diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:47:55 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:47:55 -0700 |
| commit | f3c2de2ea68351dc61d029f1ccdb2b61e7c9a7dc (patch) | |
| tree | fcff93b49d729c4e7926f1d6549fd19883d46aa0 /15989-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '15989-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 15989-h/15989-h.htm | 5564 |
1 files changed, 5564 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/15989-h/15989-h.htm b/15989-h/15989-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e7d0c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/15989-h/15989-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5564 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Fatal Glove, by Clara Augusta Jones Trask</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em; + float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + hr.full { width: 100%; } + pre {font-size: 8pt;} + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Fatal Glove, by Clara Augusta Jones Trask</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Fatal Glove</p> +<p>Author: Clara Augusta Jones Trask</p> +<p>Release Date: June 4, 2005 [eBook #15989]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FATAL GLOVE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Bill Tozier, Barbara Tozier, Mary Meehan,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (<a href="https://www.pgdp.net">https://www.pgdp.net</a>)</h3> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="10" style="background-color: #ccccff;"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + The short story "<a href="#CONSTITUTIONALLY_BASHFUL"><b>CONSTITUTIONALLY + BASHFUL</b></a>" appeared in the original + text after "The Fatal Glove". The author was not identified. + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE FATAL GLOVE</h1> + +<h2>By Clara Augusta</h2> + +<h3>Author of "The Rugg Documents," "Patience Pettigrew's Perplexities," Etc.</h3> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>1892</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table> + <tr><td><a href="#PART_I"><b>PART I.</b></a></td></tr> + <tr><td><a href="#PART_II"><b>PART II.</b></a></td></tr> + <tr><td><a href="#PART_III"><b>PART III.</b></a></td></tr> + <tr><td><a href="#PART_IV"><b>PART IV.</b></a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Fatal_Glove" id="The_Fatal_Glove" ></a>The Fatal Glove</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I" ></a>PART I.</h2> + + +<p>Arch Trevlyn had had a good day. Business had been brisk. The rain had +fallen steadily since daybreak, and the street-crossings in New York were +ankle deep in mud. The little street-sweeper's arms ached fearfully, but +his pocket was full of pennies, interspersed with an occasional +half-dime.</p> + +<p>The clouds were breaking in the west, and a gleam of sunshine gilded the +tall tower of St. John's. Arch shouldered his broom, and whistled a merry +tune as he took his way homeward. His bright dark eyes sparkled as he +thought how the sight of his earnings would cheer his feeble mother. She +could have tea now, with real milk and some sugar in it, and an orange, +too. Only yesterday she was wishing she had an orange.</p> + +<p>Arch's way led past a horticultural store, and his eye wandered longingly +over the display of flowers in the window. He must have just one wee +white rose, because, only the Sabbath before, while he sat at his +mother's feet, she had wept in telling him about the sweet roses that +used to grow under the window of the little country cottage where her +happy youth had been spent.</p> + +<p>The white rose would be like bringing back to her ever so little a bit +of the happy past. It could not cost much, and Arch felt wealthy as a +prince. He stepped into the store and asked the price of a white rose. +The clerk answered him roughly:</p> + +<p>"Get out of the store, you young rascal! You want to steal something!"</p> + +<p>"I am not a thief, sir," said the boy, proudly, his sallow cheeks +crimsoning hotly. "I want a rose for my mother. I guess I can pay for +it!"</p> + +<p>"It's half a dollar, if you want it," said the man, sneeringly. "Show +your money, or take yourself off this minute!"</p> + +<p>Archie's countenance fell. He had not half a dollar in all. He turned +sadly away, his head drooping, his lip quivering. Oh, how very hard it +was to be poor, he thought, looking enviously at the costly carriage, +with a pair of splendid grays, standing before the door.</p> + +<p>"Stop, little boy!" said a sweet voice from somewhere among the roses and +heliotropes. "Is your mother sick?"</p> + +<p>Arch removed his cap—some inborn spirit of courtesy prompting him to be +reverent toward the glorious vision which burst upon him. For a moment he +thought he saw an angel, and almost expected that she would unfold her +silvery wings, and vanish in a golden cloud from his sight. But after the +first glimpse he saw that she was a little girl about his own age—eight +or nine years, perhaps—with yellow curls, deep hazel eyes, a mouth like +a rosebud, and a blue silk frock. She repeated the question:</p> + +<p>"Is your mother sick, little boy?"</p> + +<p>"No, she is not sick, for she always sits up, and sews. But she is not +strong, and her cheeks never have any color in them, like yours."</p> + +<p>"And does she love flowers?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she loves them dearly. She kisses them always, when she has any. +And that's not often."</p> + +<p>"Does she? That's nice. Just like I do!" said the little girl, in a +pleased voice. "Mr. Burns"—to the gruff clerk—"here is a dollar. Give +me some real nice roses, and two or three sweet pinks. The lady shall +have some flowers. Tell her I sent them."</p> + +<p>"Who shall I say sent them?"</p> + +<p>"Margie Harrison. Will she know me, think?"</p> + +<p>"I guess not. But it's all the same. I shall tell her you are one of the +angels, any way. She knows about them, for she's told me ever so much +about them."</p> + +<p>The little girl laughed, and gave him the flowers.</p> + +<p>"Don't soil them with your grimy hands," she said, a little saucily; "and +when you get home—let's see, what's your name?"</p> + +<p>"Archer Trevlyn."</p> + +<p>"Why, what a nice name! Just like names in a storybook. I know some +elegant people by the name of Trevlyn. But they live in a big house, and +have flowers enough of their own. So they can't be your folks, can they?"</p> + +<p>"No, they're not my folks," replied the boy, with a touch of bitterness +in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Well, Archer when you get home, you wash your face, do! It's so dirty!"</p> + +<p>The boy flushed hotly. If one of his companions had said that to him, he +would have knocked him down instantly. But he forgave everything this +little girl said, because she was so beautiful and so kind.</p> + +<p>"I am a street-sweeper, miss."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that accounts for it, then. It's very muddy to-day, and you must be +tired. Hark! there's Florine calling me. Good-by, Archer."</p> + +<p>She vanished, and a moment later the boy saw her disappear within the +glittering carriage, which, loaded down with fragrant blossoms, was +driven slowly away. He stood a little while looking after it, then, +pulling his cap down over his eyes, and grasping the stems of her flowers +tightly in his little purple hand, he started for home.</p> + +<p>Home! It could hardly be called so, and yet it was home to Archer. His +mother was there—the dear mother who was all the world to him. It was in +a poor part of the city—an old, tumble-down wooden house, swarming with +tenants, teeming with misery, filth, and crime.</p> + +<p>Up a crazy flight of steps, and turning to the right, Arch saw that the +door of his mother's room was half-way open, and the storm had beaten in +on the floor. It was all damp and dismal, and such an indescribable air +of desolation over anything! Archer's heart beat a little slower as he +went in. His mother sat in an arm-chair by the window, an uncovered box +in her lap, and a miniature locket clasped in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother! mother dearest!" cried Arch, holding up the flowers, "only +see what I have got! An angel gave them to me! A very angel, with hair +like the sunshine, and a blue frock, all real silk! And I have got my +pocket full of pennies, and you shall have an orange, mother, and ever +so many nice things besides. See, mother dear!"</p> + +<p>He displayed a handful of coin, but she did not notice him. He looked at +her through the gloom of the twilight, and a feeling of terrible awe +stole over him. He crept to her side, and touched her cheek with his +finger. It was cold as ice. A mortal pallor overspread his face; the +pennies and the flowers rolled unheeded to the floor.</p> + +<p>"Dead! dead! My mother is dead!" he cried.</p> + +<p>He did not display any of the passionate grief which is natural to +childhood—there were no tears in his feverish eyes. He took her cold +hand in his own, and stood there all night long, smoothing back the +beautiful hair, and talking to her as one would talk to a sick child.</p> + +<p>It was thus that Mat Miller found him the next morning. Mat was a little +older than himself—a street-sweeper also. She and Arch had always been +good friends; they sympathized with each other when bad luck was on them, +and they cheered lustily when fortune smiled.</p> + +<p>"Hurrah, Arch!" cried Mat, as she burst into the room; "it rains again, +and we shall get a harvest! Good gracious, Arch! is—your—mother—dead?"</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said the boy, putting down the cold hand; "I have been trying to +warm her all night, but it is no use. Only just feel how like ice my +hands are. I wish I was as cold all over, and then they would let me stay +with my mother."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Arch!" cried the girl, sinking down beside him on the desolate +hearth, "it's a hard world to live in! I wonder, if, when folks be dead, +they have to sweep crossings, and be kicked and cuffed round by old +grandmas when they don't get no pennies? If they don't then I wish I +was dead, too, Arch!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's wicked, Mat. <i>She</i> used to say so. She told me never to +get tired of waiting for God's own time—her very words, Mat. Well, now +her time has come, and I am all alone—all alone! Oh, mother—mother!" He +threw himself down before the dead woman, and his form shook with +emotion, but not a tear came to his eyes. Only that hard, stony look +of hopeless despair. Mat crept up to him and took his head in her lap, +smoothing softly the matted chestnut hair.</p> + +<p>"Don't take on so, Arch! don't!" she cried the tears running down over +her sunburnt face. "I'll be a mother to ye, Arch! I will indeed! I know +I'm a little brat, but I love you, Arch, and some time, when we get +bigger, I'll marry you, Arch, and we'll live in the country, where +there's birds and flowers, and it's just like the Park all round. Don't +feel so—don't!"</p> + +<p>Arch pressed the dirty little hands that fluttered about him—for, next +to his mother, he loved Mat.</p> + +<p>"I will go out now and call somebody," she said; "there Mrs. Hill and +Peggy Sullivan, if she ain't drunk. Either of them will come!" And a few +moments later the room was filled with the rude neighbors.</p> + +<p>They did not think it necessary to call a coroner. She had been ailing +for a long time. Heart complaint, the physician said—and she had +probably died in one of those spasms to which she was subject. So they +robed her for the grave, and when all was done, Arch stole in and laid +the pinks and roses on her breast.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother! mother!" he said, bending over her, in agony, "she sent them +to you, and you shall have them! I thought they would make you so happy! +Well, maybe they will now! Who can tell?"</p> + +<p>The funeral was a very poor one. A kind city missionary prayed over the +remains, and the hearse was followed to Potter's Field only by Mat and +Arch—ragged and tattered, but sincere mourners.</p> + +<p>When they came back Mat took Arch's hand and led him into the wretched +den she called home.</p> + +<p>"You shall stay here, Arch, with Grandma Rugg and me. She said you might +if you'd be a good boy, and not plague the cat. Grandma's a rough one, +but she ain't kicked me since I tore her cap off. I'm too big to be +kicked now. Sit down, Arch; you know you can't stay at home now."</p> + +<p>Yes, to be sure he could not stay there any longer. No one knew that any +better than Arch. The landlord had warned him out that very morning. A +half-quarter's rent was still due, and the meagre furniture would barely +suffice to satisfy his claim. Hitherto, Mrs. Trevlyn had managed to pay +her expenses, but, now that she was gone, Arch knew that it was more than +folly to think of renting a room. But he could not suppress a cry of pain +when they came to take away the things; and when they laid their rude +hands on the chair in which his mother died, poor Arch could endure no +more, but fled out into the street, and wandered about till hunger and +weariness forced him back to the old haunt.</p> + +<p>He accepted the hospitality of Grandma Rugg, and made his home with her +and Mat. The influences which surrounded him were not calculated to +develop good principles, and Arch grew rude and boisterous, like the +other street boys. He heard the vilest language—oaths were the rule +rather than the exception in Grigg Court, as the place was called—and +gambling, and drunkenness, and licentiousness abounded. Still, it was +singular how much evil Arch shunned.</p> + +<p>But there was growing within him a principle of bitter hatred, which one +day might embitter his whole existence. Perhaps he had cause for it; he +thought he had, and cherished it with jealous care, lest it should be +annihilated as the years went on.</p> + +<p>From his mother's private papers he had learned much of her history that +he had before been ignorant of. She had never spoken to him very freely +of the past. She knew how proud and high his temper was, and acted with +wisdom in burying the story of her wrongs in her own breast.</p> + +<p>His father, Hubert Trevlyn, had come of a proud family. There was no +bluer blood in the land than that which ran in the veins of the Trevlyns. +Not very far back they had an earl for their ancestor, and, better than +that, the whole long lineage had never been tarnished by a breath of +dishonor.</p> + +<p>Hubert was the sole child of his father, and in him were centred many +bright and precious hopes. His father was a kind parent, though a stern +one, who would never brook a shade of disobedience in this boy upon whom +his fondest hopes and aspirations were fixed.</p> + +<p>When Hubert was about twenty-four he went into the country for his +health, which was never very robust, and while there he met Helen +Crayton. It was a case of love at first sight, but none the less pure and +steadfast account. Helen was an orphan—a poor seamstress, but beautiful +and intelligent beyond any woman he had ever met. They loved, and they +would not be cheated out of their happiness by any worldly opposition. +Hubert wrote to his father, informing him of his love for Helen, and +asking his consent to their union. Such a letter as he received in +return! It bade him give up the girl at once and return home. If he +ever spoke to her again he was disowned forever! He might consider +himself houseless and homeless.</p> + +<p>Hubert had some of the proud Trevlyn blood in his composition, and this +letter roused it thoroughly. A week afterward he was the husband of Helen +Crayton. He took his young wife to the city, and, having something of a +talent for painting, he opened a studio, hoping to receive sufficient +patronage from his friends to support his family in comfort.</p> + +<p>But he had not rightfully calculated the extent of his father's hatred. +He made himself the evil genius of his disobedient son; and, in +consequence, nothing Hubert touched prospered. Mr. Trevlyn destroyed the +confidence of his friends in him; he circulated scandalous reports of +his wife; he made the public to look with suspicious eyes upon the +unfortunate pair, and took the honestly earned bread out of their very +mouths. From bad to worse it went on, until, broken in health and +spirits, Hubert made an appeal to his father. It was a cold, wet night, +and he begged for a little food for his wife and child. They were +literally starving! Begged of his own father, and was refused with +curses. Not only refused, but kicked like a dog from the door of his +childhood's home! There was a fearful storm that night, and Hubert did +not come back. All night his young wife sat waiting for him, hushing the +feeble cries of the weary infant upon her breast. With the dawn, she +muffled herself and child in a shawl, and went forth to seek him. Half +way from her wretched home to the palatial mansion of Mr. Trevlyn she +found her husband, stone dead, and shrouded in the snow—the tender, +pitiful snow, that covered him and his wretchedness from sight.</p> + +<p>After that, people who knew Mr. Trevlyn said that he grew more fretful +and disagreeable. His hair was bleached white as the snow, his hands +shook, and his erect frame was bowed and bent like that of a very aged +man. His wife, Hubert's mother, pined away to a mere shadow, and before +the lapse of a year she was a hopeless idiot.</p> + +<p>Helen Trevlyn took up the burden of her life, refusing to despair because +of her child. It was a hard struggle for her, and she lived on, until, as +we have seen, when Archer was nine years of age, she died.</p> + +<p>When all this was known to Archer Trevlyn he was almost beside himself +with passion. If he had possessed the power, he would have wiped the +whole Trevlyn race out of existence. He shut himself up in his desolate +garret with the tell-tale letters and papers which had belonged to his +mother, and there, all alone, he took a fearful oath of vengeance. The +wrongs of his parents should yet be visited on the head of the man who +had been so cruelly unpitying. He did not know what form his revenge +might take, but, so sure as he lived, it should fall some time!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Five years passed. Archer was fourteen years of age. He had left the +street-sweeping business some time before, at the command of Grandma +Rugg, and entered a third-class restaurant as an under-waiter. It was not +the best school in the world for good morals. The people who frequented +the Garden Rooms, as they were called, were mostly of a low class, and +all the interests and associations surrounding Arch were bad. But perhaps +he was not one to be influenced very largely by his surroundings. So the +Garden Rooms, if they did not make him better, did not make him worse.</p> + +<p>In all these years he had kept the memory of Margie Harrison fresh and +green, though he had not seen her since the day his mother died. The +remembrance of her beauty and purity kept him oftentimes from sin; and +when he felt tempted to give utterance to oaths, her soft eyes seemed to +come between him and temptation.</p> + +<p>One day he was going across the street to make change for a customer, +when a stylish carriage came dashing along. The horses shied at some +object, and the pole of the carriage struck Arch and knocked him down. +The driver drew in the horses with an imprecation.</p> + +<p>Arch picked himself up, and stood recovering his scattered senses, +leaning against a lamp-post.</p> + +<p>"Served ye right!" said the coachman roughly. "You'd no business to be +running befront of folkses carriages."</p> + +<p>"Stop!" said a clear voice inside the coach. "What has occurred, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"Only a ragged boy knocked down; but he's up again all right. Shall +I drive on? You will be late to the concert."</p> + +<p>"I shall survive it, if I am," said the voice. "Get down and open the +door. I must see if the child is hurt."</p> + +<p>"It's no child, miss; it is a boy older than yourself," said the man, +surlily obeying the command.</p> + +<p>Margie Harrison descended to the pavement. From the sweet voice, Arch had +almost expected to see <i>her</i>. A flush of grateful admiration lit up his +face. She beamed upon him like a star from the depths of the clouds.</p> + +<p>"Are you hurt?" she asked, kindly. "It was very careless of Peter to let +the carriage strike you. Allow us to take you home."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he said. "I am close to where I work, and I am not hurt. It +is only a trifling bruise."</p> + +<p>Something familiar about him seemed to strike her; she looked at him with +a strangely puzzled face, but he gave her no light.</p> + +<p>"Is there nothing we can do for you?" she asked, at length.</p> + +<p>A great presumption almost took his breath away. He gave it voice on the +moment, afraid if he waited he should lack the courage.</p> + +<p>"If you will give me the cluster of bluebells in your belt—"</p> + +<p>She looked surprised, hesitated a moment, then laid them in his hand. He +bowed, and was lost in the crowd.</p> + +<p>That night when he got home he found Mat worse. She had been failing for +a long time. She was a large girl now, with great preternaturally bright +eyes, and a spot of crimson in each hollow cheek.</p> + +<p>It was more than three months since she had been able to do anything, and +Grandma Rugg was very harsh and severe with her in consequence. There +were black and blue places on her shoulders now where she had been +beaten, but Arch did not know it. Mat never spoke to him about her +sufferings, because it distressed him so, and made him very angry with +the old woman.</p> + +<p>He went in and sat down on the straw beside Mat; and almost before he +knew it he was telling her about Margie Harrison. He always brought all +his joys and sorrows to Mat now, just as he used to carry them to his +mother.</p> + +<p>The girl listened intently, the spots on her face growing deeper and +wider. She looked at the bluebells wistfully, but would not touch them. +Arch offered her a spray. She shook her head sadly.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "they are not for me. Keep them, Arch. Some time, I +think, you will be rich and happy, and have all the flowers and beautiful +things you wish."</p> + +<p>"If I ever am, Mat, you shall be my queen, and dress in gold and silver!" +answered the boy, warmly; "and never do any more heavy work to make your +hands hard."</p> + +<p>"You are very good, Arch," she said. "I thank you, but I shall not be +there, you know. I think I am going away—going where I shall see my +mother, and your mother, too. Arch, and where all the world will be full +of flowers! Then I shall think of you, Arch, and wish I could send you +some."</p> + +<p>"Mat, dear Mat! don't talk so strangely!" said the boy, clasping her hot +hands in his. "You must not think of going away! What <i>should</i> I do +without you?"</p> + +<p>She smiled, and touched her lips to his hand, which had stolen under her +head, and lay so near her cheek.</p> + +<p>"You would forget me, Arch. I mean after a time, and I should want you +to. But I love you better than anything else in all the world! And it is +better that I should die. A great deal better! Last night I dreamed it +was. Your mother came and told me so. Do you know how jealous I have been +of that Margie Harrison? I have watched you closely. I have seen you kiss +a dead rose that I knew she gave you. And I longed to see her so much, +that I have waited around the splendid house where she lives, and seen +her time and again come out to ride, with the beautiful dresses, and the +white feather in her hat, and the wild roses on her cheeks. And my heart +ached with such a hot, bitter pain! But it's all over now, Arch: I am not +jealous now. I love her and you—both of you together. If I do go away, +I want you to think kindly of me, and—and—good-night, Arch—dear Arch. +I am so tired."</p> + +<p>He gathered her head to his bosom, and kissed her lips.</p> + +<p>Poor little Mat! In the morning, when Arch came down, she had indeed gone +away—drifted out with the tide and with the silent night.</p> + +<p>After Mat's death the home at Grandma Rugg's became insupportable to +Arch. He could not remain there. The old woman was crosser than ever, +and, though he gave her every penny of his earnings, she was not +satisfied.</p> + +<p>So Arch took lodgings in another part of the city, quite as poor a place, +but there no one had the right to grumble at him. Still, because she was +some relation to Mat, he gave Grandma Rugg full half of his money, but he +never remained inside her doors longer than necessity demanded.</p> + +<p>In his new lodgings he became acquainted with a middle-aged man who +represented himself as a retired army officer. His name was John Sharp—a +sleek, keen-eyed, smooth-tongued individual, who never boasted or +blustered, but who gave people the idea that at some time he had been +a person of consequence. This man attached himself particularly to Arch +Trevlyn. With insidious cunning he wormed himself into the boy's +confidence, and gained, to a certain degree, his friendship. Arch did not +trust him entirely, though. There was something about him from which he +shrank—the touch of his white, jewelled hand made his flesh creep, like +the touch of a serpent.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Sharp had an object to gain, and set himself resolutely to work +to carry his point. He made himself necessary to Arch. He bought him +books, and taught him in the evenings, when neither was engaged +otherwise. He had been well educated, and in Arch he had an apt scholar. +Every spare moment of the boy's life was absorbed in his books.</p> + +<p>By-and-bye Sharp learned the whole history of the wrongs inflicted on +Arch's parents by old Mr. Trevlyn. He snapped at the story as a dog +snaps at a bone. But he was cautious and patient, and it was a long time +before he showed himself to Arch in his true character. And then, when he +did, the revelation had been made so much by degrees, that the boy was +hardly shocked to find that his friend was a house-breaker and a highway +robber.</p> + +<p>Long before he had formed a plan to rob the house of Mr. Trevlyn. It was +a field that promised well. Mr. Trevlyn, with the idiosyncrasy of age, +had invested most of his fortune in diamonds, and these he kept in a +chamber in his house. His chief delight consisted in gloating over +these precious stones. Night after night he would sit handling his +diamonds, chuckling over his wealth, and threatening imaginary plunderers +with destruction.</p> + +<p>So his servants said, and Sharp repeated the story to Arch with sundry +variations and alterations suited to the case. He had a persuasive +tongue, and it is little wonder that the boy, hating his grandfather as +he did, and resolved as he was upon revenging his father's wrongs, should +fall into the snare. He wanted Mr. Trevlyn to suffer—he did not care +how. If the loss of his diamonds would be to him a severer blow than any +other, then let it fall.</p> + +<p>Sharp used many specious arguments to induce Arch to become his +accomplice in robbing the Trevlyn mansion, but the only one which +had any weight was that he could thus revenge his father's wrongs.</p> + +<p>"Only assist me, and secure your revenge," said the wily schemer, "and +I will share the spoils with you. There will be enough to enrich us both +for life!"</p> + +<p>Arch drew himself up proudly, a fiery red on his cheek, a dangerous gleam +in his dark eye.