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“ $53 ‘-    ~ v ‘ w , mammal ~     
j'vyriuhwd, 1884, by BEADLE AND ADAMR- E"Wreiqgfllffglflffig at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mail Mutter. Oct. 28, 1884.
  $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLYBY BEADLE AND ADAMS, price, N 

. . a Year. No. 98 William Street, New York. FiVe Cems' 0' '

 HAND HELD HER BACK~A GRAVE”. SOLEMN vomm SAID! “ CHILD! WHAT WOULD YOU Do?”
' w: "I WOULD DIEl”

Emu AGAINST;

 

01‘. THE WINTHROP PRIDE.

ATHEfifb

BY OLA RA :1 UG USTA

CHAMBER I.
THE SUSPECTED CLERK.

N’ HALL crowned a green eminence, .

 

 

 

SEE SAID, SIMPLY.

a more of rods from the broad sweep of the
C'mrles river: and from its windows the eye
ranged over a delightful variety of scenery: hill
and valley, forest and meadovv land; whl‘e a.
couple of miles to the east, Charlespown monu-
ment lifted up its granite finger agamst the sky,
and in a long, continuous line the spires of Bos—
ton glittered in the sunlight. The distant hori-
zon met the sea; the sea so darkly blue, that,
but for the sails which dotted, here and. there,

 

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l - r ‘ ” ‘
' its .calm‘bosom, dyou would have thought an
’ azure cloud had
_ upon the earth. I
, At the'hall door a carriage was waiting on
this fair June of which we write—a sumptuous
’ carriage, with two gray horses, and a liveried-
“ driVer. Miss Winifred Atherton, the lady of
 Atherton Hall, pleased to take an airing.
 r  She came down the broad steps at last; this lag-
- , EingWinifred, leaning on the arm of her father.
' be young lady-she- had not seen more than
, fifteen summers -—'was a beautiful picture
' to 100k 11 on. Father and daughter were
all in 8.1 to each other—the last of a
, noble family. The wife and mother had

‘ " slept for years in the bosom of a green grave at
‘ Auburn: the blue—eyed babe of six years was
i  nestled to her side—the only son and brother

* haddied at sea, and been laid to rest by rough
but kindly hands in the great deep.

. {Robert Atherton’s vast wealth would go to

this daughter of his. No wonder the little lady
could. afford',to be scornful; no wonder she
walked the ground like a very queen; she had
' been ruler at Atherton Hall so long that a spirit
I , of command had become with her second

, nature. .

r  air were whirled rapidly toward Bos-

‘ ‘ ton. . Atherton to his place of business, on
> Broad street, Miss Winifred to spend the day

.‘With Marchmont, on Beacon street.

‘ The carriage was nearly opposite the police—
; case, when it suddenly came to a halt, its
 {further progress impeded by a. crowd about the
 door, of the tribunal. I

1 "“ Winifred contented herself with tapping the
‘ ,velvet carpet for awhile with her dainty foot,
than she grew impatient, and spoke:
~ ‘E‘What is the cause of this delay?”

 . ( .‘ESOme trial of interest goin on here, I should

 caucludeirom the number 0 . curious ones as-
tumbled, returned Mr. Atherton. ,

4 ; “ Well, then, if we are to remain here, I see

' notpwhy'we should miss of gratifying our curi—

“ 7_ Ofit‘y by witnessing the remarkable perform-

. .1  am goin in tosee for myself. It will

r,. hqsomethin entire] novel for me.”

‘ _ f“ My dang ter! inifred Athertonl, you go.
‘ intros police—court! What can you be thinking

 

_ A9: , .
.“ Youa’re brow-stricken, papa, but you will
gain with me,'I know.” ,
.  'Her hand pressed hi. rm° those eyes so like
 dead mother’s, loo ed into his. 0 never
_ a g could resist Winifred when in that mood. .
'   "fIt is new foolish in you, mgr dear, to wish to
mix with onder vulgar crow .”
-' He  ted from the carriage, and handed
  out. The interest of the court-room
‘ was tinned from the prisoner to center around
{1’ millionaire and his daughter. The scene
nthe office was by no means an uncom-
ne in a large cit . A young man of about
was arraigne to be tried for'forgery.
rcumstances, as evolved by the evidence,
riefl these: > . i, "
rd, iddletonhad been under-clerk in the

 gnarl-enjoyed thgfignfidencs qt
 ‘1', W0. ears an rem‘ a. —
 ” ’ he «won‘ the estegzn diall

Tswana; Adair:

ascended, to rest for a season /

' we often find it so dimcult tqassign a reason.

' see the lad re eased. I ’will give bonds tof‘hn'nél'

 

l6 dry-goods establishment of Chambers ' y

      

‘ n a »
STM 

connected with the store, except,'perhaps, that;
of Charles (Deeper, the accountant, ghetwe‘e

whom and young Middleton there had ever er- V
isted One of those mutual antipathies forwhich

, A fortni ht previously, the name of the, firm .1;
had been orgedto a paper of importance-ea 
draftupon the Blackstone Bank for nine bun-“2:.
dred dollars. The check was ‘esented by 5
Gerard, thrown out as ungenuine . the paying: 
teller, and the clerk was detained on a charge 
of forgery. . ' g  ,

The culprit stood before his judges, pale but  '
composed; handsome he certainly was;~and,his 
hearing was quite as haughty as though be
counted his money by the thousand dollars, in:
stead of lacking a solitary co per. His defense
was, simply, innocence. He ad no knowledge
of the check until it came, duly signed, into his
hands; he was perfectly and entirely innocent. '
When did ever a statement of this k nd, coming
from one accused, have an weight? His em-
ployers looked u nit as a ardened evasion of
the truth, and 1ddleton was about to be car-
ried toprison in default of bail ,for- fifteen ,hunv
dred dollars. » ' ’

Winifred’s quick apprehension caught 7 the
facts of the case instantly; her heart res ndeg.
sympathizingly to the look of des rate espair
on the youth’s face. She presse her father’s
arm to secure his attention. ‘ p L ‘

“ Will you bail this Gerard Middleton, papal?

' “No, indeed], The saints forbid!” cried‘Mr.
Atherton, inrighteoue indignation. ' _ ,

“ Then I must do it instead i” said Winifred;
with determination, and moving to the side of,
the magistrate, she spoke a few words in his ear.
The good man started, frowned, and then
smiled. ,« ‘ p ‘

“My dear youn lady, it is without precise
dent-«this propose. of yours. It is not commoztf
for young girls to offer bail for reckless charm

tors like this Middleton.” ‘ a;

“Granted. Nor yet were deluges Common;
but one occurred, nevertheless, in the time at.

Noah.” ' . , - . .

“ If Miss Atherton is serious, and her fathef
consents, no more can be said. Mr. Atherto,
Vsir, we await your decision.” j i t "

“Winifred may have her way. ‘ She is all
have toindul e, and she has taken a fan ‘

   
  
 
   
   
  
    
 
 
   
   
    
   
 
  
  
   
   
  
   
   
 
    
   
   
  
  
   
   

 

myself,” returned Mr. Atherton, with ‘w
ood-humor; and directly the necessar pa = A.
ing drawn u and signed, Gerard iddle
was pronounc at liberty. , h, ‘ '
He advanced to the side of Miss Atherto
and held out his hand. She ut her jeweled fin.
gers into his clasp. No war was ut ,1}?!
the dark brilliant eyes of the youth;  .. .
eloquently his gratitude. For a. 
looked into her face—then with slight, bend;
his fine figure, to the people in t e court-1;
he passed out. - ‘ , L
‘ Well, daughter,” said Mr. Atlierton,W1l
they were once more seated in  f
“you have liberated the young scamp; what:
ou'propose to do withhim?”  1’ s v 
“ Do with him? Why, you» will take him-W
the store, of course.” _ ’ .  g  .
f‘There is not a single'vacant  

   

      
 

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wholejaneeiai; anddgitherq were ah‘undred, I -
youmnwedmitseeélitehm’?  ~ , e
 “fitness harem. ‘ r. you must’create ‘3
, new laoetobe  A-plaoe torthis Gerard
 Mid letonis Special‘benofit.” v~ -‘
-. “Not to’sav'e’ihiehqadl",  ' .

‘ * 1.3: enlr‘wzll find a situation for

“ h! whatfi  _
"‘ Fall in love, th his handsome face, and in-
‘ Vite-r him to,,e‘lope'with me, if nothing more fa-
g vorable offers. Our names would sound finely
together in the Morning Herald.”
7 , ‘ ‘ Winifred Atherton, yOu wfllbe‘ln a lunatic
E5 asylum yet! Elope with him, indeed! Elope
' with a‘rascally Clark!”
“ “ I shall be obliged to do so, father, unless you
‘ can put him in some place where he can earn his
living; for, you see, a clerk has to eat, and drink,
I and wear coats like“ other men.” , .
' I, Mr. Atherton winced; he was used to the
g matter-Of-fac‘t dealing from his girl, andyet he
did not like it. ’ ‘ ‘ .
“ Perha s I can get him into .l’orter’s grocery
as errand y. Too good for him, I- dare say. ’
“ And I Will not permit him to go there to be
ordered about by cross husbands and sour old
maids, bu ing halfa ‘pound of en ar and two
eunces 0 tea. Recollect, Mr. erard’s my
propert now.” ,, ' . l
‘ We ,well, I W111 'see about it. Perhaps
,  Dalton can let him into his department to assist
v in the job work.”
.= _, “Nothin of the kind, dear papa. I veto‘that
Jinan entire This boy has a proud sgmt, or
 have tail toread his face aright. eshall
not be humbled, in that we '. It would make
S ,hinilreckless: perhaps, lead im to crime. Show
 hir’nithat you have confidence in 'hisamtegmty
and he will die rather than forfeit yourgood
' ' He must be nothing less than a
‘ r erk!” . " *
i ‘5 Winifred, what a famous little autocrat you
would make for the Russmns. Every mans
head in the empire would be struck off in a
week, «who refused to swear fullest allegiance to
your madcapplots. ” .
' , “Dear sir, you flatter me. Shall my despotic
lodyshipbe indulged, and thus Gerard become.
the respected incumbent of a respectable and
lucrative situation in the hardware establish-
.ment of Robert Atherton 8::  i”. ‘ I
}- “Yes, es; I will hunthim u it only to rid
myselfo your teasing. He wil be a drawback
.uponx e, no. doubt; forge my name, or steel
in  motes, but he shall have some situation
’ th me, if it be only to stand by my elbow and

 : pens ” . \ _
' gevmy good. You are philanthropic father
 which I kim your cheek; and ere we
are? ‘ ’ " ‘

The coach drew up before a ' lendid stone
mansion. In a few moments Vimfred and
frotty little Mrs. Marchmont were exchanging
heir deliiilmed eetin inthe shaded drawmg—
room; .W ile r. At’erton, both vexed and
fimused' with this new penchant of his daugh.
ter’s, was be e’rapidly down to his warehouses
on email: I - v, . .

nun—’—

    
  

 

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LIGHT,” snaps; ;

Mn. rnnnronzwas aslggoOd asihis  
Gerard iddleton was sought, found, and in; “I
stalled as assistant-correspondentin the 003m" 
ting-room of the wealthy merchant, ' , ~ . ‘

oungr Middleton’s history «
time was that of many another of his  
Hisi‘ather had been a cor but talented 
who (1 ing young, 19 t his widow and their -’
child, erard, in a state of painful mdigence. ,
Mrs. Middleton came from .a wealthy ‘asweli‘, 
as haughty family, and, havmg been disowned' ‘
and cast ofi? b t ese relatives, for ,weddin the}; 
man of her 0 oice‘ she had too much 0 her
kindred’s stern pride, now, in her destitution to 
call upon them or assistance. . ’ "

For three years she worked unintenuptedly
for the 'tailors’ 'sho’s in Boston, receivmg in
payment barely s cient to keep soul and bod
ogether. The incessant toil and anxiety 8
wrought upon her slender frame that she was
brought to a bed of sickness, from which 5 
never arose. The kind hysicianflmorlike her
selfwwho, out of the hristian benevolence oi:
h1s heart, vmited her, said that, only healthful
food and country an- could restoreherrras
well mlght we have prescribed the melted peer ‘
oi Cleopatra, or the powder of the Koh-rnoo
diamond. For days the meager room" Where
she dwelt was "without fire—'eand night”
night’ the darling boy went to his rifle
fasting, because there was no bread! , ‘

Mrs. Middleton’s powers of life wasted E, '
and with hands meekly foldedupon' her.
she committed herself to the care of‘the
whom she was not afraid to trust, He
how weary of earth was her spirit, 'severedthe.
silver thread, and rent in twain the, ’ V
bowL-‘Gerard Middleton was crushed? , 1
words of theSthsiclan, who had remainedmi‘tfi
the last:-—-“ on are motherless.” _ v - K;

The boy was ten years old; bright“ a we,
and intelligent—and yet he was carried text
workhouse. There were privileges oilea'rnin
there—:and these be improved to the ut
When thirteen, he was taken‘into the ofififi »
legal gentleman ashcopyist. Here . he 
a year or more, w on his su erior \ manshxp‘ “  ‘~
attracted the attention of M1? Ch  
member of a dry, oods firm, ands ‘ ' 
settlement of pre 'minaries, Ger 7 ; ‘ do
oiled withhis new employers. ' ‘ . _ ‘ *

His only friend, during all this: time
Ruth {Mowbray—a pauper, as he himse
been. Both of Ruth’s parents had  in ,
ing to this country from Englandgland: their
daughter had been consi ed, by the captm ed
the vessel, to‘the home 0 the poor, Mediate 6”
on their arrival in port. / ' *   ' ,

Ruth was two years Gerard’s junior V ,
tiful, fair-haired, blue-eyed girlruntain ‘
the associations which had of late suan
her and pure-in heart as the white wa

'I’he boy and the 1 had continued
ther and sister: ' as soon as Gerard" 
to earn something, he insisted on. aha
ittance with her. Through his in I
£51. Chamber§,Ruth was received
liner store of meanwhile V " i 
ton '3 rest. as an apprentigeiw

previous to p, ' ‘

  

  

    
 

 

 

  

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.. , ., "mg manners and 10ver face, attracted méiény,_a
'  enstonier to er employerls counter. ‘ v

 Q ; .v Gerard Middleton had been but a few days in
3 _‘ his new situation, when Mr. Atherton invited
him to ride out to the Hall, and pass the night.

i It was not exactly a cordial invitation, for the

‘ richkmerchant had many doubts regarding his
-c er .‘ - .

But it was Winifred’s expressed pleasure to
see the suspected forger, and her father could
deny her nothing which had the shadow of rea-

' “ son about it. .

Middleton was received, by the youn mis—

,’ ‘. ' tress of the Hall, with much kindness; an after

tea, she set herself to work at sounding the at-

tainments and qualifications of her protege.

 

  ton was obliged to confess that he knew no
 " 'lan ' age save his own, and that rather imper-
fect ; and he could not sing, play, or cut a
2 figure in the dance. =
,- '  “Verly Well,” said Winifred, composedly—
* “I- wil teach you Latin and French. Some-
time when I go into business for myself I am
A '  gging‘to make you my foreign agent, and then
1 .- t ewtongues of other nations will be of benefit
- to you. .
[ ‘ ‘, The Latin, in particular,” observed Mr.
‘ erton.
 ,gTo home, if he should be engaged in pur-
 hasing medicmes, as I suppose he will' for you
;“ :lrnow, papa, I have serious thoughts of
. .ing‘a female physician.”
 ‘A female'flddlestickl” retorted Mr. Ather-

indignantly. .

. J nifred was used to this mood of her father’s,
 so it, did not trouble her in this instance, and
L “shelmadean en agement to commence her les-
sons"on' the-f0 owing evening. Mr. Atherton
Would kbring the. pupil up in his carriage, at
night,__and take him back in the morning she
7" said; and Mr. Atherton was obliged to no as-
r"'sentingly. * - _

' . And thus it happened that Gerard Middleton
2 came daily within the influence of this proud,
1 but warm-hearted girl. And during those quiet
. ,soasons‘at her side, he learned to know the
;meaning of eVery curl of her red lip, every toss
‘ other queenly head; he learned, to fear offend-
‘ ingfher, to love to toil for her approbation; to
5 1.1001: upon her as upon the evening star, so gor-
' fist-giggly beautiful, yet so very far above his

the}: the time appointed for his appearance at
f court drew ni h. Gerard felt restless and un-
5 easy; be fears condemnation, more because it
, . would shut him away from his star, than be-
) - cause of his own disgrace and humiliation.
* ‘ ~ . It Was the.evoning previous to the day on
which» his guilt or innocence was to be estab-
‘7'  Gerard-mt .by the side of Winifred,
. ' his task, when a note was brought in
.. Va, *"laced before him. He broke it open, ran
 _ h  greedil over the contents, while a flush
I  . ' finoun to his pale cheek. He gave it
"to , ‘ . fired—she read it aloud: ' '
, J“ " GERARD annnrom—J'ani on the eve of de-
 for Europe. I am urgosing to confess to
m'chambers & Marsh t

    
 

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,Winifred was a close questioner, and Middle.

becom~'

 

rDurmg {six months this quiet continued, and I

e guilt which 1 new I

 

    

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confess to you. I forged that check on the 

‘- stone Bank, and cause you to be sent to drawit,‘

because I hated you. , I asked you once to introduce. '

me to the pretty seamstress, Ruth Mewbray, and s 

you refused, ca ,
useless to repeat. wanted to be revenged on you,
but. as I am rather a good fellow, I am willing to be

generous, especially as I can afford it, having1 recent. “ 

y fallen heir to a fortune ofa hundred ousandi 

pounds, waiting for me in merry old‘England. 7-1:";

run no risk in exonerating you; as, with my poverty;
I renounce forever the plebeiai‘i‘ name of

me some bad-names that it is, ,- ‘.

Camus COOPER.”  I  ‘
There was a light of triumph in Winifred?  

eyes as she finished reading. - . _ ,

“Well, father, what do you think now of my ,j
discernment?”

“ It seems you were right, Winnie; and I beg
Middleton’s pardon for distrusting him; but let
itiis haze no scenes. Go on with your conjuga-

ons. - ‘

- All through the winter and early spring 
fred devoted herself to her self—imposed .task‘of

 

teaching her father’s clerk, and the most san-  .

guine teacher must have been astonished atthe
progress made b the scholar. Gerard’sintel-
ect was quick an vigorous; and he caught at
all sources of knowled e With avidity—just ,
such an avidity as was p casing to the exacting
nature of Miss Atherton. ’

Late in May came Winifred’s sixteenth birthe‘ ‘

day, and the quiet of the hall was entirely
broken u . 0n the evening which made her
sixteen t e heiress was to be (presented toso»:
ciety—hrought out in a gran receptioniballu
Preparations for this great event went rapidly
forward, and _Midd1eton’s visits werexmter- .'
rupted. Presents from attached friends cured
in upon the young beauty, in lavish
diamonds and pearls sparkled, and mingled to-
gether upon her dressing-table ;- and bouquets of
costly blossoms perfumed the, spaciOus alcovasc' '
of the wide drawingrroom. , ‘ "
Winifred had pressed Gerard to be present at
the reception—he had declined with a sinful:
blush, which did not escape the eye of t 1e pet-' '
ted heiress. An eng ement, he said, Would.
prevent him from en 0 in the ‘pleasure Miss
Atherton so kindly o ere him. ‘Winifred’s‘; V
face flushed hotly; but she only said—~very' ‘
vsilell, Mr. Middleton was at liberty to do as he;
c 050. ' . ' r "
~ Gerard did not tell her; that this enga ement ’
—-this walk to Chelsea with Ruth Mow ray“

could be indefinitely postponed as well; he did 

not tell her that his only reason for declining tQ' ‘
be present at the fete, was because he had not, 1,-
in the wide world, money enough to ‘
a suit of clothes fitting to wear to
tocratic assembly.

Just before the hour set apart for the arrival“; l

of the guests, while Winifred was et at her
her toilet, a simple cluster of wild ar utus new:
ers, fresh and sweet in their pink fragrance.~
came to her, with the name of Gerard ‘Middle‘
ton written on a slip , of paper which entwineti
the slender stems. 3

Those pure flowers found a resting-placeln
the silver glossiness of her hair, that night but
Gerard was not there to witness “the e 
and none knew the secret, but envied 55139,?
giver. . , ' _

r2) usion; ' 

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“Winifred Atherton was flattered to her heart’s
" fullest content. She could not have’lwished for
; a. denser cloud of incense than that which hung,
; 1 around her whereVer she moved. Proud heads
. bent low before her-«strong hearts beat quicker
‘; at her smile and in all the crowd of youth and
__ loveliness there were none to compare with
 .Winifred. She sung—her vozce was rich and
 sveet and owarful: and she played with the
 touch of a halber . She conversed-her lively
 wit, her tact, an versatility astonished and
 charmed her listeners. I
Milford Winthrop, the wealthy, influential,

of the train they had just quit.

 

 and talented barrister, for once, acknowledged
{in the power of beauty. He was twice Winifred’s
' age: a tall, grave, stately man, with an unlim-
ited good opinion of himself. Report vaguely
whispered that there were circumstances con.

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known, would confer no luster on his charac-
terg“ but he was rich and owerful—and no one
cared to revive old, half- orgotten memories.

 

 .Throu h the season of iayety which succeed—
ed her irthday- by, s e was the queen'of
every assembly, t e grand center about which

a train of satellites revolved. But in spite of
4111 this h‘om 9,- she grew colder and colder un-
 her halts opeless adorers called .her The
,Heart of Ice; and yet they )ersisted 1n flutter-
ring around her, hOping, per aps, to melt the
, frosty mail. I
d ‘ Gerard Middleton never came to the house
how; Winifred . saw him Only at rare intervals,
When she called with some gay party, at her
father’s store, to assist in selecting bronzes and
{costly candelabras ,for some newly-wedded

friend. At such times he never greeted her

unless she first addressed him. He never lifted
* his face to hers, though the crimson deepened
.011 his cheek, and the pen he held moved un-
fi‘Steadily over the paper. There was little of the
ur about this proud clerk; he would not fawn
~> about the hand that might, the next moment,
ln'ust him away.

