney's country-house, as the dusk was dying away over the wintry hills, and the short December day drew rapidly to a close -a very sociable group, too, although it was composed entirely of ladies. They had shortly before come up from dinner, leaving the gen- tlemen to the enjoyment of their olives and wine, and, finding twilight in possession of the room, had unanimously agreed in think- ing that it would be a pity to disturb it by the invasion of lamps. So the only light in the apartment was that given forth by a large wood-fire, which illuminated every thing in its immediate neighborhood, while shadows gathered deeply in all the corners, and the silvery moonlight traced pale outlines on the carpet at the other end of the long room. There is nothing prettier than this soft min- gling of twilight and firelight, and the four ladies grouped around the hearth-rug made a charming picture as the red radiance flick- ered over them-shining on the rich silks which two of them wore, and flashing back from the bright eyes of the other pair, who were dressed simply, as became their youth, yet elegantly, as became their station. The first of the silken-attired ladies was lying indolently back in a deep chair, while one of her slender hands held a fire-screen of Oriental device before a very fair and high- bred face-a face over which thirty-five sum- mers had passed so lightly as to leave only added beauty behind them. This was Mrs. Dulaney, the most charming and popular hostess of all the gay and hospitable country- side; and whoso caught one gleam of her frank blue eyes, never marvelled even once 10 concerning either the charm or the popu- larity. Next to her a bonny brown-haired, brown- eyed girl was nestling on an ottoman, with her tinted face half shaded by the sweeping draperies of her hostess-a dainty, petite creature, dressed in a soft blue fabric, the Vandyck corsage of which showed the whitest neck in the world, and a diamond pendant that glittered in the firelight. It was a proverb with her friends that Ethel Lamar wasnever silent for five minutes; but more than five minutes had elapsed since her last remark, and still the little lady sat quiet- her bright brown eyes fastened on the glow- ing 4~oals as intently as if she were reading her fortune there. In the corner of a sofa not far distant sat a lady who was dressed in black silk, so heavy and stiff that it rustled like armor whenever she moved-a lady whose face, in repose, was somewhat plain, somewhat severe, and marked by the lines of at least fifty years, but whose smile, when it came, was so cheery and good-humored that it left nothing to be desired either in appearance or expression. She was the only one of the quartet who was busy with any occupation, but her nimble fingers were knitting soft, white wool; and, as the firelight glanced back from her pol- ished needles, it also gleamed over her firm hands, across one of which there ran a deep- red scar, exactly like a sabre-stroke. On the other end of the same sofa, in an attitude of supreme comfort, a stately, rich- hued brunette was reclining, with her feet doubled up in some inscrutable girl-fashion, and her dress sweeping the floor like a royal train. Do what she would, Alice Palmer al- 'I II till THE STORY OF A SOAR. page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] 146TH E STORY OF A SCAR. THE STORY OF A SCAR. 147 ways looked queenly and imposing, and peo. by all means, Mrs. Stuart. I am sure it is pie who did not know her felt a sort of awe worth hearing, and I am also sure that these of her on this account-an awe absurdly mis- young ladies are sadly ia need of missionary placed, since she was in reality as simple and labors." unaffected as a child. Of the four ladies, she "Alice, can't you say a word in our de. was the only one who was not gazing into the fence?" asked Miss Lamar, peeping over the fire; her eyes, as it chanced, were turned on arm of the sofa with her glowing face. her companion's hands, and her voice was the "Alice has some conscience," said Mrs. first to break the stillness which had settled Stuart, shortly. "I should like to hear her over them all. say a word in her defence when she remembers " Mrs. Stuart I "-she spoke so abruptly what I overheard in the conservatory this that the lady who was knitting started at the morning. That poor Colonel Fairfax I-Well, unexpected sound of her own name-" Mrs. if men will be fools, I suppose women have a Stuart, may I ask you an impertinent ques- right to amuse themselves with their folly- tion?" only take care, my dears, that amusement Mrs. Stuart gave one quick glance out of does not r.un into harm." her clear hazel eyes, while the smile that "Row could it?" saked both girls, a little came over her face showed that the speaker curiously. was a favorite with her. "I'll tell you how," answered Mrs. Stuart, "You may ask me a question if you like, briefly. my dear," she said, "but I shall reserve the Then she braced her shoulders back like a right tQ ftn5Wer it, on account of Its Imperti- veteran general, gave her needles a Click to- nence." gather, and began her story. "Yes," said Miss Palmer, with a smile. "Thirty years ago, my dears, I was young "Well, then, will you please tell us how that and handsome. The latter fact seems a little singular scar came on. your hand? I have strange to you, nodoubt; but it was a fact, wanted to ask you often, only I did not like nevertheless, and I can speak of it now with- to do so. Bat, If you would not mind telling, out vanity. I was a good deal admired, too, Ethel and I are desperately curious." for, besides being young and handsome, I was Mrs. Stuart looked at Ethel, who blushed; an heiress-and wealth will bring a woman 'thea diwn at herhand, whiebsecined to blush admirers quite independently of her looks, as also, as t~ie red firelight flickered over it; then you are all, no doubt, aware. My father was 'up at the dark eyes fixed on her with a half- a widower, and very fond of me, as I was his laughing appeal. only child; so I did pretty much what I "I have no objection to telling you, my pleased, and, its it chanced, I 'pleased' to dear," she said. "Indeed, there Is a toler. flirt a great deal. I 'liked, admiration just as able moral attached, that might do good to you like it now, my dears, axid I was quite as young ladies who are fond bf flirting" (it was fond of leading my admirers into absurdities, nOw Miss Palmer's turn to blush); "but it is and then laughing at them as they stumbled rather a long story." out, as you seem to be. I firmly believed that ".A. long story I" cried Ethel Lamar. men were the legitimate prey of pretty women; "Oh, then, dear Mrs. Stuart, it is the very and I. felt no more compassion for them than thing w~e want~ for you know it will be an age a cat may be supposed to feel for the mouse till the gentlemen come up, and this is the she torments. People-kind, good-natured time of all others for story-telling. Please do people-called me' a heartless coquette,' and tell us, if you don't mind." a few of my relations and friends even went "So you think you 'nead the moral, too, so far as to remonstrate With me on ray con- gielkin ?" duct; but I put their remonstrances scornful- "I am-sure she does," said Mrs. Dulaney, ly aside, laughed, went my ii~ay,' and played with a smilc-.9Ah, my little lady; that is a my fascinating game over and over again-. very fine look of reproach, but do you think each time 'with fresh zest. Yet I should do I was deaf all through dinner, and I did not myself injustice if I allowed youto think that hear poor Chancy-so 'you know what I I was in truth entirely heartless, for there was mean?" she broke off, with a laugh, as Miss one person with whom I never flirted, whom I Lamar flushed crimson..-" Give us the story sincerely loved, and honestly meant to marry ~....after I had finished amusing myself. This was my cousin, Harry Wilmot. I had known him all my life, and loved him all my life; and, although he often expostulated with me about my coquetry, ~ bore with him in quite an exemplary manner--.at least I thought so' then. Now I think that it was lie who bore with me, and that very patiently. I was en- gaged to him in a sort of tacit fashion that had never been publicly acknowledged, and did not bind me in the least. Nothing had ever been said about marriage, yet I certainly meant to marry him, and I am sure that no- body ever was more devoted to another than he-poor fellow I-was to me. "Well, things had been going on in this way for some time, and Harry had to find what consolation he could in the number of my admirers, when a new family moved into our neighborhood, and, being people of evi- dent wealth and culture, were receii~ed with open arms-~-more especially since they proved to be hospitable and charming in extreme measure. Their house was always open, and one elegant entertainment was scarcely over before another was on the tap~e. This fact alone insured their popularity. The neighbor- hood, having been very stagnant before this new life flowed into it,. was by no means dis. posed to be severely critical with regard to the pleasant sources of this life. One and all, we adopted the Clavenings, and the Claverings in turn amused us. We had never been amused before, and our gratitude was extreme. The C~laverings, en masse, soon became the county toast. I say en masse, yet the family was in truth rather small, consisting only of its respective heads, two handsome daughters, and (as report soon told us) a son absent in Europe. The eldest of these daughter's, Isabel Clavering, was soon my intimate friend, as young ladies reckon friendship, and, as she was even more giddy and reckless than I, she speedily led me into more mischief than I had previously found for myself. Soon sober peo- plc began to be scandalized at our proceedings. In fact, they were what in these days would be called 'outrageously fast.' My dear, good father, in whose partial eyes I could do no wrong, said little or nothing; but Harry de. cidedly disapproved of Miss Clavering, and unhesitatingly signified as much. Our 'first serious disagreement was on this score. He begged me to give up a friend who did tue only injury, and I indignantly refused. She was my friend, I replied, in that spirited man- ner which young ladies so much admire, and I should not resign her, let people say or do their worst. Harry urged the point no further, but from that day a barrier of coldness rose between us. "Of course, you can all guess what came next. The son and heir of the Clavering house..-.-Edward was hi~ name-eame back from Europe, bringing a friend with him, and Woodlawn (the name of the Clavening villa) became more than ever the headquarters of gayety and dissipation. I profited in an es- pecial manner by this, for the grounds of our respective residences immediately adjoined, and, when our friendship grew so warm that we were obliged to see each other every day, We found that a short cut through the shrubberies was pleasanter and more conven- ient than s~ long ride or dnivO round by the road, so a gate was cut in the wall dividing oiki~ domain, and of this gate each household kept a key. These keys were in frequent de- mand, for matters had how reached such a pass that, whenever I was not with the~Clav- cringe, some one or other of the Claverings was with me. "As you may readily, imagine, the two young men made the already attractive house ten times more attractive. They were both handsome, and both singularly fascinating- especially- Edward Clavering, whose face I see as clearly now as I over saw it' in reality thirty years ago. It was a face of the type which I have always liked best-..