</p> + +<p>"I am no thief, sir! I'd scorn to take a cent from that old man to use +for my benefit! I would not touch his diamonds if they lay here at my +feet! But if I can make him suffer anything like as my poor father +suffered through him, then I am ready to turn robber—yes, pickpocket, +if you will!" he added, savagely.</p> + +<p>Sharp appointed the night. His plans were craftily laid. Mr. Trevlyn, he +had ascertained, would be absent on Thursday night; he had taken a little +journey into the country for his health, and only the servants and his +ward would sleep in the house.</p> + +<p>Thursday night was dark and rainy. At midnight Sharp and Arch stood +before the house they were about to plunder. No thought of shame or sin +entered Archer Trevlyn's heart; he did not seem to think he was about to +disgrace himself for life; he thought only of Mr. Trevlyn's dismay when +he should return, to find the bulk of his riches swept away from him at +one blow.</p> + +<p>"He took all my father had," he said, under his breath; "he would have +sullied the fair fame of my mother; and if I could take from him +everything but life, I would do it."</p> + +<p>Sharp, with a dexterous skill, removed the fastenings of a shutter, and +then the window yielded readily to his touch. He stepped inside; Arch +followed. All was quiet, save the heavy ticking of the old clock on the +hall stairs. Up the thickly carpeted stairway, along the corridor they +passed, and Sharp stopped before a closed door.</p> + +<p>"We must pass through one room before reaching that where the safe is +which contains the treasure," he said, in a whisper. "It is possible that +there may be some one sleeping in that room. If so, leave them to me, +that is all."</p> + +<p>He opened the door with one of a bunch of keys which he carried, and +noiselessly entered. The gas was turned down low, but a mellow radiance +filled the place. A bed stood in one corner, and Sharp advanced toward +it. The noise he had made, slight though it was, aroused the occupant, +and, as she started up in affright, Arch met the soft, pleading eyes of +Margie Harrison. She spoke to him, not to Sharp.</p> + +<p>"Do not let him kill me!"</p> + +<p>Sharp laid a rough hand on her shoulder, and put a knife at her throat.</p> + +<p>Simultaneously, Arch sprang upon him like a tiger.</p> + +<p>"Release that girl!" he hissed. "Dare to touch her with but the tips of +your fingers, and by Heaven I will murder you!"</p> + +<p>Sharp sprang back with an oath, and at the same moment a pistol-shot rang +through the house, and Sharp, bathed in blood, fell to the floor. Old Mr. +Trevlyn, travel-stained and wet, strode into the room.</p> + +<p>"I've killed him!" he said, in a cracked voice of intense satisfaction. +"He didn't catch old Trevlyn napping. I knew well enough they'd be after +my diamonds, and I gave up the journey. Margie, child, are the jewels +safe?"</p> + +<p>She had fallen back on the pillows, pale as death, her white night-dress +spattered with the blood of the dead robber.</p> + +<p>Arch lifted a tiny glove from the carpet, thrust it into his bosom, and, +before old Trevlyn could raise a hand to stop him, he had got clear of +the premises.</p> + +<p>Such a relief as he felt when the cool, fresh air struck his face. He had +been saved from overt criminality. God had not permitted him to thus +debase himself. Now that his excitement was gone, he saw the heinousness +of the sin he had been about to commit in all its deformity.</p> + +<p>Let old Trevlyn go! Let him gloat over his diamonds while yet he had +opportunity. He would not despoil him of his treasures, but he could not +give up his scheme of vengeance. It should be brought about some other +way.</p> + +<p>A large reward was offered by Mr. Trevlyn for the apprehension of Sharp's +accomplice, but, as no description of his person could be given by any +one except Margie, who could not or would not be explicit on that point, +he was not secured.</p> + +<p>Trevlyn recognized and appreciated her noble generosity in suffering him +to go free, for in the one look she had given him on that disgraceful +occasion, he had felt that she recognized him. But she pitied him enough +to let him go free.</p> + +<p>Well, he would show her that her confidence was not misplaced. He would +deserve her forbearance. He was resolved upon a new life.</p> + +<p>He left the saloon, and after many rebuffs succeeded in getting +employment as errand-boy in a large importing house. The salary was a +mere pittance, but it kept him in clothes and coarse food, until one day, +about a year after his apprenticeship there, he chanced to save the life +of Mr. Belgrade, the senior partner. A gas-pipe in the private office of +the firm exploded, and the place took fire, and Mr. Belgrade, smothered +and helpless, would have perished in the flames, had not Arch, with a +bravery few would have expected in a bashful, retiring boy, plunged +through the smoke and flame, and borne him to a place of safety.</p> + +<p>Mr. Belgrade was a man with a conscience, and, grateful for his life, he +rewarded his preserver by a clerkship of importance. The duties of this +office he discharged faithfully for three years, when the death of the +head clerk left a vacancy, and when Arch was nineteen he received the +situation.</p> + +<p>Through these three years he had been a close student. Far into the night +he pored over his books, and, too proud to go to school, he hired a +teacher and was taught privately. At twenty he was quite as well educated +as nine-tenths of the young men now turned out by our fashionable +colleges.</p> + +<p>Rumors of Margie Harrison's triumphs reached him constantly, for Margie +was a belle and a beauty now. Her parents were dead, and she had been +left to the guardianship of Mr. Trevlyn, at whose house she made her +home, and where she reigned a very queen. Old Trevlyn's heart at last +found something beside his diamonds to worship, and Margie had it all her +own way.</p> + +<p>She came into the store of Belgrade and Co. one day, and asked to look +at some laces. Trevlyn was the only clerk disengaged, and with a very +changeable face he came forward to attend to her. He felt that she would +recognize him at once—that she would remember where she had seen him the +last time—a house-breaker! She held his reputation in her keeping.</p> + +<p>His hand trembled as he took down the laces—she glanced at his face. A +start of surprise—a conscious, painful blush swept over her face. He +dropped the box, and the rich laces fell over her feet.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," he said hurriedly, and, stooping to pick them up, the little +glove he had stolen on that night, and which he wore always in his bosom, +fell out, and dropped among the laces.</p> + +<p>She picked it up with a little cry.</p> + +<p>"The very glove that I lost four years ago! And you are—" she stopped +suddenly.</p> + +<p>He paled to the lips, but, lifting his head proudly, said: "Go on. Finish +the sentence. I can bear it."</p> + +<p>"No, I will not go on. Let the memory die, I knew you then, but you were +so young, and had to bear so much among temptations! And the other was a +villain. No, I am silent. You are safe."</p> + +<p>He stooped, and, lifting the border of her shawl, kissed it reverently.</p> + +<p>"If I live," he said solemnly, "you will be glad you have been so +merciful. Some time I shall hear you say so."</p> + +<p>She did not purchase any laces. She went out forgetful of her errand, and +Arch was so awkward for the remainder of the day, and committed so many +blunders, that his fellow-clerks laughed at him unrebuked, and Mr. +Belgrade seriously wondered if Trevlyn had not been taking too much +champagne.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Margie Harrison and her guardian sat at breakfast. Mr. Trevlyn showed his +years very plainly. He was nearly seventy-five—he looked eighty.</p> + +<p>Margie looked very lovely this morning and it was of this the old man was +thinking as he glanced at her across the table. She had more than +fulfilled the promise of her childhood. The golden hair was chestnut now, +and pushed behind her ears in heavy rippling masses of light and shadow. +Her eyes had taken a deeper tone—they were like wells whose depth you +could not guess at. Her features were delicately irregular, the forehead +low, broad and white; her chin was dimpled as an infant's, and her mouth +still ripe and red, as a damask rosebud. She wore a pink muslin wrapper, +tied with white ribbons, and in her hair drooped a cluster of +apple-blossoms.</p> + +<p>"Margie dear," said Mr. Trevlyn, pausing in his work of buttering a +muffin, "I want you to look your prettiest to-night. I am going to bring +home a friend of mine—one who was also your father's friend—Mr. +Linmere. He arrived from Europe to-day."</p> + +<p>Margie's cheek lost a trifle of its peachy bloom. She toyed with her +spoon, but did not reply to his remark.</p> + +<p>"Did you understand me, child? Mr. Linmere has returned."</p> + +<p>"Yes sir."</p> + +<p>"And is coming here to-night. Remember to take extra pains with yourself, +Margie, for he has seen all the European beauties, and I do not want my +little American flower to be cast in the shade. Will you remember it?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Trevlyn."</p> + +<p>"Margie!"</p> + +<p>"Yes!"</p> + +<p>"You are aware that Mr. Linmere is your affianced husband, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"I have been told so."</p> + +<p>"And yet in the face of that fact—well, of all things, girls do beat me! +Thank heaven, I have none of my own!" he added testily.</p> + +<p>"Girls are better let alone, sir. It is very hard to feel one's self +bound to fulfil a contract of this kind."</p> + +<p>"Hard! Well, now, I should think it easy. Mr. Linmere is all that any +reasonable woman could wish. Not too old, nor yet too young; about +forty-five, which is just the age for a man to marry; good-looking, +intelligent and wealthy—what more could you ask?"</p> + +<p>"You forgot that I do not love him—that he does not love me."</p> + +<p>"Love! tush! Don't let me hear anything about that. I loath the name. +Margie, love ruined my only son! For love he disobeyed me and I disowned +him, I have not spoken his name for years! Your father approved of Mr. +Linmere, and while you were yet a child you were betrothed. And when your +father died, what did you promise him on his deathbed?"</p> + +<p>Margie grew white as the ribbons at her throat.</p> + +<p>"I promised him that I would <i>try</i> and fulfil his requirements."</p> + +<p>"That you would <i>try</i>! Yes. And that was equal to giving an unqualified +assent. You know the conditions of the will, I believe?"</p> + +<p>"I do. If I marry without your consent under the age of twenty-one, I +forfeit my patrimony. And I am nineteen now. And I shall not marry +without your consent."</p> + +<p>"Margie, you must marry Mr. Linmere. Do not hope to do differently. It +is your duty. He has lived single all these years waiting for you. He +will be kind to you, and you will be happy. Prepare to receive him with +becoming respect."</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn considered his duty performed, and went out for his customary +walk.</p> + +<p>At dinner Mr. Linmere arrived. Margie met him with cold composure. He +scanned her fair face and almost faultless form, with the eye of a +connoisseur, and congratulated himself on the fortune which was to give +him, such a bride without the perplexity of a wooing. She was beautiful +and attractive, and he had feared she might be ugly, which would have +been a dampener on his satisfaction. True, her wealth would have +counter-balanced any degree of personal deformity; but Mr. Paul Linmere +admired beauty, and liked to have pretty things around him.</p> + +<p>To tell the truth, he was sadly in need of money. It was fortunate that +his old friend, Mr. Harrison, Margie's dead father, had taken it into his +head to plight his daughter's troth to him while she was yet a child. Mr. +Harrison had been an eccentric man; and from the fact that in many points +of religious belief he and Mr. Paul Linmere agreed, (for both were +miserable skeptics,) he valued him above all other men, and thought his +daughter's happiness would be secured by the union he had planned.</p> + +<p>Linmere had been abroad several years, and had led a very reckless, +dissipated life. Luxurious by nature, lacking in moral rectitude, and +having wealth at his command, he indulged himself unrestrained; and when +at last he left the gay French capital and returned to America, his whole +fortune, with exception of a few thousands, was dissipated. So he needed +a rich wife sorely, and was not disposed to defer his happiness.</p> + +<p>He met Margie with <i>empressement</i>, and bowed his tall head to kiss the +white hand she extended to him. She drew it away coldly—something about +the man made her shrink from him.</p> + +<p>"I am so happy to meet you again. Margie, and after ten years of +separation! I have thought so much and so often of you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Linmere."</p> + +<p>"Will you not call me Paul?" he asked, in a subdued voice, letting his +dangerous eyes, full of light and softness, rest on her.</p> + +<p>An expression of haughty surprise swept her face. She drew back a pace.</p> + +<p>"I am not accustomed to address gentlemen—mere acquaintances—by +their Christian names, sir."</p> + +<p>"But in this case, Margie? Surely the relations existing between us +will admit of such a familiarity," he said, seating himself, while she +remained standing coldly near.</p> + +<p>"There are no relations existing between us at present, Mr. Linmere," she +answered, haughtily; "and if, in obedience to the wishes of the dead, we +should ever become connected in name, I beg leave to assure you in the +beginning that you will always be Mr. Linmere to me."</p> + +<p>A flush of anger mounted to his cheek; he set his teeth, but outwardly he +was calm and subdued. Anger, just at present, was impolitic.</p> + +<p>"I hope to win your love, Margie; I trust I shall," he answered, sadly +enough to have aroused almost any woman's pity; but some subtle instinct +told Margie he was false to the core.</p> + +<p>But all through the evening he was affable and complaisant and +forbearing. She made no attempt to conceal her dislike of him. +Concealments were not familiar to Margie's nature. She was frank +and open as the day.</p> + +<p>Mr. Linmere's fascinations were many and varied. He had a great deal of +adaptation, and made himself agreeable to every one. He had traveled +extensively, was a close observer, and had a retentive memory. Mr. +Trevlyn was charmed with him. So was Alexandrine Lee, a friend of +Margie's, a rival belle, who accidentally (?) dropped in to spend the +evening.</p> + +<p>Mr. Linmere played and sang with exquisite taste and skill—he was a +complete master of the art, and, in spite of herself, Margie listened to +him with a delight that was almost fascination, but which subsided the +moment the melody ceased.</p> + +<p>He judged her by the majority of women he had met, and finding her +indifferent, he sought to rouse her jealousy by flirting with Miss Lee, +who was by no means adverse to his attentions. But Margie hailed the +transfer with a relief which was so evident, that Mr. Linmere, piqued and +irritated, took up his hat to leave, in the midst of one of Miss Lee's +most brilliant descriptions of what she had seen in Italy, from whence +she had just returned. He went over to the sofa where Margie was sitting.</p> + +<p>"I hope to please you better next time," he said, lifting her hand. +"Good-night, Margie dear." And before she was aware, he touched his lips +to her forehead. She tore her hand away from him, and a flush of anger +sprang to her cheek. He surveyed her with admiration. He liked a little +spirit in a woman, especially as he intended to be able to subdue it when +it pleased him. Her anger made her a thousand times more beautiful. He +stood looking at her a moment, then turned and withdrew.</p> + +<p>Margie struck her forehead with her hand, as if she would wipe out the +touch he had left there.</p> + +<p>Alexandrine came and put her arm around Margie's waist.</p> + +<p>"I almost envy you, Margie," she said, in that singularly purring voice +of hers. "Ah, Linmere is magnificent! Such eyes, and hair, and such a +voice! Well, Margie, you are a fortunate girl."</p> + +<p>And Miss Lee sighed, and shook out the heavy folds of her violet silk, +with the air of one who has been injured, but is determined to show a +proper spirit of resignation.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paul Linmere hurried along through an unfrequented street to his +suite of rooms at the St. Nicholas. He was very angry with everybody; he +felt like an ill-treated individual. He had expected Margie to fall at +his feet at once. A man of his attractions to be snubbed as he had +been, by a mere chit of a girl, too!</p> + +<p>"I will find means to tame her, when once she is mine," he muttered. "By +heaven! but it will be rare sport to break that fiery spirit! It will +make me young again!"</p> + +<p>Something white and shadowy bound his path. A spectral hand was laid on +his arm, chilling like ice, even through his clothing. The ghastly face +of a woman—a face framed in jet black hair, and lit up by great black +eyes bright as stars, gleamed through the mirk of the night.</p> + +<p>The man gazed into the weird face, and shook like a leaf in the blast. +His arm sank nerveless to his side, palsied by that frozen touch; his +voice was so unnatural that he started at the sound.</p> + +<p>"My God! Arabel Vere! Do the dead come back?"</p> + +<p>The great unnaturally brilliant eyes seemed to burn into his brain. The +cold hand tightened on his arm. A breath like wind freighted with snow +crossed his face.</p> + +<p>"Speak for heaven's sake!" he cried. "Am I dreaming?"</p> + +<p>"Remember the banks of the Seine!" said a singularly sweet voice, which +sounded to Mr. Paul Linmere as if it came from leagues and leagues away. +"When you sit by the side of the living love, remember the dead! Think of +the dark rolling river, and of what its waters covered!"</p> + +<p>He started from the strange presence, and caught at a post for support. +His self-possession was gone; he trembled like the most abject coward. +Only for a moment—and then, when he looked again, the apparition had +vanished.</p> + +<p>"Good God!" he cried, putting his hand to his forehead. "Do the dead +indeed come back! I saw them take her from the river—O heaven! I saw her +when she sank beneath the terrible waters! Is there a hereafter, and does +a man sell his soul to damnation who commits what the world calls +murder?"</p> + +<p>He stopped under a lamp and drew out his pocket-book, taking therefrom a +soiled scrap of paper.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have it here. 'Found drowned, the body of a woman. Her linen was +marked with the name of Arabel Vere. Another unfortunate—' No, I will +not read the rest. I have read it too often, now, for my peace of mind. +Yes, she is dead. There is no doubt. I have been dreaming to-night. Old +Trevlyn's wine was too strong for me. Arabel Vere, indeed! Pshaw! Paul +Linmere, are you an idiot?"</p> + +<p>Not daring to cast a look behind him, he hurried home, and up to his +spacious parlor on the second floor.</p> + +<p>Linmere turned up the gas into a flare, and, throwing off his coat, flung +himself into an arm-chair, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. +He looked about the room with half-frightened, searching eyes. He dreaded +solitude, and he feared company, yet felt the necessity of speaking to +something. His eyes lighted on the greyhound dozing on the hearth-rug.</p> + +<p>"Leo, Leo," he called, "come here, sir!"</p> + +<p>The dog opened his eyes, but gave no responsive wag of his tail. You saw +at once that though Leo was Mr. Paul Linmere's property, and lived with +him, he did not have any attachment for him.</p> + +<p>"Come here, sir!" said Linmere, authoritatively.</p> + +<p>Still the animal did not stir. Linmere was nervous enough to be excited +to anger by the veriest trifle, and the dog's disobedience aroused his +rage.</p> + +<p>"Curse the brute!" he cried; and putting his foot against him, he sent +him spinning across the room. Leo did not growl, or cry out, but his +eyes gleamed like coals, and he showed his white teeth with savage but +impotent hatred. It was easy to see that if he had been a bulldog instead +of a greyhound, he would have torn Mr. Paul Linmere limb from limb.</p> + +<p>Linmere went back to his chair, and sat down with a sullen face; but he +could not rest there. He rose, and going into an inner room, brought out +an ebony box, which he opened, and from which he took a miniature in a +golden case. He hesitated a moment before touching the spring, and when +he did so the unclosing revealed the face of a young girl—a fair young +girl in her early youth—not more than eighteen summers could have +scattered their roses over her, when that beautiful impression was taken. +A ripe southern face, with masses of jet-black hair, and dark brilliant +eyes. There was a dewy crimson on her lips, and her cheeks were red as +damask roses. A bright, happy face, upon which no blight had fallen.</p> + +<p>"She was beautiful—beautiful as an houri!" said Mr. Paul Linmere, +speaking slowly, half unconsciously, it seemed, his thoughts aloud. "And +when I first knew her she was sweet and innocent. I made her sin. I led +her into the temptation she was too weak to resist. Women are soft and +silly when they are in love, and because of that, men have to bear all +the blame. She was willing to trust me—she ought to have been more +cautious. Who blames me, if I tired of her? A man does not always want +a moping complaining woman hanging about him; and she had a deuced +unpleasant way of forcing herself upon me when it was particularly +disagreeable to have her do so. Well—but there is no use in +retrospection. She was drowned—she and her unborn child, and +the dead can never come back—no, never!"</p> + +<p>He sprang up and rang the bell sharply. Directly his valet, Pietro, a +sleepy-looking and swarthy Italian, appeared.</p> + +<p>"Bring me a glass of brandy, Pietro; and look you, sir, you may sleep +to-night on the lounge in my room. I am not feeling quite well, and may +have need of you before morning."</p> + +<p>The man looked surprised, but made no comment. He brought the stimulant, +his master drank it off, and then threw himself, dressed as he was, on +the bed.</p> + +<p>Upper Tendom was ringing with the approaching nuptials of Miss Harrison +and Mr. Linmere. The bride was so beautiful and wealthy, and so +insensible to her good fortune in securing the most eligible man in her +set. Half the ladies in the city were in love with Mr. Linmere. He was +so <i>distingue</i>, carried himself so loftily, and yet was so gallantly +condescending, and so inimitably fascinating. He knew Europe like a book, +sang like a professor, and knew just how to hand a lady her fan, adjust +her shawl, and take her from a carriage. Accomplishments which make men +popular, always.</p> + +<p>Early in July Mr. Trevlyn and Margie, accompanied by a gay party, went +down to Cape May. Mr. Trevlyn had long ago forsworn everything of the +kind; but since Margie Harrison had come to reside with him he had given +up his hermit habits, and been quite like other nice gouty old gentleman.</p> + +<p>The party went down on Thursday—Mr. Paul Linmere followed on Saturday. +Margie had hoped he would not come; in his absence she could have +enjoyed the sojourn, but his presence destroyed for her all the charms +of sea and sky. She grew frightened, sometimes, when she thought how +intensely she hated him. And in October she was to become his wife.</p> + +<p>Some way, Margie felt strangely at ease on the subject. She knew that the +arrangements were all made, that her wedding <i>trousseau</i> was being +gotten +up by a fashionable <i>modiste</i>, that Delmonico had received orders for +the +feast, and that the oranges were budded, which, when burst into flowers, +were to adorn her forehead on her bridal day. She despised Linmere with +her whole soul, she dreaded him inexpressibly, yet she scarcely gave her +approaching marriage with him a single thought. She wondered that she did +not; when she thought of it all, she was shocked to find herself so +impassive.</p> + +<p>Her party had been a week at Cape May, when Archer Trevlyn came down, +with the wife of his employer, Mr. Belgrade. The lady was in delicate +health, and had been advised to try sea air and surf-bathing. Mr. +Belgrade's business would not allow of his absence at just that time, +and he had shown his confidence in his head clerk by selecting him as +his wife's escort.</p> + +<p>Introduced into society by so well established an aristocrat as Mrs. +Belgrade, Arch might at once have taken a prominent place among the +fashionables; for his singularly handsome face and highbred manners made +him an acquisition to any company. But he never forgot that he had been +a street-sweeper, and he would not submit to be patronized by the very +people who had once, perhaps, grudged him the pennies they had thrown to +him as they would have thrown bread to a starving dog. So he avoided +society, and attended only on Mrs. Belgrade. But from Alexandrine Lee +he could not escape. She fastened upon him at once. She had a habit +of singling out gentlemen, and giving them the distinction of her +attentions, and no one thought of noticing it now. Arch was ill at ease +beneath the infliction, but he was a thorough gentleman, and could not +repulse her rudely.</p> + +<p>A few days after the arrival of Mrs. Belgrade, Arch took her down to the +beach to bathe. The beach was alive with the gorgeous grotesque figures +of the bathers. The air was bracing, the surf splendid.</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn's carriage drove down soon after Mrs. Belgrade had finished +her morning's "dip;" and Margie and Mr. Linmere, accompanied by +Alexandrine Lee, alighted. They were in bathing costume, and Miss Lee, +espying Arch, fastened upon him without ceremony.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Trevlyn," she said, animatedly, "I am glad to have come across +you. I was just telling Mr. Linmere that two ladies were hardly safe with +only one gentleman in such a surf as there is this morning. I shall have +to depend on you to take care of me. Shall I?"</p> + +<p>Of course, Arch could not refuse, and apologizing to Mrs. Belgrade, who +good-naturedly urged him forward, he took charge of Miss Lee.</p> + +<p>Linmere offered Margie his hand to lead her in, but she declined. He kept +close beside her, and when they stood waist deep in the water, and a huge +breaker was approaching, he put his arm around her shoulders. With an +impatient gesture she tore herself away. He made an effort to retain her, +and in the struggle Margie lost her footing, and the receding wave bore +her out to sea.</p> + +<p>Linmere grew pale as death. He knew if Margie was drowned, he was a +ruined man. His pictures and statuary would have to go under the +hammer—his creditors were only kept from striking by his prospect of +getting a rich wife to pay his debts. He cast an imploring eye on the +swimmers around him, but he was too great a coward to risk his life +among the swirling breakers.</p> + +<p>Only one man struck boldly out to the rescue. Arch Trevlyn threw off the +clinging hand of Miss Lee, and with a strong arm pressed his way through +the white-capped billows. He came near to Margie, and saw the chestnut +gleam of her hair on the bright treacherous water, and in an instant it +was swept under a long line of snowy foam. She rose again at a little +distance, and her eyes met his pleadingly. Her lips syllabled the words, +"save me!"