Toward the close of October, a arty was
made up for an excursiOn to Mt. 1on yoke, and
. Week’s sojourn in its romantic vicmity. r.

inthrop was to accompany Miss ‘Atherton;
. and Mrs. Marchmont and. other friends
were to be of the arty. ‘

-~ It was :3. ohm less morning when they set
tKath-«all antivccigaating a merry time, and all m

,. s irits. inifred saw, with some surprise,
, at rard Middleton occu ied a seat near her,
1amd she spoke of it to Mr. inthro , who said

,1: Mr. Atherton had sent the c erk_ out to ,
riggingfield on business connected With 1118 
- The train proceeded steadily and safely; 
“V8137 wheel performed its duty. They reached i
long bridge built over an arm of the Chicopee
. r Vet. There was a momentary trembling of i

 

 

1

 

1'. 9' timbers, as the engine plunfied over them——
“3 €11 Winifred heard a dull,‘dca crash—rshe was
lsibleoif nothing more, until Mr. Middleton,
licking her up in his arms, dashed with her
,1“ upon the platform. Not a _moment’s panes
m be malteitoreply toher indignant speech of a
, nee; but with one athletic bound. he 

 

, out of her face.

 nected with this man’s first youth that, if 3 ‘
center. lay tossing about in the swift current of 

1 its shattered body in the ard gravel on theopr

: his clerk, he was filled with admiration  1
gratitude, and thanked the fyoung man ind, tech"-r
‘ rent of enthusiasm wrung

“other in rapid succession. At each bright‘

cleared the tottering platform, andleaped Vim: ‘ "
his burden into the water} , _ 'j
Bearing her up with one ,he struck out.
for the shore with the other, an in a few mo,- ‘ ‘
ments Winifred cold and drippin , stood upon-4 :15
the firm sand. ‘ or checks burn , '
her eyes flashed haughtily as she confron  -
youn man. , o K“
“ Sir, what means this msultl”; ,  _
He lifted his hand and pointed in the 

   
 
  
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  

“ Look and see!” he said, calmly. ,  
She did look, and all the pride and scorn went "
The checks grew white—sthe;
eyes lost their angry brilliancy. She . put her,
hand in‘ his for support and s mpathy.‘ His.
fingers closed over hers, but neit er spoke while ~‘
they, gazed together upon'the sad scene. x. . {f
The bridge, its massive timbers broken in the J ;

the river; the mighty en he had half buried.

posits side; and the cars, in one crushed, con-
used mass, were piled up against the abutment
of the bridge.» ~ ‘ ,, .
The unfortunate passengers, such of themes "
were left alive, were making their egress 
broken windows and rent doors—someiwith
faces pale and bloody, others uninjured. 1;
Of the, latter class was Mr. Winthrop; '. ,
without delay, hastened to the side or» like
Atherton to offer his congratulations on her Tes-
cape. Hethanked Mr. Middleton coldly for
service he had done the lady, and drawing, 
hand within his arm, led her ‘awayAto the
est dwelling-house. .v ' I, ’ - r ,' ,1’,’
Middleton bowed haughtin to this eoollypm
pressive gratitude, and turned his backgupon
he speaker; What did he care for the at
the rich man, so Ion as ' , _
fred had pressed his and her eyes looked;wet
with tears, into his face! He knew she was not”

all ice. A > .. . .
heard of the conduct of»: v

w”

a

When Mr. Atherton

om the dormant;
hisparentallove. V , _ . , , 

CHAPTER III. _
'rnn MIDNIGHT BRIDAL.  -,
Mine after life! What is mine after hfe?‘ \ r .  
My day is closed. The gloom of night common—a
A hopeless darkness settles o’er my fate. - - ‘ ,
M v 2 Johns».  
Or course the excursion ito H01 eke wage
broken u ; hree of the pleasure- «brewers;
amen t e dead; and several were, seva a
. r  , l ; :

woun ed. -  " . ‘, 
For a time, the shadow of this/melangxo

accident dam ened the spirit of gay
circles where he dead un ortunates ha . 7
but ere'long the occurrence was for otten
Balls, soirees and masquerades f lowed
sembl WinifredAtherton shone pro-eminent.
Mr. vyinthrop was still her constant cavalier, 
She would look splendidly at the, Medici/his:

table, she Would do the honors ethic *heas’e
right’royally; she, had a fine figure {or dismal

‘ .

 

 

' V. smmnieimsrg; I7 ‘ ' ;

 

 

 
  
  
 
 
   
  
    
  
 
 

' . filing- the costly norms in which as would be
I 1 proud to see his wife clothed; in his heait he

* Ti’ated her to become Mrs. Winthrop, the mis-
tress'of Maplewood. ‘ ' '

, Valentine’s Eve arrived, cold and frosty—
r and ,on this evening Mrs. Marchmont was to

’ give a grand ball. Of course Miss Atherton

, excellence.
Winifred stood before the tall mirror, in her
. rr‘ldressing-room, that wintry afternoon, and
‘ 'iwatched the efi‘ect of the crimson velvet robe,
» in, which the nimble fingers of her maid were
arraying her. There were gleaming rubies on
her arms and around her throat; precious gems
., which had just been brought iii—bearing on
  richly chased clasps the simple inscrip-
» on—
! W i “To WINnmED, FROM HER FATHER.”
,Ln  ‘  ’. The eyes of the brilliant beauty‘fell on the
., rosy glitter of ,the jewels: she bewed down her
, ‘ head, and kissed the bracelet which clasped her
s snowy wristwmurmuring softly:
_, ""Dear 'apa! how kind and tender he is!
,‘ g . How, coul I live without his love?”
‘ .‘ ,,_The maid finished the ex uisite coifi‘ure ; the
ilast curl was arranged, the ast fold of lace in
”‘ [its place; and Winifred, with a book in her
" ‘handp sat down to await the coming of her
(father. . Time passed swiftly; the ebony clock
,on/the chimney struck out another hour, and
 Mr. Atherton lingered. ‘ '

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  

would be offended it she were late at the ball.
’Ehe rose at last and turned to go down-stairs.
["7 Tell my father, when he comes, that I wait-
? ed’a full hour for him to see my dress, and—
 » IG'oo‘g, heavens! what means this confusion be-
 ow - , ~
 ' She flew down the stairs at a bound. The
~_  hallwasthronged with men, wearing pale and
‘ _. solemn countenances. She would have rushed
'3 ,y,'_th,r0u h the crowd to the parlor, whither some
I j shrank ed object was being borne, but a strong
, 4 arm held her back, and drew her into a side-
 ! ream. ‘ The door was closed, and the man
V I placed his back against it, thus preventing her
 : E-attempted escape. I \ , ’
_ ‘ She. lifted her face imploringly to his.
:33” “What is it, Gerard Middleton? Has any
 ,thing happened to my father?”
. Gerard was very pale, but his voice was
wcalm and even. He took in his own the hand
w . r‘she had unconsciously laid on his arm. .
g1; ;=“,Be ‘composed, Miss Atherton. You have
“3 Iortitudeeabring it to your aid.”
, I , “Fortitude! oh, yes; I can bear any thing!
Only tell me the worst!
p [ismv father dead?”
*  “No; thank God, beds not dead 1” ~
, “But he is dying! I read it in yOur face!
.  of my way, this moment. sir! I will go to
g  him! My place is at his side!” ' ,
‘ ',  ",‘The‘surgeon is examining his injuries. You

must wait.”
Wait! and my

Suspense will kill me!

,‘,,:“Wait! I cannot wait!
tether—the only one I have a right to love— dy-
. is»:  Iss1: you, tell me the worst.”

 ‘Sit own then; your fearful looks make me
tremble for your reason. Your father was

 

passing along Water street ,an hour  g

 Was expected to be present, the belle, par ‘

' The lady grew impatient. Mrs. Marchmont'

 

 
    
   
  
   
   
   
 
    
 
   
   
  
 
    
   
    
   
     
  
 
 
   

are taking down some old buildings therewand
a falling timber struck him on the forehead
He was raised 11 senseless, and'by a, physician’s ,
orders We have rought him home.”~ , ' »
“Do the say he will die senseless? W111 he
never be a le to speak again?” ' 
“ Miss Atherton, your very calmness terrific? '
me. Have you no tears to shed? no groans t__
utter?” \
“Tears! will they bring my father back to ‘ ‘
health? Tears are a mockery. Tell me the 
will speak to me again-«before the eternal/81,- 3 ~
lence comes?” ' ‘ ‘ ‘ 
“In all probability, yes. When his shocked,
system shall recover from this stu r. ” r 1
“You would tell me thatpam willrestore . '
him?” ,  ,  
“ Perhaps 'so.” . ,
“Well, then, so be it. Mr. Middleton, look g;
at me. Am I not composed and serene? Do ;
you see any manifestation ofemotion and 
spasm of suffering?” , * “
“ I see a stone statue!” ,.
“Very good. Statues do not feel.- » Therefore .
take me to my father.” . I , .
He led the way, she followed; and the two 
gassed on to the couch of the wounded man. I ,L
r. Atherton lay upon a bed which hadéieen "
hastily arranged in the center of the room, his 
eyes were closed, and his brow bound with a 
white cloth. _ 
Winifred approached and touched his cheek-f:
with her han . The motion revived him; he 
opened his gages and spoke— - 
“ Winifr , my daughter, is it you?” ..
“It is I, father.” . 3 
“You are calm; thank’ heaven for thathyou 
(firedfalm, and yet you are very pale,  ;
re‘ .  
“Yes, I am composed— rha1‘s,a little ‘e,.- 7
but that is nothing. My figart beats mafia 
my limbs do not tremble.” , , , 
“No. And for this I rejoice. I had feared' _j
otherwise. My child, your father is dyingyyou’ 1
will soon he a desolate orphan—alone, an Withw
out kindred.” ' j  _.
[A sharp sgasm shook her frame—rthe ,marbl
stillness of er face was troubled, but she 19‘
covered herself almost immediately. _* . '
“ I am going to leave you, Winifred; andber
fore I go, you must be provided with a lags} ,
protector. You are too oung and bean '
to be left without a guar ” ‘ »
‘.‘ Well, father.” r .
“My daughter, I am about to require 012370“
an act of instant obedience to a wish I buy
never before expressed in your hearing. M‘Wtilih
in this room, be ore the la of anot er hofll‘
{Ion 1113,1131; become the w' e of Milford"
ro , . I , ;
Winifred staggered back like one stnickfin 
abrifle-ball;oger acsedwguld be no whiter WW”:
t e ave—s s res own uponi - r  ’
“ od forbi l” she ejaculated, inhorrifiedfip‘
cents. » . . . ‘f Y
“1!: is as I hadexpected. You are 
at such unseemly haste. You think,
ligatt Mr. Winthro rill sharing  » .:
meassure on a youare.  , .;
ago. he askedzf me my’daughter’s  

   

-“

' \ to‘ld'liim he must/wait until you had time to love
 him. gin this man I have full éonfidence;' I
' would trust, him with my lifed am not afraid
:‘ to confide to him my dearest treasure—my Wini—.
~fred. Knowing that you are his wife, I can die
. I content; the grave wi l, have no thorns for me.
This is no senseless chimera of a fevered brain;
Zit is the firmly unded resolve of one, who, as
" ' g man, discerns all things more clearly
Titheynearer he approaches that country where
we shall see no more through a glass darkly.” .
,, The mifi'erer paused to regain strength: Wini-
’ .fred drew herselfu resolutely.
 “ Ask any thin ut that, my father! Require
my life, and it s, all be given up to you! But
“this thing I can not do.” , '
“You must do it, Winifred Atherton! there
V . is no room for a single doubt on that point. I,’
'* your father, command it. By your fears of my
.; V: dymlg‘ curse, dare to disobey!’
; “ must ‘ dare it, fat-her! I would defy the
;¢,« (powers of the infernal regions, rather than per»
5}: Jure myself at the altar!’ ' ' '
E Mr. Atherton fell back; a terrible change
g? passed over his face. A' deadly allor settled
 on his lips-h’is eyes grew fixe and glassy.
,5... Winifred sprung forward and raised his head to
her bosom.
, “ S ak to me once more, father! Bless nae-
. yo ittle Winifred-before you g0!” 
edfi turned his'face away from her, and moan-

“ out, feebly: I . ~
1 “Little did I think my own girl would inflict
‘th’is grief on her old father! Little d_1d I think
that m death-hour would be lmbrttered by
' that chi d’s disobedience! The few brief moments
I have to live must be cut short; my death has:
t‘ened by the willfulness of my only daughter!’
 His words out her to the heart. She fell on
her knees by the bedside. and cried, brokenly:
A“ Do with me as you will! cannot hston to
such reproaches as these, and live!” 0
“it Mr! Atherton’s face brightened; with one
feeble arm he drew her head down on his bosom,
and kissed her ic lips. .
“ God in heav'eh bless my daughterl She 37111
, make her f ather’s death-bed a couch of ease!
'- Mr. Winthrop came forward from the Window
‘iwhere he had been standing, and took the cold,
.: . s 've hand of the girl in his. Ata sign from
 Atherton, a y— ired, mild-faced. old
man advanced, anggood up before the waltlng

‘ o.
' ‘ * Gerard Middleton, pale, and unaccountably
g, agitated, rose to leave the apartment.
' A look from Winifred stopped him. She went
Yer to his side, and said:
1'“ Sta with me, Gerard. Stay and see me .
to stone. So merry and glad a wedding I
.‘ihould not. lack a groomsman.”
_ And Gerardclosed the door
a. and came-back to the bedside. .‘ ‘
It was a sad and Solemn ceremony. 'l‘he bnde
inher robes of crimson; her face whiter than ;
lie lace on her bosom: her 1i 5 cold and passion-
; her eyes brilliant an hard _as polished
We}. The bridegroom, self—sustained, hand-
30111.45, and “triumphant; the dying man propped
’ on, his/pillows to look at the strange sacrihce. _
Libs words were said; the responses uttered in
the cleanvoioe of the girl. and the calm. assured

 

  
   
  

   
 
  
   
 
 
   
 
  
  

   
  
 

,_

 

 

 

 

  
  
 
 
 
   
    
    
  
  

 

i
or:
a:

he had opened, 

' »   stares    

- voices sighed and moaned like ,tomblessspiritsn u

- she had demanded solitude; .her maid was for-
! throp, as a special favor, immunity {remiss

 

   
   
   
  
  
 
  
    
    
   
   
     
 
  
   
   
  
 
   
    
    
   
 
  
  
 

tones of the man; the lips otthe haughtyWin.
throp touohed the blow of his  the j
fervent blessmg of the (inspiring man was  -
nounced in a feeble vome "upon the newly , :
wedded pair. r  ' j  , g 55.2 ,s
The great clock on the hall stairs pealedforth. 
twelve strokes; the wintry winds roseto a fierce, 
blast in the tortured elm trees; and through  r
lonely aisles and corridors of the hall the wind-“m;

And out into the night and darkness—out up- 
on the unknown sea, whose waves wash the -
shores of eternity, went the soul, of 
Atherton, to meet its Judge; while starkand
motionless lay the earthly part, shrouded’for
the coffin rest. . ' ‘

‘ During. the three days preceding the 
while the remains Of Mr. Atherton lay in state,
Winifred Winthrop wandered about the dark-
ened rooms, pale and stem as a Nemesis. Not a :
feature of her frozen face softened; not a tear, .:
dJmmed the brilliancy of her glittering eye. _ j

Ashes to ashes,vdust to dust, was the body of ,.
her father committed. “In 9. Carrie? 
with black plumes, and drawn. by ea le ho ' ’ ‘
she followed it to Mount Auburn; she wen ;'
down to the very door of the tomb, and saw'the"?!
coffin laid by that of her mother; she turned
away as the iromgate swung inward, and, shot
that beloved form forever from her eighteenth; a
trace of emotion disturbed the marbleimmohilu
it of her countenance. _ , g f T'

y should she weep and weary heaven With
vaiindgrayers? Was not her miserable fate
c1 e \ , l _- “

 

CHAPTER IV.
ran SEVERING. 
DrFi‘p! dri ,oh,rain!‘ , ’ ~ . ’ 7 
rem eskyb louded eaves!   ,1
Wail! Wail, oh, wind, ,, . ,  
That sweepest the wither’d leaves! ' ' ’
Si in sigh, oh, heart-— 1, . 1.
hat vainly seekest rest! ,

Moan! moan, oh heart, a
By grief and care Op%NSS’dl , - _, 
—— ousnnom Worms. ,
ONE night more beneath the beloved roof»!
Atherton Hall~one more night of 
then Winifred was to go forth from its , lessed‘
shelter, to dwell in the statelyvmansion
husband. Maplewood was a sea—side ea,
a few miles above the ancient town of P1 a
mouth, and so far awa_ [from Boston that '.,
Winthrop would not e at [home more ,
twice a week, and for this Winifredifeltigrafiv‘
ful. The slaver , she thought, would. be 
tolerable while 1; e master was absent. " V " .v
This last night, in the halls of her childhood

n,

i

hidden to intrude; and she asked of Mr. Wine

societ '.  .  H; _
Theynight was bitter; cold; the snow~ 
fiercer from an angry; ,‘and the 
wind whirled over the car has though
an errand of destruction._ For  V
hours Winifred paced the chamber  
at last she paused before a window, and th .
ing open the casement,rleaned outinto the!
nose. The fury of the. storm filled pherwith-s ,~

  racked and heart-broken——o

 ; God-we are equal.

 1 Mine eyes searched her countenance-

 

 

 . *    i  “

 

 

, r ,wild delight. It ,was‘like the commotion in her
 ' own soul; She threw a shawl over her head,
' and ste ping into the corridor, listened intently

' to satis y herself that the household was wrapt

’ in slumber. -

. Then she glided down the back staircase, un—
* ., drew the great bolts of the outer door softl ,
and emerged into the cold and! gloom. T e

I .im'piercin wind made her shiver, but thexfresh-

, ness an freedom of its breath gave her a mad

“I;-  strength, and she went on down the lawn, heed-

less of the drifts whose billowy whiteness ob-

' _ structed the pathway. "

‘ On‘ and on, her handgressed hard against her
heart, she flew; she ha reached the pine copse-

.3 7 wood at the foot of the meadow, and was losing
. herself in its depths of shadow, when an out-

stretched human arm stayed her progress. A
, voice strangely» familiar, said:
i “Winifred! Winifred! where arexyou flee-

ng?’

“Let'me go! Let me go, Gerard Middleton!
I am in no mood for com any I”

“‘ You shall not go unti I tell on of the life-
,  , , the terrible
. “ ' gony which another than ourself is enduring!

 "0h, why, why had I not een born a. peer, or
’« :«youa pauper?” . .
v -, “it was not so decreed. And wherefore ask
. (airshggvguestion? It could not have changed my

“Winifred, our stations in life are different;
éia'wide gulf in society separates us; but before
As a friend, as an equal, I
ask you do you love this man whom you have

I  wedded?”

' ‘f’Ilovo him? It is desecrating the holy word

of loge to speak it in connection With his

‘ 9 113,318.
r "Winifred—J'ban not call you by your new
3' title—vane quer more. ' Deem me what you
" .will “I must‘re ieve my heart of this crushing
burden of doubt. ’Loving him not, do you love
,. another?”
. v _' His face was close to hers; the dark intensity
She did
’ not speak, but the moon burst through its treble

v »  veil of clouds, and the Euro ray of light fell,
’ , down ’on the burning flus

which crimsoned the
cheek, brow, and bosom of . the trembling girl.
a He was answered. I

* “For this moment Winifred, I am happy.

.  Inloving and bein beloved, why should despair
: find a place to dwe i”
‘ “In being beloved!” she cried, bitter] ; “ has '

_ not the earth closed over the onl one w olovod
~ me}; Is not my path through ife to lead me
_. always over the barren fields and streamless
‘ deserts?” r x v ,
f , “None to love on! Would to Heaven, Win-
, ,ifred, that I coul tear out my heart, and fling

" 7‘11; at your feet, that, seeing all its anguishe

> throbbing, you might be convinced!”

She comprehended him—she knew then how
well and earnestly she had been loved; for a
,moment the earth swam before her, then all
 her woe and despair surged forth in two simple

'91 w r , s: , r « ,
,   ‘f’ Too late!” , r »
V ~‘  opened to enfold her-they held her

 

 
 
   
   
 
  
 
   
  
    
    
      
    
  
  
 
   
    
 
   
    
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  

madl to his breast; his lips rained down  "
siona e kisses upon her face. '_ j u I ‘

“It might have been! v Oh, God!” , '- '

She tore herself away and stood erect-«pale ‘? V
and cold as a chiseled statue. - r ’7‘ '

“Gerard Middleton I am a wife. My time '
of weakness is past:  am strong in the deter»
mination to do my duty! This love which 
might have created for us an earthly Paradise '5‘?
must, henceforth make us strangers! Tonight, 4‘
I bid you farewe forever!” , ' ' V * iii,
She held out her hand. He bowed his fore- 3";
head upon it and said: v A- ' ~F ,

“ The decree is just! Farewell!” r , 52*“

The next moment Gerard Middleton stood ’- _
alone; and throu h the snow and sleet a dark 
figure made its asty way up the avenue to
Atherton Hall ’ ' A

In the gray of the morning therewas a kneel: *
at the door of the tiny cottage which served 3.
Ruth Mowbray both for a shop and dwelling- ‘ 
house. Ruth was mistress of her trade now and I
in business for herself, in a humble way. ~'

The gentle mistress of the place unclosed the
door, and admitted Gerard Middleton. She
gave him a loving sister’s greeting—the two 
were very dear to each other—and set a chair 
is; in“! cy the cheerful little fire. She noticed 
lllS pale face and. abstracted air, but she as a 
true and faithful friend to “him—therefore she ‘
gerbore troubling him with ,perpleXing ques- I:

ions. - “ 
He gazed into the fire; she sewed diligentl ; a
both silent, yet both anxious. At length 9 
started up, and flung himself down on the :1
Chintz-covered lounge—the only article of lux- ~3
ury which the frugal room contained. ‘ i . §j~

“Ruth” he said, impatiently, “put down " 
that work, and come an sit here by my side-j :
I havin confession to make.” , ;

She b ushed, and her small hands trembled as,
she laid aside the garment on which she had i,
been engaged. He drew her down on the I
lounge and retained the hand he, had taken. ,
She did not shrink from the touch; she rested 
herself in the perfect and child-like confidence "
she felt in him. , -

“You will call me presmnptuous; you will ,
say my punishment is just; but oh, Ru h, I am ’
veg miserable!” ‘ ' .. 