-.regular fea.. tures, pale complexion, silken~brown hairs beautiful, soft, violet eyea~ and the moSt per- fect mouth I ever saw out of marble. In figure he Was slight and graceful, with en- quisite hands and feet. His fniend--.Ridge- icy, by name-.-was also exceedingly hand.. some, and. second only to 'Clavening himself in versatile talentS and accomplishments, while they were both fall of that je we eais quoi of travelled nature which is sopeculiarly attractive to untravelled 'natures. "Don't think" (here Mrs. Stuart glanced round the listening trio, and shook her head very stern- ly) "that I am painting them in these bright colors to excuse the story which is to- fol- low. Not a bit of it. If I met two such chevaliers now, I should be able to tell 'that there Was something a little' bisarre~-~a~slight flavor, as it were, of Bohemianism-in their style, which might jar on conventional ideas, page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] 148 THE STORY OF A SCAR. and plant a vague distrust in the convention. al mind. But at that time I was in the full noonday of the sublime scorn of convention. alities, with which every clever young person begins the world; so the freshness which these strangers brought into my life was all the more acceptable because it had just that slight flavor of Bohemia. "Perhaps" (smiling a little) "you have some curiosity to know which of the two I flirted with. For the matter of that, I tried my hand on both, though Clavering was the one I liked best. Certainly he was a charm- ing companion, and his flattery-of course, it was flattery, though I did not think so then- might well have turned the head of an older and a wiser woman. To say, in the language of the present day, that he was 'devoted to me,' is to say very little indeed. He tried every art in his power-and those arts' were many-to make me fall in love with him. I did not exactly do that, but I liked him thoroughly, and am ashamed to say that I encouraged him to the top of his bent. Harry stood it all with tolerable quietness for a while-I think he wanted to see how far I would go, if left entirely to myself-but after a time even his patience gave way. I re- member perfectly the day on which we finally arrived at an open rupture. He came in one morning, and, as usual, found Edward Claver- ing with me. Instead of paying a short visit, and then taking leave as he usually did, in a ease of this kind, he established himself with a book in a corner of the drawing-room, and waited until Clavering was, in a measure, forced to take ki~ departure very much in ad- vance of his ordinarytime for doing so. Af- ter he had bowed himself out, 1, who was much provoked at losing another hour of ten- der and gallant compliments, vouchsafed not a word to Harry, but went to the piano, and, sitting down, began to play. My cousin read his volume of Bacon's Essays with exemplary patience through half an hour of musical m~&znge remarkable only for its noise, and it was only when I rose at last, and closed the piano with a perceptible bang, that he rose, too, and came forward. "' If you have no other engagement just now, Rachel,' he said, quietly, 'I should like to speak to you.' '"I am at your service,' said I, 'though it seems to me that you might have spo- ken tome any time within the last two hours.' "'Might I!" he said~ 'VITeII, it seems to me that you were occupied with Clavering un- til he left, and that you have been occupied with the piano ever since. However, I was determined to remain until you were at lei- sure to give me a little of your time, because I want to place a plain alternative before you, and ask you a long-deferred and decisive question.' "'With or without my permission, I pre- sume!' said I, with an emphasis which was meant to be very sarcastic. "'Yes,' answered he, gravely, 'with or without your permission-though I scarcely think you will withhold it from me.' "'And pray why not?' demanded I, haughtily. "'Because it is to your interest as well as mine that the issue should be met and settled,' answered he, looking pale but determined. 'Rachel, you must know as well as I that matters cannot go on like this. I have bovnc a great deal from you, through my great love for you, but I cannot bear to be treated as a toy which you contemptuously fling aside, or more contemptuously take up at your pleas. nrc. I recognize this at last, and I recognize, also, that you must choose between me and these new associates who have estranged you from me.' "'Estranged me from you, indeed!' said I, with disdain. 'You are mistaken. It is your own senseless jealousy that has es- tranged us-if we arc estranged. We have 'spoken on this subject before,' continued I, loftily, 'and I must beg you to understand that now, as heretofore, I decline to submit to dictation in regard to my friends or associ- ates.' "'Then,' said soy cousin, 'you force me to place before you the alternative of which I have spoken. I do not think there is any need for me to tell you how truly and how faithfully I have loved you for many years. You know it. Yet the time has come when you must choose between the acquaintances of yesterday and the friend of your youth. Rachel, you must give up the Claverings, or you must give up me. My cousin-my dear cousin-which will you take? You can no longer have both.' "For a moment this determined attitude of my vassal petrified me; but I had some- thing of a temper, and, if my memory serves me right, I stamped my foot, and blazed I THE STORY OF A SCAR. out lilie a tornado at my long-suffering cous. 'in. "'Are you trying to insult me, Mr. Wi!- mot, that you dare to come and talk to me like this !-that you dare to put such an al- ternative before me! Am I to give up my friends at the mere bidding of your caprice? Pray, tell me' (with a withering sneer), 'what penalty shall I incur if I decline to take ad- vantage of the choice which you are kind enough to offer me?' "'You will send away from you, perhaps forever, a friend who would do any thing to 'serve you, Rachel. Is that a little?' "' I am young, and pretty, and rich,' said I, scornfully. 'I shall find plenty of other friends.' "'If you think t1~~zt,' said he, a little hoarsely, 'if you can take such a tone as that to one/who has loved you as long and as well as I have done, it is time indeed to go. But, 0 Rachel, Rachel! have you never loved me-do you not love me-even in the least degree, that you can throw me off like a worn glove?' "'I should like you very well if you would only let me alone,' said I, in the tone of one from whom a reluctant concession is wrung. 'But you do worry so, Harry) and you have taken such an unaccountable dislike to these delightful Olaverings.' "'Some day you will be able to account for the dislike easily enough,' said he, gloom. ily. 'But it may be too late then. Rachel, for God's sake, be warned !-for God's sake, drop those people! They are not fit ass6ci- ates for you.' "' I won't hear another word!' cried I, stopping my ears. 'I won't listen while my friends are abused and slandered.' "'Rachel,' said my cousin, growing mo- inently paler and more earnest, 'would you like to know the character of the man who has just left you?' "'Not from your lips,' answered I, angrily. 'I don't trust a word that you say of him.' "'He is an unprincipled adventurer,' Harry went on, steadily, 'he is indeed noth- ing more nor less than a professional gambler. can prove this.' "'How, pray?' "'By the testimony of people who have seen and known him at other places.' "' I don't believe one word of it!' I said, stamping my foot again. 149 "'You accuse me of falsehood, then?' "'No-but I accuse you of listening 'to his enemies, and of being blinded by jealousy. If it is true, why don't you expose him?' "'Would you give him up if I did?' (this very eagerly). "'Never!' answered I, grandly. 'I cling to my friends all the more when they arc slandered and persecuted.' "'Then you see why I don't expose the scoundrel. Can I have the whole county talk. ing of your flirtation-God knows they might even call it your love-affair !-with a profess. signal gambler, and cke~xdier d'industrie? I am not thinking of nor pleading for myself, Rachel, when I pray you to break off all con- nection with such a man.' "'I am not to be dictated to,' said I, drawing back the hands which he attempted to take, 'and I positively decline to surrender a pleasant friend because you see fit to make vague accusations against him.' "'I shall see if your father thinks them vague,' said he. "'Do I' answered I, scornfully. 'The ro7e of tale-bearer suits you so admirably that you must allow me ~o congratulate you on your new mWer, and ~o wish you good-morning!' " With that Icourtesied grandly, and swept 'out of the room, leaving Harry still standing on the floor. A few minutes later, however, T had the satisfaction of hearing him gallop from the front-door, and I knew that he was gone-never to come back again, as he had done for so many happy years. Was Edward Clavering (whom I had not by any means made up my mind to marry) worth quite such a sacrifice as this? 'Even with all my ruffled pride to help me, I was not quite able to an- swer that question in the affirmative. "I managed, however, to console myself very well with Edward Clavering. In the week which followed Harry's unusual a~er- tion of himself~, and consequent departure from the scene of action, I was more than ever at Woodlawn (for he did not fulfil his threat of speaking to papa; partly, as I learned afterward, because he was busy col- lecting tangible proof of Clavering's antece- dents), and my wilful feet went 'didly nearer and nearer the verge of that fateful precipice of love, down which many women tumble headlong into misery. "To let you understand exactly how near I was to it, Imust tell you that, on~ cert~ln lovely L page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 TUE STOW Indian summer afternoon, when Clavering an I were out riding, he formally addressed m -having seen, no doubt, that he might ~af ly venture to do so. Now, of course I don' need to tell you that it is not every man wh~ knows how to make a declaration, which, ci itself, will go half-way toward winning a woni an's heart; iz~ fact, the art of doing so i more rare than any other with which I am ac qualuted. Clavering's proposal was simpl~ perfect-passionate, graceful, chivalrous, al and more than al~ that the most sensitive fancy could have demanded, or the most sensi tive tastesanctioned. If men would only com prehend that a woman's fancy cats be shocked and a woman's taste outraged, byiauc1~erie or such occasions, I am inclined to think tha there might be fewer untoward wooings. Wh~ I did not accept my suitor on the spot, I don'i know, unless it was that my cousin's warning had, after all, left an impression on my mind and inspired me with a vague distrust of thu accomplished gentleman, which made mc hesitate when it came to the actual point of putting all my future life into his 'hands. At all events, I did hesitate-.