</p> + +<p>He heard them, above all the deafening roar of the waters. They nerved +him on to fresh exertions. Another stroke, and he caught her arm, drew +her to him, held her closely to his breast, and touched her wet hair with +his lips. Then he controlled himself, and spoke coolly:</p> + +<p>"Take my hand, Miss Harrison, and I think I can tow you safely to the +shore. Do not be afraid."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid," she said, quietly.</p> + +<p>How his heart leaped at the sound of her voice! How happy he was that she +was not afraid—that she trusted her life to him! Of how little value he +would have reckoned his own existence, if he had purchased hers by its +loss!</p> + +<p>A hundred pairs of hands were outstretched to receive Margie, when Arch +brought her to the shore. Her dear devoted friends crowded around her, +and in their joy at her escape, Arch retreated for his lodgings. But Miss +Lee had been watching him, and seized his arm the moment he was clear of +the crowd.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Trevlyn, it is just like a novel!" she exclaimed, +enthusiastically. "Only you cannot marry the heroine, for she is +engaged to Mr. Linmere; and she perfectly dotes on him."</p> + +<p>She flitted away, and Trevlyn went up to his chamber.</p> + +<p>That evening there was a "hop" at the hotel, but Arch did not go down. +He knew if he did the inevitable Miss Lee would anchor herself on his +arm for the evening; and his politeness was not equal to the task of +entertaining her.</p> + +<p>The strains of music reached him, softened and made sweet by the +distance. He stole down on the piazza, and sat under the shadows of a +flowering vine, looking at the sky, with its myriads of glittering stars. +There was a light step at his side, and glancing up, he saw Margie +Harrison.</p> + +<p>She was in evening dress, her white arms and shoulders bare, and +glistening with snowy pearls. Her soft unbound hair fell over her neck +in a flood of light, and a subtle perfume, like the breath of blooming +water-lilies, floated around her.</p> + +<p>"I want to make you my captive for a little while, Mr. Trevlyn," she +said, gayly. "Will you wear the chains?"</p> + +<p>"Like a garland of roses," he responded. "Yes, to the world's end, Miss +Harrison!"</p> + +<p>The unconscious fervor of his voice brought a crimson flush to her face. +She dropped her eyes, and toyed with the bracelet on her arm.</p> + +<p>"I did not know <i>you</i> dealt in compliments, Mr. Trevlyn," she said, +a little reproachfully. "I thought you were always sincere."</p> + +<p>"And so I am, Miss Harrison."</p> + +<p>"I take you at your word then," she said, recovering her playful air. +"You will not blame me, if I lead you into difficulty?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. I give myself into your keeping."</p> + +<p>She put her hand within his arm, and led him up the stairs, to a private +parlor on the second floor. Under the jet of light sat old Mr. Trevlyn. +Archer's heart throbbed fiercely, and his lips grew set and motionless, +as he stood there before the man he hated—the man against whom he had +made a vow of undying vengeance. Margie was looking at her guardian, and +did not observe the startling change which had come over Arch. She spoke +softly, addressing the old man.</p> + +<p>"Dear guardian, this is the man who this morning so gallantly rescued me +from a watery grave. I want you to help me thank him."</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn arose, came forward, and extended his hand. Arch stood erect, +his arms folded on his breast. He did not move, nor offer to take the +proffered hand. Mr. Trevlyn gave a start of surprise, and seizing a lamp +from the table, held it up to the face of the young man. Arch did not +flinch; he bore the insulting scrutiny with stony calmness.</p> + +<p>The old man dashed down the lamp, and put his hand to his forehead. His +face was livid with passion, his voice choked so as to be scarcely +audible.</p> + +<p>"Margie, Margie Harrison!" he exclaimed, "what is this person's name?"</p> + +<p>"Archer Trevlyn, sir," answered the girl, amazed at the strange behavior +of the two men.</p> + +<p>"Just as I thought! Hubert's son!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Arch, speaking with painful calmness, "I am Hubert's son; the +son of the man your wicked cruelty murdered."</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn seized his cane and rushed upon his grandson; but Margie +sprang forward and threw her arm across the breast of Arch.</p> + +<p>"Strike him, if you dare!" she said, "but you shall strike a woman!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn looked at her, and the weapon dropped to the floor.</p> + +<p>"Margaret Harrison," he said, sternly, "leave this room. This is no place +for you. Obey me!"</p> + +<p>"I am subject to no man's authority," she said, boldly; "and I will not +leave the room. You shall not insult a gentleman to whom I owe my life, +and who is here as my invited guest!"</p> + +<p>"I shall defend myself! There is murder in that fellow's eye, if I ever +saw it in that of any human being!"</p> + +<p>"I am answerable for his conduct," she said with proud dignity. "He +will do nothing of which a lady needs stand in fear. I brought him +here, ignorant of the relationship existing between you and him, and +unconscious of the truth that I should be called upon to defend him +from the causeless rage of his own grandfather."</p> + +<p>Again the cane was uplifted, but Margie laid her hand resolutely upon it.</p> + +<p>"Give it to me. Will you—you, who pride yourself upon your high and +delicate sense of honor—will you be such an abject coward as to strike +a defenceless man?"</p> + +<p>He yielded her the weapon, and she threw it from the window.</p> + +<p>"You may take away my defence, Margaret," said the old man, resolutely, +"but you shall not prevent me from cursing him! A curse be upon him—"</p> + +<p>"Hold, sir! Remember that your head is white with the snows of time! It +will not be long before you go to the God who sees you every moment, who +will judge you for every sin you commit."</p> + +<p>"You may preach that stuff to the dogs! There is no God! I defy him and +you! Archer Trevlyn, my curse be upon you and yours, now and forever! +Child of a disobedient son! child of a mother who was a harlot!"</p> + +<p>Arch sprang upon him with a savage cry. His hand was on his throat—God +knows what crime he would have done, fired by the insult offered to the +memory of his mother, had not Margie caught his hands, and drawn them +away.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Archer, Archer Trevlyn!" she cried, imploringly, "grant me this one +favor—the very first I ever asked of you! For my sake, come away. He is +an old man. Leave him to God, and his own conscience. You are young and +strong; you would not disgrace your manhood by laying violent hands on +the weakness of old age!"</p> + +<p>"Did you hear what he called my mother, the purest woman the world ever +saw? No man shall repeat that foul slander in my presence, and live!"</p> + +<p>"He will not repeat it. Forgive him. He is fretful, and he thinks the +world has gone hard with him. He has sinned, and those who sin suffer +always. It has been a long and terrible feud between him and yours. I +brought you here—let me take you away."</p> + +<p>Her soft hands were on his—her beautiful tear-wet eyes lifted to his +face. He could not withstand that look. He would have given up the plans +of a lifetime, if she had asked him with those imploring eyes.</p> + +<p>"I yield to you, Miss Harrison—only to you," he replied. "If John +Trevlyn lives, he owes his life to you. He judged rightly—there was +murder in my soul, and he saw it in my eyes. Years ago, after they laid +my poor heart-broken mother out of my sight, I swore a terrible vow of +vengeance on the old man whose cruelty had hurried her into the grave. +But for you, I should have kept the vow this moment. But I will obey you. +Take me wherever you will."</p> + +<p>She led him down the stairs, across the lawn, and out on the lonely +beach, where the quiet moon and the passionless stars dropped down their +crystal rain. The sweet south wind blew up cool from the sea, and afar +off the tinkle of a sheep-bell stirred the silence of the night. The lamp +in the distant lighthouse gleamed like a spark of fire, and at their feet +broke the tireless billows, white as the snow-drifts of December.</p> + +<p>There was something inexpressibly soothing in the serenity of the night. +Arch felt its influence. The hot color died out of his cheek, his pulse +beat slower, he lifted his eyes to the purple arch of the summer sky.</p> + +<p>"All God's universe is at rest," said Margie, her voice breaking upon his +ear like a strain of music. "Oh, Arthur Trevlyn, be at peace with all +mankind!"</p> + +<p>"I am—with all but <i>him</i>."</p> + +<p>"And with <i>him</i>, also. The heart which bears malice cannot be a happy +heart. There has been a great wrong done—I have heard the sad story—but +it is divine to forgive. The man who can pardon the enemy who has wrought +him evil, rises to a height where nothing of these earthly temptations +can harm him more. He stands on a level with the angels of God. If you +have been injured, let it pass. If your parents were hurried out of the +world by his cruelty, think how much sooner they tasted the bliss of +heaven! Every wrong will in due time be avenged. Justice will be done, +for the Infinite One has promised it. Leave it in His hands. Archer, +before I leave you, promise to forgive Mr. Trevlyn."</p> + +<p>"I cannot! I cannot!" he cried, hoarsely. "Oh, Margie, Miss Harrison, ask +of me anything but that, even to the sacrifice of my life, and I will +willingly oblige you, but not that! not that!"</p> + +<p>"<i>That</i> is all I ask. It is for your good and my peace of mind that I +demand it. You have no right to make me unhappy, as your persistence in +this dreadful course will do. Promise me, Archer Trevlyn!"</p> + +<p>She put her hand on his shoulder; he turned his head and pressed his lips +upon it. She did not draw it away, but stood, melting his hard heart with +her wonderfully sweet gaze. He yielded all at once—she knew she had +conquered. He sank down on one knee before her, and bowed his face upon +his hands. She stooped over him, her hair swept his shoulders, the brown +mingling with the deeper chestnut of his curling locks.</p> + +<p>"You will promise me, Mr. Trevlyn?"</p> + +<p>He looked up suddenly.</p> + +<p>"What will you give me, if I promise?"</p> + +<p>"Ask for it."</p> + +<p>He lifted a curl of shining hair.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "Promise me what I ask, and I will give it to you."</p> + +<p>He took his pocket-knife and severed the tress.</p> + +<p>"I promise you. I break my vow; I seek no revenge. I forgive John +Trevlyn, and may God forgive him also. He is safe from me. I submit to +have my parents sleep on unavenged. I leave him and his sins to the God +whom he denies; and all because you have asked it of me."</p> + +<p>Slowly and silently they went up to the house. At the door he said no +good-night—he only held her hand a moment, closely, and then turned +away.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II" ></a>PART II.</h2> + + +<p>Paul Linmere's wedding-day drew near. Between him and Margie there was +no semblance of affection. Her coldness never varied, and after a few +fruitless attempts to excite in her some manifestation of interest, he +took his cue from her, and was as coldly indifferent as herself.</p> + +<p>A few days before the tenth of October, which was the day appointed for +the bridal, Dick Turner, one of Paul's friends, gave a supper at the +Bachelors' Club. A supper in honor of Paul, or to testify the sorrow of +the Club at the loss of one of its members. It was a very hilarious +occasion, and the toasting and wine-drinking extended far into the small +hours.</p> + +<p>In a somewhat elevated frame of mind, Mr. Paul Linmere left the rooms of +the Club at about three o'clock in the morning, to return home. His way +lay along the most deserted part of the city—a place where there were +few dwellings, and the buildings were mostly stores and warehouses.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a touch on his arm stopped him. The same cold, deathly touch he +had felt once before. He had drunk just enough to feel remarkably brave, +and turning, he encountered the strangely gleaming eyes that had frozen +his blood that night in early summer. All his bravado left him. He felt +weak and helpless as a child.</p> + +<p>"What is it? what do you want?" he asked brokenly.</p> + +<p>"Justice!" said the mysterious presence.</p> + +<p>"Justice? For whom?"</p> + +<p>"Arabel Vere."</p> + +<p>"Arabel Vere! Curse her!" he cried, savagely.</p> + +<p>The figure lifted a spectral white hand.</p> + +<p>"Paul Linmere—beware! The vengeance of the dead reaches sometimes unto +the living! There is not water enough in the Seine to drown a woman's +hatred! Death itself cannot annihilate it! Beware!"</p> + +<p>He struck savagely at the uplifted hand, but his arm met no resistance. +He beat only against the impalpable air. His spectral visitor had flown, +and left nothing behind her to tell of her presence.</p> + +<p>With unsteady steps Mr. Paul Linmere hurried home, entered his room, and +double-locked the door behind him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn had decided that the marriage of his ward should take place +at Harrison Park, the old country seat of the Harrisons, on the Hudson. +Here Margie's parents had lived always in the summer; here they had died +within a week of each other, and here in the cypress grove by the river, +they were buried. There would be no more fitting place for the marriage +of their daughter to be solemnized. Margie neither opposed nor approved +the plan. She did not oppose anything. She was passive, almost apathetic.</p> + +<p>The admiring dressmakers and milliners came and went, fitting, and +measuring, and trying on their tasteful creations, but without eliciting +any signs of interest or pleasure from Margie Harrison. She gave no +orders, found no fault; expressed no admiration nor its opposite. It +was all the same to her.</p> + +<p>The bridal dress came home a few days before the appointed day. It was +a superb affair, and Margie looked like a queen in it. It was of white +satin, with a point lace overskirt, looped up at intervals with tiny +bouquets of orange blossoms. The corsage was cut low, leaving the +beautiful shoulders bare, the open sleeves displaying the perfectly +rounded arms in all their perfection. The veil was point lace, and must +have cost a little fortune. Mr. Trevlyn had determined that everything +should be on a magnificent scale, and had given the whole arrangement of +the affair to Mrs. Colonel Weldon, the most fashionable woman in her set.</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn had the diamonds which were the wonder of the city, richly +set, and Margie was to wear them on her bridal night, as a special mark +of the old man's favor. For, next to the diamonds, the sordid man loved +Margie Harrison.</p> + +<p>Linmere's gift to his bride was very simple, but in exquisite taste, Mrs. +Weldon decided. A set of turquoise, with his initial and hers interwoven. +Only when they were received, did Margie come out of her cold composure. +She snapped together the lid of the casket containing them with something +very like angry impatience, and gave the box to her maid.</p> + +<p>"Take them away, Florine, instantly, and put them where I shall never see +them again!"</p> + +<p>The woman looked surprised, but she was a discreet piece, and strongly +attached to her mistress, and she put the ornaments away without comment.</p> + +<p>The tenth of October arrived. A wet, lowering day, with alternate +snatches of rain and sunshine, settling down toward sunset into a steady, +uncomfortable drizzle. A dismal enough wedding-day.</p> + +<p>The ceremony was to take place at nine o'clock in the evening, and the +invited guests were numerous. Harrison Park would accommodate them all +royally.</p> + +<p>Mr. Linmere was expected out from the city in the six o'clock train, and +as the stopping place was not more than five minutes' walk from the Park, +he had left orders that no carriage need be sent. He would walk up. He +thought he should need the stimulus of the fresh air to carry him through +the fiery ordeal, he said, laughingly.</p> + +<p>The long day wore slowly away. The preparations were complete. Mrs. +Weldon in her violet moire-antique and family diamonds, went through the +stately parlors once more to assure herself that everything was <i>au +fait</i>.</p> + +<p>At five o'clock the task of dressing the bride began. The bridesmaids +were in ecstacies over the finery, and they took almost as much pains in +dressing Margie as they would in dressing themselves for a like occasion.</p> + +<p>Margie's cheeks were as white as the robes they put upon her. One of the +girls suggested rouge, but Alexandrine demurred.</p> + +<p>"A bride should always be pale," she said. "It looks so interesting, +and gives everyone the idea that she realizes the responsibility she +is taking upon herself—doesn't that veil fall sweetly?"</p> + +<p>And then followed a shower of feminine expressions of admiration from the +four charming bridesmaids.</p> + +<p>"Is everything ready?" asked Margie, wearily, when at last they paused in +their efforts.</p> + +<p>"Yes, everything is as perfect as one could desire," said Alexandrine. +"How do you feel, Margie, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Very well, thank you."</p> + +<p>"You are so self-possessed! Now, I should be all of a tremble! Dear me! +I wonder people <i>can</i> be so cold on the eve of such a great change! But +then we are so different. Will you not take a glass of wine, Margie?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, no. I do not take wine, you know."</p> + +<p>"I know, but on this occasion. Hush! that was the whistle of the train. +Mr. Linmere will be here in a few minutes! Shall I bring him up to see +you? It is not etiquette for the groom to see the bride on the day of +their marriage, until they meet at the altar; but you look so charming, +dear! I would like him to admire you. He has such exquisite taste."</p> + +<p>Margie's uplifted eyes had a half-frightened look, which Alexandrine did +not understand.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" she said, hurriedly; "do not bring him here! We will follow +etiquette for this time, if you please, Miss Lee."</p> + +<p>"O well, just as you please, my dear."</p> + +<p>"And now, my friends, be kind enough to leave me alone," said Margie. +"I want the last hours of my free life to myself. I will ring when I +desire your attendance."</p> + +<p>Margie's manner forbade any objection on the part of the attendants, and +they somewhat reluctantly withdrew. She turned the key upon them, and +went to the window. The rain had ceased falling, but the air was damp and +dense.</p> + +<p>Her room was on the first floor, and the windows, furnished with +balconies, opened to the floor. She stood looking out into the night for +a moment, then gathering up her flowing drapery, and covering herself +with a heavy cloak, stepped from the window. The damp earth struck a +chill to her delicately-shod feet, but she did not notice it. The mist +and fog dampened her hair, unheeded. She went swiftly down the shaded +path, the dead leaves of the linden trees rustling mournfully as she +swept through them. Past the garden and its deserted summer-house, and +the grapery, where the purple fruit was lavishing its sweets on the air, +and climbing a stile, she stood beside a group of shading cypress trees. +Just before her was a square enclosure, fenced by a hedge of arbor vitae, +from the midst of which, towering white and spectral up into the silent +night, rose a marble shaft, surmounted by the figure of an angel, with +drooping head and folded wings.</p> + +<p>Margie passed within the inclosure, and stood beside the graves of her +parents. She stood a moment silent, motionless; then, forgetful of her +bridal garment, she flung herself down on the turf.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my father! my father!" she cried, "why did you doom me to such a +fate? Why did you ask me to give that fatal promise? Oh, look down from +heaven and pity your child!"</p> + +<p>The wind sighed mournfully in the cypresses, the belated crickets and +katydids droned in the hedge, but no sweet voice of sympathy soothed +Margie's strained ear. For, wrought up as she was, she almost listened +to hear some response from the lips which death had made mute forever.</p> + +<p>The village clock struck half-past eight, warning Margie that it was +almost time for the ceremony to take place. She started up, drew her +cloak around her, and turned to leave the place. As she did so, she felt +a touch on her hand—the hand she laid for a moment on the gate—as she +stood giving a last sad look at the mound of earth she was leaving, a +touch light and soft as a breath, but which thrilled her through every +nerve.</p> + +<p>She turned her head quickly, but saw nothing. Something—the sound of +receding footsteps—met her ear, nothing more, but she was convinced there +had been a human presence near her. Where? Her heart beat strangely; her +blood, a moment before so chilled and stagnant, leaped through her veins +like fire. From whence arose the change?</p> + +<p>She reached her chamber without meeting any one, and unlocking the door, +rang for her attendants. The house was in a strange confusion. Groups +were gathered in the corridors, whispering together, and some unexplained +trouble seemed to have fallen upon the whole place.</p> + +<p>After a little while, Alexandrine came in, pale and haggard. Margie saw +her white dress was damp, and her hair uncurled, as if by the weather.</p> + +<p>"Where have you been, Alexandrine?" she asked; "and what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>The girl turned from white to crimson.</p> + +<p>"I have been in my room," she replied.</p> + +<p>"But your clothes are damp, and your hair uncurled—"</p> + +<p>"The air is wet, and this great house is as moist as an ice-shed," +returned the girl, hurriedly. "It is no wonder if my hair is uncurled. +Margie, the—the—Mr. Linmere has not arrived."</p> + +<p>"Not arrived! It must be nine o'clock."</p> + +<p>As she spoke, the sonorous strokes of the clock proclaiming the hour, +vibrated through the house.</p> + +<p>"We have been distracted about him for more than two hours! he should +surely have been here by half-past six! Mr. Trevlyn has sent messengers +to the depot, to make inquiries, and the officekeeper thinks Mr. Linmere +arrived in the six o'clock train, but is not quite positive. Mr. Weldon +went, himself, to meet the seven-thirty train, thinking perhaps he might +have got detained, and would come on in the succeeding train, but he did +not arrive. And there are no more trains to-night! Oh, Margie, isn't it +dreadful?"</p> + +<p>Alexandrine's manner was strangely flurried and ill at ease, and the hand +she laid on Margie's was cold as ice. Margie scrutinized her curiously, +wondering the while at her own heartless apathy.</p> + +<p>Something had occurred to stir the composure of this usually cool, and +self-possessed woman fearfully. But what it was Margie could not guess.</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn burst into the room, pale and exhausted.</p> + +<p>"It is no use!" he said, throwing himself into a chair, "no use to try +to disguise the truth! There will be no wedding to-night, Margie! The +bridegroom has failed to come! The scoundrel! If I were ten years +younger, I would call him out for this insult!"</p> + +<p>Margie laid her hand on his arm, a strange, new feeling of vague relief +pervading her. It was as if some great weight, under which her slender +strength had wearied and sank, were rolled off from her.</p> + +<p>"Compose yourself, dear guardian, he may have been unavoidably detained. +Some business—"</p> + +<p>"Business on his wedding-day! No, Margie! there is something wrong +somewhere. He is either playing us false—confound him!—or he has met +with some accident! By George! who knows but he has been waylaid and +murdered! The road from here to the depot, though short, is a lonely one, +with woods on either side! And Mr. Linmere carries always about his +person enough valuables to tempt a desperate character."</p> + +<p>"I beg you not to suppose such a dreadful thing!" exclaimed Margie, +shuddering; "he will come in the morning, and—"</p> + +<p>"But Hays was positive that he saw him leave the six o'clock train. He +described him accurately, even to the saying that he had a bouquet of +white camelias in his hand. Margie, what flowers was he to bring?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Weldon knows. I do not."</p> + +<p>Alexandrine spoke.</p> + +<p>"White camelias. I heard Mrs. Weldon ask him to fetch them."</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn started up.</p> + +<p>"I will have out the whole household, at once, and search, the whole +estate! For I feel as if some terrible crime may have been done upon our +very threshold. Margie, dear, take heart, he may be alive and well!"</p> + +<p>He went out to alarm the already excited guests, and in half an hour the +place was alive with lanterns, carried by those who sought for the +missing bridegroom.</p> + +<p>Pale and silent, the women gathered themselves together in the chamber of +the bride, and waited. Margie sat among them in her white robes, mute and +motionless as a statue.</p> + +<p>"It must be terrible to fall by the hand of an assassin!" said Mrs. +Weldon, with a shudder. "Good heavens! what a dreadful thing it would be +if Mr. Linmere has been murdered!"</p> + +<p>"An assassin! My God!" cried Margie, a terrible thought stealing across +her mind. Who had touched her in the cypress grove? What hand had woke in +her a thrill that changed her from ice to fire! What if it were the hand +of her betrothed husband's murderer?</p> + +<p>Alexandrine started forward at Margie's exclamation. Her cheek was white +as marble, her breath came quick and struggling.</p> + +<p>"Margie! Margie Harrison!" she cried, "what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," answered Margie, recovering herself, and relapsing into her +usual self-composure.</p> + +<p>They searched all that night, and found nothing. Absolutely nothing. With +the early train, both Mr. Trevlyn and Mr. Weldon went to the city. They +hurried to Mr. Linmere's room, only to have their worst fears confirmed. +Pietro informed them that his master had left there on the six o'clock +train; he had seen him to the depot, and into the car, receiving some +orders from him relative to his rooms, after he had taken his seat.</p> + +<p>There could be no longer any doubt but that there had been foul play +somewhere. The proper authorities were notified, and the search began +afresh. Harrison Park and its environs were thoroughly ransacked; the +river was searched, the pond at the foot of the garden drained, but +nothing was discovered. There was no clue by which the fate of the +missing man could be guessed at, ever so vaguely.</p> + +<p>Every person about the place was examined and cross-examined, but no one +knew anything, and the night shut down, and left the matter in mystery. +Pietro, at length, suggested Leo, Mr. Linmere's gray-hound.</p> + +<p>"Him no love his master," said the Italian, "but him scent keen. It will +do no hurt to try him."</p> + +<p>Accordingly, the next morning, Pietro brought the dog up to the Park. +The animal was sullen, and would accept of attentions from no one save +Margie, to whom he seemed to take at first sight. And after she had +spoken to him kindly, and patted his head, he refused all persuasions +and commands to leave her.