_ e calm, blue eyes of the girl were li‘fted’td
his in earnest sympathy. She stroked back the” .-
bright hair from his temples with her soft fln-- *
gers, saying simgly: , r

“ I am sorry. erard.” 5 I

“Yes; I know you are, my child, and so
have come to you to pour out my distress. ,
am but a boy—nineteen years have but just",
passed over me, and yet I have all the strength
and passion of manhood! I have awakens to
the joy and sorrow of life—have known ,
the honey and gall of existence—I have;
leved!” . "

Shestarted, blushed; and then turned white
as December snow. ~ ,

“ I have loved one as far above me as th
stars are above the earth! A proud, bea 
but tender—hearted girl! And forjlfall be”
wealthvand pride and beauty, she loved me i111
re urn. - 2; 

 

 

 

   

 SINNED AGAINST. ' “ '

 

 

 fl Ruth’s disengaged handlshaded her face; she Anywhere. anywhere,1 , ‘

i did not look up as she said: ' , , ut of the world. ,. . ‘ e—Hoon. -

» “Wen?” , . GROWING tap to youth together it was not
“ She loved me, but by the command of her strange that erard Middleton «and, Ruth Mo‘w- ‘

father—her dying father—she wedded a man i

whom she loathes! My fate is black, but it is
mornin ligimt compared with _ hers! Only
, think 0 it uth' compelled to chug for life to
. one for whom she feels only aversion and
hatred l”:

“ And you loved her, Gerardwyou loved her
deeply and stron ly as you Will never love
again? You will eep unto her, and her only,

' «as long as time with on shall endure?”
, He marveled at t 9 sin lar brilliancy of
.llhose blue eyes; he won ered at the blush
which made her cheeks like damask roses—but

oh, so dull of comprehension is man! he under- ‘

_ stood it not.
' ' “Yes, ,Ruth, I loved her thus! No.0ther
' Woman will ever enter into her place in my
heart; no other footstep will wake the echoes of
that sealed chamber where her love is buried.
' ,Henceforth, I ignore the existence of Love; I
live only for Fame and Fortune 1”
,' V His voice took a hard, stern tone as he pro-
. ceeded, and his face looked cold and gray as
. hammered granite. Ruth, pale, Silent, leaned
~” against the wainscot. He went up to her,
, » alarmed by her still rigidity.
"‘ What ails .
stand there so like a. frozen thing?”
' “I am cold;” she drew near the fire. “ It is a
., bitter morning!”
 I “Yes, truly. and your arms are bare. Let
p, me‘wrap this s awl around you.”
‘ “Shank you; and now go on. I am listen-
! in . ,
, “ I have little more to add, except that I am
‘ goin awa -—where scarcely Iknow; but Imust
flee om t e place which holds her. I will not
\ remain to tempt her and expose my own weak~
. Bess. And now, Ruth if, in after gears, you
* *shall hear men speak of Gerard Mid leton as a
' cold, loveless being, you will remember that he
 Once had a heart, but that a cruel fate took
“We its vitality and left it lead.”
“ ,1‘ es I will remember.” .
‘ i “That is well. I must go now,.Ruth, and
,God bless you. It‘ may be a long, long time
until I see you again. God, in heaven, bless,

r arms, kissed her check with affection, and went
‘ cm the house.

you, dear Ruth? Why do you.

bra should be tenderly endeared. to each other. ,
Bot were orphans, both were poor—both Were r
struggling through the world to obtain a sub-‘

: sistence by manual labor. It was but natural,-

 

, would dry soon, and her name would pass from

then, that their attachment should be stroegfi, ,, *7 ‘ 7‘
grid their regard for each other deep and st ' - g  .

ast.
With Gerard this aifeCtion was that of a ten;

der brother for a dear sister' with Ruth, it was ‘ l v”
the all—absorbing passion of her life. She never ,
thought of happiness where Gerard was not; _ 

never dreamed of a heaven from whence he «33

was excluded. I . _, » . ,
Purely and entirely she loved him; her life ,

she would have 'ven, any day, to have saved .  

him a egang; her ho 'es and joys were V 

center around him. S 9 never aused to

think of the consequences of this ar ent love;

she would have blushed with the veriest shame ,

if it had been said to her, even in sport, “ You

love this Gerard Middleton.” ,
Yet in her true and loyal heart she yielded up

all on the shrine of this earthly idol. ‘
Fearful] had she been punished! The golden

dream ha vanished. I . .,
The skies, lately so radiant, ,were gray and 

cold ;.earth stretched out before her abarren and ‘ ‘ _

dreary desert—there was no joy: no hope; no r _ f

merciful grace there! Why should she stay to A

drag out a loveless existence in sorrow and

tears? Why should her hair be blanched white

by the weight of years, and her eyes grow dim .

with age before the sleep of the grave—its sweet, ’ ,

dreamless sleep came upon her? _ -
She had not the courage “to look the grim fu«

ture in theface! The faith was small; her trust I,

in God’s ac‘ious Providence weak. She said to ,

herself s 6 would go down to death, andthns .

31d tiher heart of its burden. There was rest in,  : ,; 
us . r' a i

There would be none to mourn for her; Gle- r« - ' , " 

rard, perhaps, might shed a few tears, but they»

 

 

‘ his remembrance. One little plun e beneath the,

, tempest of yesterda had spent its

. And Ruth, staggering back to a seat, cried ,

‘ out in sharp des air: .

'L ' . “ Yes; he saidp it would be a long time ere we
5' met agai and so it will 1 the length and dark-
 "of he grave lies between then and
«howl. '

 

= R V.

m WAGES OF DESPAIB.
leak wind of March _
“liege her tremble and shiver;-

But no the dark arch,
Or bl ” k flowing river;

Mad from life’s history, ,

Glad to death’s mystery
Swift to be burial——

 

andrpmsfer you!» i hoover!
‘ He he (1 her for a. moment in his brotherly

r exactness, that a favored and welcome  W a s I
‘ was ex acted... When everything was arran‘ gedti ' , g 
an / '

bosom; of the sparkling river—a 'ttle chillness'  1 
as the great change crept on—a wondering of . ;
strangers over the drowned girl—and all would

The night set in dark with storm-clouds. 7'; '
There was a dull, sleety breeze blowing; the
. ,bnt the , , ,
skirts of its garmen s yet trailed over 8 earth. _, ' ' '
Ruth put her little room in order, trimmed the -
lamp and lighted afire in the chimney—place,
You would have thought from her scrupulous .,

 

she fol ed her" shawl over her shoulders,
locking the door of the cottage behind her, she
took the path through the snow, tothe river. I ,, ‘ » .

She stood upon the high bank above the boil- ' . ‘
ing flood—listened to the hollow murmur of the , '~ 3
wind in the leafless trees, and the low gurgling .
voices of the waters as they hurried  .

A momentar trembling seized her—a cold? .
hand seemed c utching at the warm fountains .' :
of her life—but she conquered the emotion. for ‘ '

,

  

   

 

 

 

l' ; ing the space of

 

 

 

\ «I,

the ve was not colder than “the world-e—the
.deso- ate, heartless world! ~ ‘  

She lifted her hands to heaven and. cried
aloud—“ God receive me!” , ,, ‘ ,

, The fatal spring was made-the earth crum-

_ {bled from under her feet—the chill air from
the river swept up and made her shudder—but

she did not fall. * A stron handheld her back——

a grave solemn voice sai :

 “Child! what would you do?”

“I would die!” she said, simply.

“Die! has God, hen, called you? Do you
dare to go unsummoned into the resence of the
Ruler of heaven and earth—the ord of Hosts,

* who has forbidden man to toy with the life
‘ which He has given?”

“I am weary and heart-sick, good sir; and
the tomb gives a dreamless sleep.’

“But the hereafter! Have you thought of
that? the terrible hereafter! You are young
‘ and fair; your face is like the face of a child;
why should you be weary of that life which
 have just begun; and which strong men

ufi’eted by a thousand storms, cling to tena-
ciously’i”

“ I am wretched and alone. Not a tie of kin—
dred; not a soul on Whom I haVe the slightest
claim for care or protection! I have none to
counsel me; none to advise!” I
' “If you, will ermit me to stand to you in a
 place of a brot er, I will be all that a brother
should!” said the young man iently—“ but for
comfort in this trial, throng which you are
. evidently passing, you must look up to God

who ’alone can give peace to the

a ‘ I  ,“I'cannot look up! I have no courage; no

stren thl” .

‘. “ ength will come in answer to prayer, my

 sister; and not death, but life is the season for

2  the petition. Will you come back to
a ,

 '1} , His friendli hand drew her away from the
 brink of t 9 river; the strange persuasive-

. * mess of his voice brought a reaction of feeling to
; r-lier sore spirit. She saw with measureless ter-
' rest the frightful doom fromwhich he had saved

her. , .. .
‘. "‘I will gorbackl” she cried earnestlyj—“I
will shrink from no evil! Only show me the
we. 7 to light once more I”
H I seemed that he knew her residence, for he
' led her on up the path to the cotta e which she
' ' had quit but a brief hour before. '1‘ e lam still
’ burned brightly: the fire blazed cheerfu ly on
the hearth. He seated her in a chair before the
ate, removed her shawl with thoughtful care,
‘ gr it waswet with snow, and then took a seat,
himself on the op site end of the hearth. Dur-
ence which fell between these
two so strangely brought together, Ruth had
time to observe fully’the face of her unknown
guest.
1 This face was ale, its features finely, though
delicame cut; t e curve of the nostril indicated

V M  both firmness and courage, but the mouth was

tender and beautifnlas a woman’s. It was a

, face of iritual strength and beauty—-—the face
 one w '0 had lived and suffered. ‘ .
» / _ ‘.“‘You are” Ruth Mowbrayl I recognized you
at'once.‘ from having seen yOu sometimes at

, we -

\

~

 

syfims lama. , C  ,

“church. Andiam John Rutherfo the ) tor
- of .Windfall.” - rd, pas -

troubled

 

,magniflcence. It was the entire size of“ 

 

  

it“)!

 
 
 

She knew now, to whom she owed, her life-m
the young clergyman, whose burning dog-genes a;
had wonso many wear ones to rest th bar 4
dens at the, foot of the ‘ross. * V ’ A»,

She arose, and held out her hand to
From the fullness of her heart she spoke: 1,

“Sir, you, have saved my soul from death. 1;:1
For this thank you. During the da and night
which have gone I have been mad— ut I trust?
the frenzy is over. Some time, to show you the {
truthfulness of my gratitude, and to prove to 331
you that I had seme cause for distress, I will ;
confess to you what has never passed my 1i 3. ,e ,1
It will fill me with shame, yet I owe it to  ’{4
for the sin I was about to, commit againstw ‘

“.Ruth, my sister, I ask cf you no confidence ,
which it is not your pleasure to give,lbut when i
you are saddened and oppreSsed come tome 'j
fireely, that I may share the weight of the bur- ’
c en. . _ .

He looked into her e e with calm scrutiny“ n
his hand was upon the etch, to go. , 

“ You will be true to yourself—you will think ‘*
of that terrible self-destruction'no more! . I can,-
trust you.” - ‘ ' 

He smiled u on her hopefully, opened the "‘
door and passe out. ' I , 2

Ruth fell on her knees, and while thanking .,
God that she had been taken from temptation. 7
she prayed earnestly for that peace which
passeth all understanding. . ' 

CHAPTER VI. ' , f 
MAPLEWOOD. ’ ' l '
The old. old sea, as one in tears, .
Comes murmuring with its foamy 11133,
, ~— mm.
Thou shalt hear-the “Never! never!” whispered by 1

the phantom years, I ' ,
And a song from out the distance is ringing in thine :7

r ears; , 3
And an e e shall vex thee looking ancient kindness i
on hy pain / , ‘ »,
Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow, get thee to thy 4,
rest a rain. , \ v
Nay, not nature brings ,thee solace; for a tender
voice will cry— ' a ' ’ if
“ ‘Tis a purer life than thine—a lip tor drain th
trouble dry.” ' ~Tansrson.
THE_ family mansion of Mr. Winthrop stood
on a high bluff of land, some fifty rods from th
coast. It was a w11dly icturesqne situation
commanding; a glorious View of the Ion reac
ofCape C , and the gleaming bosom o Massar
chfilsettl‘: hay. ‘ ’ l r " .

e puse was a ar old ramblin struc-
ture, brxghtenedb nungi‘gious modern agdition
and fortified on 8.1 sides by innumerable piazza
balconies and verandas, from all of which. the"
bleak shores of Plymouth were distinctly View .
ble. ihere were a few trees, such as 'flourisho 
the sea-shore—trees of grand pro rtions, whit:
ltxeadheen beaten by the storms 0 many a Win

 

 
 
   
    
     
     
  
    
 
  

 

r. A r
The whole spacious interior of the’ heuse J was»
fittedup m aster of randeur rarely seen, '
this s1de of the Atlantic, and the room appfl?
printed to ‘Wmifred was in itselt'a miracle ‘ '

 

 

 

s

ing; and its southern winding opened 11 on the
superb gardens and shrubbery, whic were
Mr. Winthrop’s especial pride. 7. . -

I The walls of this boudoirwere hung with pic-
" tures, by the old mastershin frames of carved
. . roseer the floor was laid With an exquisite
a pattei'n' of crimson flowers, on a ground of pale.

rown velvet. The chairs and sofas were cov-

ered with the costilest odours dc Venice, and

 the hen
. with ban
9 “The work-table, mantle and etagereawere all
‘ inlaid with pearl—rare specimens of work, im-
' gorted from a foreign country. There was a.
, arfi, a cabinet piano in a gilded case, strewn
" wait choice pieces of music. Books there were
,, in elegant bindings, with Clasps of gold, and
omitting faint odors of perfume, soft as the
r breath of 'Araby’s breezes; but Winifred shud—
 deredasshe looked on the illuminated a es.
 These were volumes of her husband’s omice;
— and, for the first time_she came to the know-
 ledge that she had W9C.de an infidel! onewho
2!" denied the existence of God,_and believed in no
“ principle of the Christian religion.
in exquisite caskets though these books were
held, their contents were v1 e ison; rand WlllI‘
fred, brought up as she had en in the strict
tenets of a Protestant church abhorred the

silken curtains were looped back
of enameled gold.

 
  
 
   
 
   
 

tarnish the lips to read, and stain the heart to
comprehend. And she cast them all together in-
toacabinet, closed and locked the door, and
flung the key far out of the window. If this
Erascfiuperstitious error, it was on the side of
ru .

A moment afterwar Mr. Winthro entered
' the chamber." His eye ell upon the ta 1e where
. the‘bookshad been; hefmissed’ them, evidently,
but made no in uiry for their fate. .
, “How does t e arran ement of Mrs. Wm-
thro "sa rtment lease er?” he asked.
' “ r. inthrop s taken unnecessary care

 



 

  
  
   
   
 
  
   
  
    
   
    
  
  

iron 1”

Mr. Winthrop smiled , his teeth glistening
whitely through his black mustache. .

“The bird will beat its wings until from
sheer weariness it becomes content." His veice
jivas soft and smooth; its intonation resembled
a strain of music, but’there was a world of cun-
ningl —hidden sarcasm in the sweet tones:

. ' A. isdainful curl wreathed Wimfred’s lips,but
the Vouchsafed no other rep] :and finding her
disinclined for conversation to any kind, he bade
ghfir a. ' courteous good-evening and quitted the

partment ‘

"many another roud, beautiful woman, wedded
jto a man for w em :10 love is entertained. A
18136 the hardest and bitterest that can fall to
the lot of woman! A home without lover-a
‘lmionbut in name-a wretched farce, to which
ffleath alone can'draw down the curtain.

g   The house was
23‘» Ed eats. for Mr.

 

M

 

"v   SWD‘AGamsi-i '     

L « ,Vtagonal’ tower, in the western winger the build-v

sight of these tokens of infide ity. Her soul 7
loathed them asunclean things, which it would ,

in its appointments,” she replied; “ the prisoned '
bird does not mind whether its cage be gold or .

Winifred’s life at Maplewood was like that of v

 

ways filled with distinguish- ,
inthrop stood high in the [vast fortune,
,Sccialand politicalworld; and eminent states- , tam,

           
  
    
   
  

 

men, poetsz artistsand orators made ‘n‘p the- g1, 
coterie of his personal friends. ‘. ' ' '  
And among them all, Winifred mOVed with
her own stately ace and beauty—an vaclmowv
led ed queen. he splendor of' her attire, the
hri iancy of her jewels, but, above all, the per‘ V; -. 
fection of her loveliness, made her the envy of ~ ’ r v: I 5.
her own sex, and the admiration of the other. \ . ' 
In truth, she was well fitted to preside over . g-
the establishment of Mr.Wmthrop; and in all 
the circle of that entleman’s acquaintance, he 
knew of no lady W one he would have preferred
to install in the'place of his wife. 7  _.‘
Winifred was seldom alone With henhusbandf ,
-—she carefully avoided him except on occasions . .
when avoidance would have attracted remark; ,
and at such times there was no oonfidence,‘no
communion of spirit between them. . They were
oiiilhand water—the one had no affinity for the y
0 er. » ' " :
In allthings Winifred studied to obey her hues 
bandghis slightest wishes wereherlaws. Shehad , ,
saidfto herself that in expiation of her weakness -
in yielding to an unsought love, she would be to ~_
Mr. Winthrop a true, faithful and obedient wife. 
She felt for him no affection; therefore she‘was v ‘
cold and calm toward him, and his demeanor to 
her part-00k of the same haughty indiflerence.’ ‘
In one thing only did she defy him. When '-’
he requested her to ‘ve up her attendance» eta“
church—a Wild V an fanatical proceeding ol- ,
which he did not approve—she replied no! Mr.»
Winthrop mi ht do as he chose for himself; but 
as for her, so ong asshe lived she would were 
ship God after the manner of her ancestors. ! ., w ’
And, looking into her sternlzr flashing, eyes:
and flinty face, he knew that 'i would not *
safe to urge the matter, so he allowed the sub~ 
ject to drop. ‘ ' - . 
Two years of this existence-it could  
ly' be called life—and outwardly, Winifred 1
was unchanged, save that her lovefiness had :.
ripened and rown more perfect. wEnvied,  ,
mired and fla tered as she was, not an hour of;
happiness had she known since the. door-sot. ,
At erton Hall had clased behind her,'when‘ishe :
had gone forth a bride. ' - ‘- r ,‘ V -r _,
The name of Gerard MiddletOn never passed 9
her lips; with jealous care she kept her thoughts ,
from wandering afterhim; but close a clash
her heart she wore a cluster of dead ar tun:
flowers-his first and last gift."  And those
dearly-cherished flowers told more than more
wors. " ‘  
Winifred Winthro ’s twentieth birthday ap- 
reached; it arriv , at length. The air has s
ragrant with spring’s sweetest, blesson‘is, but ’
there was no feasting nor joy at Maplewoodz' 
A night of wild doubt and anxiety, at r 
dismay, drew on; but with the morning” light, 
came a happ consummation. _» ‘ . g 
'Mrs. Wint rop was the motherrof a fine
The father’s delight was uns eakahle. For
the first time in his life a thri warmerthan
admiration swept through his bein ‘ forth
Eiife, because she had brought him is great
essm . , ‘ r 
A 250% to hear his proud name, to inherit his; . ,
to keep up the honor at» his

‘ \.

 

 

 V" l
p .

  

, M lewood was thrown open to rejoicing.
, Lang ter echoed around the ofty halls, lamps
" * flashed, wine flowed, and in her darkened cham—
, berm languished the youn wife, struggling with
weakness— raying for 1i e only that she might
en 0 itwit her preciouschil .
. he can fathom the de th of tenderness in
' - the heart of a mother? he can feel for that
little helpless wait of humanity like her who
has suffered to bring it into existence? Whose
' care is like hers, so gentle and tender? Who
, else on earth loves a little child but its mother?
It was strange to see how Winifred’s proud
heart, softened and (grew tender as an angel’s
toward that wee chil . When she was able to
 from her bed, she would sit, for hours,
gazing into its soft, dark eyes, and twisting its
silken hair about her fingers. The servants
said their mistress idolized the babe; and so it
, seemed, for never upon any account would she
permit it to sleep away from her breast, and no
’ amusement was powerful enough in its at-
traction to draw her from the care of her son.
3 - Mr. Winthrop named the boy William, after
its aternal randfather, but Winifred short-
, on it to illie—the word had a. sweeter
.  sound, she said.

,. . Strongly as she was attached to Willie, her
 love met with a‘full return. Before he was
r  three months old he had learned to love her

" , sheltering arms above any other resting-igace.

‘ wailed piteously when taken away om

her but for ,a moment; and when a year had

passed over his bright head, and he had begim

,totoddle carefull about from one thing to

another, he woul never quit the pretecting

‘ clasp of her hand, or go to the arms of stran-

. . ggers. ' He seemed to shrink from his father, and

i would kiss no one save his mother, either for
threats or persuasions.

 

n“..—

CHAPTER VII.

‘  ,m wom’s across AND A snAson’s ms-
'. ,' TERIES.

From lofty hills and fertile vales,
From but and palace he ‘s,

From hamlet, town and cit "s din,
The count ’s clarion cal 31

And men go orth with swelling hearts,
To win an empty name—

They quafl’ their wine from golden cups,
And call the bubble Fame.-—-Asonrmous.