-I paused-wavered -finally asked for time to consider his offer. He yielded very gracefully to this request, and, having listened with tacit favor to his suit, I was pledged to give an early and de- cisive answer. "The next day was stormy, and I did not go to Woodlawn.-.. neither did any of the Claverings come to me. It was a day of such fierce rain and tempest as belongs only to the autumn, and, since I was entirely alone, I did t pass a very cheerful time. My father was ) ~tiiattime a judge on the bench of the Sm. preme Court of the State, but he did legal business for his friends occasionally, and it chanced that he had been summoned, early that morning, to make the will of a dying man-~-t very i~gimate associatewho lived a few miles distant. .&s the day advanced, I saw clearly that he could not return before nightfall-nor after it either, for that matter~ The streams intervening between us would be too high for him to cross, I felt sure, and, if the rain continued, he might be water. bound f'or several daye~ I knew he would dislike this exceedingly, for he never left me alone when he could possibly avoidit, and on the present occasion he would be particularly loath to do so, since there chanced at that time to be a deposit of unusual value in the L7 OF A SOAR. d house. Not long before, a very wealthy and o eccentric old lady of the neighborhood had died, and left my father executor of a will in t which she bequeathed all her property, and n especially all her jewels (for, by a singular freak, she had invested to the amount of half her fortune in precious stones), to him, to be s held in trust for the heir or heirs of a long- lost (and everybody said long - dead) son. v These jewels my father had for some time 1 kept in his own possession, meaning to take ~ them to a city, the first time he went, and - lodge them in a bank. You may think that - it was very imprudent to have kept jewels to the amount of a hundred thousand dollars in an ordinary country-house for any length of time; but, in those days, and in quiet country regions, robbery was almost Wholly unknown, and I have visited many houses where neither the plate-closet nor the jewel-box was consid- ered worth the trouble of a lock. If these jewels had been his own, my father would have felt no anxiety about them; but, be- cause they had been placed in his hands as a~ trust, he had been a little nervous, and wished * t~ put them in safer keeping than his own. This had been deferred from time to time, however; and now, on this stormy Novem- ber evening, he was on one side of a swollen stream, 'and I on the other, with the jewels of old Mrs. Hardie in my sole guardianship. "I confess, however, that the thought of the jewels did not disquiet me very much. I only thought how lonely and ennuyie I was. So I wrote a note, begging Isabel Clavering to come and stay with me, giving the jewels as an excuse why I could not leave the house entirely unprotected. The note was answered, not by Isabel, but by Edward. He had come to bring hi5 sister's regrets-she was quite unwell, and~ could not venture6 through the rain; but could not I be prevailed upon to come over and 'stay with her? This proposal was only too tempting to me, but I could not reconcile it to my conscience to leave the jewels; so I told Edward that I could not go. He urged me to do so-urged me strong- ly and repeatedly-but I could be very obsti- nate when I chose, so I resolutely declined; and at last, as night was closing and the storm increasing, he wae obliged to leave without me~ Reluctantly enough, he bade me good-evening, and started to leave the room, when suddenly he stopped, turned, and came back to where I sat by the fire. I THE STORY I "'Rachel,' he said, in a low, passionate voice, 'when am I to have my answer?' "Now, this question provoked rue. I was by no means a lovesick maiden, in whose eyes my lover could do no wrong, but a sensi- tive, fastidious woman, whose fancy was only too easily repelled by the slightest solecism of taste or chivalry. The circumstances of time and place branded the question as a pro- gumption in my opinion, and I answered it haughtily and indifferently: "' If you choose to wait for my answer, Mr. Clavering, you can have it when I have made up my mind; if not, you caW take it now.' "'And suppose I take it now?' said he, a little hoarsely. "I looked up into his eyes, with a flash, I am sure, in my own. They were steadfast, determined, and anxious to a degree that startled me. His face, too, was pale and set, I thought, as the changeful firelight fi,~ckered over it. Still, I was angry-it seemed as if he took advantage of my loneliness to press his point in this manner. "'If you take your answer now,' said I, coldly, 'you may not find it very much to your taste. It is, unequivocally, No!' "'Rachel!' "The tone in which he uttered this excla- mation startled me even more than his eyes had done. It was violent; it was almost menacing; and for the first time I realized how late it had become, 'and how entirely alone I was. I rose to my feet and looked- or endeavored to look - like a tragedy queen. "'Have you forgotten yourself, Mr. Clay- ering, or have you forgotten who I am, that you venture to address me in such a manner as this?' "'No,' answered he, trying evidently to collect himself. 'I remember both perfectly. You have answered my presumption very well, Miss Huntingdon, and I accept your decision. It woutd be ungentlemanly, I pre- sume, to hint that you may ever regret it. With my best wishes for your future hap- piness, I have the honor to bid you good- evening.' "He bowed here, and, without offering to touch my hand, left the room. The next moment I saw him cross the veranda, and take the dripping path which led through the shrubberies to the gate communicating with, 01' A SOAR. 151 the Clavering domain, of which I have a!- ready spoken. "~rhen I sat dowu-.--i confess a little stunned by this brief and most unexpected scene. What had so suddenly transformed the most gallant and tender of suitors I could not imagine, and' my amazement was so great that for a time it certainly subordinated every other feeling. I had no doubt of my own power to lure him back if I wanted him-an important if already in my reflections-but what could possibly have changed him so completely in so short a time? Had he only been playing a part, and now, for some un- known reason, had it become worth his while to throw off the mask? Try as I would, I could find no clew to the enigma which satis- fied me, and at last I started from my thoughts to find the room quite dark, and the fire gone down to a bed of ashes and coals. "It is not a cheerful thing to be alone in an isolated country-house at six r. M. on a rainy November evening. I shivered, and iang the bell for lights. 'Make up the ire, John,' I said to the servant who brought them, 'and you must sleep in the dining-' room to-night. Papa cannot get back, I am sure.' Having given this order, I felt some- what relieved, for John was large enough and had pluck enough to be a match for any or- dinary burglar. Of course, he did not fancy ~exchanging his usual comfortable quarters for a shake-down in the dining-room, but he said, 'Yes'ni,' with a due amount of respect, and then retired, leaving ni to face the evening as best I could. "I faced it very badly. Those anxious eyes of Edward Clavering's gazed at me from every page I attempted to read, anI that white, set face of his, seemed to lurk in the shadows that gathered about the corners of the room. I was heartily glad when nine o'clock struck, and Iwas free to go to bed without feeling ashamed of myself for keep- ing 'poultry-hours.' I rang for my maid, and astonished her by saying that I would sleep in papa's room, ajid that ~he might bring my toilet apparatus down to that apartment, which was on the ground-floor. I must do myself the justice to say that some vaguely. heroic idea of protecting the jewels was in my head, though I scarcely think it would have availed to make me change my domicile, if a very clear and unheroic idea of being protected by John-the dining-room was just page: 152[View Page 152] OF A SCAR. if: 152 TilE STORY across the hall from papa's room-bad not aided and abetted it. "Now you must understand that, in the original plan of the house, papa's room had been meant for a smoking-den, but he pre- ferred a chamber on the ground-floor, and so had chosen this apartment, for which he said there was 'no rational use.' It had two doors, one opening on the hail, the other on a side- piazza, from which a path led 'stableward. Both of these doors had locks; and the ease with which any ordinary lock gives way at the £ open-sesame' touch of professional 'fin- gers was at that time a fact which had never been brought to the realization of the rustic mind. I remember looking round, after I was in bed, and thinking how secure every thing wag-the doors safely locked, the shutters closed with springs,, and not an avenue of entrance left by which a mouse could profit. I gazed with complacent gratulation at the safe at the farther end of the room-the safe sitting modestly back in a corner, and giving no sign of the golden treasure within it-as I thought how emphatically we were burglar- proof. Nevertheless, seeing the firelight gleam on a digger of papa's-a pretty, fan. czfnl~ Albanian trifle, which he had picked up in some of his Eastern rambles-I thought I might as well put it within convenient reach, so springing out of bed, I ran across the floor, and took it down from its place over the mantel. I remember distinctly how I felt its cold, keen edge as I went back; then, slipping it under my pillow, I extinguished the light and dropped comfortably into sleep. "I do not know how long I slept, but I .think it was about midnight when I waked sud4enl~ with a strange sense of terror, a Wind instinct of danger, 'which made the blood settle like ice around my heart. My senses dl~ not, as is usually the case, strug- gle In the dim border-land between sleep and ~vaklng, but I was roused to perfect con- scIousness in an instant-consciousness as complete and clear as that which I enjoy at this moment. As well as I can recollect, my flr~t physical impression was of a strange heaviness, together with a subtle odor which I knew perfectly, yet could not identify. When I lifted a little the lids which seemed held down by some indefinable weight, Isaw that a light was in the chamber, and that a man, wearing a black mask, held a bottle of chloroform to my nostrils, while another, also masked, knelt l~efore the safe at the farther end of the room. "You wonder, perhaps, that I did not faint, realizing my utter helplessness. I have sometimes wondered myself; but the truth is, that we rarely give way under pressure of great emergencies. On the contrary, I think we hardly know our own capabilities until we have been tried in some such manner. I closed my eyes after that one glance, and lay perfectly motionless, feeling instinctively that to feign unconsciousness was the only re- source, the only hope in such peril as this. There was nothing to be done. To move, to attempt to cry aloud, was to seal my death- warrant, for the same hand which was hold- ing the chloroform to my nostril could have been on my throat before more than a gurgle had been uttered. I did not move a muscle, therefore; I even regulated my breathing to simulate the soft uniformity of slumber. You think you could not have done as