</p> + +<p>Mr. Darby, the detective, whose services had been engaged in the affair, +exerted all his powers of entreaty on the dog, but the animal clung to +Margie, and would not even look in the direction of the almost frantic +detective.</p> + +<p>"It's no use, Miss Harrison," said Darby, "the cur wont stir an inch. You +will have to come with him! Sorry to ask ye, but this thing must be seen +into."</p> + +<p>"Very well, I will accompany you," said Margie, rising, and throwing on +a shawl, she went out with them, followed by Mrs. Weldon, Alexandrine, +and two or three other ladies.</p> + +<p>Leo kept close to Margie, trotting along beside her, uttering every now +and then a low whine indicative of anticipation and pleasure.</p> + +<p>Darby produced a handkerchief which had belonged to Mr. Paul Linmere, +and which he had found in his rooms, lying on his dressing-table. He +showed this to the dog; Leo snuffed at it, and gave a sharp grunt of +displeasure.</p> + +<p>"We want you to find him, Leo, good dog," said the Italian, stroking the +silky ears of the dog; "find your master."</p> + +<p>Leo understood, but he looked around in evident perplexity.</p> + +<p>"Take him to the depot!" said Mr. Trevlyn, "he may find the trail there."</p> + +<p>They went to the station; the dog sniffed hurriedly at the platform, and +in a moment more dashed off into the highway leading to Harrison Park.</p> + +<p>"Him got him!" cried Pietro; "him find my master!"</p> + +<p>The whole company joined in following the dog. He went straight ahead, +his nose to the ground, his fleet limbs bearing him along with a rapidity +that the anxious followers found it hard to emulate.</p> + +<p>At a brook which crossed the road he stopped, seemed a little confused, +crossed it finally on stepping stones, paused a moment by the side of a +bare nut tree, leaped the fence, and dashed off through a grass field. +Keeping steadily on, he made for the grounds of the Park, passed the +drained pond, and the frost-ruined garden, and pausing before the +inclosure where slept the Harrison dead, he lifted his head and gave +utterance to a howl so wild, so savagely unearthly, that it chilled the +blood in the veins of those who heard. An instant he paused, and then +dashing through the hedge, was lost to view.</p> + +<p>"He is found! My master is found!" said Pietro, solemnly, removing his +cap, and wiping a tear from his eye. For the man was attached to Mr. Paul +Linmere, in his rough way, and the tear was one of genuine sorrow.</p> + +<p>His companions looked at each other. Alexandrine grasped the arm of +Margie, and leaned heavily upon her.</p> + +<p>"Let us go to the house—" she faltered, "I cannot bear it."</p> + +<p>"I will know the worst," said Margie, hoarsely, and they went on +together.</p> + +<p>It was so singular, but no one had thought to look within the graveyard +enclosure; perhaps if they had thought of it, they judged it impossible +that a murderer should select such a locality for the commission of his +crime.</p> + +<p>Mr. Darby opened the gate, entered the yard, and stopped. So did the +others. All saw at once that the search was ended. Across the path +leading to the graves of Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, lay Paul Linmere. He was +white and ghastly; his forehead bare, and his sightless eyes wide open, +looking up to the sun of noon-day. His right hand lay on his breast, his +left still tightly grasped the turf upon which it had fixed its hold in +the cruel death-agony. His garments were stiff with his own blood, and +the dirk knife, still buried to the hilt in his heart, told the story of +his death.</p> + +<p>Leo crouched a little way off, his eyes jubilant, his tail beating the +ground, evincing the greatest satisfaction. All present knew that the dog +rejoiced at the death of his master.</p> + +<p>Alexandrine took a step toward the dead man, her back to the +horror-stricken group by the gate. She stopped suddenly, and lifted +something from the ground.</p> + +<p>Darby, alert and watchful, was by her side in a moment.</p> + +<p>"What have you there?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"My glove which I dropped," she answered, quietly, holding up the dainty +bit of embroidered kid.</p> + +<p>The detective turned away satisfied; but Margie saw the girl's hand +shake, and her lips grow pale as marble, the moment Darby's keen eye was +removed from her face.</p> + +<p>The discovery of the remains was followed by a long and tedious +investigation. There was an inquest, and a rigid examination of every +person who could by any possibility be imagined capable of throwing any +light on the murder, and after all was over, the mystery was just as dark +as it was at first.</p> + +<p>Nothing was found to furnish the slightest clue to the assassin, except +a white cambric handkerchief just inside the graveyard, marked with the +single initial "A" in one corner. This handkerchief might have belonged +to the murderer, and it might have belonged to Mr. Linmere,—that could +not be determined. The article was given into the keeping of Mr. Darby; +and after three days lying in state at Harrison Park, the body of Mr. +Linmere was taken to Albany, where his relatives were buried, and laid +away for its last sleep.</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn offered a large reward for the apprehension of the murderer, +or for information which would lead to his apprehension; and the town +authorities offered an equal sum. Mr. Darby was retained to work upon the +case, and there it rested.</p> + +<p>Margie uttered no word in the matter. She was stunned by the suddenness +of the blow, and she could not help being painfully conscious that she +felt relieved by the death of this unfortunate man. God had taken her +case into his hands in a manner too solemnly fearful for her to question.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Three months after the death of Paul Linmere, Margie met Archer Trevlyn +at the house of Alexandrine Lee. He was quite a constant visitor there, +Mrs. Lee told her, with a little conscious pride, for young Trevlyn was +being spoken of in business circles as a rising young man. He was to be +admitted to partnership in the firm of Belgrade and Co., in the spring. +And this once effected, his fortune was made.</p> + +<p>There was a little whist party at Mrs. Lee's that evening, and Margie +was persuaded to remain. After a while the company asked for music. +Whist, the books of engravings, and the <i>bijoux</i> of the centre-table +were exhausted, and small talk flagged. Margie was reluctantly prevailed +upon to play.</p> + +<p>She was not a wonderful performer, but she had a fine ear, and played +with finish and accuracy. But she sang divinely. To oblige her friends, +she sang a few new things and then pausing, was about to rise from the +instrument, when Mr. Trevlyn came to her side.</p> + +<p>"Will you play something for me?" he asked, stooping over her. His dark, +passionate eyes brought the blood to her face—made her restless and +nervous in spite of herself.</p> + +<p>"What would you like?" she managed to ask.</p> + +<p>"This!" He selected an old German ballad, long ago a favorite in the +highest musical circles, but now cast aside for something newer and more +brilliant. A simple, touching little song of love and sorrow.</p> + +<p>She was about to decline singing it, but something told her to beware +of false modesty, and she sang it through.</p> + +<p>"I thank you!" he said, earnestly, when she had finished. "It has done me +good. My mother used to sing that song, and I have never wanted to hear +it from any other lips—<i>until now</i>."</p> + +<p>Alexandrine glided along, as radiant as a humming-bird, her cheeks +flushed, her black eyes sparkling, her voice sweet as a siren's.</p> + +<p>"Sentimentalizing, I declare!" she exclaimed, gayly; "and singing that +dreadful song, too! Ugh! it gives me the cold shudders to listen to it! +How can you sing it, Margie, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Harrison sang it at my request, Miss Lee," said Trevlyn, gravely, +"it is an old favorite of mine. Shall I not listen to you now?"</p> + +<p>Alexandrine took the seat Margie had vacated, and glanced up at the two +faces so near her.</p> + +<p>"Why, Margie!" she said, "a moment ago I thought you were a rose, and now +you are a lily! What is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, thank you," returned Margie, coldly. "I am weary, and will go +home soon, I think."</p> + +<p>Trevlyn looked at her with tender anxiety, evidently forgetful that he +had requested Miss Lee to play.</p> + +<p>"You are wearied," he said. "Shall I call your carriage?"</p> + +<p>"If you please, yes. Miss Lee I am sure will excuse me."</p> + +<p>"I shall be obliged to, I suppose."</p> + +<p>Trevlyn put Margie's shawl around her, and led her to the carriage. After +he had assisted her in, he touched lightly the hand he had just released, +and said "Good-night," his very accent a blessing.</p> + +<p>In February Mr. Trevlyn received a severe shock. His aged wife had been +an inmate of an insane asylum almost ever since the death of her son +Hubert; and Mr. Trevlyn, though he had loved her with his whole soul, +had never seen her face in all those weary years.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, without any premonitory symptoms, her reason returned to her, +and save that she was unmindful of the time that had elapsed during her +insanity, she was the same Caroline Trevlyn of old.</p> + +<p>They told her cautiously of her husband's old age, for the unfortunate +woman could not realize that nearly twenty years had passed since the +loss of her mind. The first desire she expressed was to see "John," and +Mr. Trevlyn was sent for.</p> + +<p>He came, and went into the presence of the wife from whom he had been so +long divided, alone. No one knew what passed between them. The interview +was a lengthy one, and Mr. Trevlyn came forth from it, animated by a +new-born hope. The wife of his youth was to be restored to him!</p> + +<p>He made arrangements to take her home, but alas! they were never destined +to be carried into effect. The secret fears of the physician were +realized even sooner than he had expected. The approach of dissolution +had dissolved the clouds so long hanging over the mind of Caroline +Trevlyn. She lived only two days after the coming of her husband, and +died in his arms, happy in the belief that she was going to her son.</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn returned home, a changed being. All his asperity of temper +was gone; he was as gentle as a child. Whole days he would sit in the +chair where his wife used to sit in the happy days of her young wifehood, +speaking to no one, smiling sometimes to himself, as though he heard +some inner whisperings which pleased him.</p> + +<p>One day he roused himself seemingly, and sent for Mr. Speedwell, his +attorney, and Dr. Drake, his family physician. With these gentlemen he +was closeted the entire forenoon; and from that time forward, his hold on +the world and its things seemed to relax.</p> + +<p>One morning, when Margie went to take his gruel up to him—a duty she +always performed herself—she found him sitting in his arm-chair, wide +awake, but incapable of speech or motion.</p> + +<p>The physician, hastily summoned, confirmed her worst fears. Mr. Trevlyn +had been smitten with paralysis. He was in no immediate danger, perhaps; +he might live for years, but was liable to drop away at any moment. It +was simply a question of time.</p> + +<p>Toward the close of the second day after his attack, the power of speech +returned to Mr. Trevlyn.</p> + +<p>"Margie!" he said, feebly, "Margie, come here." She flew to his side.</p> + +<p>"I want you to send for Archer Trevlyn," he said with great difficulty.</p> + +<p>She made a gesture of surprise.</p> + +<p>"You think I am not quite right in my mind, Margie, that I should make +that request. But I was never more sane than at this moment. My mind was +never clearer, my mental sight never more correct. I want to see my +grandson."</p> + +<p>Margie despatched a servant with a brief note to Archer, informing him +of his grandfather's desire, and then sat down to wait his coming.</p> + +<p>It was a wild, stormy night in March; the boisterous wind beat against +the old mansion, and like a suffering human thing, shrieked down the +wide, old-fashioned chimneys.</p> + +<p>In a lull of the storm there was a tap at the chamber door. Margie opened +it, and stood face to face with Archer Trevlyn.</p> + +<p>"Come in," she whispered, "he is asleep."</p> + +<p>"No, I am not asleep," said the sick man; "has my grandson come?"</p> + +<p>"He is here," said Margie. "I will leave him with you, dear guardian. Let +him ring for me when you want me."</p> + +<p>"Remain here, Margaret. I want you to be a witness to what passes between +us. I have no secrets from you, dear child, none whatever. Archer, come +hither."</p> + +<p>Trevlyn advanced, his face pale, his eyes moist with tears. For, having +forgiven his grandparent, he had been growing to feel for the desolate +old man a sort of filial tenderness, and strong in his fresh young +manhood, it seemed terrible to him to see John Trevlyn lying there in +his helplessness and feebleness, waiting for death.</p> + +<p>"Come hither, Archer," said the tremulous voice, "and put your hand on +mine. I cannot lift a finger to you, but I want to feel once more the +touch of kindred flesh and blood. I have annoyed you and yours sadly my +poor boy, but death sweeps away all enmities, and all shadows. I see so +clearly now. O, if I had only seen before!"</p> + +<p>Arch knelt by the side of his bed, holding the old man's withered hands +in his. Margie stood a little apart, regarding the pair with moist eyes.</p> + +<p>"Call me grandfather once, my son; I have never heard the name from the +lips of my kindred."</p> + +<p>"Grandfather! O grandfather!" cried the young man, "now that you will let +me call you so, you must not die! You must live for me!"</p> + +<p>"The decree has gone forth. There is from it no appeal. I am to die. +I have felt the certainty a long time. O, for one year of existence, +to right the wrongs I have done! But they could not be righted. Alas! +if I had centuries of time at my command, I could not bring back to life +the dear son my cruelty hurried out of the world, or his poor wife, whose +fair name I could, in my revenge for her love of my son, have taken from +her! O Hubert! Hubert! O my darling! dearer to me than my heart's +blood—but so foully wronged!"</p> + +<p>His frame shook with emotion, but no tears came to his eyes. His remorse +was too deep and bitter for the surface sorrow of tears to relieve.</p> + +<p>"Put it out of your mind, grandfather," said Arch, pressing his hand. +"Do not think of it, to let it trouble you more. They are all, I trust, +in heaven. Let them rest."</p> + +<p>"And you will tell me this, Archer? You, who hated me so! You, who swore +a solemn oath to be revenged on me! Well, I do not blame you. I only +wonder that your forbearance was so long-suffering. Once you would have +rejoiced to see me suffer as I do now."</p> + +<p>"I should, I say it to my shame. God forgive me for my wickedness! But +for <i>her</i>"—looking at Margie—"I might have kept the sinful vow I made. +She saved me."</p> + +<p>"Come here, Margie, and kiss me," said the old man, tenderly. "My dear +children! my precious children, both of you! I bless you both—both of +you together, do you hear? Once I cursed you, Archer—now I bless you! +If there is a God, and I do at last believe there is, he will forgive +me that curse; for I have begged it of Him on my bended knees."</p> + +<p>"He is merciful, dear guardian," said Margie, gently. "He never refuses +the earnest petition of the suffering soul."</p> + +<p>"Archer, your grandmother died a little while ago. My cruelty to your +father made her, for twenty long years, a maniac. But before her death, +all delusion was swept away, and she bade me love and forgive our +grandson—that she might tell your father and mother, when she met +them in heaven, that at last all was well here below. I promised her, +and since then my soul has been in peace. But I have longed to go to +her—longed inexpressibly. She had been all around me, but so impalpable +that when I put out my hands to touch her, they grasped only the air. +The hands of mortality may not reach after the hands which have put on +immortality."</p> + +<p>He lay quiet a moment, and then went on, brokenly.</p> + +<p>"Archer, I wronged your parents bitterly, but I have repented it in dust +and ashes. Repented it long ago, only I was too proud and stubborn to +acknowledge it. Forgive me again, Archer, and kiss me before I die."</p> + +<p>"I do forgive you, grandfather; I do forgive you with my whole heart." +He stooped, and left a kiss on the withered forehead.</p> + +<p>"Margie," said the feeble voice, "pray for me, that peace may come."</p> + +<p>She looked at Archer, hesitated a moment, then knelt by the bedside. He +stood silent, and then, urged by some uncontrollable impulse, he knelt by +her side.</p> + +<p>The girlish voice, broken, but sweet as music, went up to Heaven in a +petition so fervent, so simple, that God heard and answered. The peace +she asked for the dying man came.</p> + +<p>Her pleading ceased. Mr. Trevlyn lay quiet, his countenance serene and +hopeful. His lips moved, they bent over him, and caught the name of +"Caroline."</p> + +<p>Trevlyn's hand sought Margie's and she did not repulse him. They stood +together silently, looking at the white face on the pillows.</p> + +<p>"He is dead!" Archie said, softly: "God rest him!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>After the funeral of John Trevlyn, his last will and testament was read. +It created a great deal of surprise when it was known that all the vast +possessions of the old man were bequeathed to his grandson—his sole +relative—whom he had despised and denied almost to the day of his death. +In fact, not a half-dozen persons in the city were aware of the fact that +there existed any tie of relationship between John Trevlyn, the miser, +and Archer Trevlyn, the head clerk of Belgrade and Company.</p> + +<p>Arch's good fortune did not change him a particle. He gave less time to +business, it is true, but he spent it in hard study. His early education +had been defective, and he was doing his best to remedy the lack.</p> + +<p>Early in the autumn following the death of his grandfather, he went to +Europe, and after the lapse of a year, returned again to New York. The +second day after his arrival, he went out to Harrison Park. Margie had +passed the summer there, with an old friend of her mother for company, +he was told, and would not come back to the city before December.</p> + +<p>It was a cold, stormy night in September, when he knocked at the door of +Miss Harrison's residence; but a cheery light shone from the window, and +streamed out of the door which the servant held open.</p> + +<p>He inquired for Miss Harrison, and was shown at once into her presence. +She sat in a low chair, her dress of sombre black relieved by a white +ribbon at the throat, and by the chestnut light of the shining hair that +swept in unbound luxuriance over her shoulders. She rose to meet her +guest, scarcely recognizing Archer Trevlyn in the bronzed, bearded man +before her.</p> + +<p>"Miss Harrison," he said, gently, "it is a cold night; will you not give +a warm welcome to an old friend?"</p> + +<p>She knew his voice instantly. A bright color leaped to her cheek, an +embarrassment which made her a thousand times dearer and more charming to +Arch Trevlyn, possessed her. But she held out her hands, and said a few +shy words of welcome.</p> + +<p>Arch sat down beside her, and the conversation drifted into recollections +of their own individual history. They spoke to each other with the +freedom of very old friends, forgetful of the fact that this was almost +the very first conversation they had ever had together.</p> + +<p>After a while, Arch said:</p> + +<p>"Miss Harrison, do you remember when you first saw me?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him a moment, and hesitated before she answered.</p> + +<p>"I may be mistaken, Mr. Trevlyn. If so, excuse me; but I think I saw you +first, years and years ago, in a flower store."</p> + +<p>"You are correct; and on that occasion your generous kindness made me +very happy. I thought it would make my mother happy, also. I ran all the +way home, lest the roses might wilt before she saw them."</p> + +<p>He stopped and gazed into the fire.</p> + +<p>"Was she pleased with them?"</p> + +<p>"She was dead. We put them in her coffin. They were buried with her."</p> + +<p>Margie laid her hand lightly on his.</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry for you! I, too, have buried my mother."</p> + +<p>After a little silence, Arch went on.</p> + +<p>"The next time you saw me was when you gave me these." He took out his +pocket-book, and displayed to her, folded in white paper, a cluster of +faded bluebells. "Do you remember them?"</p> + +<p>"I think I do. You were knocked down by the pole of the carriage?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And the next time? Do you remember the next time?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"I thought so. I want to thank you, now, for your generous forbearance. +I want to tell you how your keeping my secret made a different being of +me. If you had betrayed me to justice, I might have been now an inmate +of a prison cell. Margie Harrison, your silence saved me! Do me the +justice to credit my assertion, when I tell you that I did not enter my +grandfather's house because I cared for the plunder I should obtain. I +had taken a vow to be revenged on him for his cruelty to my parents, and +Sharp, the man who was with me, represented to me, that there was no +surer way of accomplishing my purpose than by taking away the treasures +that he prized. For that only I became a house-breaker. I deserved +punishment. I do not seek to palliate my guilt, but I thank you again +for saving me!"</p> + +<p>"I could not do otherwise than remain silent. When I would have spoken +your name, something kept me from doing it. I think I remembered always +the pitiful face of the little street-sweeper, and I could not bear to +bring him any more suffering."</p> + +<p>"Since those days, Miss Harrison, I have met you frequently—always +by accident—but to-night it is no accident. I came here on purpose. +For what, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know—how should I?"</p> + +<p>"I have come here to tell you what I longed to tell you years ago! what +was no less true then than it is now; what was true of me when I was a +street-sweeper, what has been true of me ever since, and what will be +true of me through time and eternity!"</p> + +<p>He had drawn very near to her—his arm stole round her waist, and he sat +looking down into her face with his soul in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Margie, I love you! I have loved you since the first moment I saw you. +There has never been a shade of wavering; I have been true to you through +all. My first love will be my last. Your influence has kept me from the +lower depths of sin; the thought of you has been my salvation from ruin. +Margie, my darling! I love you! I love you!"</p> + +<p>"And yet you kept silence all these years! Oh, Archer!"</p> + +<p>"I could not do differently. You were as far above me as the evening star +is above the earth it shines upon! It would have been base presumption in +the poor saloon-waiter, or the dry-goods clerk, to have aspired to the +hand of one like you. And although I loved you so, I should never have +spoken, had not fate raised me to the position of a fortune equal to your +own, and given me the means of offering you a home worthy of you. But I +am waiting for my answer. Give it to me, Margie."</p> + +<p>Her shy eyes met his, and he read his answer in their clear depths. But +he was too exacting to be satisfied thus.</p> + +<p>"Do you love me, Margie? I want to hear the words from your lips. Speak, +darling. They are for my ear alone, and you need not blush to utter +them."</p> + +<p>"I do love you, Archer. I believe I have loved you ever since the first."</p> + +<p>"And you will be mine? All my own!"</p> + +<p>She gave him her hands. He drew the head, with its soft, bright hair, to +his breast, and kissed the sweet lips again and again, almost failing to +realize the blessed reality of his happiness.</p> + +<p>It was late that night before Archer Trevlyn left his betrothed bride, +and took his way to the village hotel. But he was too happy, too full of +sweet content, to heed the lapse of time. At last the longing of his life +was satisfied. He had heard her say that she loved him.</p> + +<p>And Margie sat and listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps, and +then went up to her chamber to pass the night, wakeful, too content to be +willing to lose the time in sleep, and so the dawn of morning found her +with open eyes.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The ensuing winter was a very gay one. Margaret Harrison returned to New +York under the chaperonage of her friend, Mrs. Weldon, and mingled more +freely in society than she had done since the season she "came out." She +took pleasure in it now, for Archer Trevlyn was welcomed everywhere. He +was a favored guest in the most aristocratic homes, and people peculiarly +exclusive were happy to receive him into their most select gatherings.</p> + +<p>His engagement with Margie was made public, and the young people were +overwhelmed with the usual compliments of politely expressed hopes and +fashionable congratulations.</p> + +<p>The gentleman said Miss Harrison had always been beautiful, but this +season she was more than that. Happiness is a rare beautifier. It painted +Margie's cheeks and lips with purest rose color, and gave a light to her +eyes and a softness to her sweet voice.</p> + +<p>Of course she did not mingle in society, even though her engagement +was well known, without being surrounded by admirers. They fairly took +her away from Arch, sometimes; but he tried to be patient. Before the +apple-trees in the green country valleys were rosy with blossoms, she +was to be all his own. He could afford to be generous.</p> + +<p>Among the train of her admirers was a young Cuban gentleman, Louis +Castrani, a man of fascinating presence and great personal beauty. He had +been unfortunate in his first love. She had died a few days before they +were to have been married—died by the hand of violence, and Castrani had +shot the rival who murdered her. Public opinion had favored the avenger, +and he had not suffered for the act, but ever since he had been a prey to +melancholy. He told Margie his history, and it aroused her pity; but when +he asked her love, she refused him gently, telling him that her heart was +another's. He had suffered deeply from the disappointment, but he did not +give up her society, as most men would have done. He still hovered around +her, content if she gave him a smile or a kind word, seeming to find his +best happiness in anticipating her every wish before it was uttered.</p> + +<p>Toward the end of March Alexandrine Lee came to pass a few days with +Margie. Some singular change had been at work on the girl. She had lost +her wonted gayety of spirits, and was for the most part subdued, almost +sad. Her beautiful eyes seldom lighted with a smile, and her sweet voice +was rarely heard.</p> + +<p>She came, from a day spent out, one evening, into Margie's dressing-room. +Miss Harrison was preparing for the opera. There was a new prima donna, +and Archer was anxious for her to hear the wonder. Margie had never +looked lovelier. Her pink silk dress, with the corsage falling away +from the shoulders, and the sleeves leaving the round arms bare, was +peculiarly becoming, and the pearl necklace and bracelets—Archer's +gift—were no whiter or purer than the throat and wrists they encircled.