TIDINGS long deferred, and anxiously ex ct-

M

' 1, Tammi sawmill.  I~

 



    
   
   
   
  
   
   
   
  
   
 
   
  
    
   
   
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
    
   

' Three months spent in preparation, and their
the newly-elected senator an his wife when  ’
for Washington. Winifred had hoped to be‘left‘i
at home, but Mr. Winthrop was proud of alert
regal beauty, and this beauty could only, ‘
gratified by the d' lay of his treasure. He was
not content with a miring her himself; he want?
ed others to see and appreciate the jewel he had I
in his possession, and no consideration for this-,1
lady’s wishes would have induced him to forego' g
the gratification of this feeling:rs ' , i / v=
So to the gay capital went .Winthrop and , ‘
her child. \ " ' - '  1
An elegant mansion, on Madison square,‘re--
ceived them, in whose spacious draWing—rooms 
Mrs. Winthrop held receptions unequaled in“
brliflliancy even by those of the President him- 
se . ' ' - 

rs",

Her r lendent beauty and ueenl beerin '
were thgsgonstant themes of ,Vgashiuéton soug-
ety. The je ne sais uoz’ of her race, and the i; ,
statuesque repose of er perfect eatures filled

every beholder with admiration; Her dresses .-
were copied, her. sayings quoted, and she < be-v 
came the model for all the ladies in the fashion» "
haunted ca ital. »

Once, an once/only, during the season, had: >
the long silent chords of burie love been stirred
in the bosom of the fair Mrs. Winthrop. ,_ ,

‘A 1party of inspection were dispatched to New j'
Yor , by the Administration, to examine some ,3
water-works there which .had been complained ,
of as defective. Some of the gentlemen on the .,
committee took their wives along with them for f,
the pleasure of the trip, and by invitation Winie. 3,
fred accompanied Senator Gordon and his lady. ,

It wasa beautiful day in early summermcalm, ,
cool and cloudlcss, and Winifred wandered-off a .,
little way from her party, and directly found h
herself standing on the quay, from whence a 2

European steamer was about to ’ sail. ~ She I
glanced hurriedly over the passengers, and was '
about turning away, when an ’ unaccountable , ;«
thrill shot through her being. She could neither 
explain nor analyze the feeling; it was a return? it
of old memories and emotions which she had be 
lieved long since in ashes. Some person brushv 
ed bastin Fast her—so near that his arm grazed, "'
the folds 0 her shawl. She lifted her eyes an
gazed after him. 'His firm step sounded’o‘n the
connecting plank; his dark hair was seed and
threaded by the fresh ocean breeze; and'for one.
little moment the form 01‘ Gerard Middleton 1*

 

came at last. The political canvass or a ,
senator to Congress, from the district in which a
, , Mr. Winthro resided, had been a close and la— :
‘ ' borious' one, , ut it 'was over, at length, and Mil- I
 ., if ford Winthrop was the successful candidate.)
‘. ,His name was enrolled among the honorables of
,. ~ his country; there was asset in the senate hall,
' _ atwashington, waiting for his occupant-y.
' Y He Was very proud of the result, won by his
money more than by his worth, and he entered
' hipfwife’s room with an elastic stop. He was
the bearer of important tidings, and he gave her‘
“them with an air of extreme satisfaction.
 . “  . ‘ltlfirnthroxlii you are a senator’s wife.”
,  She howed her ead over her child, and sim—
‘ ‘ ' ,ply'saidr,viin reply: , ‘ ‘ '
  “Yewvwell. Mr. “Hannah.”i

M

 

.3,“

 

 

da'guerreotyped itself against the sky. ' ;
hen the bell soundedg’the moorings were
castoif, and the gallant boat steamed rapidly. ,
down the river. Winifred entered the ofiioo
and looked over the list of asscngers, The.

glory first line was filled with w at she was tool?'
0 or: . ,
3 Gerard Middleton from Boston, bound t9,”

Haws, m‘a Liverpool.“ ,
The August heats were a proaching, but Co
gress had not yet conclude its session. An 1111" ,
usual .press of business still detained the august
body at the metropolis; but most of the mem
bers’ families had left town for some rural plat?“
of resort. . I ‘ ' 
Winifred began to languish for the cool aird
the country; and Mr. inthrop propose. ,d‘tha
she‘ should spend a few weeks a Newport =

    
 
 
  
   
  
 
   

, 3* ‘ STNNEDAGAINST. -

 

 

V .

 

:  the/Virginia Springs. To thiashe objected; she
*' ‘7 wanted rest and quiet rather than a mere
change of excitementzsome retired place in the

Country would answer every purpose.

v She had heard much of the fine natural scenery,

’. of Rappahannock county, and she desired to

passtheremainder of the summer in some little
village of that mountamous region.

’ At the mention of Rappahannock county, Mr.

"Winthrop became strangely agitated.

“Madam, you will 0 me a faVOr by never
 again referring to this out—of—the-way place, as a
” summer residence. The plan 18 abominable.”

' 'r“ Why should on obJect, sir, to a. section'of
country justly ce ebrated for. Its salubrlous axis
and beautiful scenery? Since it meets my:

 wishes, I hardly see what cause you have for m- v
tertering in the matter!” Wimfred spoke coldly

 

 -r and haughtily—and he replied as coldly.
, “I have suflicient cause. Myson is to go 3
.with you, I presume; and it becomes me tosee l

 

  

I that he iscarried to a proper place. As for m ‘
reasons for taking exception to Rappahannoci ‘

count , it is sufficient that  object! 1’
 A tor the time the sugar t dropped. . ‘
A few days'afterward, . Winthrop obtam- :
zed leave of absence from congressmnaldutles, I

.andr'took a journey into the interior of Virginia.

When he returned, he declared that his obJec-

:tlons'to Rappahannock county were entirely re-
moved. Business, he said, had called him into

chat section, and he had found it all that could
be desired for a temporary sogourn. So well had

ghe' been pleased, that he had engaged an old
inansion a few miles beyond Warrenton-close
to the Blue Ridge—and caused it to. be fitted up
for the reception of his wife and child.

- ‘,‘Bellemente”——so the place was called, had
been a fine old estate, but the family to which
' had belonged were mostly dead; and of late,

.Bellemonte had been sadly neglected.

Mr. Winthrop had secured a trusty negro and

71113 wife to preside over the establishment; and

stills worthy couple with Jack, the coachman, .
and Fannythe coo would comprise the kitchen 
household. Mrs; Winthmp 1mg t take With her a

"7&8 many attendants as she chose. ,.

Winifred immediatel% commenced her pre- r

arations for leaving (ashm ton. ,Two days I

’fterward she set forth, Mr. inthrop accom— E

Banying her as an escort; and Rosy, her own ‘

"maid, to attend to the personal wants of her ,

'Inistress. , -

 After seein his wife safely installed at Belle-

,monte, Mr. inthr0p bade her farewell and re-

fili'ned to Washington. ' ' . .

Bellemonte was a wiltgy bfifiiltlfilnlosvféghalsn gal: _,
. . . , p s f

ear Vicinity of the o wooded with fir:

tion was cover ‘ with huge bowlders, which 1
#118 spring floods from time to time rolled ;
-_d0wn from the mountains. . .
' The old mansion itself was dreary and weird
any tale of darkness that might be
“minted of it. It was a house where men had
lived and died; and one of our noblest poets

s that all such are “ haunted houses. l
{he rooms were low and dark from the creep- g
g vines that covered the windows; the want- 3
W l were black with one. and rotten and 1

“ma.

 

        
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
   
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
   
   
  
    
  

 

 

E’s
S
er
9.3

nough for

‘5' I “1

5 hall door.

? time’for th0ught. She was. alone once m'

worm-eaten. in many places.- ~

in beautiful patterns of gorgeous colors, by fair

fingers now moldering perchance like their,‘ 9’

work; and the furniture—all of dark must 
have belonged to another generation. ' ‘ v x “
A large portion of the house was uninhabita: r

ble; but in the north wing, facingthe mounh' ’42
tains, three apartments, on the firstfloor, had' 

been 1fitted up, not only comfortably, but lumi-
nous .

Theysleepingeroom of Winifred and her child
was a cheerful, coseey place: its high, narrow
windows command a bold view of the hills, ,
and Winifred only regretted that the basement, ~_
’was at this point so very higlras to preclude 
idea of getting to'the ground from the s anions
balcony. She thou ht she would have ‘ ed to

go out for her wal s, from the ropm,'rather' V 

than be obliged to traverse the while length of?

a gloomy corridor, amid the ruins, to reachthg r 
roperty'of a family  

Bellemonte was the
the name of Brandon, t 9 only remaining mem- "
ber of which was far away. And’this was all ; -‘-
the information that Wini re
questioning Aunt Phillis, the colored house; "

keeper, who was remarkably taciturn for (me  

of her class. , , _ . ,
One apartment of the old house,“ rescueflmm' ‘
the general decay by recent repairs, was a 

Blue Beard’s chamber of horrors to the fancy ‘ ~

of Winifred. 'It was much like the other rooms
in its vicinity, savethat across the windows I
Were strong iron bars; and the doors were ,se- ' ,
cured with treble bolts upon the outside. There 
was no fire lace or other convenience/“for
warmth, an
green liaise. , , v . I :
“Phillis,” said Mrs. Winthrop, seeking the '1‘
old woman in the kitchen, “there is a room 
in close vicinity to mine that has aroused; my ‘
curiosity.” ' v :1
‘f ’lpeed, missus, dat’s mighty cur’us,” replied
Phillis, giving the saucepan she was securing a}
v1 orous rub with her b ack hand. - ' i  ‘
< ‘Can ou tell me what it was used for?  w
roOm With the bolts on the outside of‘ the V
door, and the walls covered with green flannel,‘ 
Imean.” . ‘- ‘ _ 
“ Like enough it was de parlor.” ’ , '.  I)
“But the bars across the windows? ’andlthe
lack of a fireplace, and the green. cloth?” com I;
tinned Winifred, inter'hogatively- ' . j  ,
“Bars to keep the owls out, and green 
for bad eyes I’ve hearn say. Seems to  I
missusis mighty ’squisitive.” " '3 ' "
And »With

green—room mystery, Winifred was obliged”; 1.

content herself. 1‘  . R
The days passed leasantly enough at "Bellew
monte, save that, t e mistress had too m] 1:"

free to. enjoy undisturbed the society of‘
darling child, now a beautiful boy of two yea
but in spite of this’sweet satisfaction, she {on _
her thou hts censtantly recurring to. the: pleas»
ant even n spent in the parlor of Atherton
Hall with erard MiddletOn.

And, try asshe would, those old memories " 

could not be stifled; and when, the smash

x. i 1
u. 

 

is V

_, _ _ The chainbers“ '7? "
were mostly hung With tapestry, once wrought _- 

    
  

(i could obtain by’ . 

“the walls were covered with‘thmk‘ » 

this reasonable solution , 

l

   
   

""14.

' smash Adamsr. , 

   

 

’Which
. she would take little Willie in her arms and set
 out on a long ramble over the hills. ,-

T OneAugust night, Mrs. Winthrop sat in her
chamber trying to read; Willie slumbered in
his crib by her sido' Rosy was in bed in the

adjoining room, an every thing around the
house was hushed to the profoundest quiet.

,It had been one of those sultry days peculiar.
toripe summer, and the dull, toind atmosphere
was prolific ofrepOse. Her boo was uninter-
esting; the. lamp burned dimly; a house—fl
droned lazily on the window; and Winifre ,
' .acted‘ upon by surrounding influences, sunk
‘ back in her chair, and fell asleep. ‘

She/was awakened suddenly by some strange
 sound. The lamp had gone out, but the star-

' light streamed faintly into the room. Plainly
j discernible in the gloom of the place was a tall,
aun't figure; with eyes like live coals, and long
air, white as snow, streaming around it like a
1  shroud! This horrible shaaire advanced and
‘ leaned over the bed of little illie; one skinny
“ I hand was extended bearing aloft a glittering

they Caused became too great to bear,

 

. ‘ broidered silk of thecoverlet from the form of
I’ the innocent sleeper!
f * 'Winifred, with a fierce cryz leaped to her feet
' > and confronted the/strange Visitant.
N " AWN, demoniac “Ha! ha! ha!” burst from
* the creature’s lips, and simultaneously it melted
j, j away, as b some invisible agency, leavin the
) terror-stric enmo‘ther alone with her chil .
 Recovering herself by a powerful effort,
".Winifred Searched the room with the strictest
‘ scrutin . She left no nook nor corner unex-
 amin -yet she discovcred nothing. She look-
' _ ed to the doors and windows—the were secure-
ly fastened, and yet, a guest had een admitted
 to her" very bed-chamber.
. It was not a dream; she was fully convinced
v of that. It was something real‘ and tangible,
what of what natural, She did not believe in
supernatural appearances; she was not super-
, stltious; and yet, a cold, shuddering thrill ran
through 'her as she held the babe to her breast.
~She watched the night away, for she could
' - not have slopt with that strange inex-
, ,plicable fear at her heart. She resolved to say
- 1 nothing toan one of the occurrence; Rosy was
' ' :eXCeedmgly't-mid, and the negroes invariably
. kept one eye, at least, out for fihosts, and they
.’ 'WOuld be afraid to remain in t e house if they
, once got wind of the idea- that the lace was
‘ ~~ hauhted; and she had no wish to be eft alone.
So she kept silent and watchful.
‘, August was drawing to a close. The middle
f. of September Mrs. Winthrop was to leave Belle-
“ ‘,.gmonte, and return to Maplewood, where she
’  would remain until the winter session of Con-
) h ' as should usher in the gay season at Wash-
 n ton.
twee a bright summer day, and the unusual
= coolness, of the air had invited to out-of-door
ff- exercise. Winifred had indulged herself'ina
~~very long walk, and being quite weary, she
; 'wentto her bed earlier than was her custom.
. Willie had coaxed mamma to lie down beSIde
- him and tell him a story; and the simple tale
_ the two, mother and hhild, were locked

 

 

’l

   

knife; the other he d back the delicately-em»

  

Willie’s headwas nestled close to his mother’s
bosom, her bright, soft curls mingled with the
brown rings that clustered around his full "white
forehead. ' _ g ,
Winifred slept uneasily—a va e sense of fin
security had oppressed her all t e day, and her
slumber was troubled. with wild dreams and dis-
torted visions. , ,, , I v
The touch of some cold substance. upon her
face awoke her. She knew not what this sub-
stance was but'it struck an ic chill to her
heart. She lifted her hand to pus it away, and.
that wild, unearthly “Ha! ha! hal” heard once
before burst on the air. ~ ‘ 1
With a terrified cry Winifred siprung from, '
the couch and peered into the g 00m. The
same demon face, with horrible blood-red 0 es
and snow—white hair, hovered above her! e
same savage teeth, with the lips drawn tightly
awa from them, glittered before her! ». _  ,
inifred bounded forward, and seizing the“
heavy bronze candlestick, hurled it at the in— C
truder. The light was extinguished as the mis-
sile fell; there was adull, dead sound as of the
closing of a eat door at some immeasurable . *
distance—an the silence of death fell upon the
chamber. ' "
Willie slept uietly in his bed and Winifred! i
stood alone in t e center of the cor. -

CHAPTER VII. ' ~
THROUGH THE SHADQW on Miami 4,
Yet tho h thou wear’st the 10 of the s ,

Wilt tl‘ilogu not keep the samegbgwed namlgl;

The same fair form and gentl beaming e e?

Lovelier in heaven's sweet 0 'mate; yet the same!

-—BRYANT. v

IT was a horrible mystery! Winifred longed,

{gt trembled, to fathom it. She ho ed not to
obliged to ask for aid. She woul ratheren-

counter all the danger, if danger there was, and

run all the risks. - r »

Night followed night, and during the dark 7 .
hours that determined woman never closed her . 

leyes. What little rest she had was taken by g ‘
day, when the household were astir, and Rosy ’ ‘,
awake to take charge of the child. .» ‘. _:

Winifred’s father had but one brother, named ~ “
George, and this George Atherton was one of
the bravest and most daring men in thercoun-
try. He had hardly earned the title of colonel,
and though now an old man, he had always I
taken great delight in teaching his niece the use -
of warlike wea us. To please the old colonel,
the girl had ta en lessons in fencing, and was“ v
quite an adept in the use of firearms. Ina spor- *
tive moment her father had presented her with
a case of pistols, and these Ii tle desperate wear
Eons had been for years in the false bottom of,

or trunk.

Now she took them out, loaded the barrels ,
carefully, and placed them on the stand by her ,.
bedside, resolved that if she should be a ain :_
favored with a visit from the mysterious end
that had twice ap cared to her, to try the efi‘ect
of cold lead upon t.

But it did not seem likely that her courage
would be tested. Time-passed on monotonousi
lly, without variation and but two nights more

 

25L- mg.“ .,, 4|,   in. r7 

 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
   
 
   
 
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

remainedto Winifred at Bellemonte. ,. - l
The intervening day must he spent in peak-

 
 

e

 

 

 

, f

‘ mg and .mamng omenneeuml' arrangements

for traveling; and Wearied and drowsy, Wini-

' ' fred threw e

dressing to catch a 'ew moments repose before

the de th of the ni ht should come. She knew

. that her strengt wouldlbe reqmred for her
~r labors of tomorrow.

She gave Rosy imperative orders to remain

awake until she called her;and the girl, seated
before the little fire, which the dampness of the
" night had made agreeable, With an entertaining
- novel in her hand, readily promised obedience.
Winifred soon fell asleep, _for she was very
wea , and she knew nothmg more till she
~ hear? he hall-clock striking one. v
- «She started up and put out her arm to clasp
' her child, but he was not by her side! His place
was empty—he was gene! A wild shriek rose to
' her lips but she stifled it instantly. Rosy must
,’ have talren him up, she said to herself, by way
of assurance. She flew, to the side of the girl—
 Ros was sound asleep. H 5
~. . “ .illielowhere is illie?” demanded the dis-
' tracted mother, in a frenzy of suspense.
 ‘ Rosy rubbed her eyes, and stared around her
. with a blank air. .
._ “I have not seen him, madam,” she said,
'7‘ “since I laid him down on the bed With you.
 As I‘ hope fer heaven, mistress, I havenotl’
, Oh! but those who called Mrs. Winthrop cold
and passionless should have seen her then.
' She roused the whole household instantly, and
searched the mansion in mad haste. She went
herself into the deepestrecessess of the moldy,
tomb-like cellars, and through the heavily-
. framed arches which supported the massive
we ht of the buildings.
ambeaux were 1i hted, and the terrified
negroes, led oh b the resolute woman, search-
ed every dell an dingle and ransacked every
 hovel in the vicinity. Slaves‘from the nearest
ttplantations turned out and Joxned them, their
:= quick sympathies awakened by the cry: "
 “ The child of the lady or Bellemonte has been
F‘j stolenl”, ' _ _
 All day the search Went on; Winifred; P3192
but firm, leading the van, and return! at
 nightfall only to see if her husband ha ar—
 rived. . ‘ ..
%- Mr. inthrop had flown to the spot at the
 first alarm of the telegraph. 
 'A more wildly despairing, man was never
 seen. His face was shrouded in a deathly pal-
 lor .his thin lips were rigid as those of a corpse,
andhis eyes seemed ready to start from their
sockets. A couple oflmilcs behind his horse had
fallen dead undervhim, unable to endure the
pace at which he was ridden; and the fresh
animal that had been procured at Warrenton,
was bathed in foam. . . “I
Mr, Winthrop ras his wife rudely .by the
arm, and demon ed the particulars of his son’s
loss. “Coldly and bgiei} y she reVealed all to him
V whee 'n nothin ac r. a ,
He psltrguck hisgforehead with his clenched

 

 

 

 

 

 thou ht. Oh took—fool that I was toconsent
to hgve my innocent child brought to the place
where she drew breath! I might have known--

 
   
 
   

  ,, i  7 f-S'INNED Admirer.

self u 30!] the lounge, without un- ,

‘she watched for the first indications of  '

" him! He is mine—mine only!” he cried, say-sf

h». d. .
"IzGreat God!” ha cried, madly, “it is as I‘

 

butioh heaven.how fearfully am 1 punished!" . ton was aroused. And he, enraged . and habit?

'15] 1  -

He turned to the gaping negroes. “ Saddle‘the _
fleetest» horse in the stables! and you, Jack, get
upon the other, and follow me over the moan;-
tainsl I must reach Woodstock before day?
break!” " , , p L ' ,
Winifred would have accom nied the horse j
men but Mr. Winthrop thrust 0th her and her - ,
 into a chamber, and locked the door'upon'i -,
them. l > i , ' ‘ >
Who can imagine the feelings of the wretched 2 I  ‘
mother While thus incarcera , . : ' I I . .
The night were on-«a night of angu1shed suf— .
faring to Winifred Winthrop. » She paced the, .
narrow limits of her chamber unceasingly;  ~
throwin open the casement, and leaning 
out into he darknessin the vain hope of hearing. , “ ,
some sound‘ indicative of the return of those 
gone in Search of her child. No sound brekethe- r
stillness. , ' ' r ,
Rosy had sobbed herself to sleep on the floor; 
they two were isolated from the ether. women
of the establishment—confined and helpless-
but Winifred never thought of fear. She would _ I 
have braved tenthousand deaths, if the“   
cozléilhatytehre‘sitoretd ti her her.Wilhe. ,   s .
as. e ay roeo ntheeastem ates ‘
the morniiég came and th: sun arose clog  
smiling. '

 

   

  
  
   
   
    
  
  
  
    
   
   
  
   
  
 
   
   
  
 
   
   
  

mifredfiook 11 her station at 1,3 -,
window which command a view of the path 7’
.taken ,by Mr; Winthrop, andwith    3

turn. She thought she perceived a dark, in“  
ing object, away on the very verge of the  “
zen—a mere speck—it grew larger—~yes,‘thare._j
were two of them—two orsemenl They 
slowly doWn the mountain—she reco f, ,. 
them now; Mr. Winthro bearing a bundle, in 'V
 arms, careful] enve oped in a cloak, and; '
the negro Jack to owing behind! r , ' ‘ fr “
They were approaching the house; she 
endure. confinement no lon er! Graspinggth
messy iron poker from the ender, she brought
it to‘ bear With all, her strength against
door. _ Again and a in the blow felifith0_
white oak quivered; t e bolts held fast, but the;
hinges were old and rusty, and could not Withe,
stand the strain. They yielded; another 
tic. blow, may broke; the door flew open With a,_
crash, and inifred dashed out, into the Co rile” ‘
dor and down the stairs. H ' ~ " _ ,
She reached the outer door .just as the'equesas-
trians rode up. Mr. Winthrop strove to avoid -
her, but she sprung upon him, and, with‘tha’”
stren h of a giantess, tore the cloakedbugtdea ;
from isarms. ' ’ i '-  a a '
The man seemed to be enraged. by messages
._all the fierce passions of his nature’leaped“;
hotl intohi's face. . - -,  ,
“ ive him to me! “Dead as he is,r1clajm" 

 

agelyu “Was it not enough,.madam,-that you, 
should insist on bringing him here to‘certain «
destruction? And now you would-again  
him frommel” , , , " p,
“Bush! I am his another! And would,  5,
Heaven that none’ot your blood ran inhis
veins, as none of your inhuman passions evens» ~
dwelt in his breast ” v   _
' Winifred was stung by her husband’s harshe
ness. All the high, proud temper of an Aches:

i

s  1:.

I

' to find a ford.

fa"

tered by the state of an awakened conscience,
and rendered, by grief, but little better than a
maniac, forgot his manhood, and struck her 1’

'She’staggered beneath the blow. For a mo-
ment her white face took the sanguinary hue of
the red rose. , But when she spoke, her voice
was calm and full.

“For this, I renounce all allegiance to the
wretch I have called husband! Henceforth I
am a free woman!”