much?" (A murmur had risen from the audience here.) "Take my word for it, the most timid woman here would have done just as I did. You see there was no alternative. Death hung over me on a hair, and in mortal peril it is said that even cowards are bcrave. With all my acting, my heart beat so madly that I feared it would betray me, and there are no words to tell what agonizing thoughts were mean- while surging in my brain. I knew that with every breath I inhaled tbe powerful anms- thetic, and the terror of . unconsciousness grew momently greater. What could I do? 0 God! what could I do? I remember think- ing little besides this while I lay motion- less. "I lived an age of horror in the few min- utes that elapsed after my waking, until the voice of the burglar who was forcing the safe said something-so low and muffled that I did not catch it-~--which summoned his companion to him. I felt that the latter hesitated a mo- ment and looked at me. Then, as I supposed, concluding that I was 'safe,' he withdrew the bottle; the next instant a handkerchief, satu- rated in the chloroform, was laid across my mouth and nose - after which, with light, stealthy steps, he moved away. "I heard it all, with senses sharpened to tenfold their usual acuteness; and, when he was once safely gone, I moved the handker- chief slightly-just enough to allow me a little pure air, instead of the stifling fumes of the I I page: Illustration-153[View Page Illustration-153] THE STORY OF A SCAR. chloroform-and then I asked myself; wildly and desperately, if there was nothing I could do-if bitter necessity compelled me to lie there and watch this daring robbery without lifting a hand to protect the property intrusted to my father's honor. You will say that such a question, in my position, was utter madness, and so it would have seemed to me at any other time. But at that moment I forgot my weakness, my utter helplessness, in the burn. ing sense of outrage which came over me as strongly as if I had been a very Samson. Watching the two burglars from under my eyelids, I saw the door of the safe (which was, in truth, little more thitn a strong box) yield to their efforts, and swing back. Was there nothing I could ~o, I asked myself again, in .utter despair-anti, as I asked it, I thought of the dagger under my pillow! "I say that I thought of it, but I need scarcely ad~ that an instant's consideration told me that no possible weapon could make me a match for two men, even if desperation lent me courage enough to face them. Still I put up my hand very softly, and drew the dagger from under my pillow-there being something singularly reassuring in the cold steel of its blade. It astonishes me yet to re- member how cool I was all this time-so cool that I was sure my hand would not tremble if the safety of my life ekotdd depend upon one stroke of the poniard which I grasped as my only friend and refuge. I was naturally anx- ions to avoid any such unequal contest-both for my own sake, and that of the men whom I could not help remembering soere men, with souls to be sent Into eternity. I was, how- ever, determined to save the jewels if possi- ble; and, strange as it may seem, a plan of es- cape at last suggested itself to me-a reckless plan enough, as you may judge. As I have said, the safe was at the other end of the room from the bed, and the two burglars, in stooping over it, had turned their backs on me. The door leading into the hall was mid- way between the two ends of the room. If I could once reach it unubserved, I could escape and give the alarm. "It was a forlorn hope, but I determined to try it. Perhaps I should not have ventured to do so if I had not been certain of at least one ally the moment I opened the door. This was a large mastiff, named Caesar. He was a great favorite with papa, and always. slept on I a mat in the hall. His instinct told him that I 158 0 04 CS '4 C., CS C) C) 14 CS CS 0 42 14 0) CS CS ~CS 04 CS something was wrong, and for some time past I had heard him scratching and whining at the door. Once aroused, I knew that no bull- dog could surpass him for strength, no blood- hound for ferocity, and so-if the worst came to the worst after the door was opened-I knew that C~esar was certainly good for one burglar, and perhaps-if God gave me quick- ness and strength when both were needed-I and my dagger might be good for another. "Chance, and the absorbed preoccupation of the two men, favored me. One short prayer-how fervent you can never tell unless you are placed in some such strait--and, step. ping out of bed with the dagger in my hand, I took the first steps, in my bare feet, on the thickly-carpeted floor. They did not notice me. All around them were gleaming masses of plate and jewelry. I crossed the floor swiftly, noiselessly, and with perfect safety. But, when my hand touched tke lock of the door, it gave a sharp click, which made them both start and turn. A single glance was enough. With an oath I shall never ~'orget, one of them strode toward mc. "Don't expect me to describe the scene that followed-I could not, if my life de~ ended on it. I only know that, before I could unfasten the door, I was in the grasp of a man, whose hands might have been made of iron from the manner in which they caught me, ~nd the manner in which I felt them in every fibre. The vast majority of women.(in our class of life) go to their graves without ever having had cause to realize the brute dominion of man-when he chooses to use the strength given him by his Maker-over the frail phyaique of woman. In those days I was young, healthy, well developed, and somewhat vain of my strength; yet I was like a reed in that man's hands. Not even despair and loathing horror could give me energy enough to free myself from a grasp which felt as ifW might crush every bone in my body. Half suffocated as I was, I had power, however, to raise my voice and give one cry-the utter- ance of mortal extremity and terror. In a second a hand was over my mouth, and an- other at my throat. 'Try that again, and you are a dead woman in two minutes I' the bin,. glar hissed in my ear. The close grip on my throat rendered this more than a threat, and an instinct-the instinct that causes even the weakest to fight forilfe-mademe lift the hand which was now free, and plunge the dagger page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 THE STORY OF A SCAR. (which he had been on the point of wresting from me When I screamed) up to the hilt in his body! "He dropped his hands from my throat, and, with one deep groan, staggered back. As he did so, I turned, and, with wildly-ex- cited fingers, tore open the door. Then, with a deep, menacing growl, such as I never heard before, and hope never to hear again, Caesar rushed past me. I heard cries.-.oaths -the sound of fierce struggling-the deep bass muster of the dog-as I fled from the room, but I dared not pause, and bursting into the dining-room, I faced John, whom my scream and the noise of the dog had at last aroused. "In a few minutes the only other man of the establishment-..the gardener-.--was wak- ened; and, armed with any available weapons that came to hand, the two men entered the now ominously silent room. Despite their entreaties, I followed them, and-shall I ever forget the scene* which greeted me! There was the open safe, with a lantern on the floor beside it, the light flashing back from all the shining plate and dazzling jewels, which cov- ered the carpet. Near the door-.-within five paces of where I had stood-lay the burglar who had caught me; and near the safe---with Cmsar crouching on his chest.-...was the other. The two servants went at once to draw off the dog, and, while they did this, I bent to see if the mau near me were dead or only wounded. I found that he was still living, though he had evidently tried to rise, and fainted from pain or loss of blood. Anxious to give him air sufficient for recovery, I lifted the crape mask from his face, and, as God sees and hears me, this midnight vobber....-this thief whom I had stabbed as an outlaw, in self-defence~--proved to be no other than Edward Clavering, my father's constant guest, my own devoted lover! "I knelt over him as if I had been turned to stone-.-striving vainly to realize the hide- ous horror of the discovery.-~when a stifled cry frofa John fell on my ear. "'Good God!' I heard him exclaim. 'Sandy', here's Mr. Ridgeley-and its's stone deadl' "They say that afterthis I uttered a cry.-. the second which had passed my lips-and fell back into a deep swoon. I only know that those words are the last I remember of that hideous night." There was silence with the quai~tet for some time after Mrs. Stuart reached this tragic climax of her story; but, to make it satisfactorily complete, there was more yet to be told; and, after waiting as long as was possible, Miss Palmer at last hazarded a ques- tion. "Was he quite dead, Mrs. Stuart?" Yes," answered Mrs. Stuart, speaking with great effort. "Casar had done his work well. The wretched man never breathed af- ter those strong teeth were once fastened in his throat. Edward Clavering, however, re- covered, and, although I never saw him after- ward, papa told me' that he had confessed every thing with regard to himself and his mo- tives. The whole family were adventurers, and he was-as Harry had declared-.--a pro- fessional gambler. and eltevatier d'indusfrie. Fortune had for some time been at a very low ebb with him, and to marry me was his last hope bf retrieving his affairs. One or two people who knew his character had, however, chanced to come into the neighborhood of the county, and he was aware that exposure might overtake him any day or hour. Under these circumstances he grew desperate; and, knowing that there was very little hope of my father's consenting to the marriage (even if I should accept his proposal), he determined upon the bold stroke of 'securing' Mrs. Ha:- die's jewels. The plan had presented itself to him when he heard of my father's absence, and it was to facilitate the matter that he had urged me so strongly to leave the house. It was also on this account that he had brought matters to a decided issue with regard to his suit. lie had always distrusted the marks of favor which I accorded to him; for my repu- tation as a coquette was wide-spread, and he had no idea of giving up a certain good (the jewels) for the uncertain good of being played with a little longer by an accomplished flirt. Still, if I had not been so decided-if I had given him any hope of my eventually saying 'Yes '.-every thing might have been differ- ent. The unfortunate Ridgeley would not have been led to his death, and the exposure when it came would not have been so open and so terrible. One thing, however, is cer- tain: his purpose would have been safely achieved-.