</p> + +<p>Alexandrine stood a moment in the door, looking at the lovely picture +presented by her young hostess. A pang, vague and unacknowledged, wrung +her heart, and showed itself on her countenance. But she came forward +with expressions of admiration.</p> + +<p>"You are perfect, Margie—absolutely perfect! Poor gentlemen! how I pity +them to-night! How their wretched hearts will ache!"</p> + +<p>Margie laughed.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Alex, don't be absurd! Go and dress yourself. I am going to +the opera, and you must accompany us."</p> + +<p>"<i>Us</i>—who may that plural pronoun embody?"</p> + +<p>"Myself—and Mr. Trevlyn."</p> + +<p>"Ah! thank you. Mr. Trevlyn may not care for an addition to his nice +little arrangement for a <i>tête-à-tête</i>."</p> + +<p>"Don't be vexed, Alexandrine. We thought you would pass the evening at +your friend's, and Archer only came in to tell me a few hours ago."</p> + +<p>"Of course I am not vexed, dear," and the girl kissed Margie's glowing +cheek. "Lovers will be lovers the world over. Silly things, always, and +never interesting company for other people. How long before Mr. Trevlyn +is coming for you?"</p> + +<p>Margie consulted her watch.</p> + +<p>"At eight. It is now seven. In an hour."</p> + +<p>"In an hour! An hour's time! Long enough to change the destiny of +empires!"</p> + +<p>"How strangely you talk, Alexandrine! What spirit possesses you?" asked +Margie, filled, in spite of herself, with a curious premonition of evil.</p> + +<p>Alexandrine sat down by the side of her friend, and looked searchingly +into her face, her great black eyes holding Margie with a sort of +serpent-like fascination.</p> + +<p>"Margaret, you love this Archer Trevlyn very dearly do you not?"</p> + +<p>Margie blushed crimson, but she answered, proudly:</p> + +<p>"Why need I be ashamed to confess it? I do. I love him with my whole +soul!"</p> + +<p>"And you do not think there is in you any possibility of a change?"</p> + +<p>"A change! What do you mean? Explain yourself."</p> + +<p>"You do not think the time will ever come when you will cease to love Mr. +Arthur Trevlyn?"</p> + +<p>"It will never come!" Margie replied, indignantly, "never, while I have +my reason!"</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in love's immortality?"</p> + +<p>"I believe that all true love is changeless as eternity! I am not a +child, Alexandrine, to be blown about by every passing breeze."</p> + +<p>"No, you are a woman now, with a woman's capability of suffering. You +ought, also, to be possessed of woman's resolution of a woman's strength +to endure sorrow and affliction."</p> + +<p>"I have never had any great affliction, Alexandrine. The death of Mr. +Linmere was horrible to me, but it was not as if I had loved him; and +though I loved Mr. Trevlyn, my guardian, he died so peacefully, that I +cannot wish him back. And my dear parents—I was so young then, and they +were so willing to go! No, I do not think I have ever had any great +sorrow, such as blast people's whole lifetimes."</p> + +<p>"But you think you will always continue to love Archer Trevlyn?"</p> + +<p>"How strangely you harp on that string! What do you mean? There is +something behind all this; I see it in your face. You frighten me!"</p> + +<p>"Margie, all people are blind sometimes, but more especially women, when +they love. Would it be a mercy to open the eyes of one who, in happy +ignorance, was walking over a precipice which the flowers hid from her +view?"</p> + +<p>Margie shuddered, and the beautiful color fled from her cheek.</p> + +<p>"I do not comprehend you. Why do you keep me in suspense?"</p> + +<p>"Because I dread to break the charm. You will hate me for it always, +Margie. We never love those who tell us disagreeable truths, even though +it be for our good."</p> + +<p>"I do not know what you would tell me, Alexandrine, but I do not think +I shall hate you for it."</p> + +<p>"Not if I tell you evil of Archer Trevlyn?"</p> + +<p>"I will not listen to it!" she cried, indignantly.</p> + +<p>"I expected as much. Well, Margie, you shall not. I will hold my peace; +but if ever, in the years to come, the terrible secret should be revealed +to you—the secret which would then destroy your happiness for all +time—remember that I would have saved you, and you refused to listen."</p> + +<p>She drew her shawl around her shoulders, and rose to go.</p> + +<p>Margie caught her arm.</p> + +<p>"What is it? You <i>shall</i> tell me! Suspense is worse than certainty."</p> + +<p>"And if I tell you, you will keep silent? Silent as the grave itself?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you wish it."</p> + +<p>"Will you swear it?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot; but I will keep it just as sacredly."</p> + +<p>"I want not only your promise, but your oath. You would never break +an oath. And this which I am about to tell you, if known to the world, +involves Archer Trevlyn's life! and you refuse to take an oath."</p> + +<p>"His life! Yes, I will swear. I would do anything to make his life +safer."</p> + +<p>"Very well. You understand me fully? You are never to reveal anything +I may tell you to-night, unless I give you leave. You swear it?"</p> + +<p>"I swear it."</p> + +<p>"Listen, then. You remember the night Mr. Linmere was murdered?"</p> + +<p>Margie grew pale as death, and clasped her hands convulsively.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I remember it."</p> + +<p>"You desired us, after we had finished dressing you, to leave you alone. +We did so, and you locked the door behind us, stepped from the window, +and went to the grave of your parents."</p> + +<p>"I did."</p> + +<p>"You remained there some little time, and when you turned away, +you stopped to look back, and in doing so you laid your hand—this +one,—" she touched Margie's slender left hand, on which shone Archer +Trevlyn's betrothal ring—"on the gate post. Do you remember it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I remember it."</p> + +<p>"And while it rested there—while your eyes were turned away, that hand +was touched—by something soft, and warm, and sentient—too warm, too +passionate, to be the kiss of a disembodied soul. Living human lips, that +scorched into your flesh, and thrilled you as nothing else ever had the +power to thrill you!"</p> + +<p>Margie trembled convulsively, her color came and went, and she clasped +and unclasped her hands with nervous agitation.</p> + +<p>"Am I not speaking the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—go on. I am listening."</p> + +<p>"Was there, in all the world, at that time, more than one person whose +kiss had the power to thrill you as that kiss thrilled you? Answer me, +Margie Harrison!"</p> + +<p>"I will not! You have no right to ask me!" she replied, passionately.</p> + +<p>"It is useless to attempt disguise, Margie. I can read your very +thoughts. At the moment you felt that touch, you knew instinctively who +was near you. You felt and acknowledged the presence of one who had no +right to be kissing the hand of another man's promised wife. And yet +the forbidden sin of that person was sweet to you. You stooped and +pressed your lips where his had been! Whose?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know—indeed I do not! Why do you torture me so, Alexandrine?"</p> + +<p>"My poor child, I will say no more. Good-night, Margie. I trust you will +have a pleasant evening with Mr. Trevlyn."</p> + +<p>Margie caught the flowing skirt of Miss Lee's dress.</p> + +<p>"You shall tell me all! I must know. I have heard too much to be kept in +ignorance of the remainder."</p> + +<p>"So be it. You shall hear all. You know that Archer Trevlyn was in the +graveyard, or near it, that night, though you might not see him. Yet you +were sure of his presence—"</p> + +<p>"I was not! I tell you, I was not!" she cried, fiercely. "I saw no one; +not a person!"</p> + +<p>"Then, if you were not sure of his presence, you loved some other; else +why did you put your lips where those of a stranger had been? In that +case, you were doubly false!"</p> + +<p>Margie's cheeks were crimson with shame. She covered her face with her +hands, and was silent.</p> + +<p>"How many can you love at once, Margie Harrison?"</p> + +<p>"Alexandrine, you are cruel!—cruel! Is it not enough for you to tell me +the truth, without torturing me thus?"</p> + +<p>A flash of conscious triumph crossed the cold face of Miss Lee, and then +she was calm as before.</p> + +<p>"No, I am not cruel—only truthful. You cannot deny that you knew +Archer Trevlyn was near you. You will not deny it. Margie, I know +what love is—I know something of its keen, subtle instincts. I should +recognize the vicinity of the man I loved, though all around me were +black as midnight."</p> + +<p>"Well, what then?" asked Margie, defiantly.</p> + +<p>"Wait and see. I followed you out that night, with no definite purpose in +my mind. Perhaps it was curiosity to see what a romantic woman, about to +be married to a man she does not love, would do, I stood outside the +hedge of arbor vitae while you were inside. I saw the tall, shadowy +figure which bent its head upon your hand, and I saw you put your mouth +where his had been. When you went away I did not go. Something kept me +behind. A moment afterward, I heard voices inside the hedge—just one +exclamation from each person—I could swear to that! and then—O +heaven!"</p> + +<p>"What then!"</p> + +<p>"A blow! a dull, terrible thud, a smothered groan, a fall—and I stood +there powerless to move—stricken dumb and motionless! And while I stood +transfixed, some person rushed past me, breathless, panting, reckless of +everything save escape! Margie, it was so dark that I could not be +positive, but I am morally certain that the person I saw was Archer +Trevlyn!"</p> + +<p>"My God!" Margie cowered down to the floor, and hid her face in the folds +of Alexandrine's dress.</p> + +<p>"Hear me through," Miss Lee went on relentlessly, her face growing +colder and harder with every word. "Hear me through and then decide for +yourself. Let no opinion of mine bias your judgment. I stood there a +moment longer, and then, when suspended volition came back to me, I fled +from the place. Margie, words cannot express to you my distress, my +bitter, burning anguish! It was like to madness. But sooner than have +divulged my suspicions, I would have killed myself! For I loved Archer +Trevlyn with a depth and fervor which your cool nature has no conception +of. I love him still, though I feel convinced, from the bottom of my +soul, that he is a murderer!"</p> + +<p>Her cheeks grew brilliant as red roses, her eyes sparkled like stars. +Margie looked into the bewilderingly beautiful face with suspended +breath. The woman's passionate presence scorched her; she could not +be herself, with those eyes of fire blazing down into hers.</p> + +<p>Alexandrine resumed, "I am wasting time. Let me hurry on to the end, or +your lover will be here before I finish."</p> + +<p>"My lover!" cried Margie, in a dazed sort of way, "<i>my lover</i>? O yes I +remember, Archer Trevlyn was coming. Is it nearly time for him?"</p> + +<p>Alexandrine took the shrinking, cowering girl by the shoulders, and +lifted her into a seat.</p> + +<p>"Rouse yourself, Margie. I have not done. I want you to hear it all."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am hearing."</p> + +<p>It was pitiful to see how helpless and weak the poor child had become. +All sense of joy and sorrow seemed to have died out of her.</p> + +<p>"I feared so much that when the body of the murdered man should be +discovered, there would be some clue which would point to the guilty +party! Such a night as I passed, while they searched for the body! I +thought I should go mad!" She hid her face in her hands, and her figure +shook like a leaf in the autumn wind.</p> + +<p>"When the dog took us to the graveyard, I thought I would be the first +inside—I would see if there was anything left on the ground to point to +the real murderer. You remember that I picked up something, do you not?"</p> + +<p>"I do. Your glove, was it not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. It was my glove! I defy the whole world to take it from me! I would +die before such a proof should be brought against the man I love!" she +cried wildly. "See here!"</p> + +<p>She drew from her bosom a kid glove, stained and stiff with blood.</p> + +<p>"Margie, have you ever seen it before? Look here. It has been mended; +sewed with blue silk! Do you remember anything about it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I saw you mend it at Cape May," she answered, the words forced from +her, apparently, without her volition.</p> + +<p>"You are right. He had torn it while rowing me out, one morning. I saw +the rent and offered to repair it. He makes his gloves wear well, doesn't +he?"</p> + +<p>"O don't! don't! how can you! Alexandrine, wake me, for mercy's sake! +This is some horrible dream."</p> + +<p>"I would to heaven it were! It would be happier for us all. But if you +feel any doubt about the identity of the glove, look here." She turned +back the wrist, and there on the inside, written in the bold characters +which were a peculiarity of Arch Trevlyn's handwriting, was the name +in full—<i>Archer Trevlyn</i>.</p> + +<p>Margie shrank back and covered her eyes, as if to shut out the terrible +proof. Alexandrine returned the glove to her bosom, and then continued:</p> + +<p>"The handkerchief found near Mr. Linmere was marked with the single +letter A. Whose name begins with that letter?"</p> + +<p>"Stop, I implore you! I shall lose my reason! I am blinded—I cannot see! +O, if I could only die and leave it all!"</p> + +<p>"You will not die. I bore it, and still live; and it is so much harder +for me, because I have to bear it all alone. You have your religion to +help you, Margie. Surely that will bear you up! I have heard all you +pious people prate enough of its service in time of trouble to remember +that consolation."</p> + +<p>"Don't, Alexandrine! It is sinful to scorn God's holy religion. Yes, you +are right; it will help me. God himself will help me, if I ask him. He +knows how much I stand in need of it."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you are so likely to be supported," returned the girl, +half-earnestly, half-contemptuously. "Are you satisfied in regard to +Mr. Archer Trevlyn?"</p> + +<p>"I will not credit it!" cried Margie, passionately. "He did not do that +deed! He could not! So good, and noble, and pitiful of all suffering +humanity! And besides, what motive could he have?"</p> + +<p>"The motive was all-powerful. Has not Mr. Trevlyn, by his own confession, +loved you from his youth up?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And Paul Linmere was about to become your husband. Could there be a more +potent reason for Archer Trevlyn to desire Mr. Linmere's death? He was an +obstacle which could be removed in no other way than by death, because +you had promised your father to marry him, and you could not falsify your +word. All men are weak and liable to sin; is Trevlyn any exception? +Margie, I have told you frankly what I know. You can credit it or not. I +leave it with you; decide as you think best. It is eight o'clock. I will +go now, for it is time for your lover to come for you."</p> + +<p>"O, I cannot meet him—not to-night! I must have time to think—time to +collect my thoughts! My head whirls so, and everything is so dark! Stay, +Alexandrine, and excuse me to him. Say I have a headache—anything to +quiet him. I cannot see him now! I should go mad! Let me have a night +to think of it!"</p> + +<p>Alexandrine put her hand on the soft hair of the bowed head.</p> + +<p>"My poor Margie! it is hard for you. Hark! there is the bell. He has +come. Will you not go down?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, no! Do what you judge best, and leave me to myself and my God."</p> + +<p>Alexandrine went out, and Margie, locking the door after her, flung +herself down on the carpet and buried her face in the pillows of the +sofa.</p> + +<p>Miss Lee swept down the staircase, her dark, bright face resplendent, her +bearing haughty as that of an empress. Arch was in the parlor. He looked +up eagerly as the door opened, but his countenance fell when he saw that +it was only Miss Lee. She greeted him cordially.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Mr. Trevlyn. I am deputized to receive you, and my good +intentions must be accepted in place of more fervid demonstrations."</p> + +<p>"I am happy to see you, Miss Lee. Where is Margie?"</p> + +<p>"She is in her room, somewhat indisposed. She begged me to ask you to +excuse her, as she is unable to come down, and of course cannot have +pleasure of going with you to the opera."</p> + +<p>"Sick? Margie sick!" he exclaimed, anxiously. "What can be the matter? +She was well enough three hours ago."</p> + +<p>"O, do not be uneasy. It is nothing serious. A headache, I think. She +will be well after a night's rest. Cannot I prevail on you to sit down?"</p> + +<p>"I think not, to-night, thank you. I will call to-morrow. Give Margie my +best love, and tell her how sorry I am that she is ill."</p> + +<p>Alexandrine promised, and Mr. Trevlyn bowed himself out. She put her hand +to her forehead, which seemed almost bursting with the strange weight +there.</p> + +<p>"Guilty or not guilty," she muttered, "what does it matter to me? I love +him, and that is enough!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PART_III" id="PART_III" ></a>PART III.</h2> + + +<p>The long night passed away, as all nights, however long and dark they may +be, will pass away.</p> + +<p>Margie had not slept. She had paced her chamber until long after +midnight, utterly disregarding Alexandrine, who had knocked repeatedly +at her door, and at last, overcome by weariness, she had sunk down in +a chair by the open window, and sat there, gazing blankly out into the +night, with its purple heavens, and its glory of sparkling stars.</p> + +<p>Nothing could have tempted Margie to have credited such a story of her +lover, had it not been for the overwhelming evidence of her own senses. +Ever since the night of Paul Linmere's assassination, she had at times +been tortured with agonizing doubts. From the first she had been morally +sure whose lips had touched her hand that night in the graveyard; she +knew that no other presence than that of Archer Trevlyn had the power to +influence her as she had been influenced. She knew that he had been +there, though she had not seen him; and for what purpose had he been +there? It was a question she had asked herself a thousand times!</p> + +<p>There could be no doubt any longer. She was forced to that conclusion at +last; her heart sinking like lead in her bosom as she came to acknowledge +it. In a moment of terrible temptation, Arch Trevlyn had stained his +hands with blood! And for her sake!</p> + +<p>There was a violent warfare in her heart. Her love for Archer Trevlyn had +not sprung up in a day; its growth had been slow, and it had taken deep +root. Oh, how hard it was to give up the blissful dream! She thought of +his early life—how it had been full of temptation—how his noble nature +had been warped and perverted by the evil influences that had surrounded +him, and for a while the temptation was strong upon her soul to forgive +him everything—to ignore all the past, and take him into her life as +though the fearful story she had just listened to had been untold. Marry +a murderer!</p> + +<p>"Oh, God!" she cried in horror, as the whole extent of the truth burst +upon her: "Oh, my God, pity and aid me!"</p> + +<p>She sank down on her knees, and though her lips uttered no sound, her +heart prayed as only hearts can pray when wrung with mortal suffering. +She saw her duty clearly. Archer Trevlyn must be given up; from that +there could be no appeal. Henceforth he must be to her as though he +had never been. She must put him entirely out of her life—out of her +thoughts—out of her sleeping and waking dreams.</p> + +<p>But she could give him no explanation of her change of mind. She had +passed her word—nay, she had sworn never to reveal aught that Miss Lee +had told her, and a promise was binding. But he would not need any +explanation. His own guilty conscience would tell him why he was +renounced.</p> + +<p>She took off the rose-colored dress in which she had arrayed herself to +meet him, and folded it away in a drawer of her wardrobe, together with +every other adornment she had worn that night. They would always be to +her painful reminders of that terrible season of anguish and despair. +When all were in, she shut them away from her sight, turned the key upon +them, and flung it far out of the window.</p> + +<p>Then she opened her writing desk, and took out all the little notes he +had ever written to her, read them all over, and holding them one by one +to the blaze of the lamp, watched them with a sort of stony calmness +until they shrivelled and fell in ashes, black as her hopes, to the +floor. Then his gifts; a few simple things. These she did not look at; +she put them hastily into a box, sealed them up, and wrote his address +on the cover.</p> + +<p>The last task was the hardest. She must write him a note, telling him +that all was over between them. The gray light of a clouded morning found +her making the effort. But for a long time her pen refused to move; her +hand seemed powerless. She felt weak and helpless as a very infant. But +it was done at last, and she read it over, wondering that she was alive +to read it:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"MR. ARCHER TREVLYN, SIR:—Yesterday afternoon, when I last saw you, I +did not think that before twenty-four hours had elapsed I should be under +the necessity of inditing to you this letter. Henceforth, you and I must +be as strangers. Not all the wealth and influence of the universe could +tempt me to become your wife, now that my eyes are opened. I renounce you +utterly and entirely, and no word or argument of yours can change me. +Therefore, do not attempt to see me, for with my own consent I will never +look upon your face again. I deem no explanation necessary; your own +conscience will tell you why I have been forced to make this decision. +I return to you with this note everything that can serve to remind me of +you, and ask you to do me the favor to burn all that you may have in your +possession which once was mine. Farewell, now and forever.</p> + +<p>"MARGARET HARRISON."</p></div> + +<p>There remained still something more to be done. Margie knew that Archer +Trevlyn would seek her out, and demand an explanation from her own lips, +and this must never be. She could not see him now; she was not certain +that she could ever see him again. She dared not risk the influence his +personal presence might have upon her. She must leave New York. But +where should she go? She had scarcely asked the question before thought +answered her.</p> + +<p>Far away in the northern part of New Hampshire, resided old Nellie Day, +the woman who had nursed her, and whom she had not seen for twelve years. +Nellie was a very quiet, discreet person, and had been very warmly +attached to the Harrison family. She had married late in life a worthy +farmer, and giving up her situation in New York, had gone with him to the +little-out-of-the-way village of Lightfield. Margie had kept up a sort of +desultory correspondence with her, and in every letter that the old lady +wrote she had urged Margie to visit her in her country home. It had never +been convenient to do so, but now the place was suggested to her at once, +and to Lightfield she decided to go.</p> + +<p>She consulted her watch. It was five o'clock; the train for the North, +the first express, left at half-past six. There would be time. She would +leave all her business affairs in the hands of Mr. Farley, her legal +adviser and general manager; and as to the house, the maiden aunt who +resided with her could keep up the establishment until her return, if +she ever did return.</p> + +<p>She packed a few of her plainest dresses and some other indispensables, +in a trunk, arrayed herself in a dark traveling suit, and rang for +Florine. The girl looked at her in silent amazement. Margie steadied +her voice, and spoke carelessly enough.</p> + +<p>"Florine, I have been obliged to leave home very suddenly. My +preparations are all complete. I thought I would not wake you as I +had so little to do. Tell Peter to have the carriage at the door at six +precisely, and bring up Leo's breakfast, and a cup of hot coffee for me."</p> + +<p>At six o'clock—having written a note to Mr. Farley, and one to her aunt, +giving no explanations, but merely saying she had been called away—she +put on her bonnet, entered the carriage and was driven to the depot. And +before nine-tenths of New York had thought of leaving their beds, she was +being whirled rapidly northward, her only companion Leo, who, watchful +and alert, lay curled up on the seat beside her.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Archer Trevlyn had not slept that night. Some sense of impending evil, +some demon of uneasiness oppressed him strangely. He tossed about until +daybreak, then he rose, dressed himself, and went out. Everything was +still on the streets except the clatter of the milk carts, and the early +drays and huckster wagons. The air was damp and dense, and struck a +deadly chill to the very marrow of this unseasonable wanderer. He walked +a few squares, and then returned to his hotel, more oppressed than when +he went out.</p> + +<p>Did ever time move so slowly before? Would the morning never pass? He +wrote some urgent letters, read the damp morning paper, without the +slightest notion of contents, and went down to his breakfast, to come +away again leaving it untasted. Eight o'clock! The earliest possible hour +at which it would be proper to call on Miss Harrison was eleven. Three +mortal hours first! How should he ever endure it? She might be very ill. +She might even be dying! Archer, with the foolish inconsistency of love, +magnified every evil until he was nearly beside himself with dread, lest +she might be worse that Miss Lee had represented.</p> + +<p>Nine o'clock struck; he was walking the floor in a state of nervous +excitement which would have forced him ere long to have broken all rules +of etiquette and taken his way to Harrison House, had not fate saved him +the necessity.</p> + +<p>A waiter entered, and brought in a letter and a package. He snatched them +both, and saw they were directed in Margie's handwriting. For a moment +his heart stood still with a deadly fear. Great drops of perspiration +covered his forehead, and he dropped letter and package to the floor. +Why was she writing to him when she must expect to see him in a few +hours? And that package! what did it contain?</p> + +<p>He picked it up, and tore off the wrappings. The betrothal ring rolled +out and fell with a hollow sound on the floor. The ring he had put upon +her finger—the ring he had seen her kiss more than once! He looked over +the contents of the box hurriedly; every little thing he had ever given +her was there, even to a bunch of faded violets!</p> + +<p>But the letter? He had almost forgotten it, in pondering over the dread +significance of the return of his presents. He took it up, and broke the +seal with slow deliberation. It would not tell him any news, but it might +contain an explanation. His face grew pale as ashes as he read, and he +put his hand to his heart, as though he had received a blow there. Twice +he read it through, and at the last reading he seemed to realize its +dread portent.</p> + +<p>"She gives me up! Margie renounces me! Strangers we must be henceforth! +What does it all mean? Am I indeed awake, or is this only a painful +dream?"