She turned slowly away, and bore the cold
burden into the house. Her heart had already
told her What she might expect. With fearful
com osure, she uncovered the bodg of her
chi! ,and gazed upon the dead face. he kissed
it tenderly—stroking the dark hair, and mur-

muring softl :
Dear little Willie I”

“ Dear W“ lie!
She asked Mr. Winthrop no questions con-

: earning the night’s adventures; but Jack told

her all that he knew, in a few words.
‘Mr. Winthrop had ridden hard, and crossed

‘ the most elevated s‘ ur of the mountain a little
- b81937] Front Roya , and had then pushed on
7 ta 1

until the Shenandoah river was reached.
e d intended to cross the stream, but it
was swollen by recent rains, and it was difficult
'In searching for this, the bod
of little Willie was accidentally discovered. t

lay close to the Water, in the dark shadow of a
7 clump of elders—the man said—and it was his

master’s opinion that it had died from strangu-

‘ L'  , lation. There was a dark. circle around the

 

delicate throat, and marks of human fingers

deep and purple in the soft flesh! Also, around

“ z the place where the remains were found, there

were prints of human footsteps in the wet sand,
and some shreds of a woman’s clothin adhered
to a thorn-bush in the vicinity. An this was
all that was known, and from such scant in-

 » iiformation what inference was to be drawn

 

 

 

 

 sea on

‘  Terrible sus icions touching Milford Win-

thrOp, came to inifred’s cars from the nei h-
boring people; the dark vail which covered is
darker past life, was partiall undrawn; and,
what she saw and understoo was enough to
make her shrink with abhorrence fromher hus-
band; the man whom the world admired—the
distinguished senator! ,
VWinifred’sa-fireat and overwhelming grief for
her child sw
for the seven days which followed his death, she

walked like one in a trance.

Mechanically she prepared herself to leave
Bellemonte; mechanica y she suffered them to
take her toWashiugton, and from thence to
Maplewood.

Like one without life or feeling, she looked

“ upon her boy in his coffin, and saw him laid

in the ve, high above the moanin of the
e sandy shore. And when t e sods
Were laid smoothly over his grave, and she had

ut her achin forehead to the cool turf to still

ts wild thro‘bings, she arose, and stood up

 it alone, knowing that her duty here was ended!

 

CHAPTER IX.
FINDING PEACE.

miend, thou must trust in Him who trod before
The desolate paths of life;

owed up all lesser trouble, and!

'sINNEnAdAIner‘ =

salvation! She went to his church—listened to

- done; then, to shew her that he fully appreciated

(great agony. .After the funeral expenses were 5* -»

 

, der his auspices I gained an acquaintance with
t the classics.

, labors more congenial! _I accor ingly entered]

 

Must bear in eekness. as He meekly bone. ‘
Sorrow a toil and strife. '
Trust then in Him, and yield not to despair! A - v
Christ, in His heaven of heavens, will hear thy
prayer! - ~
-—From the German of Uhland.

I

THE accpliaintance so singularl begun be-
tween Rut Mowbray and Mr. Rut erford, pro- ,,
grossed steadily, until it ripened into perfect \
confidence. ‘ I

In the young pastor Ruth found a kind and
sympathizing friend; a tender brother. He en- ,
couraged her when she'desponded—cheered her E
when she was sad—led her gently on to seek ’ v'
peace and rest upon the eternal arm of God’s ' _

 

his discourses, so searching, yet so full of _ love; ,
and understood why his le almost worshi - ' '
ed him. He was r In his world’s g s,-
but rich in heaven y treasures. Here, he walk-
ed humbl with the lowly ones of earth; there, ,
in the rea ms of glory, no angel would wear a  
bri hter crown than he! , . '
ne evening, when she had known him for ‘ »
more than a car, Ruth revealed to this kind 

 

friend the litt 6 history of her life. She told
him of her hopeless, unsought love; of her ,
mad despair, and temptation—the rest, he al-'
ready knew. 1 '
He comforted her as none other could have v

her confidence, he gave her his own in return. . ‘  

“ I was born,” he said, “ in the great, bustling . .
city of New Orleans, of parents who toiled for  ‘
their daily bread. My father was a house car-
penter; my mother added something to our
scanty income by fine needle-work. When Iv! ‘
was about fifteen my poor father was fatally  
injured by the fall 0 a sta 'ng. I remember ,V
well my mother’s despair w en they brought 
him home, and the surgeon said that his days  .
were numbered! He died the next day, in’ t.

    
 
 
     
  

 

4

paid. we found 'ourselves almost without: a " 
penny! My mother redoubled her exertiong. 1 ,-_
and l was fortunate enoughrto secure a situa- .
tion as clerk. I had, always by dint of much
economy, been kept at school, and my education '
was uncommonly good for a lad of my age. -:'
Ever leisure moment was devoted to study. '

“ hrough the kindness of a schoolmaster I,
was enabled to read many valuable works. n-

it

At length, I became a teacher.
The salary was better than that which 1 re-
ceived from my present emplo ers, and the

upon the charge of the school. Here, a ain I ,
owed much to my ood old friend. In a] M- '
culties I went to im' and, whatever success .
crowned m efforts I must attribute to his A;
judicious vice. y degrees, I rose to be 7 .2
assistant—prece tor in a flourishing academybm i 
the State of orth Carolina; and here Lith  ~
met Catharine Hazelwood. ' . r.
“ That meeting was an era in my life. 
Hazelwood was a New Englander, but haying 
family connections in the South, she had come
hither to finish her education and at the same/
time to benefit her health. I can .hardly con‘
vey to you a correct idea of this girl’s exceed- \

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

i

Item AGAINST.

  
  
 

' a; 
" z.

 

ingheanty. sue Was one of the loveliest crea-

tures-lever beheld. I think it was a case of '

love at first sight on In part; and I flattered

~ myself that the fair gir was not wholly indif-
ferent to me. She blushed at my approach—
her hand trembled when it met mine in friendly
greeting. If I had cause (with others of her
class) to reprove her for badly learned lessons,
her 6 es would swim in tears. ‘

“ atharine was the only daughter and heiress
of a wealthy father, and, in consequence, had
been the be]
she called home. Now, at school, her wealth

and beauty were passports to favor, and she ‘

reigned a very queen. Sometimes I thought her

.. )I'Oud and coquettish, but a single glance of her
beautiful e es disarmed all feelin s but those
of love, an I was more complete y her slave

v than before. Strange it is that men with all
their boasted wer will be so blind that the
simplest schoo -girl can deceive the best of
them ‘

“ But I would not blame Catharine. She had
been petted and flattered till the good in her na-
ture was almost eradicated, and she was a most
errant coquette. She led me on to. hope—my
ardent devotion was very pleasant to her; and
when, at length, I confessed all, and besought
her to read In fate, she did not cast, me utterly
away. But must wait, she said. She liked
me~perhaps she loved me a little, but we were
both young, and I was comparatively unedu-
cated. She had set her heart, she said, on ‘mar—
rying a lea/med man, and I must oblige her by
becoming this. A colle course would improve
me; when I had gr uated with honor, she

, would give me a more definite answer. Inspired
by hope, I taxed body and mind to the utmost.

 ‘ When twent years of ‘age, I entered the Uni-

hapel Hill, in advance. My dear
a sore] ~needed com-
accomplish-

versity at _
‘ mother sacrificed many .
fOrt that my darling Wlsh might

ed; and, as for myself. my life was bound up,

in the, acquirement of knowledge. I wrote to
Catharine many times—letters filled With fire
and devotion—and twice she wrote me 111 re-
turn. These letters were kept next my heart,
and read and re-read scores of times a day.
You will think me an enthusiast, dear Rut ,
but I was little more than a boy then, and wor-
shiped ,my mistress with a boy’s passmnate

fervor. .

“ I spent two years at Chapel Hill; and then,
with t e laurels of that fine old institution fresh
, and'green on my brow, I bade farewell tomy
~ nether, and set out for Middlebu ,_ Catharine s
" home—40 lay them at her feet. I 1d not reach
_ ‘llgiddleburg until after the shades of evenmg
.nd fallen, but, weary as I was, I could not
, wait until morning to see Catharine. I sought
_ out her father’s house, a. large and handsome
building, in aquiet, aristocraticstreet. The man~
.sion was lighted up as if for a festival. Colored
lamps swung from the shrubbery in the gardens;
and a. score of elegant equipages were drawn up
before the door. The Igreat parlors were one
flood cit/radiance; and entered together with a

 fresh reinforcement of guests. '
‘ “‘ And jud e, if you can, of the emotions, that

filled my sou When standing hidden behind the .

silken window-curtains; I saw Catharine Hazel-

e of the quiet country village which .

 

wood married tea man twice her years—amen r 5"  
rich in lands and stocks—who had won her with ‘ '
his‘gilded offerings! . i ' ‘ r ‘ ' !

sought an interview ’with the bride, and
charged her with her falsity in .no measured
terms. She laughed in. my face. She ho ed,
| she said, that I was not so shallow as to thank
_ anythin of that youthful flirtatiom, It 
i amused er finely in that dull old school~da [life
-—she should have died of ennui if it ,h' not
‘ been for me, and she most heartily thanked me 
for the favor I had doneher in helging her 1 kill r": 
time. Now, she trusted I woul ignore the" ,. 
ast,dand regard her simply as a very  . -.
men . : ‘1 ~
“I went out from her presence a changed
man. \I had seen my infatuation; my gl _ U
ideal stood before me robbed of the love whic ’
had clothed herin the perfection of womanlisj’
nessl I no longer thrilled at the sound off her ,
name. My passion had died a violent death, V,
and I buried it, and placed tfion its sepulcher ; ,
the stone of indifference. enceforth, I_ lie-'7 
.solved to live for others rather than for myself. f
I took the armor of the most high God upon me, 
‘V and His ‘ospel into my month! In this service ‘
I found appiness—happiness such as the world ‘
ls powerless to give—or take :awa 1 Peace,
founded on the Rock of Everlasting vs! V“ ‘
“ I brought my mother here to your pleasant 
New Eng and, and here we have Set 11 *our;
humble home; and here I liOpe to spend "(3 e‘ m. »
mainder of my days in content. I ask no higher ..
destiny than that which awaits me as a 
ter of God’s truth, and may He aid me tosoexer- »»
cise my one talent that good my be done unto r

my peo 1e!” , I
And llS was John Rutherford’s life  y
and Ruth wept over his disappointmsnt,ia . -
smiled over his victory. ;" 3 =
After this mutual confidence, a strong: at—
tachment grew between Ruth Mowbray and the " 
young minister. \ N 71.4 /

 

  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
    
  
  
 
  
    
   
 
   
   
 
   
 
    
   

 

 

CHAPTER X.

TEE MILLINER’S FORTUNE. A .

In life can love be bought with gold? 2 i "
, Are friendship’s pleasures to be sold? ‘ V
/  , * - ——Ds. Jonson. 
RUTH Mownaarwent often to the parsonage, "
and sat at the feet of the mild-brewed woman .
whom John Rutherford called mother, and lie-
tened to the teaching that fell from her lips.
Mrs. Rutherford was a gentle spi ‘t, 
all her hopes and wishes umeservcdly in God a

hands, complaining never of fate, and endurin
trials and crosses with saintly patience. Weill ‘
that there were more like her, that their. holyji
example might lead many, now in doubt, the»
tritieb spurce of all happiness and everlasting -,
69. e y; * , V, r  
And gradually the heart of 
took up a new son . At first its low .
and feeble, but get ering strength with thenura
turing lapse of time, it widened and
ed until its mighty surges swept the  ‘” ‘
chords of her being into perfect harmon
, At the sound of one footstep she blush .
g trembled: at the touch of one hand she was fill;-

 

 

 

  

'smNisn hammer. ' 4  ' ,  l V f“ ’

 

' igedwith strange bliss: one voice had power~to
' baniSh all care and sorrow from her soul!

‘TP’phuS fever of the most virulent kind,
re

bro out in Windfall. Almost ever house
was a house of sickness, and perhaps 0 death.

“Whole families were swept away, and terror

“seized upon the whole population.
In this time of universal sorrow, Ruth Mow-
, bray was a, good an e1. Sheministered un—
 ceasingly at the bedsi e of the sick and dyin ,
' and many a. desolate. suffering one was ma 0
comforta 16 by her kind care. No hand was
, sOfter. than hers on the hot brow, and no foot‘
stefi fell so noiselessly on the distracted ear.

“ r.jRutherford, also, visited the sick untir-
’ingly, and administered to their necessities
‘ with his own hands; he comforted the living,
 ‘ and prayed for the/repose of the dead.
" r  . As the cooler weather of autumn approached,

the'fever cases diminished, and the fearful mor-
, tality was abated. But there were still scores
' of thehfflicted, and Ruth Mowbray’s services as
“ -“' watcher ” were almost nightly called into
is u‘isition. ' -
 - r two nights she had kept a vigil by the

" bed of an aged woman, and at daybreak closed
. her eyes in death, and now on the third night,
~ she was looking forward to the luxury! of undis-

turbed repose. She retired early to er cham-
 andwithout undressing lay down on the
. ed. But sleep, so much wished for, refused to
same. In vain she covered her eyes with her
- hand, in vain she counted the ticking of the
block, and fancied herself on the ver e of
idreamaland-eshe was wide awake as ever: She
bought that perhaps the light of the stars
, shiningthroufih her window at the foot of her
bed troubled er, and rising she let down the
curtain. But no, sleep still held aloof. The
, — cloakgstruck one, and almost simultaneously
‘ «i .with the sound, a dull red glare shone into the
~ chamber. It was not the moon, for that had
v ‘ ‘setl , ago behind the western hills. Brighter
v  r der gleamed the light. , Ruth sprun up
and threw open the window. The w ole
“vicinit was g owing like noonday, and the sky
,glovwe red as blood. '
' ~The light was that of a burning building
' and from her station at the window, Ruth had
nefdiifieulty in discoVering that the parsonage
,’ Was on fire. ’
5‘ .She flew down the stairs, and hurried through
ethefields that la between her cottage and the
»»cburch—yard. he thought that perhaps she
,could aid in saving some of the furniture from
destruction.“ To her surprise, she found not the
banal crowd gathered to witness the conflagra-
', n tion, for eve one who was not languishing on
’ a. bed, of sic ass, was thoroughly worn out
 ‘ th attendance on others; and at this hour of
’ "the'night probably the entire neighborhood was
,wrapped in sleep. '
’g The fire had not yet taken hold of the main
building, but was confined to a back wing used
Arne a storehouse and kitchen. Ruth tried the
v ' front door but it 'was fastened on the inside
j and then she was sure that the inmates had not

,escvacped. , r « .

 . 1th a shudder, she remembered that Mr.
uthe‘ri’ord had not slept for four nights, and
‘ causeway. inthezdepth ofhis weariness. the

 

   
    
     
 
   
    
   
    
   

as
1"

 

    
  
    
 
 
 

   

 

l

 

roar‘of the, flames, had failed to awaken him.
And Mrs. Rutherford and the servant-girl,
where were they? Undoubtedly in the burning
house, and unless, s edily aroused, doomed to a
fearful and inevita 1e death.

The flames had made rapid headway, and.

were now seizing on the roof of the rincipal
building. Afew moments more and it would
be too late! Some of the neighbors had now
arrived, and eagerly, the cry for Mr. Ruther-
ford and his family ran around the circle. For
reply, Ruth pointed to the house.

A murmur of dismay broke on the air, for all
saw the hopelessness of finding any one with
sufficient courage to dare the entrance of that

blazing buildin .
“Not esca e 1 Good God! then they must
erishl” crie "a white-haired old man. “No

uman being could live long in such a smoke

as that!” he pointed to the roof from whence a. ‘

volley of smoke was issuing.

‘ I must go for them,” said Ruth. “I can not"

stand by and see them perish l”

A score of arms were, raised to sta her
course, but she sprung clear of them, a1, and
dashing open the low window leading into the
little Sitting—room, she step ed inside. "The
a artment, thou h untouche by the “fire, was

filed with the stifling stench of smoke,'and the.

crackling of the flames in the next room would
have dismayed an heart not nerved with en‘-
rior courage. p the broad stairs flew the

aring girl, and along the corridor to the chain-V

her door of Mrs. Rutherford. The portal was
thrown open from within, and the old lady,
pale but calm, met her on the threshold. '
“Your son? where is he?” Ruth asked the
question quickly, impatient of a second’s delay.
“Yonder! I was going to call him ;” she in-

dicated a. distant door, where the flames were'

sweeping down hotly from the ceiling, and the
red Cinders fell in a thick cloud.

Ruth bounded along the passage, and flung
open the door of the chamber. ‘The fire scorch-
ed her hair, and the heat of the floor burned her
feet, but she did not hesitate.

Mr. Rutherford la on the bed, wrapped in a

dressing-gown and s eepingquietl as an infant,

Ell unmindful of the peril wbic
1m. , i ,
Ruth grasped his shoulder, and shook ‘him
violently.

“ Wa e up! ' Wake up!” she cried. “Follow
me—the house is on fire!”

surrOUnded

He sprung to his feet, and gazed around him.

with b ank amazement.

“ You here, dear Ruth! Leave me instantly! ’

I will come—but stay, where is my mother and
Katharine?” ' -
“Your mother is in safety by this time, bu
Katharine—1 had forgotten her.” 3
“ Go then, this moment! I will arouse the
'rl. , dear one, and God kee you!”

They left the room to ether, an together they -

met the fiery billow o flame that surged down
to meet them. Grasping Ruth’s hand firmly in
his own, the young minister hurried on to the
chamber where the servant-girl‘ slept, He

pushed open the door—Katharine lay in a, swoon ‘ * "5
in the center of the floor--the fright had been '

too much for her. Rutherford raised her um"

 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
  

. . , L
g - 1 «3.413355%. 1.1.39;  '-"

 

 

I :  of the old one.

 

 

 

 

  

   

/,  '

“Go before ,me down the, stairs Ruth,” he ,

said; “I must save this poor creature, at all
hazards.” . _ _

The trembling girl obeyed , him, andthey
made the descent in safety, But not a moment
‘ too soon! With aloud crash, the stairway 1611
~ in, and the '
their retreat With a sea ofsflre.

The outer air was reached at last, and scorch-'

ed and faint, Ruth Mowbray sunk down at the
feet of Mrs. Rutherford.

A moment more, and the once pheasant par-
sonage lay upon the ground, a heap of blazing
timbers, and a pyre of crlmson light! . '

The houseless ‘family went home Wltb Ruth,

' f“ where they remained until mid-winter, when a

new home was made ready for them on the site

And not lon after their removal, John Ruth-
'/ erford sitting y the side of his fair preserver,
asked her to ut her hand in 1118, and walk With
him through 'fe. Her head sunk to. rest on his
shoulder—she was glad to lay it there; and she
did not resist the gintllet arm that drew her close
to his stron true ea . ' ”
Both hadg’loved before; both had sufiered;
both had come forth untied. _
“I have waited ong for this hour, dear
Ruth,” said the young man. “‘1 yearned
. to ask you this question months ago, but I
wanted to wait until time should heal the
wound your olden disappointment had left. The
tender vine torn from one resting-place. must
have sunshine and rain before it_w1ll cling to
another support; its severed tendrils must have
time to grow again.”
It was very sweet _ _
thus to her; to feel his chensbmg arm around
her, and know that out of all the world there
was one to whose existence she was necessary}.
And John Rutherford, when he k1s5ed er
brow at parting, in the pale moonlight, thought
he had never seen so beautiful a. being, save in
his dreams of Heaven. ,

 

CHAPTER XI.
MY LADY. ‘ v
Gentle, and lovely. and high-born was she-—
~AuxsoN.
“THE pastor of Windfall was standing before
his cottage-door, when a Boston coach stogped
at the gate, and a. stranger in uired 1f uth
Mowbray resided in the neighbor 00d.
h “Bath Mowbray? yes, sub—yonder is her
ome. .
“Thank you, sir; and if you_are a friend of
hers, you will re'oice at hearing of her» ood
fortune. Ruth owbray is Ruth Mow ray
no longer, but Lady Ruth Manchmter, the

*  heiress of one of the finest estates in England'

To communicate this intelligence I am seeking
her. Good-morning‘sir. ,_ _

Ruth Mowbray n5 longer! but Lady Ruth

n Manchester! Mr. Rutherford said the words

' over again and again, as a deep shade of sad-

ness ‘ settled on his usual] p

of a poor and humble clergyman? would she
trenounco the pump and pagcuntry which await-

\

 Smash Admirer, -

burning rafters of the roof covered '

to hear his voice speaking .

‘ acid brow. A l
- titled heiress! what would s e care for the love

 

     
  
    
   
    
  
     
  
    
  
 
  
  
    
 
    
  
   
  
  
 
  
   
   
  
  
   
 
  
  

ed her beyond theisca, to share hislole 10s,: ~
and reign in his lowly heart? I r ‘ _ 

In spite of faith, doubt came upon him... He‘s ;

entered his chamber, closed and looked the dam; ., J

and on his knees suppheated for strength "to
_/bear whatever might be in store for  "“  V
, “She always was beautiful—~now, she is fish
and titled—yet why_should I murmur? . If this:
blackness of desolatlon should fallonjny lifeg
I can only cling closer to the God of goodnea,
who never willingly afflicts. I w111 trust!” - “ 1

He felt soothe and strengthened; and, 
lieving that all would be ordered for the best,_’5
he went cheerfully about his dall duties. His
mother saw the strug le in his fee in but she“
forbore .her sym at y—save b . e prayer
which she sent to eaven, that t cup might“.
pass from him. ' '  ‘ t a,

Ofrourse Windfall was alive with the newaf‘
Lord Henr Dorset had died without heirs: and
Mrs. Mow ray had been his only sister; com 
sequently, to her child, as next of kin, descended
the property of the Earl—amounting to. eighty.
thousand (pounds snarling—together; with the?
title of In y Manchester. / _ ‘ .

There was a younger niece of the dead peer; ’
who came in for a small annuity; for the ream: 
the quiet little,dre;ssmaker was its sole ‘pre: “
prietress. , ’  r  .  