-the jewels would have been lost, and royfather's fortune, If not credit, serious- ly impaired, but for my whim of sleeping down-stairs. I alone had the credit of pre. I THZE STORY venting the robbery, and it was not until I waked from my long and death-like swoon that I found at how much cost to myself this credit had been gained. I was ill-I re- mained ill for weeks-and this hand" (she held up the one across the white surface of which the long, red scar was traced) "had been laid open to the bone by the keen edge of the dagger to which I clung in that short, close struggle. "Was I cured of flirting? I think I may safely say that I was; but I never married Harry Wilinot, though we were good friends and cousins to the day of his death. In this respect, at least, you see, the whole course of my life was changed by the story I have told you." The steady voice of the narrator sank into silence, the bright blaze of the fire had died down to a spft glow which did little more than reveal faint outlines of the four ladies grouped around it, and, as the gloom of twilight deep. ened into night, the large room looked almost eerie enough for a ghost-scene. The tragic narrative to which they had just listened had sobered the audience exceedingly, and no voice broke the stillness until there came sounds-footsteps and voices on the stair- which told that the gentlemen were coming up. Then there was something of a commo- tion. Mrs. Dulaney rang for lights, Miss Palmer's pretty feet resumed their proper place on the floor, Miss Lamar rose from her lowly seat, and sank into a deep chair some- what outside the circle and in the shade; Here a tall, handsome gentleman found her when he glanced round eagerly for his "nut- brown mayde." OF A SCAR. 155~ "Why are you looking so pensive?" he asked, leaning over the back of her chair. "Have you been frightening each other with ghost.stories here in the dark?" She threw her head back and looked up at him with her liquid-brown eyes. Wretched little sinner that she was, shq~ knew only too well how these same eyes w&e treacherous lakes into the depths of which men's hearts tumbled unawares and were heard of no more. "Ghost-stories?" she repeated. "No, indeed! We have had something much moro thrilling than a ghost-story, because it was true-a story of robbery, and danger, and courage, and death! With a moral, too!" "Indeed! And may I ask what the moral was ?-to get patent locks, and keep fire-arms by your bed 2 "No. The moral was less commonplace -at least in connection with robbery. It was~ highly edifying, I assure you, for it was this -beware of flirtation!" He elevated his eyebrows and laughed. "Is it possible? I think I shall beg for the story, for I cannot imagine two more in- congruous ideas than burglary and flirtation. And are we to have a feminine Saul among the prophets-do you mean to swear off from your favorite amusement?" "Swear off! As if I ever flirted! or, as if my poor shots could hurt anybody, if I did~" "Don't lay that'flattering unction to your soul,'" said he, in a whisper. "Your shots have crippled one bird for life, and Heaven only knows what you mean to do with him." "Put him in my game-bag, of course,"' she answered, with a wicked glance. T HE E ND.- page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] CHAPTER 1. T HE day was bright, still, and balmy. Though January had told but a third of his span of days, Nature was already be- ginning to awake from her winter~ sleep. Flowers were blooming, bees were humming, and birds were singing gayly amid the ever- green shrubs, in the large garden attached to one of the handsomest private residences in the town of J-. All was sunny and cheer- ful without doors; all was bustle and excite- ment within. It was the eve of the wedding- day of the only child and heiress of the house, and, in anticipation of the important event, all heads and hands were busy with preparations. Mrs. Blount, the lady of the mansion, was a little too busy for the comfort of her ser- vants and assistants. $he was here, there, everywhere; in the store-room, where the process of cake-making, cake-decorating, and the general manufacture of domestic confec- tions, was in full tide-up-stairs, down-stairs- even in the kitchen, with iluestions, sugges- tions, directions, that infinitely disgusted the cook-hindering everybody, helping nobody, until the very rustle of her silk dress be- came an abomination in the ears of the much- tried household. The confectioner's man, who was in command of the storeroom, had again and again respectfully represented that he "would have all right, without her troub- ling herself-she might depend upon thoU" -the cook had exclaimed each time that the brown silk invaded her domain, "Now don't you be botherin', mistiss, and n~aking yourself uneasy. You know I'm boutsd to have every thing fust-rate for Miss Emmy's wedding' breakfast ! "-and her own maid had protest. ed solemnly against her "breaking herself down this way, instead of keeping quiet, so as to be well to-morrow." But remonstrances were vain. Mrs. Blount could not keep quiet. Her spirits were, at that altitude of exhila- ration which must effervesce in restless mo- tion. It was not only that she enjoyed in- tensely the fuss, excitement, and ~clat of her daughter's marriage with one of the richest, handsomest, and most fashionable men of J-; the crown of her content was, that she herself had "made the match;" that, but for her, it "never would have been a match." And so, happy and self- congratulating, she wantlered about, blandly unconscious of how much she was in everybody's way, and how heartily everybody was wishing her at the an- tipodes. There were two rooms in the house, how- ever, which, in all her wanderings, she left un- invaded. One of these was the chamber of her daughter, the bride-elect; the other was the private room of her husband-a small apartment adjoining the library-which en- joyed the prescriptive right of exemption from intrusion. In this latter, Mr Blount was now sitting, on a sofa drawn near to the fire. He had just turned from the library-table at his el- bow, where he had been writing letters, and, leaning forward, took up the poker, and be- gan to stir the fire mechanically. Mr. Blount was a man whose life was exclusively of thb world. He ate, he slept, he entertained his friends, he read, wrote, and studied, under his own roof, and he paid all the bills his wife presented to him, without question or com- ment; but that.was all. So far as any of the I A DOIJ]3T. page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 A DOUBT. usual influences of home were concerned, he might as well have been the celibate of an anchored's cell. He had early in his married life discovered that there was nothing in common between himself and the vain, friv- olous woman whom he had made his wife; for, though the world occupied an equal place in her regard as in his own, it was in a very different form. He was intellectual, energet- ic, ambitious, while she was a mere butterfly of fashion; far the more selfish and heartless, inasmuch as she was by far the moet shallow nature of the two. On the present family occasion, there was as little harmony of sentiment as usual be- tween this ill-matched pair. As Mr. ]llount bent over, and absentlystirred the eoais, hi~ face, so far from exhibiting the expression of beatified content which his wife's counte- Sr nanee was bearing about, was very clouded. His eye was thoughtful, his brows somewhat -contracted, and his lips compressed. He was thinking of an appeal which his daughter, to his great astonishment, had addressed. to him the night before; and, as he thought, his face grew darker and darker for he felt that, without any fault of his own, he occu- pied a very embarrassing and painful posi- tion; and the sense of this was not less dis- agreeable than novel to him. He had prom- ised his daughter that be would consider the matter which she had so abruptly forced upon his attention, and he had kept his word'-. baying spent the greater part of the night revolving it in his mind. But, look at the question as he would, he could find no satis- factory solution of the difficulty. For once, his keen intellect, and usual fertility of re- source, were entirely at fault. He was hope- lessly perplexed. While he was still ruminating the subject, there was a low knock at the door. He hesitated a moment before he said, "Come in," and, for the first time in his life, was conscious of a positive sense of cowardice, as he heard the door open and shut, and a slight, quick step crossing the floor. It was not un- til this step paused beside him, that he turned and looked up. A young girl, whose slender figure and delicate blond beauty gave her an almost painful appearance of fragility, was standing with feverishly-varying color, her eager gaze fastened upon him. At the first glimpse of his countenance, she seemed to read the do- vision at that instant forming in hi& mind, and the lovely half-blushes, that were coming and going momently in her cheek, faded sud- denly, leaving it as stony white as freshly. carved alabaster. "Papa, 0 papa!" she cried, without wait- ing for him to speak, "I cannot, cannot mar- ry him! Oh, have mercy on me, and send him away! I cannot, cannot marry him!" She pressed her hands down one upon the other, on the edge of the table by which she stood~ as if to steady herself-for she was trembling from head to foot-pressed them so hard, that they were almost as bloodless as her face; and there was a strange look of terror and anguish in her eyes, while her voice had the very wail of despair in its ac- cents. "My daughter," said Mr. Blount, gravely .-taking her hands, he drew her toward him, and placed her on the sofa by his side-" my daughter, sit down and listen to what I have to say." "0 papa! 0 papa!" she gasped hyster- ically, "you do not mean-you cannot be so cruel as to mean-." "Don't excite yourself in this violent manner,,' said her father, whose face had be- come a shade paler than usual. "Try and control this agitation-try and listen to me, Emily." He was still holding her hands, but by a sudden effort she released them from his grasp, and began wringing them franti- cally. "Tell me-only tell me," she cried, "that you will save me from this worse than death! That is all I ask!" "I can tell you nothing until you are capa- ble of listening to reason, my daughter," he answered, with the samegentle gravity as when he spoke first. "Reason!" exclaimed she, passionately. Then looking at his face, and reading its ex- pression, she added n~ore quietly: "Forgive me for distressing you so much! I will try to listen to you." He put his hand on We soft brown hair that was pushed carelessly back from her face, flowing in disordered ringlets on her shoulders, and smoothed 5t softly for a mo- ment, before he said: "Emily, if you had told, rue, at the time this marriage was first spoken of, that in ac- cepting Madison you were acting under com- I A DOUBT. pulsioa of your mother's influence, I should not only have at once put a stop to the affair itself, but I should have taken care that such a thing never happened again, by peremptorily forbidding your mother's interference, either one way or the other, with your future matri- monial choice. But I understood from her that you accepted him voluntarily; and your conduct gave every color of probability to this assertion. I saw you walking and riding with him constantly-receiving his attentions at all times, as if they were agreeable to you; and when I made the direct inquiry of you- as a matter of form only, I confess-.