</p> + +<p>He read a few lines of the missive a third time. Something of the old +dominant spirit of Archer Trevlyn came back to him.</p> + +<p>"There is some misunderstanding. Margie has been told some dire +falsehood!" he exclaimed, starting up. "I will know everything. She +shall explain fully."</p> + +<p>He seized his hat and hurried to her residence. The family were at +breakfast, the servant said, who opened the door. He asked to see Miss +Harrison.</p> + +<p>"Miss Harrison left this morning, sir, in the early express," said the +man, eying Trevlyn with curious interest.</p> + +<p>"Went in the early train! Can you tell me where she has gone?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot. Perhaps her aunt, Miss Farnsworth, or Miss Lee can do so."</p> + +<p>"Very well;" he made a desperate effort to seem calm, for the servant's +observant eye warned him that he was not acting himself. "Will you please +ask Miss Lee to favor me with a few minutes of her time?"</p> + +<p>Miss Lee came into the parlor where Archer waited, a little afterward. +Archer, himself, was not more changed than she. Her countenance was pale +even to ghastliness, with the exception of a bright red spot on either +cheek, and her eyes shone with such an unnatural light, that even Archer, +absorbed as he was in his own troubles, noticed it. She welcomed him +quietly, in a somewhat constrained voice, and relapsed into silence. +Archer plunged at once upon what he came to ascertain.</p> + +<p>"The servant tells me that Miss Harrison left New York this morning. I +am very anxious to communicate with her. Can you tell me wither she has +gone?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot. She left before any of the family were up, and though she left +notes for both her aunt and her business agent, Mr. Farley, she did not +in either of them mention her destination."</p> + +<p>"And she did not speak to you about it?"</p> + +<p>"She did not. I spent a part of last evening with her, just before you +came, but she said nothing to me of her intention. She was not quite +well, and desired me to ask you to excuse her from going to the opera."</p> + +<p>"And you did not see her this morning?"</p> + +<p>"No. I have not seen her since I left her room to come down to you last +night. When I returned from my interview with you, I tapped at her +door—in fact, I tapped at it several times during the evening, for +I feared she might be worse—but I got no reply, and supposed she had +retired. No one saw her this morning, except Florine, her maid, and +Peter, the coachman, who drove her to the depot."</p> + +<p>"And she went entirely alone?"</p> + +<p>"She did from the house. Peter took her in the carriage."</p> + +<p>"<i>From the House!</i> But after that?" he asked, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Trevlyn," she said, coldly, "excuse me."</p> + +<p>"I must know!" he cried; passionately grasping her arm; "tell me, did she +set out upon this mysterious journey alone?"</p> + +<p>"I must decline to answer you."</p> + +<p>"But I will not accept any denial! Miss Lee, you know what Margie was to +me. There has arisen a fearful misunderstanding between us. I must have +it explained. Why will you trifle with me? You must tell me what you +know."</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to arouse suspicions, Mr. Trevlyn, which may have no +foundation to rest on. Only for your peace of mind do I withhold any +information I may possess on the subject."</p> + +<p>"It is a cruel kindness. Tell me everything at once, I beg of you!"</p> + +<p>"Then, if it distresses you, do not blame me; Peter saw Mr. Louis +Castrani at the depot, and is confident he went in the same train, +in the same car, with Miss Harrison."</p> + +<p>"Castrani! Great Heaven!" he staggered into a chair. "Is it possible? +Margie, my Margie, that I thought so good and pure and truthful, false to +me! It cannot, cannot be! I will not believe it!"</p> + +<p>"I do not ask you to," said Alexandrine, proudly. "I insinuated nothing. +I only replied to your question."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Miss Lee. I am not quite myself this morning. I will go +now. I thank you for what you have told me, and trust it will all be +explained."</p> + +<p>"I trust so," answered Miss Lee, turning to leave the room.</p> + +<p>"Stay a moment! To what depot did Peter drive her?"</p> + +<p>"The Northern, I think he said."</p> + +<p>"Again I thank you, and good-morning."</p> + +<p>He hurried away, got into the first coach he came across, and was driven +to the Northern depot.</p> + +<p>He was somewhat acquainted with the ticket agent, and assuming as +nonchalant an air as was possible in his present disturbed state, he +strolled into the office. After a little indifferent conversation, he +said.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Harris, do you know Mr. Castrani, the young Cuban, who has +turned the heads of so many of our fair belles? Some one was telling me +that he left town this morning."</p> + +<p>"Castrani! Yes, I think I do. He did leave for the North this morning, in +the early express. I marked his baggage for him. He had been hurried so +in his preparations, he said, that he had no time for it."</p> + +<p>"Indeed? It's a bore to be hurried. Where was he checked to?"</p> + +<p>"Well, really, the name of the place has escaped me. Some little town in +New Hampshire or Maine, I think. We do so much of this business that my +memory is treacherous about such things."</p> + +<p>"Were you speaking of Castrani?" asked Tom Clifford, a friend of Archer's +removing his cigar from his mouth. "Deuced fine fellow! Wish I had some +of his spare shillings. Though he's generous as a prince. Met him this +morning just as he was coming down the steps of the Astor. Had to get up +early to see after that confounded store of mine. Walker's too lazy to +open it mornings."</p> + +<p>"You met Mr. Castrani?" said Archer, referring to the point.</p> + +<p>"Yes. He told me he was going away. Woman somewhere mixed up in the case. +Said he expected to find one somewhere—well, hanged if I can tell where. +There's always a woman at the bottom of everything."</p> + +<p>"He did not mention who this one was?"</p> + +<p>"Not he. But I must be going. It's nearly lunch time. Good morning."</p> + +<p>Trevlyn stopped a few moments with Mr. Harris, and then went back to his +rooms. He was satisfied. Hard as it was for him to believe it, he had no +other alternative. Margie was false, and she had gone away from him under +the protection of Castrani. He could have forgiven her anything but that. +If she had ceased to love him, and transferred her affections, he could +still have wished her all happiness, if she had only been frank with him. +But to profess love for him all the while she was planning to elope with +another man, was too much! His heart hardened toward her.</p> + +<p>If there had been, in reality, as he had at first supposed, any +misunderstanding between him and her, and she had gone alone, he would +have followed her to the ends of the earth, and have had everything made +clear. But as it was now, he would not pursue her an inch. Let her go! +False and perfidious! Why should her flight ever trouble him?</p> + +<p>But though he tried to believe her worthy of all scorn and contempt, +his heart was still very tender of her. He kissed the sweet face of the +picture he had worn so long in his bosom, before he locked it away from +his sight, and dropped some tears, that were no dishonor to his manhood, +over the half dozen elegant little trifles she had given him, before he +committed them to the flames.</p> + +<p>There was a nine days' wonder over Miss Harrison's sudden exodus. But her +aunt was a discreet woman, and it was generally understood that Margie +had taken advantage of the pause in the fashionable season to visit some +distant relatives, and if ever any one coupled her flight and the +departure of Castrani together, it was not made the subject of remark. +Alexandrine kept what she knew to herself, and of course Archer Trevlyn +did not proclaim his own desertion.</p> + +<p>For a week, nearly, he managed to keep about, and at the end of that time +he called at Mrs. Lee's. He wanted to question Alexandrine a little +further. The idea possessed him that in some way she might be cognizant +of Margie's destination. And though he had given the girl up, he longed +desperately to know if she were happy. He had felt strangely giddy all +day, and the heat of Mrs. Lee's parlors operated unfavorably upon him. He +was sitting on a sofa conversing with that lady and her daughter, when +suddenly he put his hand to his forehead, and sank back, pale and +speechless.</p> + +<p>In the wildest alarm, they called a physician, who put him to bed, and +enjoined the severest quiet. Mr. Trevlyn, he said, had received a severe +shock to his nervous system, and there was imminent danger of congestive +fever of the brain.</p> + +<p>His fears were verified. Archer did not rally, and on the second day he +was delirious. Then the womanly nature of Alexandrine Lee came out and +asserted itself. She banished all attendants from the sick room, and took +sole charge herself of the sufferer. Not even her mother would she allow +to take her place. When tempted by intense weariness to resign her post, +she would take <i>that stained glove</i> from her bosom, and the sight of it +would banish all thought of admitting a stranger.</p> + +<p>"No," she said to herself, "people in delirium speak of their most +cherished secrets and he shall not criminate himself. It he did that +terrible deed, only I of all the world can bring a shadow of suspicion +against him, and the secret shall never be revealed to any other."</p> + +<p>So she sat the long days and longer nights away, by the side of this man +she loved so hopelessly, bathing his fevered brow, holding his parched +hand, and lingering fondly over the flushed, unconscious face.</p> + +<p>He sank lower and lower day by day—so very low that the physician said +he could do no more. He must leave the case. There was nothing for it but +to wait with patience the workings of nature.</p> + +<p>At last, the day came when the ravings of delirium subsided and a deadly +stupor intervened. It was the crisis of the disease. The sundown would +decide, Dr. Grayson said; he would be better, or death would ensue.</p> + +<p>Alexandrine heard his opinion in stony silence. She sat by the bed's-head +now, calm and silent; her powers of self-control were infinite. Her +mother came in to watch for the change, as did several of Archer's +friends, heretofore excluded. She was not afraid for them to come; +there was no danger of Mr. Trevlyn criminating himself now. He had not +spoken or moved for twelve hours.</p> + +<p>The time passed slowly. The sun crept down the west. The ticking of the +watch on the stand was all that broke the silence of the room. The last +sun ray departed—the west flamed with gold and crimson, and the amber +light flushed with the hue of health the white face on the pillow. +Alexandrine thought she saw a change other than that the sunset light +brought, and bent over him.</p> + +<p>His eyes unclosed—he looked away from her to the vase of early spring +flowers on the centre-table. His lips moved—she caught the whispered +word with a fierce pang at the heart:</p> + +<p>"Margie!"</p> + +<p>The physician stepped forward, and sought the fluttering pulse. His face +told his decision before his lips did.</p> + +<p>"The crisis is passed. He will live."</p> + +<p>Yes, he would live. The suspense was over. Alexandrine's labors were +shared now, and Archer did not know how devotedly he had been tended—how +he owed his very existence to her.</p> + +<p>He mended slowly, but by the middle of May he was able to go out. Of +course he was very grateful to the Lees, and their house was almost the +only one he visited. Alexandrine was fitful and moody. Sometimes she +received him with the greatest warmth, and then she would be cold and +distant. She puzzled Archer strangely. He wanted to be friends with her. +He felt that he owed her an immense debt of gratitude, and he desired to +treat her as he would a dear sister.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was because time hung so heavily on his hands that Trevlyn +went so frequently to Mrs. Lee's. Certainly he did not go to visit +Alexandrine. We all know how the habit of visiting certain places grows +upon us, without any particular cause, until we feel the necessity of +going through with the regular routine every day. He was to blame for +following up this acquaintance so closely, but he did it without any +wrong intention. He never thought it possible that any one should dream +of his being in love with Alexandrine.</p> + +<p>But the world talked. They said it was a very pretty romance; Mr. Trevlyn +had been deserted by his lady-love, had fallen ill on account of it, and +been nursed by one whom of course he would marry. Indeed, they thought +him in duty bound to do so. In what other way could he manifest his +gratitude?</p> + +<p>Vague whispers of this reached Trevlyn's ear, but he gave them at first +little heed. He should never marry, he said; it was sinful to wed without +love. But as he saw Alexandrine's pale face and strangely distraught +manner day by day, he came to feel as if he had in some way wronged her +though how he did not exactly understand.</p> + +<p>One day he entered the sitting-room of Mrs. Lee with the freedom of a +privileged visitor, without rapping, and found Alexandrine in tears. He +would have retreated, but she had already seen him, and he felt that it +would be better to remain. He spoke to her kindly.</p> + +<p>"I trust nothing has occured to distress you?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him almost defiantly.</p> + +<p>"Leave me!" she said, impetuously; "you, of all others, have no right +to question me!"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me" he exclaimed, alarmed by her strange emotion, "and why not +<i>I</i> question you?"</p> + +<p>"Because you have caused me misery enough already—"</p> + +<p>She stopped suddenly, and rising, was about to leave the room. He took +her hand, and closed the door she had opened, leading her to a seat.</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Lee, I do not comprehend you. Explain. If I have ever +injured you in any way, it has been the very thing farthest removed from +my intentions. Will you not give me a chance to defend myself?"</p> + +<p>She blushed painfully; her embarrassment disturbed him, for he was +generous to all, and he really felt very kindly toward her.</p> + +<p>"I cannot explain," she said, in a subdued voice. "I am sorry you came +just now. But these slanders anger me, as well as wound my feelings."</p> + +<p>"What slanders, Miss Lee?"</p> + +<p>Her color grew deeper. Animated by some sudden resolve, she lifted her +head proudly.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you. Remember that you sought the information. Your coming +here has been made the subject of remark, and I have been accused of +having schemed to draw you here. You know if it be true."</p> + +<p>His face flushed slowly. He recalled the silly stories that had some time +before reached his ears. And because of them she had suffered! This woman +whose unremitting care had saved his life! How thoughtless and cruel he +had been! He was a man of honor; if any woman's reputation had been +injured through his means, there was but one course for him to pursue. +He must make reparation. And how? For a moment his head whirled, but +glancing at the pale, distressed face before him, he made his decision.</p> + +<p>"Alexandrine," he said, quietly, "you know just what my course has been. +You know my lowly origin—you know how life has cheated me of happiness. +You know how dear Margie Harrison was to me, and how I lost her. I loved +her with my whole soul—she will be the one love of my life time. I shall +never love another woman as I loved her. But if my name, and the position +I can give my wife, will be pleasant to you, then I ask you to accept +them, as some slight recompense for what I have made you suffer. If you +can be satisfied with the sincere respect and friendship I feel for you, +then I offer myself to you. You deserve my heart, but I have none to +give to any one. I have buried it so deep that it will never know a +resurrection."</p> + +<p>She shuddered and grew pale. To one of her passionate nature—loving him +as she did—it was but a sorry wooing. His love she could never have. But +if she married him, she should be always near him; sometimes he would +hold her hands in his, and call her, as he did now, Alexandrine. Her +apparent struggle with herself pained him. Perhaps he guessed something +of its cause. He put his arm around her waist.</p> + +<p>"My child," he said, kindly, "do you love me? Do you indeed care for me? +Cold and indifferent as I have been? Tell me truly, Alexandrine?"</p> + +<p>She did tell him truly; something within urged her to let him see her +heart as it was. For a moment she put aside all her pride.</p> + +<p>"I do love you," she said, "God only knows how dearly!"</p> + +<p>He looked at her with gentle, pitying eyes, but he did not touch the red +lips so near his own. He could not be a hypocrite.</p> + +<p>"I will be good to you, Alexandrine. God helping me, you shall never have +cause for complaint. I will make your life as happy as I can. I will give +you all that my life's shipwreck spared me. Will that content you? Will +you be my wife?"</p> + +<p>Still she did not reply.</p> + +<p>"Are you afraid to risk it?" he asked, almost sadly.</p> + +<p>"No, I am not afraid! I will risk everything!" she answered.</p> + +<p>Meantime, what of Margie Harrison? Through the dull, stormy day she had +been whirled along like the wind. The train was an express, and made few +stoppages. Margie took little note of anything which occurred. She sat +in her hard seat like one in a trance, and paid no heed to the lapse of +time, until the piteous whining of Leo warned her that night was near, +and the poor dog was hungry. At the first stopping-place she purchased +some bread and meat for him, but nothing for herself. She could not have +swallowed a mouthful.</p> + +<p>Still the untiring train dashed onward. Boston was reached at last. +She got out, stood confused and bewildered, gazing around her. It was +night, and the place was strange to her. The cries of the porters and +hackmen—the bustle and dire confusion, struck a chill to her heart. The +crowd hurried hither and thither, each one intent on his own business, +and the lamps gave out a dismal light, dimmed as they were by the hanging +clouds of mist and fog. Alone in a great city! For the first time in her +life she felt the significance of the words she had so often heard. She +had never traveled a half dozen miles before, by herself, and she felt +almost as helpless as a little child.</p> + +<p>"Carriage, ma'am?" said a hackman, touching her arm.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, mechanically, and put her hand in her pocket for her +<i>porte-monnaie</i>, with a vague idea that she must pay him before she +started.</p> + +<p>She uttered a low cry of dismay! Her pocket-book was missing! She +searched more thoroughly, but it was not to be found. Her pocket had been +picked. She turned a piteous face to the hackman.</p> + +<p>"My money is lost, sir!" she said, "but if you will take me to a place of +shelter, I will remunerate you some way."</p> + +<p>"Sorry to be obliged to refuse, ma'am," said the man, civilly enough, +"but I'm a poor man, with a family, and can't afford to keep my horses +for nothing."</p> + +<p>"What is it, driver?" queried a rough voice; but in a moment a crowd had +gathered around poor, shrinking Margie, and growling, indignant Leo.</p> + +<p>"The woman's lost her purse—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho! the old story—eh? Beauty in distress. Should think they'd git +tired of playing that game!" said the coarse voice, which belonged to a +lounger and hanger-on at the depot.</p> + +<p>"Looks rather suspicious, ma'am, for ye to be traveling on the train +alone," began the hackman; but he was interrupted by the lounger.</p> + +<p>"That's the way they all travel. Wall, thank the Lord, I hain't so +gallant as to git taken in by every decent face I see!"</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven, I am not so lost to all sense of decency as to insult a +lady!" said a clear, stern voice; and a tall, distinguished-looking man +swept through the crowd, and reached Margie's side.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I am not mistaken!" he said, looking at her with amazement. +"Miss Harrison!"</p> + +<p>She saw, as he lifted his hat, the frank, handsome face of Louis +Castrani. All her troubles were over—this man was a pillar of strength +to her weakness. She caught his arm eagerly, and Leo barked with joy, +recognizing a friend.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Castrani!"</p> + +<p>His countenance lighted instantly. He pressed the hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, my friend. What service can I render you? Where do you wish +to go? Let me act for you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you—if you only will! I was going further, but the train I +wished to take has been gone some hours, and I must stay here to-night. +And on my way, somewhere, my money has been stolen."</p> + +<p>"Give yourself no more uneasiness. I am only too happy to be of any use +to you."</p> + +<p>The crowd dispersed, and Castrani called a carriage, and put Margie and +Leo inside.</p> + +<p>"Have you any choice of hotels?"</p> + +<p>"None. I am entirely unacquainted here. You know best."</p> + +<p>"To the —— House," he said to the driver; and thither they were taken.</p> + +<p>A warm room and a tempting supper were provided, but Margie could not +eat. She only swallowed a little toast, and drank a cup of tea. Castrani +came to her parlor just after she had finished, but he did not sit down. +He had too much delicacy to intrude himself upon her when accident had +thrown them together.</p> + +<p>"I was called here on very urgent business," he said, "and shall be +obliged to attend to it to-night, but I shall return soon, and will see +you in the morning. Meanwhile, feel perfectly at home. I have engaged a +chamber-maid to attend to you, and do not be afraid to make your wants +known. Good-night, now, and pleasant dreams."</p> + +<p>She was so weary, that she slept some, with Leo hugged tightly to her +breast; for she felt a sense of security in having this faithful friend +near her. Breakfast was served in her room, and by-and-by Castrani came +up. He spoke to her cheerfully, though he could not fail to notice that +some terrible blow had fallen upon her since last he had seen her, gay +and brilliant, at a party in New York. But he forbore to question her. +Margie appreciated his delicacy, and something impelled her to confide +to him what she had not entrusted to the descretion of any other person. +She owed him this confidence, for his disinterested kindness.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Castrani," she said, quietly enough, outwardly, "circumstances, of +which I cannot speak, have made it necessary for me to leave New York. I +do not desire that the place of my destination shall be known to any one. +But to show you how much I appreciate your kindness, and how entirely I +trust you, I will inform you that I am going to Lightfield, in New +Hampshire, to stop an indefinite length of time with my old nurse, Mrs. +Day."</p> + +<p>Castrani was visibly affected by this proof of her confidence.</p> + +<p>"From me, no one shall ever know the place of your refuge," he said, +earnestly. "Your train leaves at ten. It is now nine. If you would only +permit me to see you safely to the end of your journey!"</p> + +<p>She flushed. He read a quiet reproach in her eye.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me. I know it may seem like officiousness, but I would try and +not be disagreeable to you. I would not even speak to you, if you desired +it should be so. But I could travel in the same car with you, and be +there to protect you, if you should need me."</p> + +<p>"I thank you greatly. But I had rather you went no further. I shall meet +with no difficulty, I think. I shall reach Nurse Day's by sunset."</p> + +<p>"As you will. I will not press the matter. Your pleasure shall be mine."</p> + +<p>A little later, he assisted her from the carriage that had taken her to +the depot. Her baggage was checked—he handed her the check, and her +ticket, and then pressed into her hand a roll of bank-notes. She put them +back quietly, but he declined taking them.</p> + +<p>"I do not give it to you—I lend it to you. You shall repay it at your +convenience."</p> + +<p>"On these conditions, I thank you, also."</p> + +<p>She put out her hand. He took it, resisted the inclination to press his +lips to it, and held it lightly in his.</p> + +<p>"If you will give me permission—to call upon you—should I be in +Lightfield during your stay there—I shall be more than happy!"</p> + +<p>She was about to refuse, but the mute pleading of his eyes deterred her. +He had been kind to her, and it could do her no harm. Probably, he would +never come to Lightfield, so she gave him the permission he asked for.</p> + +<p>The day passed without incident, and nightfall found Margie within ten +miles of her destination. She was driven along a rough country road, to a +square farm-house—looming up white through the dark—and a moment later +she was lying, pale and exhausted, in the arms of Nurse Day.</p> + +<p>"My blessed child!" cried the old lady; "my precious little Margie! My +old eyes will almost grow young again, after having been cheered by the +sight of ye!" And she kissed Margie again and again, while Leo expressed +his delight in true canine style—by barking vociferously, and leaping +over the chairs and tables.</p> + +<p>Nurse Day was pleasantly situated. Her husband was a grave, staid +man who was very kind to Margie, always. The farm was a rambling +affair—extending over, and embracing in its ample limits, hill and dale, +meadow and woodland, and a portion, of a bright, swift river, on whose +bold banks it was Margie's delight to sit through the purple sunsets, and +watch the play of light and shade on the bare, rocky cliff opposite.</p> + +<p>Nature proved a true friend to the sore heart of the girl. The breezes, +so fresh, and sweet, and clear, soothed Margie inexpressibly. The +sunshine was a message of healing; the songs of the birds carried her +back to her happy childhood. Wandering through the leafy aisles of the +forest, she seemed brought nearer to God and his mercy. Only once had +Nurse Day questioned her of the past, and then Margie had said:</p> + +<p>"I have done with the past forever, Nurse Day. I wish it never recalled +to me. I have met with a great sorrow—one of which I cannot speak. I +came here to forget it. Never ask me anything about it. I would confide +it to you, if I could, but my word is given to another to keep silent. +I acted for what I thought best. Heaven knows if I erred, I did not err +willingly."</p> + +<p>"Give it all into God's hands," said Nurse Day, reverently. "He knows +just what is best for us."</p> + +<p>The days went on slowly, but they brought something of peace to Margie +Harrison. The violence of her distress passed away, and now there was +only a dull pain at her heart—a pain that must always have its abode +there.</p> + +<p>She held no communication with any person in New York, save her aunt, and +her business agent, Mr. Farley, and her letters to them were posted in a +distant town, in a neighboring State, where Nurse Day had friends—and so +Margie's place of refuge was still a secret.