Mr. Montague, the agent of the latelord‘ 
Dorset, had come to convey the intelliecizeq;
imdd to accompany the young heiress 
an . ' :

It was really astonishing to see how  ',
people discovered the extraordinary virtues ‘
graces of Ruth Mowbray. Her cottage; wad
flocked with aristocratic visitors; eaeh'and , 7
anxious to pay'their respects to and congratulate?
LadiManchester on her accession to her sigh
ful_ onors.‘ Presents were sent her by young?
gdles, who had hitherto treated her with

mp - , r  ..
Isn’t it strange how hi h a value wheres:
cans, With all our boaste democracy,.set‘ 
Eatent of nobility'l‘, If a coronal: is a passport"),
nghsh favor, it "is doubl so to the good‘g‘ “
of the citizens of these Enitx‘ad States. - ‘ i‘ i
all, mast of us have a. secret reverence tori:
ower of royalty, and a private hankering r ‘
hgvhonoriaof nobi'i‘ihty. b  4 ‘9. V
oung no orn ury e vill’ arm I “
crat par finance, did himself the< error.
call immediately on the young heiress; to .
purpose of expressing the i‘gh ‘ t; .
esteem in which he ha alwafiz held.  M9
brag—he be ged pardon— dy Man h v‘ ,,
An though uth well knew that a week-  f
viousl he would have considered himself 
grace, by speaking to her, she treated-himwitk
the kindness and courtesy which she ‘hadever'
dis layed toward all. " , “ ‘ '
he ensuing day the squire ted hie-9t?th
this time to bring a bouquet of owers sent by,
his lady mother, and to entre'at Lady, Mam,
cheater to take too, at the Hall the next evenin 
But Lady Manchester was otherwise eng, r -
l and regretted the necaesity of being ob  [5 a
decline the invitation. And again, on the"; Q
a_ , 8 mm Thornbury called, and beer g
left, he aid his hand and fortune at the rest “a
the auondam milliuer. His life would be wretcl»

 

 

 

   

 

SINNED 'Ahihmsr’   , '

 

 

 

~ '. would'go down while it was yet day, if she re-
 ‘ fused to’ go with him down the valle of life.

'  But in spite of his eloquence, Ruth fe t herself

compelled to doom him to perpetual sunset, and

_ hequent out from her presence broken in pride

‘ and'humbled in heart. v

To no, one did Ruth see fit to give her con-
fidence. Windfall with all its gossips, could

. [not ascertain whether she intended to remove to

England, and assume her rights and honors, or

' , whether she would remain where she was, con—
 tent with bein the queen of the village. Great
7 . anxiety was fe t on this score; envious maidens

Q gheartily’ wished her beyond the Atlantic; for

. their particular favorites among the young men
had uddenly become aware of the fact that

: Ruth was the fairest and most winning damsel
 in the village and how it would end no one
.2“, know. Mr. Montague, the agent, had quarters

* in Boston, and when questioned regarding Lady
2‘ Manchester’s intentions, was particularly close-
y mouthed on the subject. Curiosity, for once

, A was baffled. As for John Rutherford, he held
' . ; aloof. He would not influence the girl, he said;
' lie-would not hold her unwillingly to her engage-
 ment with him, though his heart should break
' in him: her liberty. ‘

_ our days rolled by, and still there came to
 no message from the young heiress; and
runner said that on the fifth she would sail for
England. Rutherford, stern and unmoved,
ward the tidings, and still went not near her.

   
    
 
  
   
   
  
 

 

3,? ‘: ,, ‘ CHAPTER XII.

* ” ’ ‘ ' . THE BREAD or LABOR.

Z, .' There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough hew them as we wil .

..  ‘ ' ' ‘ -—SHAKSPEARE.

 Mus. WINTHROP had heard enough, vague

 though it was, to make her shudder at the very

thought of remaining another da with the man

whom the law had made her hus nd.

' Willie was dad—the only link that bound

her to Mr. Winthrog was severed; and now

Winthrop to be the vilest

.. “martyrdom no longer.
 She breathed not a word of what she had
heard; she made her preparations with silence
/ and dispatch. Her trunks were yet in, the
, r.‘ depot at Boston: and she had only to arrange
'.,-the deep mourning dress which she proposed to
"wear henceforth. '
Her jewels, to the value of several thousand
,dollad‘s, shesealed up and forwarded to an old
and tried friend ot her father’s in Roxbugy
with instructions to keep them until she sho d
reclaim them. V ~
._ She had by her about one thousand dollars
and withthis she thought to go South and
establish a school for young ladies. Her prop—
erty she still held in her own right, andthere
Was no necessity of her laborin for a livmg;
.h‘utem lo ment for the mind 5 e must have.
fled re ec 'ons overpowered her when she sat
down to idleness, and she had heard it said that
the bread which is bought by toil IS sweet:
7 She passed the ni lit—the dim, misty night——
 the grave of, or child'. it was the last

 

  
   
   
  
   
  
    
  
  
  

 

', ired‘and miserable without her, he said; his suni

thing on earth, she was resolved to endure her '

 

 

tribute she could pay. Early in the summingw

she arose from the chill turf, and. bade this, H
tomb of her love a longtfarewell.‘ Two hours" , '

later she was in Boston. eclaiming her trunks,

she changed their labels, and as the property‘of '

Mrs. Luc Bell, they were at on the train for
New Yor . She f0 lowed t em, and that night
she slog}; in the? great metropolis.

Mr. rinthrop was absent on business, , and
would not discover her flight until pursuit
would be useless, for she had left no clew by
which she might be traced.

She had fixed on South Carolina as her place I

of refuge. She would be least likely to be
sought in that direction, and would be by no
means likely to meet an one from the North
in that State, who had nown her in happier
days. Besides, she had heard much in praise of
the ghenial climate of the Carolinas, and her
healt was none of the strongest. 

Mrs. Bell—as we must now, for a time at
least, denominate Winifred—hurried on from
New York to Charleston, by the steamer. The
voyage was unusually long, and the. weather
boisterous: but at last the spires of Charleston»

burst into view, and the steamer drew up to the
scene of .

crowded wharf. The busy, bustlin
confusion for a moment made Mrs.- ell’s head
turn giddy: she was unused to making her way
through such a multitude alone and unprotect-

ed; but gathering strength from her very weak- '

ness, she'stepped on shore and ave her baggage
into the guardianship of an o cious hackman.
He inquired whither she would be driven—she
said to some quiet, respectable hotel“ I

Arrived at an. unpretending’ house in a retired ‘

street, the coachman handed her out, andde-
mended two dollars for his fee. She put her
hand in her pocket for her purse—it was not
there! In the crowd at the quay she had been
robbed! ' - ‘

She explained the matter to the man, who
immediately changed his respectful air to the

most insolent abuse, which he delivered in‘

broken English and bad French. . . ,
“Madam can say what she likes—n’zmporte!
Is’all have de l’argent, ou je ne nous donnez pas

Ivos Wres ! ” «-

“ ery well,” she returner]; “you can retain
the trunks: no doubt but you will find in
them amply sufficient to pay you for your
trouble.”

“ Madam is one trompeur; I no s’all have no
tricks played on me l”

She drew from her finger a ring of exquisite
workmanship, set with a single topaz.

,“ Take this and give me my trunks.
it would purchase your whole establishment 1’?

“Non! Non! ierre ‘* 'Couvre is no‘éfool.

Y He has seentout le mantle. ’ You is one sheatfl,
,does t’inkl” , .3, ‘  r ' »
1 “And I' think a wholesome» cou

.  a
dermiere would benefit you and teac you a les—
son,” cried a young man who had paused near
and listened to the colloquy—“so there—-” '

He flung the little Frenchman a two-dollar
note, and at the same time gave him. a kick
which sent him tumbling doWn the steps into the
gutter—muttering as he went—” ‘

“ Sac-r—r-r~el” with a true Gallic roll oi the r.

The young man turned to Mrs. Bell. '

 

stamenmrmrmga  .r.  on .. ., an

 

Take it; ',

 

 

  
   
      
 

 

H" _

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘\ consideration.

 

   

\

“Madam, in what manner can I serve you?”

I he asked, Courteously.

He had removed his hat, leaving his forehead
bare. She looked attentively into his face, and
saw nothing there but manly truth and nobili-

y.

“ Sir,” said she, “I thank ou for the service
you have already done me. am a Northerner,
desirous of getting employment as a teacher. I
had thought of a school'm a small way, but as
some one has abstracted my funds, I shall be

 

' smNED, Admirer. / _ ‘ '

content—nay glad—of a. place as governess in

some rivate family.”

A ush of intelli ence assed over the young

man’s features. 6 too a few moments for
At length he said:
’ “ I came to this place partly to procure an in—
structress for my young sisters, whom my
mother is unwilling to send away from home; I
have been disappointed in the person [had ex
pected to engage: but I hardly regret 1t, if we
can make a. bargain to put you in her place.”_

Mr. Vernon—so the stranger introduced him-

self—conducted the lady into a parlor of the ‘;

hotel, and a regular business interview took i'

place between them. The result was favorable
to both. Mrs. Bell was engaged at a liberal
salary; and before noon of that day she was'on
her waywith her emplcyer to his plantation—-

-“ Castle Hill ”~,—several miles above Columbia,

on the Wateree river. .
At sunset of the third day the travelers reach-

‘ ed their destination, and Mrs. Bell was at“once

made one of the family.

The master of the place was her kind acquaint—
ance of three days~Horace Vernon, whom the
early death of his father had left in charge of
the family and estates. Mrs. Vernon was still

oung, handsome and thrifty—«a fair type of a
gouthern housewife. - ‘

There were two little fair-faced ' ls—Hor—
ace’s sisters—Alice and Mildred; an when the

overness saw them, the memory of_her own
garling, lying dead and cold in his seaSide grave,
came over her, and bursting into tears she left

- the room.

 

Mrs. Vernon understood at once that some ,

great grief troubled the heart of the stranger,

. and with true delicacy she forbore to question

her. Mrs. Bell would do best without that sym-
pathy which must seem obtrusive, she said; and
so she evinced no curiosity, but treated the gov-
erness with a kind, motherly attention, very
pleasant myths 

, But before Mrs. , "11 had been two months at
Castle £111, its young master would have given

all that he possessed for the power to comfort.

her in her secret 'ef. He would have suffercd
unutterable angu h but to haveknown thut’ms
voice and his presence, brought happiness to the
soul of the beautiful woman! .

But he held his peace; some strange influence
kept him silent; and the young teacher found

’ ~ in him Only the tenderness and fond can; of an
\ affectionate brother. ‘

Mrs. Bell’s life at Castle Hill was calm and.
pleasant. Mrs. ,ernon was like a dear mother
to her; and the'children loved her so dearly
that they were ever readyitc render the meet
ininliclt obedience to her wishes. Every night,

" ult., that a duel has taken place between Sena

~ vive his wounds, thou h be may, possiblfi‘live for,

     
 

when she knelt in re er,,she thanked Godthat . "
he had cast herlings 1% such 'pieasant‘places.. , . :3
The Vernons had taken it for granted ‘ that .,  
their governess was a widow, and she was will4 ‘
in]? that the illusmn should continue. She never, 
a uded, in any manner, to her life: and, ‘ 
they came to suppOSe that she ha married 1111-; " rug;
happily, and perhaps against the wishes of her * ~53 3
friends and t erefore avoided the theme. . v v , _- '
Had Mrs. Bell lived more in the resent, and,   '
less in the past, she could not have ailedto dise "H
cover the infatuation of Horace Vernon.  ~ ' ,
His every thought seemed a study as to how ,_ , ' 
he could best contribute to her pleasure. . , v , ~ 
He brought her the freshest fruits and flowers, 
the choicest books and sweetest sengs. He was 1"
sad when she was sad; if for a moment, she for», .
got herself, and indulged the natural buoyancy, 
of her disgosition, he was a new creatuer r
readily di he catch the tone of her spirits. ' _‘
He exerted his rare conversational powers?
continually toamuse her, and her slightest-wish '
was the law by which he was guided. ‘ ' ?

 

 

 

  
 
 
   
  
   
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
    
      
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
  

 

 

/

_ I CHAPTER XIII. '
AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY AND  
_ EVENTS. , g ‘ , , 
“ Level I scorn the word! I know it-notl . ., ‘
I; listen only'to the voice that bids me on!  . ‘ ~  ‘
On, whether I will, or no; the stern, cold voice, ‘

Of duty!” . ,‘ ;
OUR heroine had been at Castle Hills-fifteen
months, and never a word of Mr. Winthrop‘had;
reached her, save occasional allusions in t "
newspaper to his career at Washington; 
She was sitting at her sewing, in the £81191"
one ‘cold morning in Februar , when 4 cm”
Vernon came in with the wee {’5 mail. “While,
he was examining his letters, she took up the
brown bundles he had thrown into her lap-the
family newspapers—and tore ed the wrapper
of the first one that Offered: Glancing-listlessly.
over the damp sheet, her eye was caught by"

the following paragraph: I , . - .j, 
“mama mm km or an "   ., ,

‘.‘ We learn from the Washingtgrmi (315%: Of! them , '

' tar

I

Winthropipf Massachusetts, and Brandon Lawren’
Esq. of 11‘ ma, which resulted in action if n  f "
fatal: inJury the former. It is thought by ate“:
tending physicians that Mr. Winthrop will noesur- '

w

some weeks longer. e has been removed fromhis’ 
hotel to a Private house in Alexandria, where‘h’e will.
be careful attended to. It is said that the meeting
between t e two entlemen was caused by some u
family affairs, whic have not yet trans ’ and
with which we, at present, are not conversant.’ ‘ , ,
There followed a long tirade against the prize“  v f ":3
tice of dueling; abitter editorial on the '  ' ' 
tude of that man’s crime who stands u cooll -» i
to shoot down his fellow—manmbut‘  U  I
read no further. She put dewn the paper,*'a 
left the room. Up to her chamber sham 
and passed an hour in silent, though troubl U 3 i
thought. At the end of that time she arose—4,,
her course of action was determin upon. 7 . I
'The at): of duty lay clean and plan before
her! he man Whom she had promisod to how I
or, obey and cherish, in sickness as well ask:

 

   

  _ _ '   'stREn;-)AGainsn7 , _ «  t 1, ‘ ,   -_  

  

 

 hearth, lay perhaps, a the point of death, with
no kindre hand to smooth his pillow, or wipe
1. f the clammy sweats from his brow. He was

.  j on graceless act —-the victim of a false c e of
x  ,honorwthe outcast of good men-the com ans
ion of the blood-stained. She felt no regar for
Milford Winthrop; yet she would go to him
now, in his dire extremity! . 1
She hastily picked a few articles 0f necessa
 clothinv in a sket; attired herself for trave -
1! ing, and descended to the parlor, where Mrs.
Vernon and her son were sitting, Her hand
I trembled as she entered the presence of those
geod friends, for a moment she was tempted
to throw herself on their friendship and give
‘-,them her entire confidence, but she resisted the
' impulse, and 'in a few brief words informed
them that a circumstance had occurred which
rendered it necessary for her to go north for a
~ .» While” She regretted, she said, while she could
not obviate the necessity; and would if Provi—
, deuce permitted, return to Castle Hill, and ful-
p‘n‘fill her engagement. Mrs. Vernon was sure
‘ and pained. It was so sudden—~could not
" g rs”. Bell defer the journey for a. few da 5?
' No, the governess said—every moment’s de ay
~ I vale an, agony to her; she must set off immedi-
f H) u \- - t
y « W ell, Mrs. Vernon said if she must leave
. {hemp she could only spec her on her way by
‘ placing no obstacles before her, and b wishing
,, 261' a prosperous journey. and an ear y return.
.Horace said nothing, though his handsome'face
- clouded at the announcement of his favorite’s
, intended departure, and when she leftithe room,
~ he followed her out into the hall. . 
. ‘ " , “Must you go, Lucy? Can not you write or
’ . send some one in your stead?”he asked, anxious-

   
   
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
   
 
   
  
  
 
 
   
   
   
   
     
    
   
  
    

» . “.1, only, can attend to (his. ‘call, Mr. Vernon.

It is a duty—a sacred duty 1” ,

' a » “.May I in uire how far north this business

will take you’ ’ ‘ ' , -

‘ She hesitated, but at length replied—5‘ Some

distance north of Richmon l, inJVirginia.”

1:,“ So far! and you think to go alone? It‘mus

. not be! I object to it, most decidedly!” .
5 1,“ Thank you for your interestribut there is

:no need of apprehension. I shall be entirely

nests, and—--” ,
’ ‘ ,fers. Bell” he said, with .decisim’ “you
have been under my roof nearly fifteen months,

‘ . and have I ever 'in'that time given you reason

"‘todoubtmel” '~ .
v . ,“Nol neverl”_she returned. warmly,
 ,_3“W‘ell, then, I am. going toaccompany you
.% parth your way: you, yourself, shall set the
 limit it it be a reasonable one. ,I do not wish to
, pry intoyour affairs; I do not seek to know
wnat calls you away from us—I trust you in
,1 that, for Eon can do no evil! But you shall
. ‘ not and 0 all that long journey alone! So,
‘ consider it settled that I am to go with you.”
, j ‘She was in too much haste to set out to argue
 and so he had it all his own way.
‘Mm‘Vernon a proved her son’s plan heartily;
kissed both t travelers cordially; wished
them God speed, and sent them away. Two
 ’eonstant travelingr by rail brought them
, _ , the bordersof irginia, and here Mrs.

Vi)  ’1

‘,‘etricken down in his manhood—stricken b his

'ing away—ina little while the glass would be

' humble an remorseful. '

’ with bitter repinings; so we connect an

. travel. He visited the principal points of in— . 

 

 

  
  
 
  
 
 

Bell entreated her‘escorttoleav'e her. ;But he” 
refused, and they went on togethe‘r,to Fred— - ‘
ericksburg. She'would permit him to o- no
fuither, and Horace, seeing her evident distress
at his persistence, forbore to urge his company
upon her. ' ‘ v, /
The next day Mrs. Bell reached Washingto
cit , and at early twilight she stood beside the
be of Milford 'Winthrop. ' ‘ ‘ "

 

CHAPTER XIV.
CONFESSION.

By each spot the most unhol ,

In each nook most melancho y—

There the traveler meets, aghast, .

Sheeted memories of the past!

- , ‘ ‘ -EDGA.R A. Pom.
Mn. Wmnnor’s greeting to his wife ‘partook

of shame, surprise and pleasure. His intense
suffering required the constant, care of a nurse,
and there was no hand so soft/as Winifred’s; no '
voice sosweet and soothing. . -

All other attendants were dismissed from the

chamber, and his wife took the sole charge—he
was grateful and penitent. If she quittcd his
presence, only for a moment, he was restless
and uneasy until her return.
' Moreover, he wished to confess to some one
the many sins that lay in such a burden Ion his
conscience; and to whom could he humble
himself so well as to hismuch-wron ed wife?—

He knew that the sands of his 1' e were fall-

empty: and, in view of the great change that ‘
was cominv upon him, Milford Winthrop grew

Winifred tended him with the utmost patience
andgentleness. She hated him no longer; '
very helplessness disarmed all feelings but these
of com assion. He la there weak, repentant
and dying-the man w 0 had darkened the'best'
years of her life—and for the sake of his suffer—
ing, and rememberin that as he was now lying
at death’s door, so s 9 must one day lie, she
for ave him for the cunning ‘art with which he
be influenced her father to require her to
marry him. — ' < I r

-At intervals, as his distress would permit, Mr.
Winthrop made Winifred acquainted with the
history of his life. The details were given in
broken sentences, and in parts, acoom anied ‘
con-
dense the essential phortions of his relation, for .
the convenience of t e reader.

Milford Winthro was born in the State of.
New York, of was thy parents, and earl des-
tined by his proud father for the bar. ' e was .
an only son, and the probable heir of a lar _ 
fortune. At the age of nineteen, he came for he  7.:
from the halls of New Haven university, a 2:3
graduate; but, before he commenced the study T .3?
of his profession, he indulged in two years of 

 

terest in ' Europe; returned, a gay, dissolute '
goung aristocrat, to the States, andvset oil? on a
outhern tour. ‘ ’ . ‘ r '
At colle e, he had become very intimate With
a youn irginian, named Brandon Lawrence,
and by vitation of this friend, his visit South ’
was made. Lawrence resided in the 

 

 

"I ' -

promised bride of young Lawrence.

. mansion o

 

U;

art of the Old Dominion, on a fine swell of
and, which rose higher'and higher at the north
until it joined the Blue Ridge.~ It was a capital
plane for hunting and fishing, and Lawrence
ing an o bun, with no relatlves in the house,
save 8. mai en aunt who had the supervision of
the servants, there was nothing to hinder the
young men from enjoying themselves continu-
allfi in out-of-door sports.
ilford, as we have said, was rather a wild
youth, and this kind of life suited him exactly.
Lawrence was a noble-hearted young fellow,
with a fine flow of spirits, and willing to ’do

. any thing to promote the enjoyment of his

set. .
g“But a change came, and the confreres were
obliged to quit their pioneer sort of life. Law-
rence’s cousin, Melicent Brandon, a fair, beauti-
ful girl of seventeen, came for a visit to her
aunt and cousin. Unlucky hour!

Besides her personal attractions, Melioent
was possessed of some fortune. She was the
Beloved

er truly and tenderly, with the whole strength
of his fervid Southern nature, and she professed
to return his afifection. But the handsome face
of Mr. Winthrop, and his stylish, fascinating
manners, attracted the somewhat coquettish
girl, and she grew cold and distant toward her
cousin. Winthro was not slow to follow up
his advantage. elicent was handsome of an

'old family, and she was an heiress; be admired

her beauty, coveted her fortune. He basely
betrayed the confidence of his friend; propos-
ing an elopement to the giddy girl—and thus
consummated his villainy.

The erring cou le left the house at night, pro-
ceeded to a smal village some six miles distant,
where they were united, and returned tothe
f b the outraged lover before break-

as . «
As a matter of course, they were indifi'erently
received. The bride was sent home to her pa-
rents at Bellemonte; and oung Lawrence and
the bridegroom met in a uel, which resulted m
a wound to the former that kept him confined
to his bed for two months.

The parents of Melicent were almost heart-
broken at the conduct of their daughter. Mell-
Cent had been their idol—the shrine about which
the tenderest alliections of their hearts clung,

‘ x . and the rending of the chords of confidence and

  
  

love was very bitter. ‘

The match between her and her cousm had
been long settled, and this rude sundering of the
engagement brought‘reproach and scandal u n
the hitherto unsnllied name of Brandon. in-
throp cared nothin for this; his very reckless-
ness increased the istress of the aged parents

. F , of his wife.

    
    
   
 

Mr. Brandon fell into a decline. His natural-
ly feeble constitution was broken-by the_ recent
stroke~ere long, death released him. His Wife,
com letel prostrated by the loss_ of her hus-
band) suan into a rapid censum tion, and sur-
vived him only a few short mont . .

Thus the wh e Brandon property fell into
the hands of M 0rd Winthrop: '

‘ As for Mr. Lawrence, immediately on his re-

covery from his woundnhe .sold' his Virginian
 possessions. discharged his liabilities. and, bio

v ' sinnnn Adainsn  y

     
 
  
 
  
 
   
   
 
 
 
   
    
   
     
    
  
  
   
   
  
    
 
 
      
  
   

 

 

‘ as N '
ken in health, hits and fortune, left- the cedar v
tryi Whither e went no one knew. ' -_ ’

oung Winthrop, by this time,'wearied of his 
pretty, capricious wife; and her wild grief for 
the loss of her parents mingled, as it was, With,
bitter self—reproach, filled him with intense dis-
satisfaction. He hated to see a woman forever
in tears he said; he wanted a wife to cheer.
him and make him happy, not a blubbering
Niobe. In consequence, poor Milicent was
treated‘with harshness, and often With cruelty.