-whether you wished to marry the man, you answered distinctly that you did." "Yes, yes, I was a poor, miserable coward! As I told you last night, papa, mamma man- aged to throw me with-with him , against my will, and to commit me in so many different ways, that I was coward enough to feel it im- possible to say no, when he finally asked me to marry him. But as to my receiving his attentions, that was not my fault. Mamma would promise him that I would ride or walk with him at a certain time, and would then insist on my fulfilling the engagement when he came to claim it. I never liked him -though I did not, when I consented to mar- ry him, detest him as I do now. I thought that as I had unintentionally led him on, as mamma called it, to offer himself-that I would try to like him. And, 0 papa, I have tried so hard! But the more I saw of him, the more did I feel dislike, amounting to ut- ter disgust; and though for a long time I would not acknowledge this, even to myself, as the time drew nearer and nearer for me to marry him, I-I---papa, I could not endure it! I abhor him-I loathe him! Death would be a thousand times preferable to marrying him I 0 papa! have mercy on me, and save me! I shall lose my senses or die, if I have to marry this man!" "What can I do at this late hour? Con- sider, Emily-if you had spoken to me a month or even a week ago, it would have been different; but yoi let the engagement go on for months, you wait until the marriage has been publicly announced, every prepara- ti9n completed, the very eve of the day ar- rives, and you wish to break it off thou! Don't you know that to jilt the man in this notorious manner would be most unprincipled, nios&dishonorable conduct?" 159 She did not answer. She only wrung her hands again, with a look of utter de- spair. "Do not think that I am indifferent to your wishes," continued Mr. Blount, after a little pause. "I would do any thing which it was possible to do, my daughter, to release you from a marriage that seems so repugnant to your inclination. But what you propose would be a disgraceful breach of faith. Don't you see that?" "Is there no hope, no help, for me?" she asked, with a desperate sort of calmness. "No help but in your own strength of character. Remember, it was by your own act that you were involved in this affair. A word to me, at any time, would have relieved you of all difficulty. You ought to have spoken that word in time. Since you did not do so, you are hound in honor to keep your faith." "I would have appealed to you sooner, but I was always afraid of you, father," said the girl; bitterly. "Afraid of me! What reason had you to be afraid of me?" demanded he, hastily. "Did I ever once act, or even speak, harshly to you?" "No; you were always kind enough, but so cold! You scarcely seemed conscious of my existence, unless some accident reminded you of it." "God forgive me!" said he, with a groan.. "God forgive me! One false step, one error,. is the fruitful source of many succeeding evils~ I was not by nature what is called an affec- tionate disposition, not impressionable or demonstrative, and the little warmth and sentiment that I did possess was frozen by-" He stopped, and was silent for some min- utes. "Emily," he said, turning suddenly to his daughter, "answer me one question. Is it some love - affair with another man which makes you so averse to marrying Madi- son?" "No," she answered, meeting his keen glance without the slightest hesitation. "I do not love any other man. I wish I did; for I could ask him to save me, then. No. It is just that I detest.-..loatke-this man!" She spoke quietly now, as if the climax of passionate feeling was past, and something very like apathy was stealing over her. Mr. page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 A DOUBT. Blount looked with anxiety amounting to ap- prehension at her pale face and drooping form. "My daughter,"( said he, abruptly, "you think the sacrifice which your own conduct has imposed upon you a hard one. Listen to me, and I will tell you of a much harder sacri- fice wiiich I once made to a sense of honor. Did it ever occur to you to wonder, Emily, why I married your mother?" "I have always wondered at it," she an- swered, listlessly. "She was handsome when I first saw her, and much admired; and, from the first mo- ment of our acquaintance, she exerted every effort to attract me. I don't think that, in- trinsically considered, I should have given her a single thought, or that it would have been possible for her to obtain my most tran- sient attention. But I was young and vain, and, flattered by the favor voluntarily be- stowed on me-a favor which I saw so many around me coveting-I was unhappily drawn on, until, despite my better judgment, and almost before I knew what I was about, I was engaged to her. "It was at a watering-place that we met, just at the end of the season. On the very day after I had offered myself, and been ac- cepted, we parted to return to our respective homes. I was startled to find that, as I jour- neyed homeward, I dragged a lengthening chain, not of regret at parting from her, but of repentance that I had been so weak as to yield to a momentary infatuation, thus bind- ing myself in honor to marry a woman for whom I entertained not the slightest genuine regard. And, if I felt this at the time, how much more did I feel it afterward, when acci- dent threw across my path a woman whom I could have really loved, whom I did love, not- withstanding my struggles against what my own folly rendered a hopeless passion I But I did not hesitate, my daughter, as to what I should do. The real passion which had taken possession of my heart filled it with a dis- gust for the woman to whom I had engaged myself, equal, at least, to that which you en. certain for this man you are about to marry." The girl shivered at his last words. "But- I was bound in honor, and I kept my faith. Now, do you not see that my ease was harder 'than your own? I loved another woman. You have just assured me that that sting is not added to your suffering. I was perfectly aware that it was only for my wealth, and my reputation as an ambitious and rising man, that the coquette who had netted me wished to become my wife; while you must acknowl- edge that Madison is really attached to you ~for yourself alone. I do not admire him as a man; he certainly would not have been my choice as a son.in.law; but I must do him the justice to admit that his love for you is thoroughly honest and disinterested. I never was mistaken in my judgment of a man's character, and I am certain of this." "What does it matter? I hate him-I abhor him-I loathe him! Father" (she caught his arm with both her hands, and looked despairingly in his face), "do you mean to tell me that there is no escape, that I must marry him?" "My daughter cannot act dishonorably, and it would be dishonorable to draw back now." "Then, God help me, since you won't!" she cried, burying her face in her hands. After a minute, she slowly withdrew them, and looked up. "I am sorry I have dis- tressed you in this way, papa, since it has done no good. I suppose you are right-that every thing ought to be sacrificed to honor. I will try to be resigned, since it must be so." She rose to go, and her father, rising also, bent his head and pressed his lips to her brow. "My poor child!" he said. That was all; but she saw that hi~ eyes were full of tears. "Are you so sorry for me as that?" she said, with a sad, faint smile. And then she repeated her last words: "I will try to be resigned, since it must be so." -4-- CHAPTER II. "What! not dressed yet?" said Mrs. Blount, sweeping into her daughter's room, resplendent in pearl-colored silk, early the ~next morning, and finding Emily still in her dressing-gown, standing before a window. "I thought I particularly requested you to be punctual, my dear," she added, with petulant reproach. "I shall be ready in time," answered Emily, without turning round; and some- I A DOUBT. thing in the tone of her voice grated very harshly on her mother's ear. She had managed and manoeuvred, with all the skill of a cunning and perfectly unscrupu- lous nature, to force her daughter into a mar- riage to which, she was well aware, the girl's inclinations were violently opposed; and she felicitated herself on the success of her man- agement. But still there was a little of the mother yet alive at the bottom of her heart, despite the mountain of selfishness overlying it; and latterly this feeling had given her some very uncomfortable qualms whenever she was in Emily's presence. The language of suffering was written so plainly on the pale and altered face, but a little time before so bright, that not all the specious arguments with which egotism is ever r~dy to justify itself to its worshipper vould quite stifle the whisperings of remorse. "I have acted en- tirely for her 1own good, and she will thank me for it hereafter," was the stereotyped phrase which she was in the habit of repeat- ing to herself when her conscience was a little more importunate than usual in con- demning her arbitrary conduct in the matter of this marriage. She repeated it now, as she advanced to where Emily remained stand- ing, and exclaimed, with ostentatious cheer- fulness: "Let me see if you are looking your best, my love, as in duty bound this morn- ing 1', Her daughter did not reply, did not even seem to hear the remark. She was gazing vacantly far away into the blue sky at some fleecy white clouds that floated slowly along, and wishing, in an apathetic sort of way, that she was one of them. "It is time that you were dressing," said Mrs. Blount, in somewhat less honeyed ac- cents, for she began to feel both irritated and uneasy at this strange manner. "Very well-I will dress," answered the girl, listlossly; but she made no movement toward doing so. "Never mind, Mrs. Blount; I will take her in hand, and, trust me, she shall be forth- coming at eleven o'clock," cried a gay voice in Mrs. Blount's rear; and a young lady in bridesmaid's costume 'came forward from the other side of the apartment, where she had been busy at a toilet-table, putting the finish- ing touches to her own dress. "Thank youMiss Laura-I will leave you 11 161 to your task, then," said Mrs. Blount, grab ciously. "I am particularly anxious to be punctual to the appointed hour. It is always so tiresome and awkward when there is delay on an occasion of this kind." She smiled, and the pearl-colored silk rus- tled majestically out of the room. "Come, darling," said the young lady, who had so opportunely for Mrs. Blount en- tered an appearance on the scene-Emily's favorite friend and first bridesmaid-Laura Ashby-" come, you must dress." "Very well," was the reply again; and this time she did move. She walked across the room to the toilet- table, and resigned herself passively into the hands of Miss Ashby and her own maid, who went to work con amore, and, at least half an hour before the stipulated time, presented her to her own inspection in the mirror, in all the bridal glories of white silk, orange-blossoms, and veil, complete. "You look lovely, perfectly lovely I" cried Laura, enthusiastically. "A little too pale, but then it is the regulation thing for a bride to be pale-but beautiful as a dream I-Don't she, Lucinda?" "'Deed does she, Miss Laura," answered the maid, in a glow of pride and admiration. "The prettiest bride ever I saw!" "Run, now, and see whether all the bridal- party have arrived. I don't suppose they have; it is early yet. You wait down-stairs until it is time for us to go down, and come and tell me then.