</p> + +<p>It was August now, and the weather at its hottest. Margie spent a large +portion of her time out of doors, with only Leo for a companion. She sat, +one lovely afternoon, on the bank of the river, dividing her time between +the charming panorama of sunshine and shadow before her, and a book of +poems in her lap, when there was a step at her side. She looked up, and +saw the face of Louis Castrani.</p> + +<p>"Miss Harrison, you will, I trust, excuse me for seeking you here. But my +wish to see you was so strong, that, on my way to the White Mountains, I +left my party, and turned aside here, to gratify the desire. You know you +gave me permission?"</p> + +<p>"I did; but I hardly thought you would take advantage of it."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I ought not to have done so. Indeed, I tried hard not to. Are +you very angry?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am not angry at all. I am glad to see you." She held out her hand. +"So is Leo, too—only see him caper."</p> + +<p>The dog was leaping upon Mr. Castrani, with the liveliest demonstrations +of joy. He patted the silky head.</p> + +<p>"It is something to be welcomed by a brute, Miss Harrison; their +instincts are seldom at fault, I believe. Have you been well, Miss +Harrison?"</p> + +<p>"Very well, thank you. And you? But I need not ask. Your looks answer for +you. When did you leave New York?"</p> + +<p>"I have been in New York only a fortnight since I last saw you. Business +has kept me elsewhere. I came from New York three days ago. What a +beautiful spot you have hidden yourself in!"</p> + +<p>"I am pleased to hear you say so. Isn't it lovely? But you must tell me +about home. How are all my friends?"</p> + +<p>"They are well. How mellowy the sunshine falls on the rough crags +opposite, and what a picture for a painter to transfer to canvas!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have wished I were an artist, over and over a gain. But I have no +talent in that direction. My friends are all well, you say? What of Miss +Lee? Did you see her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. She is well. What are you reading?" lifting the book from the +ground where it had fallen.</p> + +<p>Margie turned suddenly upon him, and regarded him searchingly.</p> + +<p>"Why do you evade answering my questions, Mr. Castrani? It is natural +that I should want to hear something of the home from which I have been +so long away, is it not? Why do you refuse to satisfy my reasonable +curiosity on that subject?"</p> + +<p>Castrani's handsome face clouded—he looked at her with tender pity in +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Miss Harrison, why will you press me further? Your friends are all +well."</p> + +<p>"I know. But there is something behind that. Tell it to me at once."</p> + +<p>"I cannot—indeed, I cannot! You must hear it from some other lips. +I would rather die, than cause you one single pang of sorrow!"</p> + +<p>"You are very kind, Mr. Castrani—you mean generously—but I want to +know." Some subtle instinct seemed to tell her what she was to hear—for +she added, "Is it of Miss Lee?"</p> + +<p>"I told you Miss Lee was well."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Castrani. I have given you more of my confidence than I have ever +bestowed on any other person, because I respect you above all men, and +because I have perfect confidence in your honor. Has this matter, of +which you hesitate to tell me, anything to do with—with Mr. Archer +Trevlyn?"</p> + +<p>Her voice sank to a whisper, before the sentence was finished, for she +had never spoken his name since that fearful night on which his guilt had +been revealed to her.</p> + +<p>"I will reply to your question by asking another; and, if it seems +impertinent, remember that it is not so intended, and that I do not ask +it from any vulgar feeling of curiosity."</p> + +<p>"You can ask nothing impertinent, Mr. Castrani," she replied, earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I do not intend to. Are you betrothed to Archer Trevlyn?"</p> + +<p>She grew very pale, but her eyes met his fearlessly.</p> + +<p>"I <i>was</i> once. But it is all over, now," with a dreary sigh, that was +like the breath of the autumn wind through the dead leaves.</p> + +<p>"Before you left New York—was it over before that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, before I left New York. It was why I left there. I cannot tell you +how it was—I can never tell any human being. But a terrible necessity +arose which forced us apart."</p> + +<p>"Did he—did Arch Trevlyn desert you, Miss Harrison?" asked Castrani, his +brow contracting, his dark eyes glowing with indignation.</p> + +<p>"No; it was my hand that severed the engagement. Do not blame him for +that. It was impossible that it should be fulfilled."</p> + +<p>"You, Miss Harrison? You broke the engagement?" he asked, eagerly.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she read something in the beautiful hope that sprung up in his +heart from the glad light in his eyes, and she crushed it at once.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I. But not because I had ceased to love him. No, no. He +was—is—and will be always, the one love of my lifetime. I shall +never love another. Now, I have trusted in you—be frank and free +with me."</p> + +<p>"Well—since you ask it, Mr. Trevlyn and Miss Lee are to be married in +September."</p> + +<p>"To Miss Lee—married to Miss Lee? Great Heaven! And she is aware of +his—What am I saying? What did I say? O, Mr. Castrani, excuse me—I am +so—surprised—" She groped blindly for something to cling to, fell +forward, and he received her senseless form in his arms.</p> + +<p>He held her silently, a moment, his face wearing a look of unutterable +love and sadness; then he put her down on the grass, and brought water +in a large leaf from the stream. He bathed her forehead, tenderly as a +mother might, murmuring over her words of gentleness and affection.</p> + +<p>"My poor Margie! my poor little darling!"</p> + +<p>He pressed the little icy hands in his, but he did not kiss the lips +he would have given half his life to have felt upon his. He was too +honorable to take advantage of her helplessness. She revived after a +while, and met his eyes, as he knelt beside her.</p> + +<p>"Are you better?" he asked, gently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is over now. I am sorry to have troubled you. I must depend on +you to go to the house with me. Nurse Day will be glad to welcome you. +And I must ask you not to alarm her by alluding to my sudden illness. I +am quite well now."</p> + +<p>He gave her his arm, and they went up to the house together followed by +Leo.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Archer Trevlyn and Alexandrine Lee were married in September. It was a +very quiet wedding, the bridegroom preferring that there should be no +parade or show on the occasion. Alexandrine and her mother both desired +that it should take place in the fashionable church, where they +worshipped, but they yielded to the wishes of Mr. Trevlyn. He deserved +some deference, Mrs. Lee declared, for having behaved so handsomely. +His presents to his bride were superb. A set of diamonds, that were +a little fortune in themselves, and a settlement of three thousand a +year—pin-money. The brown-stone house was furnished, and there was no +more elegant establishment in the city.</p> + +<p>Trevlyn House, the fine old residence of the late John Trevlyn, was +closed. Only the old butler and his wife remained in a back-wing, to air +the rooms occasionally, and keep the moths out of the upholstery. For +some reasons, unexplained even to himself, Archer never took his wife +there. Perhaps the quiet room too forcibly reminded him of the woman he +had loved and lost.</p> + +<p>Alexandrine's ambition was satisfied. At last, she was the wife of the +man whose love and admiration she had coveted since her first +acquaintance with him. From her heart she believed him guilty of the +murder of Paul Linmere; but in spite of it, she had married him. She +loved him intensely enough to pardon even that heinous crime.</p> + +<p>Her husband's admiration Alexandrine possessed, but she soon came to +realize that he had told her the truth, when he said his heart was buried +too deep to know a resurrection. He was kind to her—very gentle, and +kind, and generous—for it was not in Archer Trevlyn's nature to be +unkind to anything—and he felt that he owed her all respect and +attention, in return for her love. Her every wish was gratified. Horses, +carriages, servants, dress, jewelry—everything that money could +purchase—waited her command, but not what she craved more than all—<i>his +love</i>.</p> + +<p>He never kissed her, never took her hands in his, or held her to him when +he said good-by, as he frequently did, for several days' absence on +matters of business. He never called her Alexandrine—it was always Mrs. +Trevlyn; and through the long winter evenings, when they were not at some +ball or party, and sat by their splendid fireside, he never put his head +in her lap, and let her soft fingers caress his hair, as she had seen +other husbands do.</p> + +<p>In September, Louis Castrani again appeared in New York society. His +appearance revived the old story of his devotion to Margaret Harrison, +and people began to wonder why she staid away from home so long.</p> + +<p>As soon as he heard of Castrani's arrival, Archer Trevlyn sought him out. +He felt that he had a right to know if his suspicions touching Margie +were correct.</p> + +<p>Castrani received him coldly but courteously. Trevlyn was not to be +repelled, but went to the point at once.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Castrani," he said, "I believe I have to deal with a man of honor, +and I trust that you will do me the favor of answering the questions I +may ask, frankly."</p> + +<p>"I shall be happy to answer any inquiries which Mr. Trevlyn may propound, +provided they are not impertinent," replied Castrani, haughtily.</p> + +<p>Trevlyn hesitated. He dreaded to have his suspicions confirmed, and he +feared that if this man spoke the truth, such would be the case.</p> + +<p>"I am listening, Mr. Trevlyn," remarked Castrani.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me. In order to make you understand my position, I must beg you +to indulge me in a little retrospection. You are, doubtless, aware that +at one time I was engaged to Miss Margaret Harrison?"</p> + +<p>"Such was the rumor, sir."</p> + +<p>"It was correct. I loved her deeply, fondly, with my whole soul—just as +I love her still—in spite of all."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Trevlyn," said Castrani, with cold reproof in his voice, "you have a +wife."</p> + +<p>"I am aware of it, but that does not change my feelings. I have tried to +kill all regard for Margaret Harrison, but it is impossible. I can +control it, but I cannot make it die. My wife knows it all—I told her +freely—and knowing it, she was willing to bear my name. For some reason, +unknown to me, unexplained by Margaret, she cast me off. I had seen her +only the day before the fatal note reached me—had held her in my arms, +and felt her kiss upon my lips." He stopped, controlling his emotion, and +went on resolutely. "The next day I received a letter, from her—a brief, +cold, almost scornful letter. She renounced me utterly—she would never +meet me again, but as a stranger. She need make no explanation, she said; +my own conscience would tell me why she could no longer be anything to +me. As if I had committed some crime. I should have sought her, from one +end of the earth to the other, and won from her an explanation of her +rejection, had it not been for the force of circumstances, which revealed +to me that she left for the North, in the early express—with you—or +equivalent to that. She entered the train at the same time, and you were +both in the same car. That fact, coupled with your well-known devotion to +her, and her renunciation of me, satisfied me that she had fled from me, +to the arms of—another lover!"</p> + +<p>"Villain!" cried Castrani, starting from his chair his face scarlet with +indignation. "If it were not a disgrace to use violence upon a guest, I +would thrash you soundly! You loved Margaret Harrison, and yet believed +that damnable falsehood of her! Out upon such love! She is, and was, as +pure as the angels! Yes, you say truly, I was devoted to her. I would +have given my life—yea, my soul's salvation, for her love! But she never +cared for me. I never enticed her to do evil—I would not, if I could, +and I could not, if I would! Who repeated this vile slander? Show him to +me, and by Heaven, his blood shall wipe out the stain!"</p> + +<p>All Trevlyn's pride and passion left him. His face lost its rigid +tenseness, his eyes grew moist. He forgave Castrani's insults, because +he told him Margaret was pure. He put out his hands, and grasped those +of his companion.</p> + +<p>"O, sir," he said, "I thank you—I thank you! You have made me as happy +as it is now possible for me to become. It is like going back to heaven, +after a long absence, to know that she was pure—that I was not deceived +in her. O Margie! Margie! my wronged Margie! God forgive me for indulging +such a thought of you!"</p> + +<p>Castrani's hard face softened a little, as he witnessed the utter +abandonment of the proud man before him.</p> + +<p>"You may well ask God to forgive you," he said. "You deserve the depths +of perdition for harboring in your heart a thought against the purity of +that woman. Archer Trevlyn, had she loved me as she did you, I would have +cut off my right hand before I would have entertained a suspicion of sin +in her! It is true, she went North on the same train as I did, but I did +not know it until the journey was ended. Previous to that time, I had not +seen her for more than a fortnight, and I did not know that she was near +me, until in Boston my attention was attracted by a crowd of 'roughs,' +gathered around a lady and a greyhound. The lady had lost her +<i>porte-monnaie</i>, and the crowd made some insulting remarks which I took +the liberty of resenting, and when I saw the lady's face, to my amazement +I recognized Margaret Harrison!"</p> + +<p>"And you protected her? You gave her money and took her to a place of +safety?" said Trevlyn, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Of course. As I should have done by any other lady—but more especially +for her. I took her to a hotel, and on the morrow saw her start on her +journey. I would have gone on with her, but she declined my escort."</p> + +<p>"O, I thank you—I thank you, so much! I shall be your friend always, for +that. You will tell me where she is?"</p> + +<p>"No. I cannot."</p> + +<p>"Cannot. Does that imply that you will not?"</p> + +<p>"It does."</p> + +<p>"Then you know her present place of sojourn?"</p> + +<p>"I do. But she does not desire the knowledge to become general. I have +pledged my word to her not to reveal it. Neither is it best for you to +know."</p> + +<p>"You are right. It is not. I might be unable to hinder myself from +seeking her. And that could do no good. I know that she is innocent. That +shall suffice me. Only tell me she is well, and agreeably situated."</p> + +<p>"She is both. More, I think she is at peace. She is with those who love +her."</p> + +<p>"I thank you for bearing with me. I shall be happier for knowing she was +not false to me. Whatever might have caused her to break the engagement, +it was not because she loved another. Good-by, Mr. Castrani."</p> + +<p>He wrung the hand of the Cuban warmly, and departed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was an afternoon in May. Everything without was smiling and at rest, +but Mrs. Trevlyn was cross and out of humor. Perhaps any lady will say +that she had sufficient reason. Everything had gone wrong. The cook was +sick, and the dinner a failure; her dressmaker had disappointed her in +not finishing her dress for the great ball at Mrs. Fitz Noodle's, that +evening; and Annie, her maid, was down with one of her nervous headaches, +and she would be obliged to send for a hair-dresser.</p> + +<p>Louis Castrani was a guest in the house, by Archer's invitation—for +the two gentlemen had become friends, warmly and deeply attached to each +other, and Mrs. Trevlyn could not help fretting over the unfortunate +condition of her <i>cuisine</i>.</p> + +<p>She was looking very cross, as she sat in the back parlor, adjoining the +tasteful little morning-room, where she spent most of her time, and where +the gentlemen were in the habit of taking their books and newspapers when +they desired it quiet. If she had known that Mr. Castrani was at that +moment lying on the lounge in the morning-room, the door of which was +slightly ajar, she might have dismissed that unbecoming frown, and put +her troubles aside. Mr. Trevlyn entered, just as she had for the +twentieth time that day arrived at the conclusion that she was the most +sorely afflicted woman in the world, and his first words did not tend to +give her any consolation.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, Mrs. Trevlyn, that I am to be deprived of the privilege +of attending the ball to-night. It is particularly annoying."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Mr. Trevlyn?"</p> + +<p>"I am obliged to go to Philadelphia on important business, and must leave +in this evening's train. I did not know of the necessity until a few +hours ago."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Trevlyn was just in the state to be wrought upon by trifles.</p> + +<p>"Always business," she exclaimed, pettishly. "I am sick of the word."</p> + +<p>"Business before pleasure, Mrs. Trevlyn. But, really this is an important +affair. It is connected with the house of Renshaw and Selwyn, which went +under last week. The firm were under large obligations to—"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk business to me, Mr. Trevlyn. I do not understand such +things—neither do I desire to. I only hope it <i>is</i> business you are +going for!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Trevlyn looked at her in some surprise.</p> + +<p>"You only hope it <i>is</i> business?" he said, inquiringly. "I do not +comprehend."</p> + +<p>"I might have said that I hoped it was not a woman who called you from +your wife!"</p> + +<p>The moment the words were spoken she repented their utterance, but the +mischief was already done.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Trevlyn, I shall request you to unsay the insinuation conveyed in +your words. They are unworthy of you and a shame to me."</p> + +<p>"And I shall decline to unsay them. I dare affirm they are true enough."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, madam? I am, I trust, a man of honor. You are my wife, +and I am true to you. I have never loved but one woman, and she is dead +to me."</p> + +<p>The allusion to the old love was extremely unfortunate just at this time, +for Mrs. Trevlyn was just sore enough to be deeply wounded by it, and +angry enough to throw back taunt for taunt.</p> + +<p>"A man of honor!" she ejaculated, scornfully. "Honor, forsooth! Archer +Trevlyn, do you call yourself that?"</p> + +<p>"I do; and I defy any man living to prove the contrary!" answered Archer, +proudly.</p> + +<p>"You defy any <i>man</i>! Do you, also, defy any woman? Tell me, if you can, +whose glove this is?" And she pulled from her bosom the blood-stained +glove, and held it up before him.</p> + +<p>He looked at it, flushed crimson, and trembled perceptibly. She laughed +scornfully.</p> + +<p>"Archer Trevlyn, your guilt is known to me! It has been known to me ever +since the fatal night on which Paul Linmere met his death. I was there +that night, by the lonely graveyard. I saw you kiss <i>her</i> hand! I heard +the dreadful blow, listened to the smothered groan, and saw through the +gloom the guilty murderer as he fled from the scene of crime! When the +victim was discovered, I went first, because I feared he might have left +behind him something that might fix his identity—and so he had. This +glove I found lying upon the ground, by the side of the wretched +victim—marked with the name of the murderer—stained with the blood of +the murdered! I hid it away; I would have died sooner than it should have +been torn from me, because I was foolish enough to love this man, whose +hand was red with murder! Archer Trevlyn, you took the life of Paul +Linmere, and thus removed the last obstacle that stood between you and +Margaret Harrison!"</p> + +<p>Trevlyn's face had grown white as death while she had been speaking, but +it was more like the white heat of passion, than like the pallor of +detected guilt. His rigid lips were stern and pale; his dark eyes fairly +shot lightnings. He looked at his wife, as though he would read her very +soul.</p> + +<p>"Alexandrine!" he said, hoarsely, "you believed this of me? You deemed me +guilty of the crime of murder, and yet you married me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I married you. I was not so conscientious as your saintly Margaret. +She would not marry a man who had shed blood—even though he had done it +for love of her!"</p> + +<p>Trevlyn caught her arm fiercely.</p> + +<p>"Madam, do you mean to say that this shameful story ever came to the ears +of Margie Harrison?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she knew it. I told it to her myself! Kill me, if you like," she +added, seeing his fearful face; "it will not be your first crime!"</p> + +<p>He forced himself to be calm.</p> + +<p>"When did you make this revelation to Margaret?"</p> + +<p>"The night before she left New York—the night she was to have gone to +the opera with you. I deemed it my duty. I did not do it to separate you, +though I am willing to confess that I desired you to be separated. I knew +that Margaret would sooner die than marry you, if the knowledge of your +crime was possessed by her."</p> + +<p>"And she—Margaret—believed me guilty?"</p> + +<p>"Why should she not? Any jury of twelve impartial men would have +committed you on the evidence I could have brought. You were in love +with Miss Harrison. She was under a solemn obligation to marry Mr. +Linmere—yet she loved you. Nothing save his death could release her. +You were, then, at night in a lonely graveyard, where none of your kin +were slumbering. There, at that hour, the murder was done, and after its +commission, you stole forth silently, guiltily. By the side of the +murdered man, was found your glove, stained with his blood; and a little +way from his dead body, a handkerchief, bearing the single initial 'A.' +Whose name commences with that letter? Could anything be clearer or more +conclusive?"</p> + +<p>"And you believe me guilty?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>He took a step toward her. She never forgot the dreadful look upon his +face.</p> + +<p>"I scorn to make any explanation. I might, perhaps, clear myself of this +foul accusation, but I will make no effort to do so. But not another day +will I live beneath the same roof with the woman who believed me guilty +of murder, and yet sunk herself so low as to become my wife!"</p> + +<p>"As you please," she said, defiantly. "I should be quite as happy were it +so."</p> + +<p>He bowed coldly, courteously—went out, and closed the door behind him. +The sound struck to the heart of his wife like a knell. She staggered +back, and fell upon a chair.</p> + +<p>Had she been mad? She had wounded and angered him, beyond all hope of +pardon—him, whom in spite of everything, she held more precious than the +whole world! She had lost his respect—lost forever all chance of winning +his love. And she <i>had</i> eagerly cherished the sweet hope that some time +he might forget the old dream, and turn to the new reality. But it was +past!</p> + +<p>She went up to her chamber, and locking the door, threw herself, dressed +as she was, on the bed. How long must this continue? How long would he +remain away? His business would not, probably, keep him more than a few +days, and then, surely, he would return. And she would throw herself at +his feet, acknowledge her fault, and plead—yes, beg for his forgiveness. +Anything, only to have peace between them once more!</p> + +<p>She could not write to him, for he had not left his address. The next +morning, she went down to the store, but they knew nothing of his +destination, or his probable time of absence. So all she could do was +to return home and wait.</p> + +<p>A week passed—ten days—and still he did not return, and no tidings of +him had reached his agonized wife.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PART_IV" id="PART_IV" ></a>PART IV.</h2> + + +<p>Louis Castrani received, one day, an urgent summons to Boston. It was the +very day following that on which he had been an unwilling listener to the +difficulty between Mr. and Mrs. Trevlyn. He knew from whom the summons +came. Once before he had been suddenly called in like manner.</p> + +<p>A wretched woman she was now—but once the belle and beauty of the fair +Cuban town where Castrani's childhood and youth had been spent. She had +been a beautiful orphan, adopted by his parents, and brought up almost as +his sister. Perhaps, in those days, when they played together under the +soft Southern skies, he knew no difference.</p> + +<p>Now she was dying. So said the message. Dying, and burdened with a +secret which she could confess to no ears save his. Before, when he had +gone to her, she had rallied after his arrival, and had declined making +confession. She should never speak of it, she said, until her death was +sure. But when she felt dissolution drawing nigh, she should send for +him again. And the summons had come. He obeyed it in haste, and one night +just before sunset, he stood by her bedside.</p> + +<p>Once, she had been beautiful, with such beauty as a pure complexion, +black eyes, raven hair and perfect features confer; but now she was a +wreck. The pure, transparent complexion was pale as marble—the brilliant +eyes sunken—the magnificent hair bleached white as the wintry snow.</p> + +<p>She welcomed him brokenly, her eyes lighting up with the pleasure of +seeing him—and then the light faded away, leaving her even more ghastly +than before.</p> + +<p>"They tell me I am dying," she said, hoarsely. "Do you think so?"</p> + +<p>He smoothed back the hair on the forehead—damp already with the dews of +death. His look assured her better than the words he could not bring +himself to speak.</p> + +<p>"My poor Arabel!"</p> + +<p>"Arabel! Who calls me Arabel?" she asked, dreamily. "I have not heard +that name since <i>he</i> spoke it! What a sweet voice he had! O, <i>so</i> +sweet!—but falser than Satan! O Louis, Louis! if we could go back to the +old days among the orange groves, before I sinned—when we were innocent +little children!"</p> + +<p>"It is all over now, Arabel. You were tempted; but God is good to +forgive, if repentance is sincere."</p> + +<p>"O, I <i>have</i> repented! I have, indeed! And I have prayed as well as I +knew how. But my crimes are so fearful! You are sure that Christ is very +merciful?"</p> + +<p>"Very merciful, Arabel."</p> + +<p>"More merciful, more gentle and loving than our best friends, Louis?"</p> + +<p>"He forgave those who crucified Him."</p> + +<p>"O, if I could only trust Him—if I only could!"</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands, and her pale lips moved in prayer, though there +was no audible word.</p> + +<p>"Let me hold your hand, Louis. It gives me strength. And you were always +a friend so true and steadfast. How happy we were in those dear old +days—you, and Inez, and I! Ah, Inez—Inez! She died in her sweet +innocence, loving and beloved—died by violence; but she never lived +to suffer from the falsity of those she loved! Well, she is in +paradise—God rest her!"