This conduct of her husband was notwitho‘ut ~, 1
its effect on the wretched girl. Her mind, never
of the strongest type, became filledwnh one a
idea, upon which she dwelt day and mght~
hatred for Milford Winthrop. V .g’ T

Her love had undergone a gradual but sure
transformation; and now she a1 horred him'as
cordially-as she had once loved. The hatred.
with her took the form of a fearful monomai’nar
She ima ' ed that if she could deprive herhns- _
band of ife, she would be doing the world'an' ~
immeasurable service; and thrice she had made 
attempts to murder him. - ' V ‘  f

He placed her in close confinement, and al—f
lowed no one to visit her room but himself. ,, He *
seemed to take a sort of fiendish delight in her
helplessness, and ,in taunting her Wit her 
potence to do him harm. But he was not so-sew “
cure from her as he thought. He awoke'one
night to find her stande over him with ah ff ._
butcher knife, ‘ust rea y to strike .it to" V.
heart. He das ed it asxde, and succeeded‘in
capturing her, but not until she had- wounded-
him severel with a pair of scissors which were
fastened to er girdle. ' L  >2

After this occurrence, Winthrop felt 
iiustified in desertin her. However, he 

eave her alone. e placed her in the ceramics. ,
servant after his own heart, and himself not
for the East, where he readin obtained a decree
of divorce from his wife, on the ground 01 her
insanity. By the decree he was appointed-gust
dian ofthe unfortunate woman. ‘ . ‘ 1' ’ . _,

The roperty, of course, saving eno’ggjh,
her maintenance, belonged to him, acoo ng to
the statute provided for such cases. After 
taining the divorce he returned, to Belleuunnte,
disposed of all the nrandon heritage (exceptthe
011d homestead), including lands, . 8' ,  
s aves. ‘ ,  

Bellemonte he retained; and, having put:
chased four negroes from Louisiana, he _ t.
them there in charge of his divorced wife‘ gs
declared her a maniac—though, undoubtedly,
she was sane save in her great atred, of hires-g.
and had her confinedyfo the green room, With:
which the reader is already acquainted; The
heavil -ba¢rred windows prevented herpescape 
in the. we :and the baize upon thevwalls was
to hinder t e transmission of sound, in case any
stranger should be Within the grounds, and the
ca tive should cry out. . ' _  ‘ "

e feed the slaves who guided her, liberaiiy,i 
thus keeping them true his interests, a
with the money obtained from the sale of, his: v i
wife’s patrimony, he proceeded m_Mas$hu-' '
setts, and purchased Maplewood. , ‘  _ ’

His father’s death, occurring about this  .. ..
put him in ssession ofa princely revenue; a ' ' '“
I soon after. avmg studied law at each leisure

: a,

    
  
    
 

 

 

 I a I  ' f  ’ smnnndeaxnsr.‘ 

 

f.,

 

 ‘ moment since his departure from college, he
- 7 commenced the practice of his profession in
t p. Jaostozh;i . > .
  Occasionally he visited Virginia to see that
 - his wretched victim was not let loose. With the
W _ lapse of years, Melicent’s malady increased, and
she became periodically insane in reality. Still,
, shehad lucid intervals in which her cries fer
release were heart-rending.
M Mr; Winthrop had been in business several
Eearswhen he first met Winifred Atherton.
he girl’s beauty pleased him, and her father’s
j wealth was agreeable to his inordinate love of
gold. By a crafty appearance of virtue and
many aiwell-timed act of kindness, he led the
, -~ unsuspecting old man to place in him unlimited
, , j confidence. The result of his scheming is al‘
  ready known. ’ ‘

 

   

   
   
  
  
   

’ - ‘ W ashington for some country retreat, and by a
.. singular coincidence, had fixed u on Rappahan—
'  1' nock'county—thc scene of her hus and’s villainy
 —-he had opposed her plan, because she would
a be brought Into the vicinity of his first wife’s
prison-house. But, on second thought he fear—
ed» 'to persist in his objections, lest JWinifred
Vshorlld suspect him of some hidden motive, and
institute investigations which might lead to an
exposed the w ole affair. I .
Therefore he ad made a journey into western
Vir inia; and removed Mehcent to an old hunt-
, ‘ing- 0d "9 on the other side of the mountains,
‘. some t as or four miles from Woodstock.
.3 There he left her in care of two of his younger
slaves, giving them strict directions not to allow
« her toi’quit her room on the eril of their lives.
'  l' . Malicent was , ssess'ed o exceeding artful-
 - ness, and no sma degree of craft. The negroes,
, believing her too thoroughly insane to heed or
 co prehend-their conversation, had no scruple
,- in) iscussing freely theii' master’s affairs in her
5 presence and through their idle gossip she learn-
: " ed the w le particulars of the expected arrival
v at Bellmonte, and the preparations which were

, ma mg. -
“ I: With infinite joy she found that the chamber
. Which was tobe ap pro riated to Mrs. Winthrop
' was the room w 'c Mr. Brandon, her late
father, had used for a cabinet; and behind the
chimney, of {which there was a sliding panel,
I ‘ ‘; close‘dov’m to the floor, that shut u a roomy
‘i  used by the former master of llemonte
as a sort of safe for papers of value. This re-
 coss communicated with a narrow passage lead-
. ,jn’gunder the north wing of the mansion, and
terminatin' in an outlet in the open air which
g was closed y a movable stone.
. Melipent'knew this secret, but she had never
/ divulged it to an
“ ' Stood that the wi e and child of her enemy were
’to bedomiciled in that chamber, she swore in
. her soul a terrible oath to take the lives of both.
This'would be a lorious revenge on her trai-
‘ tor husband, and s 9 would give herself no rest
until she found means toaccomplishit. But how
was she to elude the vigilance of her kee ers?
' Once clear of her prison she saw no obstac e to
' her purpose; but how was she to obtain her
liberty? A thought struck her, which she

I elv‘vas subject to fits.

 

. When Mrs. Winthrop had wished to leave.

one; and when she under-’

urinz which the

 ca; lit at with lightning-like uickness. ' -

 

 

whole house would rlng with her agoniaed
shrieks; and for some time her attendants had
been in the habit of uietin g her with inhalations
of ether. If she 001‘: d but turn the tables upon
them! The powerful drug once in her posses—

session, and she would defy a whole army to _

keep her imprisoned. r _ .
'othis end she complained of an excessive

headache, and pra 'ed that camphor might be '
brought, hoping t at Chloe would fetch the»
But in this latterexpecta- ,
tion she was disappointed. The girl gave hcr .

medicine -basket also.

the camphor, and Milicent submerged her head
in the liquid—using a great deal of it, and spill-
ing a great deal more. She emptied the bottle
at last and concealed it in her clothing, an
when chloe asked for it she said that she had
thrown it out of the window. ‘

Directly afterward, this cunning ’woman :
feigned a nervous s asm, and made the whole I

place hideous with or ells. Chloe rushed in
with the other, but Mel1cent cried out piteously:
“Brandy and water! a drop! for the love. of
heaven!” , ‘
She was accustomed to take this mixture as a
stimulant, and the terrified slave unthinkingly
set the other on the floor, and flew downstairs
for the brandy. Quick as thought Melicent
‘caught up‘the bed-quilt to her mouth and nose
with one and, and withthe other transferred

the ether into the bottle which had contained ‘

the camphor. Hiding this in’her bosom, she
filled the other jar With water from her jug,
and just as she had completed this deigrous/oper—
ation, Chloe re-entered. Of course w e ne
was 1n the maniac’s OWer; and [while bloc
stooped over her toa minister the stimiilant,
Mehcent dashed a part of the ether full into her

nostrils. . ,

The girl fell to the floor like lead, and Meli-
cent fled from the room, closing and bolting the
door upon her luckless captive. In the buttery
she met the ne 0 man and without ceremony

treated him to t e remainder of the ether, which I

stupefied him in an instant. She drag ed him
into abedroom near by, and havin astened
the door, she secured the carving-km e from the
kitchen, and set OR for Bellemonte. , >
It was night, but she knew the way well—-
every spot in the vicinity was familiar to her,
for it was the haunt of her hapcpy childhood.
Like a wild deer she flew on, an
mouth of the secret passage without molesta—
tion. The great stone swung back at her touch
on the hidden spring, and, gave her ready in-
gress to the passage.
cess,» and, removing the sliding panel, gained
Winifred’s chamber. Mother an child were
both sleeping, and both would have fallen a sac-

rifice to the rage of the demon but for Wini- . "

fred’s sudden and, providential awakening.
Once again, on a succeeding night, was her de-
siggihfrustrated in the same manner.

e thirdtime she had'been partially success- —

ful. The resence of Rosyhad prevented her
from mur ering the mistress; so she contented
herself with stealing little Willie.

The child she proposed to carry'to the lodge;

and kill it at her leisure; but the poor innocent-Rs I 
cries for its mother were so piteousmdlgs. "j
p r. 

den.

\

struggling rendered it such a b



 

ress c I;

reached: the. '

She ascended to the re- ‘

 

 

 
 

 

  
    
     
 
    
    
   
   
  
   
    
 
 
  
   
  
    
 
    
   
   
  
   
 

 

patience gave‘outs She strangled it, and left it I Wmirnnp accompanied the remains of her“.
dead on the. banks of the river, wherethe an» , husband; in their splendid coffin, to the burial-"’ .
, happy father had Subsequently discovered the ; place at Maplewood. .It a was duty that'she‘ , 7 “
remains~ r ' , v ' § owed to the cold form beneath. those rich  v .7
Melicent succeededinreaching the lodge with- 5 wood carvings, and she would not shrink from __
out discovery, and then, With a singularity that ; it. ' \v _ I ~  . 
went far to establish the fact of her insanity, } Directly after the performance of the pumps -
she released the two negroes, Whom she had ous funeral rites, the will of the deceased-W3s '7
constantly fed during their incarceration, told read—the win which had been drawn up While,
them what she had done, and save herself upto the testator lay on his death-bed'j—and a was:
them at once. i ' _ _, , found‘ that his wife, Winifred'v‘Wmthrop, ; :5
I The extraordinary, exertions which she had made 5016 heir of all the rich man’s ;
made, and the exposure that she had undergone, The widow remained a, few days. at Ma  ‘3
threw the miserable woman into a raging fever, wood, to wee over the grave of her lime. 11..
Whicb lasted three weeks- _ _ lie and then s 9 set out for‘Atherton  The , ~
, At the expiration of that time her disease tool: old servants there received he'r with Wild de—g
' a favorable turn, and for more than a month it monstrations of joy, and again she 
was expected that she would ultimately reCOVer. through the spacious rooms, and indulged in
But a relapse occurred, and her fate was de- melancholy reveriesof the sweet, dim past. , v 
cided, ' ' EVery tree and shrub—every flower and butt 
Mr. Winthrop arrived at the lodge the day of grass, was a' dear sduvenir~a link 
preceding her death, and his threats wrung the now and then; a tender reminderoiuthe
from the dying woman a minute confessmn of » ha y life which was gone forever!  V“ 

. her sin. She revealed all, unreservedly; and e visited the tomb of her arents, at‘fiouhfi
, with the last words trembling on her lips, she Auburn, and plucked from t e'green‘ 
expired. the first blue Violet of sprin ‘ ' ”

_ Mr. Winthrop saw her decently interred by ‘v . Then, bidding farewell t5 the faithful 
the side of her parents, gave the negroes who ties at 'Atherton 'Hall, she returned to B  "
" had served him so faithfully their freedom, shut , where she placed the complicated affairsof 
* up Bellemonte, and returned to Maplewood, to , late husband in the hands of an eminent la or
find his home desolate. . . l for settlement, and herself sojournin for a cw
He remembered Winifred’s words at the time; days with her old friend, Mrs. ' chmont: ,
he had brought home the dead child, and he had Thliglgood lady was exceedingly anxious to
little hesitation in believing that she had fulfilled W“ ' red with her permanently and modem" 1
her threat,and would return to him no more. argument to that effect, but Winifred, w ' V 
Susgecting, also, that she had heard rumors of she felt deeply her kindness considered it I L '
his aseness he haddoublq reason to believe bound to return to Castle hill, and
that it “90qu be useless .to prolong his stay at _ engagement; v i _v  

Magilewood in expectation of her appearance; metimes she the ht she would 
an leaving the house in charge of his servants, explaining the turn  had taken, ask 
,he'returne to Washington Without seeking for excused from erforining her agreement.
. her retreat; , she owed the ernons much for their 
Three weeks before the fatal duel, Brandon to her, and she would go back, if only to 
Lawrence, the cousin of Melicent, had arrWed her gratitude. I ' ‘  . ;_

in America. An accidental meeting had taken And so, one‘bright .épril morning, she set I
place at Washington between the former friends, forth on her return to astle Hi1 . t was‘tbay 
3‘ and some taunting words were exchanged. Mr. middle of_the month when she reac edColumbia" ;
' _ Lawrence’s hot blood was in no wise cooled by ——wet, rainy, and extremely muddy. “ I ~ ,   

' the lapse of time. He challenged Mr. Winthrop She_took a sta e—coach to a lit 'le village somé

', to mortal combat, , ten miles from astle Hill, and ow ' to 
This was the substance of his confession. wretched state of the roads, wash by  .
‘Winifred could only compassionate the poor, cent heavy rains, her progress was exceedingly
wasted piece of mortality before her, and com- y slow. ' ' i  
mit him, with many prayers, to the mercy of i ' There was a poor_woman, With a. blue: . I t
' 1 God. ' ‘ N . g little girl passenger in‘the coach, andthc 
 ‘ Mr. Winthro' ‘ grew worse. His wounds fseemed suffering with some unknown  A

L healed falsely—inflammation set in, and for SIX = Winifred, compassionatin the stranger, sought.
1, g miserable days he suffered unspeakable agon . , her acquaintance, and div dedwrth her the‘task
; With vain longings for a little more oft e l of holding the child. The mother thou htithad
fever called, life, and clinging closely to the  the measles, as it had been exposed tot, em,;and
hand of his wife as though she could keep him ; the skin had something of that appearance. ‘ .;
back, the spirit of Milford Winthrop passed 1111,— 1 About halfway to the yillage before men: ,
“to the bar of its Judge. - I tioned, the woman and child left the 
p . ‘ l the latter being unable to ride further. Wiuis

8

 

 

    
   
    

 

« V , r  _ I fred performed the remainder of the journ ' r

I CHAPTER XV- i which occupied a week, alone. .Arri-ved gath- V, 

._ ‘- ran mine or sicKNEss. I terminus of her stage journey, she rested 
Then I: griefs unnumbered throng thee round, days at the hotel and then eng ed a private: ’-
Stil in thy God canfidel ‘ conveyance to take her to Castle ‘ ill. : ‘ ..  ~

\ Whose fin errmarlos the seas their hound During the last few da, 5’ a, strange 

 And cut ‘ the headlong tidew-Mgmmm , ._ of spirits, and lassitude 0 body. hadcnnressed

{ «

 

 
 
   
 
  
   
 
    
   
  
      
   
 
  
 
   
   
   

,—

; _ avraging headache. ‘ \ r
.  p . ,The jolting of the carriage increased the'pain
almost beyond endurance, and she feared that
her strength would not sustain her throughout
. the transit. She became incredibly anxious i0
et on—-the horses went at a snail’s pace, and
\ ebold swell of Castle Hill was so longinbreak—

; in on her view! , ‘
. ;' . ‘rom the parlor windows, Horace Vernon
saw the approaching carriage—his heart, told

. . him who was its occupant, and he hurried out,

.3," I» bareheaded, into the driving rain to welcome

3 ‘ her. ' Winifred had just strength enough to

 g _, murmur:

 1‘  V "‘ Take me to the house!” when she fell back

. ‘ ' ‘ unconscious, for the first time in her life.

_' , ' Horace tore open the carriage door, and, clasp-

‘ V  ing theinanimate form in his arms. bore her
into the arlor, and laid her on a sofa by the

-‘fire. Wit all haste, he ' etched aservant
for a physician, who was Visiting their next
neighbor, and in a few moments might be ex—
pected at Castle Hill.

 With singular forethought, Horace did not

._‘ arouse his mother, who was taking her after-
 noon nap in her chamber; and the children, who

 Were'spending the day with their aunt on the
. “ other side of the river, Were not there to disturb

, *‘ p the dear wanderer. ‘

 ,  brief Space, Dr. Urphan arrived. He

  nod the patient critically; made some

I ‘  sin .ular‘ inquiries, and shook his head.

’  » 34,3119 has the small- x' of the most violent
‘_ ‘ type I should judge ythe fever. I have sel—
 dom‘felt so high a pulse“ She has a hard three

5‘». weeks’ work before her— oor girl!”

= , ,In this time of trial, orace Vernon’s strong

 decision of character led him to act quickly.

 .He called his mother, gathered together his

 gservants, and bade, them pre are for an imme—

‘- diets journey. His mother 0 jected to his plan

,, "hut‘he was firm, and in two hours from the

i ,, ‘ time of Winifred’s arrival, the entire household

‘ ,4 (with the exceition of Horace and an old ne~

" :gress, who he had the disease) were on their

 way to a small plantation belonging to the

> .- up the river.

Horace Vernon never felt a moreintense thrill

. of satisfaction than at the moment when he

, “knew that Winifred was to be his charge; that

' ' tohim she was to owe all the careful tenderness

that a sick onerequires.

..  And never had a sufferer a more assiduous

. r : and gentle nurse. His whole life seemed bound
' ' up in the effort to make her comfortable. All
that the tender-est and most thoughtful mother

_ could have done for her sick child, he did for

‘ the helpless girl. _ i ;

Her illness was long andtedmus; she endured
terrible spasms of pain—varied by seasons of
lethargic slumber—or delirious ravmghand
 from her unconscious revelations, Horace learn-
; : r ed much of her past life. And the more he

-‘ ,\ knew of her the dearer she became to him.

 chair by er bedside, during r rare intervals
 (“if painless rest; and every medicme passed,
-  his hands before she swallowed it.

 smashes;  <

2 her; and now her temples throbbed hotly with There came, atfllength, a  when’her life 'v

‘ ;family, and situated six ,or seven miles further '

\ ~ He, rarel' left her; his sleepl was taken in a,
e

 

 

 

\

was despaired 9 g l a  V :3
The fearful disease had reached its crisis; the 
burning fever tugged desperately at the fqun— $5
tains of existence, and the live-long night :
Horace bent above her, in wild agony, asking 
God to spare her yet a little longer! ~ 
’ Toward morning there was a change—rand the ‘
anxious physician, and the pale Watcher, held.
their breath in suspense. . ‘ _
She lay perfectly motionless—white as the, '
illowmnot a pulse fluttered, and, the heaving of

fr breast in respiration was scarcely percepti- _ 
b e ' ' §
2

 

At sunrise she stirred slight] , and o ning

her eyes she spoke the name of orace ernon. . 

A gla c, escaped the youn man’s 1i —and " e,
as he bow his head over her,gh.is tears all in a- 

torrent on her face. - -
“I can notsee you!”'she said, in a troubled g
voice, “ my eyes are so dim! But isn‘t it Horace ;
Vernon?” 
“Yes, dear one! it is none other! God be f
thanked! you are better!” . 
“Much better! The terrible pain has "gone ‘
out of my temples, and I feel cool and. calm. 
But m sight is so feeble! I have been very ill, .
haven t I?’ .
“Yes, dear; but don’t talk about it, now.”
“What has ailed me? It was something very ,» ,.
strange! Don’t refuse to tell ‘me—I want to
know!” V V ' . ‘
He hesitated. She went on, disregarding his ,4
admonition: , 4. 
“ Do not keep me in suspense. It is ten times "
worse, than certainty. I can bear to know all,
now. .  
“ You have had the—the—varioloid—small- 
pox, the Doctor seemed to think.” ‘, , a 
She lay quietamoment with closed eyes and g;
slightly guivefing lips. Then she spoke again: 
“Am very hideous?” ‘ » i
“Hideous! no, heaven be praised! There is" _‘-
nothing on our face, save pallor, to show that? ,;
you have ered!” ' ’ , ’ 
“ God is good! vs good—merciful and  -
good!” she murmur , softly, clasping her 
hands. ' v ’ is .
“ Y”es, dearest, he is the very spirit of good- 
ness. 7. .
She was uiet and silent for some time, dur-l j;
ing which or lips were eloquent in mental
prayer. Then she asked: ,. . ,
“Where is your mother, and the clear chil-
dren?” . I ' .
“At the upper plantation, dear girl; all well
and happy except for their anxiety on your ace ,
count.’ ' ‘
“ Are you?” ' V.
“ Was never in better health! and sweet can:
tent fills my breast to see you so much improv-
ed. . . ,
_“I can rest now.” she said, sweetly; and
closing her eyes she lay still. murmuring at in“.
tervals, “ Yes, God is good!” . ‘ » 5
When all danger from contagion was every;
Mrs. Vernon and the family came back to
Castle Hill, and Winifred was in great dange’lf‘
of being tended to death. '. r A f;
The children gave up all their sportséfor, new

 

  
  
   
 
   
   
    
  

 

 
  
 

M ..v. .

3.013.111an her head, ache; and Mrs. Vernon

 

could never ‘concoct’any delicacy half good

 enough for herhin her own opinion.

» As soon as inifred. was strong enough to
talk, she confided her whole history to those ex-

R» cellent friends—keeping back only the portion

 A, not bring herself to reveal;

relating to‘Gerard Middleton. That she could

(I when she had finished,'Horace Vernon

" -' longed inexpressibly to take the sweet uand to

x '- whis bosom, and kiss
v ~ cheeks save those of jo .
 p . To the surprise an

all tears from the pallid

infinite distress of her

 friends Winifred’s sense of vision continued to
, 1

\.

ova. less and less, until, in a few weeks, total
lindness came 11 n her! ’,
Physicians, wit out number, were consul ted—

 they all rophesied that return to health would
» restore t e power of sight; but time passed, and

brought no favorable issue.