-You know," she continued, turning to Emily, as the maid left the ~oom, "that the guests are to be in the front draw- ing-room, and the folding-doors will remain closed until we are all in our places in the back drawing-room. Then they will be thrown open, and the ceremony performed immediately. That, and the congratulations, and the breakfast, will-but what am I think- [ug of to let you be standing tiring yourself in this way? Come to the fire, and be quiet antil we have to go down." "I would rather go to the window," said Rmily, returning to her former position. ' Please to raise it up, Laura, I am so "It is a delightful morning," said Laura, mshing up the sash; "the air is more like &pril than January." She drew a large arm- ~hair directly in front of the window as she ~poke, and made her friend sit down. "Don't 0 page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 A DOUBT. A DOUBT. 163 crush your dress, though," she entreated, as the other sank into its depths without any apparent recollection of that important con- sideration. "Mercy, child I you will ruin your head if you lean back against it in that way." Emily looked up with a faint smile. "You can set it to rights again," she said. "I must lean back; I am so very tired." She closed her eyes, and Laura, who had been wondering privately all the morning at the strange manner in which she was acting, stood gazing at her now in positive dismay. Everybody-that is, everybody who con- stituted the fashionable world of J-, was perfectly aware that this marriage of Mr. Madison and Miss Blount was a "made match;" everybody, excepting Mr. Illount, who was not in the way of hearing gossip, particularly about his own daughter, had known all along that it was a match not at all to the taste of the bride; and she had been very much pitied at first. But people took it for granted that she had "become recon- ciled to the affair," and it was with a sudden thrill that Laura Ashby now connected her singular conduct with the recollection of her aversion to the marriage. "Good Heavens 1" thought she, aghast; and she went and sat down by the fire to think thematter over. A thousand little circumstances unnoticed at the time of their occurrence started up to corroborate the dreadful suspicion which had flashed upon her mind; and she was wringing her hands, metaphorically, over the miserable fate to which her poor friend was condemned, when the door opened, and a troop of brides- maids were ushered in by Lucintla. After exchanging a few sentences with Laura, they all followed her with gay words and laughter to offer their greetings to the bride, who still sat just as Laura had left her a few minutes before. "She is asleep," whispered the first one who approached; and the rest moved softly, and spoke in low tones as they gathered around the chair. "How lovely she looks 1" "Beantiful!" "Exquisite!" "Too pale!" "Oh, she will have color when she be- comes excited!" Suddenly a silence fell over the circle- the silence of unconscious awe. She was so still. They looked at each other in surprise; then chill doubt and terror came into their eyes, and they stood paralyzed. It was at this moment that Lucinda ap- proached the group, and, struck by the ex- pression of all the faces before her, she pressed forward, as with an instinct of what was to come, gazed for an instant with start- ing eyes, then seized one of the white hands that hung loosely over the arm of the chair. A touch was sufficient. She fell on her knees before the motionless form, with a loud, pier- cing shriek that rang through the whole house, smote fearfully on the ears of the wed- ding-guests assembled in the drawing-room beneath, and, in the contagious panic of hor- ror, was taken up and rei$choed by every one of the circle of girls around. CHAPTER III. Emily Blount had watched the sun rise that morning of her wedding.day in golden splendor; but clouds gathered at early noon, and the same sun sank to his rest in gloom and darkness. When the next day dawned there seemed a shadow over the heavens as deep as the pall of grief that had fallen on the house so. suddenly changed from a house of joy to a house of mourning. The sky was one sombre gray; the air was still and damp. People who professed to understand the weather said that a heavy winter storm was coming on, which would last for days. There were speculations whether Emily Blount's funeral would not, or ought not, to take place that afternoon, as the weather was so threat- ening, the cemetery was a mile from town, and the road to it a desperately bad one after a rain. Everybody who entertained any in- terest on the subject-all the friends and ac- quaintances of the Blounts, that is to say- looked anxiously in the morning paper to see if there was a notice, but none appeared; and it was generally understood during the course of the morning that the funeral was appointed for the following day. About noon, however, there was a burial-paper carried round: the funeral would take place at three o'clock r M. It soon transpired, further, that Mr. Blount had with difficulty been in- U duced to consent to this change of arrange. ment, on the representations of the physicians attending his wife, that, unless the body of her daughter was removed from the house very soon, they could not answer for her sanity, so violent was her grief and her re- morse. "No wonder Mrs. Blount feels remorse!" said Laura Ashby, as her brother sat down beside her in bhe ~arriage, to go to the fu- neral. "She is just as much Emily's mur- derer as if she had taken a knife and cut her throat!" Then, with all the eloquence of grief and indignation, Laura proceeded to relate to her brother (who had returned home only two days previously, after a long absence, and consequently was not informed in the matter of the social gossip of J-) the whole his- tory of the matchc" over which Mrs. Jilount had made so much rejoicing, and which had ended so tragically. "0 Duncan! if you had seen her smile, her face, as she looked up at me just be- fore-" The girl paused-her voice choked in tears. "And she died of disease of the heart, it is thought? "asked Duncan, who was a physi- cian, and naturally felt an interest in the sub- ject of so unusual and sudden a death, but had had no opportunity of speaking to his sister about it before, as she had not been at home from the time of Emily's death until she returned half an hour before, to change her dress for the funeral. "Of course it was disease of the heart," she answered. "The doctors said so-and what else could it have been? They were trying every thing to recover her yesterday morning; for the doctors thought at first that it might be merely a fainting - lit. But I knew better. I knew the instant I looked at her that she was dead! She was just as c6ld and rigid l~hen-and it had not been ten min- utes since she was speaking to me-just as cold and rigid as she is now. I want you to see her, Duncan; she looks so lovely!" The carriage stopped at this moment. They alighted, and, entering the house, Laura led the way at once into the back drawing-room, where the body of Emily Blount was lying. It was before the days of burial-cases, and the top of the coffin had not yet been put on; the full-length figure was visible, in all the mocking glory of her bridal array. "flow beautiful!" was Duncan Ashby's first thought, as his eye rested on it; and then, with a sudden, sharp pain that sur- prised himself, he remembered a single line of poetry he had lately seen quoted in some novel he had been reading: "Death holds not long his fairest guest un- changed." The young man had been studying disease and death in all their numberless forms, in the hospitals of Paris, until, like too many of his profession, he had come to practically regard the human body simply as a curious piece of mechanism animated by the vital principle. But he could not look at the form before him in this cold, abstract manner. He could only gaze on it as a vision of beauty such as he had never beheld before. There was not the faintest shade of death's livid hue on the pure whiteness of the face; no sinking or sharpness of feature; there was, even, none of that peculiar expression around the lips, and in the fall of the eyelashes upon the cheek, which is the most invariable signet set by Death upon his victims. And yet it did not look like life, either. In both form and face there was a rigidness resembling mar- ble more than flesh; and the complc~ion was unnaturally tintless; bloodlessly transparent as Parian. It seemed a thing that belonged neither to death nor to life-but, rather, to the realm of the beautiful in art; like "Sonic bright creation of the Grecian chisel: As cold, as pale, as passionless, as perfect." How long Duncan Ashby remained in rapt contemplation of that lovely mould of clay, he could not have told. Indeed, he afterward had a very indistinct recollection of every thing that occurred during the fol- lowing two hours. That double conscious- ness which ofteti enables us to acquit our- selves creditably in word and manner, while our thoughts are far away from time and place, must have befriended him; ~'or, not- withstanding that a very grave conflict was going on in his mind, no outward token be~ traded it. Though the hour was barely that of sun- set when the long line of carriages that had followed Emily Blount's funeral left the ceme- tery gate to return to town,, the sky was so overcast that dusk had already fallen; and when Duncan Ashby and his sister arrived at home, it was quite dark. Dinner had been page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 A DOUBT. A DOUBT. 165 kept waiting for them, and to Duncan's satis- faction was served immediately. Laura, ex- cusing herself on the plea of a bad headache, retired at once to her own room; and Mr. Ashby, pare, though he had already dined, complacently sat down to keep his son com- pany. He was rather shocked by the hasty manner in which Duncan dispatched the busi- ness. He ate-for he was hungry and need- ed his dinner-but he ate like a hungry man who was in a gweat hurry; and on rising from table surprised.Mr. Ashby by leaving him for the evening. He had an engagement, he said, which would probably detain him out late; and so he would wish his father good. night before going. A thin, drizzling rain had set in half an hour before, and had been increasing steadily in violence ever since; and consequently it was through a pelting shower that 'Duncan made his way to the house of Dr. Boyd, Mr. Blount's family physician. It chanced that the doctor, who was a widower, and kept whatever hours suited his convenience of the moment, having dined before going to the funeral, was just enjoying a substantial sup. per, in all the ease and comfort of dressing- gown and slippers. Duncan's ring at the door startled him to the indulgence in one or two expletives rather more emphatic than reverent, for he apprehended that it might be a professional call; and he felt irritated at the bare thought of having to leave his com- fortable fireside-to say nothing of the whis- key-punch which was at that moment in pro- cess of brewing by his trusty housekeeper- and brave the inclement weather without. But, on learning that it was a visitor instead of a call, he ordered the servant to show the young man in, and rose with the greatest cor- diality to welcome him. The first salutations over, Duncan, after declining supper, as he had just risen from dinner, proceeded at once to the business which had brought him through the rain and the night. "Doctor," he said, with a smile, "do you know a sane man when you see him?" The doctor's eyes opened wide in astonish. ment. "What do you mean?" he inquired. "Just put your finger on my pulse, will you," said Duncan, extending his wrist- *" and look me straight in the eyes. Well, are they the pulse and the eye of health, bodily and mental?" "What do you mean?" asked the doctor again. "I have come to you on an errand wlich I am afraid you will consider so insane that, before telling you what it is, I think it well to take the precautionary measure of con- vincing you that I am compos menus." "We'll say that I am convinced, then. Go on," said the doctor, whose curiosity was considerably excited. "In a word, I doubt if the young lady who was buried this afternoon, is dead; and I have come to ask you to go with me, with- out loss of time, and examine whether my suspicion is correct." "What 1" cried the doctor, as soon as he recovered himself sufficiently to speak, his breath having been quite taken away by Duncan's astounding assertion and proposal. "What!" Duncan repeated, a little more at length, what he had said before. "Good Heavens!" exclaimed the doctor, "what has put such an idea into your head?" "It is not an idea, but a doubt, that I en- tertain- a faint doubt, I will say- but, a doubt. And it seems to me an imperative duty to clear it up in time." "Unquestionably," answered the doc- tor. "What are your grounds for this doubt?" Duncan proceeded to explain, in technical phrase, certain slight appearances and indi- cations which he had observed, without at the time attaching much importance to them -but which gradually acquired more and more weight in his estimation, until he final- ly resolved, while returning from the funeral, to lay them before Dr. Boyd, and entreat his assistance in the investigation which he him- self was resolved to make. "But why the d-l," said the doctor, im- patiently, "didn't you speak at once? You thought the girl was alive, and yet said not a word against her being buried! I'll be d-d if that looks as if you were compos men- tis I" "Well, in the first place, as I told you, these symptoms, or indications, did not strike me very forcibly at the time that I observed them. Yost must be aware, doctor, that there is such a thing as dormant perceptions. I am afraid that I must acknowledge that, so long as I was looking at the body itself; I was eon- scious of nothing but its wonderful beauty. It was afterward, a's I was looking at the pie. ture it left on my memory, that the doubt came like a flash to my mind, 'Is not this a cataleptic trance?'" Dr. Boyd looked thoughtful; and then he asked various questions, all of which Dun- can answered readily. "I wish to Heaven," he said, finally, "that you had spoken in time to save all this trou- ble, or else that your 'dormant perceptions' had remained dormant until to-morrow morn- ing! A pretty task this is that you've set yourself and me, to go diving into a vault on a business of this sort, at night-and such a night! Well, how do you propose to proceed in the affair?" he concluded, resignedly. "I leave that for you to decide," an- swered Duncan. "If you agree with me in thinking thgtt, slight as my doubt is, it justi- fies, nay, demands an. investigation, you can best decide what is to be done." The doctor wrinkled his forehead, and spent some minutes in profound cogitation. Then he rose and rang the bell once-and, after an interval of a few seconds, rang it again, twice. "Bring round the baronche, Tony," he said to the man-servant who first appeared -and who, with a not well-pleased "Yes, sir," disappeared as a woman - servant entered. "Clarinda," said the doctor - "ah, you've brought the punch-just in good time.-Take a glass, Duncan !-Clarinda, I am going out, and may bring back with me, in half an hour or a little longer, a-a sick person. Have a room ready-with a good fire and a warm bed, and have plenty of hot water and hot bricks on ~ hand, so as to be ready for any emergency. And, hark you! don't be scared at any thing you may see when I return. Bring my boots, coat, and overcoat." With a heart-felt sigh, he put off his dress. ing-gown and slippers, indeed the out-door costume, and, after paying his respects to the punch, he and Duncan sallied forth. They found the barouche and Tony waiting. The latter, to his great joy, having been informed that his attendance was not required, they entered the carriage and drove off at a pace which soon brought them to the door of the small house near the cemetery, which was oc- cupied by the sexton who had charge of the place. By a considerable expenditure of time, patience, and argument, this personage was convinced that their errand to Mr. Bloiint's family vault was not of an illegiti- mate and nefarious nature. It took all the weight of Dr. Boyd's character to reassure the natural distrust with which the sexton regarded the medical profession in connection with burial-grounds. Finally, hos~ever, his scruples were satisfied-more particularly as he was invited to inspect their proceedings with his own eyes-and, taking his dark lan- tern in one hand, and his keys in the other, he preceded the two gentlemen along the wind- ing gravel-walk which led to their point of destination. In a few minutes they found themselves within the va~,lt. It was a dank, dismal place, ill venti- lated, and consequently very damp; paved and walled with brick, and surrounded on three sides by a shelf of about two feet in width, on which was deposited half a score or so of coffins, some of which had mouldered almost to dust, while others were perfectly sound apparently, though all but the one which had been so recently deposited were mouldy and mildewed. Having lighted the candles which they had brought, and so dis- posed them as to throw a good light over their further proceedings, they, with the as- sistance of the sexton, lifted the coffin which they came to inspect from the shelf to the floor. The lid was unscrewed, and, after ex- changing one glance, they lifted it from the shell. There was no change in the appearance of the body. Dr. Boyd touched the brow, the hands; drew forth a pocket-mirrorand, holding it before the nostrils, examined care- fully to see whether the glass was dimmed. Then he shook his head. "We have our labor for our pains," he said, in a low tone. "Still I am glad we came. After you had once put that ugly thought of burying alive into my head, I could not have rested until I convinced my- self, by ocular demonstration, that there was no danger of such a thing. I suppdse you are satisfied now? I am, and I think we had better close the coffin and go." "Stop a moment," said Duncas~, A~ I will be satisfied, doctor, with two more te~sts. Try the first yourself; put your hand under the armpits, and see if (here is the same chill there as here." He pointed to the brow. Dr. Boyd did as requested. With some page: 166-167 (Advertisement) [View Page 166-167 (Advertisement) ] 1660 A DOUBT. difficulty he insinuated his fingers between the arm and the chest, on the outside of the clothing. His face changed a little. He thought or he imagined that there was not that penetrating chill of death here. To de- cide the point, he opened his penknife, and, with a hand that trembled slightly, he in- serted the blade in the edge of the dress at the throat, and cut through the lace, silk, and linen, that enveloped the bust. He placed his hand first over the heart, waited patiently, examined closely, and again shook his head. "The armpits!" said Duncan. The doctor pushed his hand slowly along, finally paused and started; then, with almost a bound, he exclaimed, "By Heaven, you are right! there is warmth-she is not dead!" "Now, see here," said Duncan. He lifted her right hand, straightening the elbow, and putting the fingers into the position of point. ing at the other side of the vault; after which ~he withdrew his hold of it, and it remained precisely as he had placed it. "Catalepsy!" said Dr. Boyd. "God bless you-you have saved her!" Yes, she was saved, but not without much suffering. For months she labored under the disease by which she had been so suddenly attacked, and which had so nearly caused to her the horrible fate from which Duncan Ashby's "doubt" rescued her. Skill and time conquered it eventually, however; and, when health again bloomed in her cheek, a second wedding-day dawned~ for her; And this time Mr. Madison was not the bride- groom. T HE E ND. COOPER'S LEATHER-STOCKING NOVELS. "Tin~ ENDURING MONUMENTS OF FENIMORE COOPER ARE HIS WORKS. WHILE THE LOVE OF COUNTRY CONTINUES TO PREVAIL, HIS MEMORY WILL EXIST IN THE HEARTS OP THE PEOPLE. So TRULY PATRIOTIC AND AMERICAN THROUGHOUT, THEY SHOULD FIND A PLACE IN EVERY AMERICAN'S LIBRARY. "-Daniel Webster. A NEW AND SPLENDIDLY-ILLUSTRATED POPULAR EDITION OF FENIMORE COOPEII'S WORLD-FAMOUS LEATHER-STOCKING ROMANCES. D. APPLETON & Co. announce that they have commenced the publication of J. Fenimore Cooper's Novels, in a form designed for general popular circu- lation. The Series will begin with the famous "Leather-Stocking Tales," five in number, and will be published in the following order, at Intervals of about a month: I. The Last of the ~ohicans. II. The Deerslayer. III. The P~.thfinder. IV. The Pioneers. V. The Prairie. This edition of the "Leather-Stocking Tales" will be printed in handsome octavo volumes, from new stereotype plates, each volume superbly and fully illustrated with entirely new designs by the distinguished artist, F. 0. C. Dam ley, and bound in an attractive paper cover. Prke, '75 cents per volume. Heretofore there has been no edition of the acknowledged head of American romancists suitable for general popular circulation, and hence the new issue of these famous novels will be welcomed by the generation of readers that have sprung up since Cooper departed from us. As time progresses, the character, genius, and value of the Cooper romances become more widely recognized; he is now accepted as the great classic of our American literature, and his l)oOk~' as the prose epics of our early history. D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, New York. page: 168 (Advertisement) -169[View Page 168 (Advertisement) -169] AiJIhIetoll & CO.'S llnlill~lls of Fo~ll1ai~ NO~~Ii~t~. 4.4 BENJAMIN DISRAELI'S NOVELS. I. LOTHAIR. l2mo. Cloth..........................Price, $2 00 cheap edition. 8vo. Paper...................." I oo II. HENRIETTA TEMPLE. 8vo. "........." 50 III. VENETIA. 8vo 50 lY. THE YOUNG DUKE. Svo. "........." 50 V. .ALROY. 8vo. "........." 50 VI. CONTAINING FLEMING. Svo. "........." 50 VIL VIVIAN GREY. 8vo.............................." 80 VIII. CONINGSBY. Svo. "........." 60 IX. TANCRED; or, The New Crusade. Svo. Paper............." so GRACE AGUILAR'S WORKS. New uniform edition, with Illustrations. Cloth. I2mo. Price, $1.00 per volume. I. HOME INFLUENCE. II. THE MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE. A Sequel to "Home Influence." III. WOMAN'S FRIENDSHIP. IV. HOME SCENES AND HEART STUDIES. V. THE VALE OF CEDARS. VI. THE DAYS OF BRUCE. 2 vols. VII. THE WOMEN OF ISRAEL. 2 v~ls JULIA KAVANAGH'S NOVELS. New uniform edition. Cloth. ~2mo. rrice, $1.2S per volume. Now ready: I. NATHALIE. II. DAISY BURNS. III. QUEEN MAB. IV. BEATRICE. V. ADi~LE. CHARLOTTE YONGE'S NOVELS. 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