~ . Horace in a frenzy of doubt and apprehen?
' sion, besought her to consent to ajourney to

Paris, where she mi ht have the advice of

' eminent oculists, but 5 e steadily refused. She

felt, she said, that it would only be a useless at-
temupt—and if be e was once reawakened,_ lt‘
we (1 be doubly ard to crush it out again.
And after a time he ceased to urge her. . .
It was a terrible trial to this proud, beautiful
‘ woman; but in passing through the deep
. Waters of aflliction, she learned to put faith in
the goodness of a gracious God. All pride, and
scorn, and bitterness, went out from her heart

' ’_ ——she‘ became humble and trustful as a little

child. It was good for her to be afflicted.
Her Very hel lessness endeared her a thou-
sand-fold to . orace Vernon. It was his

I.- ‘- privilege to hear her aboutin his arms; to de-
' _scribe to her the sunset skies; paint to her blind-

 

  

 

   

1’ ‘-ed vision the glory of the summer landscape

“.liOrealizeitl

to
soothe and comfort her as a mother does

yr beloved child. \

His ha piest hours were spent with her when,

hleaning mstfully on his arm, together they

teak long walks in the glowing calms of evening,
and sat down together on the grassy river-
“banks. She was gentle, and quiet always; she
said little b way of thanks-Lyet her lovely

' face and sig tless eyes were eloquent of grati-

tu e. 4
 But it is a hard fate to be shut out forever
lfrom the beautiful things of earth! To be

blind—groping in darkness~shronded in a night

" Which neVer breaks into morning!

God help thee, Winifred! It is hard for thee

 

«NY a

1. -r

 
 

[1

. - S
 '1. ‘ ' ~ iltmall oetl'y
, , Thathgamg} PB" v

,, We have thrust u

., ‘ CHAPTER XVI.
A WOMAN’S TRUTH.

I fill this cup to one made up
Of loveliness alone;

I «I .Axwoman, of her gentle sex

The seeming aragon
Her health! an

once more of such aframe!

i
would on earth there stood

‘ ‘ ' And - “walla? LE. 0. PINCKNEY.
‘ ' BUT what of those other lovers whose fortunes
/ ' n our readers? .
The heart of ' e yonm: pastor of Windfall

\

'1‘ ’ fl film  Di  i

,, of resignation

her '

 

    
  
   
   
    
   
   
   
 
  
    
  
    
   
    
 
   
   
  
 
   
   
  
 

grew heavy within him. His love ass-wellaszhis 
inclination said to him: - , x v a. 
“ Go to Ruth Mowbray, tell her howstrofi ly 2
and tenderly you love her!- Tell her that wi iii-J 
out her, life will be worse than a blank. -- Con»  .
fess all to her, and perhaps her affection-will be I. '  '1
stronger than her (pride! f ‘ ' " c  v   »
But was it pri e on the other hand that
said: ‘ . ‘ . r v , -
“ No; remain where you are. ht box: choose _
for herself. You do not wish to take for a- wife a
one who has a single thought or \feeling reach-
ing out after other shrines. Wait.” '9  .
t was a beautiful September eyening.  ' ‘
moon rose from out t e bosom of aridgejof ,g'
dense black clouds, and gave to the sable‘di‘a'! ‘-
Eeries of the east a silver fringe. The western-
eavens were clear, and gemmedwith stars-'— ,
there was no wind to stir the leaves“ with filer: v
murous complaint; and Charles River gleamed \
like a. polished crystal. Thexhum of the  ‘ 4;,
city had fallen to silence—men rested from ' "   
labors—sleep was upon the earth with he! . r , ' £1; 3
of rest—the universal heart of Nature wasjat  "

 

eace. 'V I , ’ J > kg” _
p But there was one who took no reane
whose whole soul was in tumult.  .' ‘ ‘
Back d forth in the shrubberi , ,
church, .alked J’ohn Rutherford; is face pale
and stormy; his arms folded in the semblance
upon a breast whose wild beating:
proclaimed no resignation within. , n * I;
It was near midnight, he knew, for the glen ,
on the neighboring stee 1e had just giveng'the'
warning. He had hope , against hope for;
message from little Ruth. The hone was dead
now, and in its lace had come'despair. ~   
.It was midnig t—-the last night that the 
girl would spend in her native and. Safe ' ,
said, and why should he hesitate to believe'l‘iti
a few more brief hours, and they would
be égrevocably dselparated. T ' .
ma enin , an e struck his, head "lently'
with his c enched hand. 7 ‘  
He would go into the house, he said—4n 
no human eye could witness his agon- ,‘ 
would go in and ask strength from the. ‘ n
from whence he never failed to receive it. ‘
He turned to enter the house, where he might.
spend his night of sorrow alone. A hand .w
laid li htl onhisarm. He stood face to face
with ut Mowbray. The white moonlight
shone full upon her brow; her deep, ea ' 13'
eyes were lifted to his. There was 110,... V  of;
shrinking, in those calm, truthful er ' 
tOOk both her hands in his, and saith-simply:  
“ Well, Ruth I have waited for you.” I, v ‘,
“And I could not stay away longer, John;  I;
hoped you would come to me, but you did”. not;
and now that I have come, you will not think
me hold and forward?” / a >  '~ r
“No Lady Ruth.” , ’L ,i g
“ Lady Ruth! never call we thus again! 
nounce all claim to rank and title, Jo 11. “there;
is but one earthly throne where I covet to

 

s
2*
e
r
a

rei ‘ I” »
“ And that is where?”
“ In your heart 1”

He caught her rapturously in his aimsfweeg:
ing over her as we weep over those returned,
us from the dead. . . A. ' ‘   a

 
   

’ SINIlED‘iAGAINS’f. ’ '-

 

 I. "My own little Ruth once mere! God bless

Irher true loyal heart! And she will not'leave ’

. ,hgdhpmble loverrfor British titles and British
J a  .v “ Never, John; how could you think so?” .she
x a said, seriously and fervently.

. There was childing in her tears, and perhaps
he thought he deserved it, for he held her closer
to his side, After-a little while she went on:

 “ I havenempowered Mr. Montague to dispose

" ,, 7' of all my neg? inheritance, and transmit to me

' the proceeds. We can dos-a great deal with

'- that‘mone , John. Providence has given it to

i: 'us for the purpose. The title I relinquish to

' my young cousin across the seas, who has a

_ handsome share of the heritage. I can afford

to give, up an empty name, when I have you
an your ove instead.” '

I Think you John Rutherford was happy?

4' .1 Twomonths later, there was a wedding in the
, little church of Windfall. The pale-browed
. young eler r man, and the blue-eyed milliner
' were made, ’efore God, “one flesh. ’

 People wondered, as people often will. Med-
lein ones censured Ruth for relin uishin her

,. righ to be called “my lady,”an ambitious
 maidens wondered how she could bear to sell

- , those fine old English castles, with their broad

, ,, acres, without once seeing them. But Ruth re—

. ggretted nothing. She was too happy for regrets

~fl -~.--too full of peace to feel unrest.

" " V The life of John Rutherford and his wife was
biesaéd? . I ‘

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVII. /

 p 3 I, DARKNESS AND DAWN.
' “Darkened! this life, henceforth, a shadowy dream,
. ,«Blinded and helpless float I down the stream.”

' HORACE VERNON, in his noble, generous love
 but yearned'the, more tenderly over Winifre
 on account ,of her blindness; he hungered to be
.r to that shadowed life, all in all—«to place his
sightrhis reason, his existence—all that he had
Feral; her service. And it was not long before he
“ ytold. her so. " q
 He would make an sacrifice; wait any length
 of time; endure any egree of probation—41? she
;' would only give him one little ray of hopeto

 clin toi, «He did not ask her to be his then—he
g._.wiou (1 give" her time—that she might learn to
 love him—learn to feel toward him the affection

«that would beto him the foretaste of Eden.
 She listened to him quietly, but her beautiful
‘ face‘grew paler and sadder- she sorrowed over
the pain s 9 must inflict. She did not answer
, .‘ him direct , but spoke of her misfortune. She
:.,51'Washelpless and blind, she said, of what value
 could her existence be to any one? She would
only he a drawback, in which a husband could
: v' 130196 for neither Pride nor pleasure. Vernon

frephed, ssionate y: .
  ‘Winlfred, my love is the stronger on that
* acoOunt! for that my heart longs for you at
7‘ ‘;more tenderly and powerfully. You, blin ed
1  as youare, helpless as you would make me be-
, :lisve you, aremore reoious tome than all the
Women in the worl l Winifred, In true loye
wouldry-igeteontent to lead you t ough {life

 

 

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
    

. /

 

 

K hat absorbing gaze.

* constrained, embarrassed we "

. in a constrained voice.

 

 She'lethim finish—4thenr‘putting both her

hands in his, she said:
‘-‘ My dearest and best: friend, in answer to

‘ what you ask, I must make a mnfession whose

secrets have never before passed m lips. ' Since
I was fifteen years of age, every t iought, feel- .
ing and emotion of my heart has been bestowed ;.
‘on one whose name my lips never speak! Him _
I love, entirely, wholl , and eternally! 'It is 1
not probable that I shal ever meet him again , '
in this’life—I know not beneath What sky he is
wandering—but in the land of everlasting peace“
we shall be reunited. In this hope alone do I
live; and the thought of this meeting will make
the way over Death’s river look pleasant to me!
Forgive me, Horace, but I can. give you only a '
sister’s love.” ’ ' 
The young man’s face underwent a change. .(
His lips quivered, and great beads of perspiration 
stood upon his brow. There was a desperate
struggle in his heart. ~ But he triumphed over i 
this emotion; he saw the mute distress of the, '
blind lady, and he was generous enough to pity 
her rather than himself. He stooped over her‘ j j
and kissed her forehead. : «p v 
“Winifred, forgive me; and hereafter 100k
upon me as a brother, if I can be no more. I;
will accept, thankfully, the humblest place in ;
your heart.” . ‘
And she grateful and happy for this new A
love, rested her head on his arm, and with her 
tears sealed the compact.” '  ‘

, The country run with the fame,of the great 
French physician r. Gerard. His name reach? 
ed the secluded home of the Vernons, loaded 
with praise. He was a singularly successful ~
oculist who had performed some astonishin
operations. Horace Vernon besought Winifre .
to make the journey to New York, and consult
this great operator. Early in October she set’.
forth for the metropolis, accompanied by Horace. ‘
The made their journey a long one, for Wini-
fre was still feeble, but finally arrived at their
destination. ‘ ‘ ‘

Two days elatpsed, during which Winifred j?
rested from her atiguc, and Horace had an in-
terview with Dr. Gerard. » On the third day the V.
fair patient, attended by her friend, was ushered .
into the doctor’s presence. ;

' Dr. Gerard was standing at a window,
out on the-denso throng of life continually gjost~ ‘
ling down the street, when his visitors were air.
nounced. He turned quickly around to greet.
them, but he gave them no welcome; his. eyes 
were riveted upon the sweet countenance of the
lady, while slowly all the color went out from ‘
his face, leaving it white and clear as marble.
He did not speak, he did not move; .all the
powers of his ife seemed to be concentrated 1g

 

 

 
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
   
    
  
 

 

Horace, in his anxiety scarcely noticing the
singular conduct of the physician, said: ~ 
“ This is the lady whom I mentioned to you,
yesterday.” » ‘ , * " *
Dr Gerard, regaining self—eomrol by an smart:
came forward. He greetedwi‘ed in a 19W
3, and turned}?!3

Horace. ‘ “
“The lady is your wife, I presume?” he saiér

 
 
   

 

.‘.Vh

‘ Horaceblushedpainf  ,‘    '.
,  0, sin; not mytw e, but my very dear
 friend.’ I ‘ '
_ Astrange‘gleam of satisfaction shot athwart
the dark, handsome face of the doctor. 'He
took Winifred gently by the arm, and led her
to an easy-chair in a shadowy corner of the

room. v
‘ V “Will you trust her with me a little while?"
,; he asked, speaking to Horace. ' :
. , “ To be sure, if she consents.”
“Certainly, Horace; I am not
1 ;her reply. '

‘3

afraid, ’Lwas

The soft tones of her voice seemed to strike 3

 .some sensitive chord in the being of Dr. Gerard.
 breast heaved, a tide of crimson surged up
 ‘ his chEek, his dark, assionate eyes took a dept

‘ Of tenderness hard y compatible with the usual
, grave dignity for which he was distinguished.

 

  
    
   
   
 
    
  
    
 
  
     
  
   
 
     
     
   
      
  

s 16 o ened» wide those

"thrill ran through her;
.autiful, sightless eyes, an leaned toward

.near. He passed his hand soothineg over her

3 hair, while an expression of unutterable tender-
ness dwelt'on his face.

“ Be quiet, madam; I will not belong.”

I How gentle he was! How very carefully he

jvexamined those-shrinking eyes! How ticu—
hr he was not to agitate her by wor or mo-

At last—it seemed an age to the impatient

.‘Vaitew—he called Horace, and to his rapid in-
' mries replied, encouragingly:

“ “give you no certain grounds for hope,
ut I do not despair. To-morrow, if the lady
a‘s the courage, I can decide.”

‘.In, what manner?” cried Horace.
operation?” ,
“ Yes, and by that onl .”
' orace shuddered.

1“ Will it be painful?” _ .
. “No, not if it should be in any manner suc-

“ By an

‘ "it will occasion some degree of suflering; per-
haps more‘kperhaps less.”

inifred! my poor friend! Can you

‘S‘he smiled sweetly and hopeful .

1mall suspense. Try me and see. ’
.3351 Gerard cast n .

691mg, followed the visitors down the stairsra-nd

£119 door of their carriage. . _

, gTO—morrow, at tea,” he said, by way of a

,minder, as the carriage bore them away.

\

CD.

 

. CHAPTER XVIII."
THE COMING or LIGHT.

O’er the deep seas there is a calm. ‘ ,
Full as the hush of all Heaven‘s psalm!
Their golden goalwthe Victor palm knitwear.

fog“ ,. ,
MW ‘hour armved.

 

 a in the rivate ear or of Dr. '

~ ., lace waspclearedefiglf’attendants. hot

en Grace was allow remain.

:The head of the patient Was supported on the
W of the surg'eou. *Dead silence reigned——

  

He‘touched the white e elids of the girl—a .

Tm)”, as if to understand what presence ,was 5

  
   
   
      
  

  

ngfiher spoke a word; there was "too; much an ’
s‘ e. ’7 4 -- 5' «  i-x‘ 
' Not a nerve of the doctortrembled, his ' ,
, was firm'assteel, his lips nevergniveredfiho hp ' ‘
' the unspeakable anxiety of. his. eelizngs made‘fiis'
‘ face white and stern. i . , I
It was done at last. > v  . ‘~
, A low cry burst from the suflerer’szlips. ‘ The 
, dootor bent down over her- « , -, r 'l ’ - i v, “ ‘
l “I see! I see! thou h dimly!” she slog;
Efully. “I seel 'Oh od,’whom do I see? " »
this”an illusion? Is Gerard Middleton, before- 
me? " ' '

He stood upri ht, where the light fell fainflY.  
in from a shade ,window. There was a   ~
struggle in his breast, and he was powerlessto“ :'
conquer it. His-arms reached out after .her.’ , 'j_

“ Come to me, Winifred, come to me. ' I must
hold you to my heart or it will burst!” I » 1

She ‘s rung up: “ Gerard.” She buried her;
facein is bosom. ' v ~ ,. ,, ‘ ’ ~. W a

', .“Thank God!” was all he codduttéhz ,~ I , -‘ “ _
He sat down, yet holding her to his breast  
et feeling her arms clasped about his neck; at '
er cheek laid against his. She thought not of , ’

2 her restored. sight, nothing of poor, anxious?  '

 

lfred, pale‘but firm, sat in the operating,r .‘
Gerard.

Win]. If the contrary—I will not deceive you v

11 her a look of intense 

 

ly . ,_ ' Horaco conquered his emotion, and came forth, ' in
Yes, Horace, I can bear any thing better ’ ,  .

   
   
    
  
     
    
  
   
    
    
  
    
   
 
  

Horace waiting without; all the world was .' 
tsizgvallowed-up in the oneidea~Gerard Middle- 

n. ,

Many days of Weakness and pain did Wini- ‘
fred pass in a darkened chamber, forbidden to
look even upon that dear face which hovered \ _
continually over her. His presence soothed her i.
like a strain of sweet music. - , I 

Perfect vision came to her never again. She", 
could enjoy the pleasure of viewing near objects, "
and the companionship of books, For this in- ~ -
calculable favor she was very grateful. I’ .

When the light of day was admitted into her": ,.
chamber, Dr. Middleton brought a white 
haired m an to the sofa where Winifred reclined
and, while Gerard supported'the pale ’
his arms, the aged man of God united
sodon’g severed in marriage. ~ I . r v. 

Horace Vernon, his face hidden in the dm . i 17»
of the window, was the only witness. 
the clergyman had pronounced his 'blessingi‘oif , ~
the new-made husband and Wife, and departed,“

He‘tfiok swab? each. n h ~ . . -
‘ ay ess ou! a said earnestl' . ' 7
“God bless you forev3errl Iiam content.” ‘  -

It wasknot until Winifred had been man
weeks a happr wife, and the air were, settled
down tobliss their life at At 'ei'ton Hall, that‘s
she knew the truth and tenderness with which;
she had been loved through those long years ‘92-,-
separation. r ' W ' '  s;  v. .

Gerard Middleton had wandered over Europe, ’
studying his profession here and there; lonely? .
and desolate in heart, but firm in his resolution: .'
to win for himself a name that all should speak -‘
with praise. ’ . ' v  '

He had succeeded. His fame spread over the;
continent. Gold came to his coffers, and. the
gratitude of thousands of human beingsito h‘

eart. But peace ofavmind never came. His;
heart had an unfilled void. . I V

At length he had read in an American apex“-
of the duel and subsequent death of ilford:

 

 

   

.30 571:" ' ” I!

   
    
   

 

    
   
    
    
     
    
      
   
   
     
 
  
    
  
 
 

_. bbfioemgfifla' he eaiied’ifor Amer-ice immediately.
~ _,  had established himself in New York, and
' sent faithful 3' ants all over New England to
  obtain some cew to his beloved Winifred.
, " E‘I’rovidence brought her to his door.
‘"Dear reader, your good heart can imagine
the «'heppiness of those two persons who had
" “loved each other so faithfully through years of

‘ Dic‘ture toyyour‘self the desolation of Horace

. Vernon, when once more in the- calm of his
:SOuthern home.

 He never married, but through a long and

“ijirtuous life, the poor blessed his name, and

. men leved and respected him. And he found
'ff, his greatest in, below, in the-long visit, which

 II); ‘Vfaid annua 1y, to his friends. at'Atherton

' .3

r  g John Riltherford and his wife, living as they
, did, ‘within a day’s ride of the Middletons,
,4,‘f,ou‘nd much pleasure in their society; and Mr.
Rutherford felt no jealousy, but only content
when the older friendship between Mrs. Ruth-
erford. and Dr. Middleton was renewed.
 And‘thus, in peace and happiness, we leave
» them»; 
v * '  . THE END.

 

 tinti‘fnmuuués AND, SPEAKERS
 ~35EXHHIBIT10N1’8  1 H '

 

".I \ \

.5 j biologuo‘s, Nos. II tom inclusive, 15 to 25 pOpu.
’ ioidiemghee end dramas in each book. Each vol-
me 'lmpages 12mm “ j

‘ 1 ASpea‘korn, Nos. 1 to 24 inclusive. Each speaker

7 100  ‘iemo, Containing from 50 to 75 nieces.

 

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, 1 ~WnoA, Emmi and 59' other songs:

I 3 THE GAINSBORO’ BAT and 62 other Songs.

‘I doubtiehd despair; and perhaps you can also I

’26 WHAT ARE THE WILD. WAVES SAYING, (Brena? 

’24 One SmoN, me HofcqanAN and'60‘ others.

'29 BLUE BbNNET3~ Oven THE BORDER and 54 others.‘

. . 82 LEE'I‘LE BABY'MINE and 53 other Songs. A x .. .

, Sold, everywhere by Newsdealem,’ at~~flve' ‘

new. on reoelnt- of price, ten cents each, BE“)th

 

   
 

 

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2 CAPTAIN Corn and 57 other songs,» ,    :L

4 JOHNNY MORGAN and 60, other Songs. . v

5 I’LL STRIKE You WITH A FEATHER and 62 other-9.3?
6 GEORGE THE CHARMER and 56 other Songs. ' V

7 THE BELLE or ROCKAWAY and 52 other Songs.

8' YOUNG FELLAH, YOU’RE Too FREsH and 60 others " 5
9 SKY. YOUNG GIRL and 65 other Songs.  w _ 
10 I’M THE GOVEENon’s ONLY SON and 58 other songs. "

11 MY FAN and 65 other Songs. _' 2 =7?

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«

 

12 COMIN’ Trmo’ THE RYE and 55 other‘Son’gs. . 
13 THE ROLLICKING IRISHMAN and 59 other Songs. I ‘ 

14 OLD Doe TRAY and 62 other Songs. » ' ,' 
15 WHOA. CHARLIE and 59 other Songs. 7 I I 
16 IN THIS WHEAT BY AND B!- and 62 other Songs. 
17 NANCY LEE and 58 other’Songs. I, ' : I ‘v 
18 I‘M THE BOY THAT'S BOUND T0 BLAZE endo’? others. j,
'19 THE Two ORPBANS end 59 otherSongs, I ~' 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
  
    
  

and 59 other Songs. ' , >
21 INDIGNANT Pour Woo and 59 other Songs.
22 THE OLD ARM-CHAIR and 58 other songs.
23  ‘Conr IsLAND BEAOH end 58 other-songs.

 

25 I’M IN LOVE and 56 other Songs. ‘ I

26 PARADE or THE GUARDS and 56 other Songs.
27 Yo. HEAVE, Ho! and 600ther Song’e‘. L _
28 ’TerL NEVER Do To Gm IT UP So and  others. _ _ .

'80 THE MERRY LAUGHING MAN and56 either Songe.
31 SWEET FORG ET-ME-NOT and 55 Other Songs.‘

33 DE BAN-Io AM on INSTRUMENT roe Mmkand 53 other
34 TAFF‘Y and 50 other Songs. ‘ V , ._ '
35 J her To PLEASE THE Boys and 52 other S‘o'ng'o.‘ ,
38 SKATINo ON ONE IN THE (3mm anti 563 others. 
37 KOLonEDKRANKs and 59 other songs. " "'
88 NIL DEESPERANDUM and 53 other Songs. -
39 THE GIRL I LEr'r BEHIND ME end 50 other Soilng
40 "1‘15 Birr A [LITTLE FADED FLOWER a.nd:50 9M
41 Poems} anLnnniuNA and 60 other Songs. ‘
4.2 DANCxN'e IN THE BARN and 68 other Songs. "
43 H. M. s. Fromm: comm, and 17 other son ,

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