</p> + +<p>The dark eyes of Castrani grew moist. There arose before him a picture of +the fair young girl he had loved—the gentle-eyed Inez—the confiding +young thing he was to have married, had not the hand of a cruel jealousy +cut short her brief existence. Arabel saw his emotion, and pressed his +hand in hers, so cold and icy.</p> + +<p>"You have suffered also, Louis, but not as I have suffered—O, no! O, the +days before <i>he</i> came—<i>he</i>, the destroyer! What a handsome face he +had, +and how he flattered me! Flattered my foolish pride, until, deserting +home and friends, I fled with him across the seas! To Paris—beautiful, +frivolous, crime-imbued Paris. I am so faint and tired, Louis! Give me a +drink, from the wineglass."</p> + +<p>He put it to her lips; she swallowed greedily, and resumed:</p> + +<p>"I have written out my history fully. Why, I hardly know, for there are +none but you, Louis, who will feel an interest in the poor outcast. But +something has impelled me to write it, and when I am dead, you will find +it there in that desk, sealed and directed to yourself. Maybe you will +never open it, for if my strength does not desert me, I shall tell you +all that you will care to know, with my own lips. I want to watch your +face, as I go on, and see if you condemn me. You are sure God is more +merciful than man?"</p> + +<p>"In His word it is written, Arabel."</p> + +<p>She kissed an ivory cross lying on her bosom, and proceeded with evident +difficulty.</p> + +<p>"Well, I fled with Paul Linmere. For a time I was very happy. He was kind +to me, and I loved him so! We lived in a little vine-wreathed cottage, on +the banks of the Seine, and I had my tiny flower-garden, my books, my +birds, my faithful dog Leo—and Paul! Every pleasant night he used to +take me out on the river in the little boat which bore my name on its +side. O, those nights of perfect peace! The stars shone so softly, and +the moon beamed with a mellow light peculiar to Southern moons. Those +seasons of delight are a sweet dream in my memory. They seemed stolen +from paradise—they were so perfect. I lived in a sort of blissful waking +trance, that left me nothing to desire, nothing to ask for. Fool that I +was! I thought it was to last always. A little more cordial, Louis; it +will keep the spark of life alive, perhaps, until I have finished."</p> + +<p>"Do not exert yourself, Arabel," he said, pityingly; "I do not wish you +to."</p> + +<p>"I shall die easier. Let me go on. After a while, Paul wearied of me. +Perhaps I was too lavish of my caresses and words of love; it might tire +him to be loved so intensely. But such was my nature. He grew cold and +distant; at times positively ill-natured. Once he struck me; but I +forgave him the blow, because he had taken too much wine. At length, it +became known to me that I was about to become a mother, and I besought +him to give me a right to his name. I could bear the shame for myself, +but my child must not be born to curse the author of its being. He +laughed me to scorn, and called me by a foul name that I cannot repeat. +But I bore it all, for the sake of my unborn child, and on my knees I +begged and prayed of him to legalize our union by right of marriage. +After the first, he made me no reply, but subsided into a sullen silence, +which I could not make him break. That night he asked me to go out +boating with him. I prepared myself with alacrity, for I thought he was +getting pleased with me, and perhaps would comply with my request. Are +you weary of my story, Louis?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. Go on. I am listening to you, Arabel."</p> + +<p>"It was a lovely night. The stars gleamed like drops of molten gold, and +the moon looked down, pure, and serene, and holy. Paul was unusually +silent, and I was quiet, waiting for him to speak. Suddenly, when we +reached the middle of the river, he dropped the oars, and we drifted with +the current. He sprang up, his motion nearly capsizing the frail boat, +and taking a step toward me, fastened a rough hand upon my shoulders. +'Arabel,' he said, hoarsely, 'your power over me is among the things of +the past. Once, I thought I loved you, but it was merely a passion which +soon burned itself out. After that, I grew to hate you; but, because I +had taken you away from home and friends, I tried to treat you civilly. +Your caresses disgusted me. I would gladly have cast you off long ago, if +I had had but the shadow of a pretext. I am to be married to a beautiful +woman in America, before many months shall elapse—a woman with a name +and a fortune which will help me pay those cursed debts that are dragging +me down like a millstone. For you I have no further use. You complain +that our unborn child will be disgraced, unless I go through the mockery +of marriage with you. There is no disgrace in the grave—and I consign +you to its dreamless sleep!' The next moment the boat was capsized, and I +was floating in the water. I cried aloud his name, beseeching him to save +me, and got only his mocking laugh in return, as he struck out for the +shore. I could not swim, and I felt myself sinking down—down to +unfathomable depths. I felt cold as ice; there was a deafening roar +in my ears, and I knew no more."</p> + +<p>"My poor Arabel, I could curse the villain who did this cowardly thing, +but he is dead, and in the hands of God."</p> + +<p>"When I woke to consciousness, I was lying in a rude cottage, and two +persons, unknown to me—a man and a woman—were bending over me, applying +hot flannels to my numbed limbs, and restoratives to my lips. Before +morning my child was born; but it never opened its eyes on this world. +Death took it away. I had some articles of jewelry on my person, of some +considerable value, and with these I bribed the persons who had taken me +from the river to cause Mr. Linmere to believe that I had died. They were +rough people, but they were kind-hearted, and I owe them a large debt of +gratitude for their thoughtful care of me. But for it, I should have died +in reality. As soon as I was able to bear the journey, I left France. +Linmere had already closed the cottage and gone away—none knew whither; +but I was satisfied he had departed for the United States. I left France +with no feeling of regret, save for Leo, my faithful hound. I have shed +many bitter tears, when pondering over the probable fate of my poor dog."</p> + +<p>"Be easy on that subject, Arabel. I saw the hound but a few weeks ago. He +is the property of a lady who loves him—the woman Paul Linmere was to +have married, if he had lived."</p> + +<p>"I am glad. You may laugh at me, Louis, but the uncertain fate of Leo +has given me great unhappiness. But to continue—I engaged myself as +nursemaid with an English family, who had been traveling on the +continent, and were about returning home. I remained with them until +I had accumulated sufficient funds to defray my expenses across the +Atlantic, and then I set out on my journey. I came to New York, for +that had been Mr. Linmere's home before we went to France. I soon got +upon the track of him, and learned that he was about to be married to +a Miss Margaret Harrison, a young lady of great beauty, and with a large +fortune. I wanted to see her; for you must know that I had registered a +fearful vow of vengeance on Mr. Paul Linmere, and I desired to judge for +myself if it would fall heavily on the woman he was going to marry. For +even violently as I had loved him I now hated him.</p> + +<p>"I saw Miss Harrison. I accosted her in the street, one day, as any +common beggar would have done, telling her a pitiful story of my poverty. +She smiled on me, spoke a few words of comfort, and laid a piece of gold +in my hand. Her sweet face charmed me. I set myself to find out if she +cared for the man she was to marry. It had all been arranged by her +father, years before, I understood, and I felt that her heart was not +interested.</p> + +<p>"After learning that, nothing could have saved Paul Linmere. His fate was +decided. Twice I waylaid him in the streets, and showed him my pale face, +which was not unlike the face of the dead. And as he believed that I was +drowned, the sight of me filled him with the most abject terror. How I +enjoyed the poor wretch's cowardly horror!</p> + +<p>"The night that he was to be married, I lay in wait for him at the place +where the brook crossed the highway. I had learned that he was to walk up +alone from the depot, to the house of his expectant bride, and there I +resolved to avenge my wrongs. I stepped before him as he came, laid my +cold hand on his arm, and bade him follow me. He obeyed, in the most +abject submission. He seemed to have no will of his own, but yielded +himself entirely to me. He shook like one with the ague, and his +footsteps faltered so that at times I had to drag him along. I took +him to the lonely graveyard, where sleep the Harrison dead, and—" She +covered her face with her hands and lapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>"Well, Arabel, and then?" asked Castrani, fearfully absorbed in the +strange narrative, feeling, as he listened, that the fate of Archer +Trevlyn hung on the next words the wretched woman might speak.</p> + +<p>"I dropped the hood from my face and confronted him. I had no pity. My +heart was like stone. I remembered all my wrongs; I said to myself this +was the man who had made my life a shipwreck, and had sent my soul to +perdition. He stood still, frozen to the spot, gazing into my face with +eyes that gleamed through the gloom like lurid fire. 'I am Arabel Vere, +whom you thought you murdered!' I hissed in his ear. 'The river could not +hold my secret! And thus I avenge myself for all my wrongs!'</p> + +<p>"I struck one blow; he fell to the ground with a gurgling groan. I knew +that I had killed him, and I felt no remorse at the thought. It seemed a +very pleasant thing to contemplate. I stooped over him, to assure myself +that he was dead, and touched his forehead. It was growing cold. It +struck me through and through with a chill of unutterable horror. I fled, +like one mad, from the place. I entered a train of cars, which were just +going down to the city, and in the morning I left New York and came here. +I fell sick. The terrible excitement had been too much for me, and for +weeks I lay in a stupor which was the twin-sister of death. But a strong +constitution triumphed, and I came slowly back to health. I had some +money on my person at the time I was taken ill, and happening to fall +into the hands of a kind-hearted Irish woman, at whose door I had asked +for a glass of water, I was nursed with the care that saved my life.</p> + +<p>"But I have never seen a moment of happiness since. Remorse has preyed on +me like a worm, and once before this I have been brought face to face +with death. Now I am going where I sent him! God be merciful!"</p> + +<p>"Amen!" responded Louis, fervently.</p> + +<p>It was very still in the room. Castrani sat by the bedside, waiting for +her to speak. She was silent so long he thought she slept, and stooped +over to ascertain. Yes, she did sleep. In this world she would never +waken more!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Castrani remained in Boston, and saw the remains of the unfortunate +Arabel Vere consigned to decent burial, and, that duty accomplished, he +took the first train for Lightfield. He had in his possession a document +which would clear Archer Trevlyn from the foul crime of which he stood +convicted in the mind of Margaret Harrison, and, aside from his desire to +see justice rendered the man whom he had grown to consider a very dear +friend, Castrani felt that it would make Margaret happier to know that +the one she had loved and trusted so entirely once, was innocent of the +crime imputed to him.</p> + +<p>It was sunset when he reached the dwelling of Nurse Day. Margaret was +sitting on the veranda, with Leo by her side. The hound ran down to the +gate, to give the visitor a joyful greeting, and Margaret descended the +steps and held out her hand. She was very kind, almost cordial, for she +respected Castrani with her whole heart, and she was pleased to see him.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Castrani," she remarked, leading him into +the sitting-room; "and so, also, will be Nurse Day, when she returns. She +has gone to a prayer-meeting, now. And I am especially pleased to see you +just at this time, because I am thinking of returning to New York, and I +hope to persuade you to give me your escort, if it will not be asking too +much."</p> + +<p>"To New York? Indeed that is delightful intelligence for the five hundred +dear friends who have deplored your absence so long! I had feared +sometimes, that you intended to remain here always."</p> + +<p>"I almost wish I could—life has been so peaceful here. But I must go +back sooner or later, as well now as at any time. I think I am strong +enough to bear it," she added, sadly.</p> + +<p>"Miss Harrison, I want to tell you a story."</p> + +<p>She drew back from the hand he laid on hers, and her air became cold and +repelling. He divined her fears, and smiled a melancholy smile.</p> + +<p>"No, not that. Do not fear. I shall never again trouble you with the +story of my unfortunate passion. I must go through life without the +blessing that would have made this world a paradise. It is not that of +which I speak, and you need have no apprehension for the future. God +helping me, I will never say to you a single word that a brother might +not say to a dearly-beloved sister."</p> + +<p>She put her hand into his.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could love you, Louis Castrani," she said, solemnly. "You +deserve my heart's best affections; but for me love is over! I have had +my day, and it is set. But you shall be my brother my dear, kind brother, +Louis! Oh, it is sweet to know that in this false world there is one +heart loyal and true!"</p> + +<p>"Margaret, there is more than one true heart in the world, as you will +acknowledge, when I have told you my little story. You know, now, why you +discarded Archer Trevlyn. You thought him guilty of the murder of Paul +Linmere!"</p> + +<p>A ghastly pallor overspread her face; she caught her breath in gasps, and +clutched frantically the arm of Castrani.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" she said. "Do not say those dreadful words aloud; the very walls +have ears sometimes! Remember their utterance puts the life of a fellow +mortal in peril!"</p> + +<p>"Have no fear; I am going to right the wrong."</p> + +<p>"Leave this punishment to God. It would kill me to see him brought before +a hissing crowd to be tried for his life. Oh, Mr. Castrani, I implore +you—"</p> + +<p>"Calm yourself, my child. I shall never knowingly injure Mr. Trevlyn. He +deserves no punishment for a sin he never committed. He is guiltless of +<i>that deed</i> as you are yourself!"</p> + +<p>"Guiltless—Archer guiltless!" she cried, her face wearing the pitiful, +strained look of agonized suspense. "I do not quite comprehend. Say it +again—oh, say it again!"</p> + +<p>"Margaret, Archer Trevlyn never lifted a hand against Paul +Linmere—never! He is innocent before God and the angels!"</p> + +<p>She dropped her head upon her hands, and burst into tears—the first she +had shed since that terrible night when that blasted revelation had, as +she thought, sealed up the fountain of tears forever. Castrani did not +seek to sooth her; he judged rightly that she would be better for this +abandonment to a woman's legitimate source of relief. She lifted her wet +face at last—but what a change was there! The transparent paleness had +given place to the sweet wild rose color which had once made Margie so +very lovely, and the sad eyes were brilliant as stars, through the mist +of tears.</p> + +<p>"I believe it—yes, I believe it!" she said, softly,—reverently. "I +thank God for giving me the assurance. You tell me so. You would not, +unless it were true!"</p> + +<p>"No, Margaret; I would not," replied Castrani, strongly affected. "Heaven +forbid that I should raise hopes which I cannot verify. When you are calm +enough to understand, I will explain it fully."</p> + +<p>"I am calm now. Go on."</p> + +<p>"I must trouble you with a little, only a little, of my own private +history, in order that you may understand what follows. I am, as you +know, a Cuban by birth, but my father, only, was Spanish. My mother was +a native of Boston, who married my father for love, and went with him to +his Southern home. I was an only child, and when I was about twelve years +of age, my parents adopted a girl, some four years my junior. She was the +orphan child of poor parents, and was possessed of wonderful beauty and +intelligence. Together we grew up and no brother and sister loved each +other more fully than we. It was only a brotherly and sisterly love—for +I was engaged, at sixteen, to Inez de Nuncio, a lovely young Spanish +girl, who was cruelly taken away from me by the hand of violence, as you +know. Arabel grew to girlhood, lovely as a houri. Lovely, however, is not +the right word; she was royally magnificent. I have seen many elegant +women, but never one who for stately grace and beauty would compare with +her. She had many suitors, but she favored none, until he came—Paul +Linmere, the fiend and destroyer! Ill health had driven him to Cuba, to +try the effect of our southern air, and soon after his arrival, he became +acquainted with Arabel. He was very handsome and fascinating, and much +sought after by the fair ladies of my native town. Arabel was vain, and +his devoted attentions flattered her, while his handsome face and +fascinating address won her love. She was a passionate child of the +South, uncalculating as a babe where her affections were concerned; and +before my parents had begun to ascertain any danger from Linmere's +society, she had left everything, and fled with him.</p> + +<p>"My mother was plunged in grief, for she had loved Arabel like an own +child; and the uncertainty of her fate, I think, hastened my mother's +death. My father left no means untried to discover the whereabouts of the +erring girl—but in vain. For years her fate was shrouded in mystery. +My parents died. Inez was taken from me, and weary and heartsick, I came +to New York, hoping to find some distraction in new scenes, and among a +new people.</p> + +<p>"The day before you left New York, I received a message from Arabel Vere. +She was in Boston ill unto death. She wanted to see me once more; and she +had a sin upon her conscience, which she must confess before she died; +and she must confess it to no person but myself. In obedience to this +summons, I hurried to Boston, and the same train that carried me, carried +you, also.</p> + +<p>"I found Arabel but a mere wreck of her former self. Her countenance told +me how fearfully she had suffered. She was very ill, in a wretched room, +with no attendants or medical aid. I had her immediately removed to +lodgings suitable for her, and provided a nurse and a physician. From +that time she began to mend, and in a couple of days the physician +pronounced her out of immediate danger. When she knew her life was to be +prolonged, she refused to make the confession she had summoned me to +hear. So long as there was any prospect of her recovery, she said, she +must keep the matter a secret. But she could not die and leave it untold. +Therefore she promised that whenever she should feel death approaching +she should send again for me, and relieve her soul by the confession of +her sin. A few days ago came her second summons.</p> + +<p>"Previous to this only a little while, I had been inadvertently a +listener to an altercation between Archer Trevlyn and his wife, during +which Mrs. Trevlyn, in a fit of rage, denounced her husband as the +murderer of Paul Linmere. She produced proofs, which I confess struck me +as strangely satisfactory, and affirmed her belief in his guilt. She +also told him that because the knowledge of his crime had come to you, +you had discarded him, and left New York, to be rid of him forever!</p> + +<p>"So knowing this, when I listened to the dying confession of Arabel Vere, +I knew that this confession would clear Archer Trevlyn from all shadow of +suspicion. Arabel died, and I buried her. Previous to her death—perhaps, +to guard against accident, perhaps, guided by the hand of a mysterious +Providence to clear the fair fame of an injured man—she wrote out at +length the history of her life. She gave it to me. I have it here. It +will explain to you all that you will desire to know."</p> + +<p>He gave her the manuscript, wrung her hand, and left her.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Far into the night, Margie sat reading the closely-written sheets, penned +by the hand now pulseless in death. All was made clear; Archer Trevlyn +was fully exculpated. He was innocent of the crime which she had been +influenced to believe he had committed. She fell on her knees, and +thanked God for that. Though lost to her, it was a consolation ineffable +to know that he had not taken the life of a fellow-mortal.</p> + +<p>Her resolution was taken before morning. She had deeply wronged Archer +Trevlyn, and she must go to him with a full confession, confess her +fault, and plead for his forgiveness.</p> + +<p>Castrani, who came in the morning, approved her decision; and Nurse Day, +who was told the whole story, and listened with moist eyes, agreed with +them both. So it happened that on the ensuing morning Margie bade +farewell to the quiet home which had sheltered her through her bitterest +sorrow, and accompanied by Castrani, set forth for New York.</p> + +<p>She went to her own home first. Her aunt was in the country, but the +servants gave her a warm welcome, and after resting for an hour, she took +her way to the residence of Archer Trevlyn, but a few squares distant.</p> + +<p>A strange silence seemed to hang over the palatial mansion. The blinds +were closed—there was no sign of life about the premises. A thrill of +unexplained dread ran through her frame as she touched the silver-handled +bell. The servant who answered her summons seemed to partake of the +strange, solemn quiet pervading everything.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Trevlyn in?" she asked, trembling in spite of herself.</p> + +<p>"I believe Mr. Trevlyn has left the country, madam."</p> + +<p>"Left the country? When did he go?"</p> + +<p>"Some days ago."</p> + +<p>Margie leaned against the carved marble vase which flanked the massive +doorway, unconsciously crushing the crimson petals of the trumpet-flower +which grew therein. What should she do? She could write to him. His wife +would know his address. She caught at the idea.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Trevlyn—take me to her! She was an old friend of mine."</p> + +<p>The man looked at her curiously, hesitated a moment, and motioning her +to enter, indicated the closed door of the parlor.</p> + +<p>"You can go in, I presume, as you are a friend of the family."</p> + +<p>A feeling of solemnity, which was almost awe, stole over Margie as she +turned the handle of the door, and stepped inside the parlor. It was +shrouded in the gloom of almost utter darkness. The heavy silken curtains +fell drooping with their costliness to the velvet carpet, and a faint, +sickening odor of withering water lilies pervaded the close atmosphere. +Water lilies!—they were Alexandrine's favorite flowers.</p> + +<p>Margie stopped by the door until her eyes became accustomed to the +gloom, and then she saw that the centre of the room was occupied by a +table, on which lay some rigid object—strangely long, and still, and +angular—covered with a drapery of black velvet, looped up by dying water +lilies.</p> + +<p>Still controlled by that feeling of strange awe, Margie stole along to +the table and lifted the massive cover. She saw beneath it the pale, dead +face of Alexandrine Trevlyn. She dropped the pall, uttered a cry of +horror, and sank upon a chair. The door unclosed noiselessly, and Mrs. +Lee, the mother of the dead woman, came in.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Margie! Margie!" she cried, "pity me! My heart is broken! My +darling! My only child is taken from me!"</p> + +<p>It was long before she grew composed enough to give any explanation of +the tragedy—for tragedy Margie felt sure it was.</p> + +<p>The story can be told in a few brief words. Alexandrine and her husband +had had some difficulty. Mrs. Lee could not tell in relation to what, but +she knew that Alexandrine blamed herself for the part she had taken. Mr. +Trevlyn left her in anger, to go to Philadelphia on business. He was +expected to be absent about four days. Meanwhile, his wife suffered +agonies of remorse, and counted the hours until his return should give +her the privilege of throwing herself at his feet and begging his +forgiveness.</p> + +<p>But he did not return. A week, ten days passed, and still no tidings. +Alexandrine was almost frantic. On the eleventh day came a telegraph +despatch, brief and cruel, as those heartless things invariably are, +informing her that Mr. Trevlyn had closed his business in Philadelphia, +and was on the eve of leaving the country for an indefinite period. +His destination was not mentioned, and his unhappy wife, feeling that +if he left Philadelphia without her seeing him, all trace of him would +be lost, hurried to the depot and set out for that city.</p> + +<p>There had been an accident about half way between New York and +Philadelphia, and Alexandrine Trevlyn had been brought back to her +splendid home—a corpse! That was all.</p> + +<p>Archer Trevlyn had left behind him no clue by which he might be reached +or communicated with, and his wife, unforgiven, must be consigned to the +tomb, without a single tear upon her face from the eyes of him she had +loved so fondly.</p> + +<p>They buried her at Greenwood, and the grass and flowers bloomed over her +grave. She passed out of memory, and was forgotten, like a perished leaf, +or a beautiful sunset fading out with the night.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The summer days fled on, and brought the autumn mellowness and splendor. +Margie, outwardly calm and quiet, lived at Harrison Park with her staid +maiden aunt.</p> + +<p>A year passed away thus monotonously, then another, and no tidings ever +came of Archer Trevlyn. Margie thought of him now as we think of one long +dead, with tender regret, and love almost reverent. He was dead to her, +she said, but it was no sin to cherish his memory.</p> + +<p>In the third year Margie's aunt married. It was quite a little romance. +An old lover, discarded years before in a fit of girlish obstinacy, came +back, after weary wanderings in search of happiness, and seeking out the +love of other days, wooed and won her over again.</p> + +<p>There was a quiet wedding, and then the happy pair decided on a trip +to Europe. And, of course, Margie must accompany them. At first she +demurred; she took so little pleasure in anything, she feared her +presence might mar their happiness, and she dreaded to leave the place +where she had passed so many delightful hours with him. But her aunt and +Doctor Elbert refused to give her up, and so, one beautiful September +morning, they sailed for Liverpool in the good ship Colossus.</p> + +<p>For many days the voyage was prosperous, but in mid-ocean they fell upon +stormy weather, and the ship was tossed about at the winds and waters. It +was a terrible storm, and great apprehensions were entertained that the +vessel might founder, but she would doubtless have weathered the blast in +safety, if she had not sprung a leak.</p> + +<p>The fearful intelligence was announced just at the closing in of a dark +dismal night, and every heart sank, and every face was shrouded in gloom. +Only for a moment! The men sprang to the pumps and worked with a will—as +men will work for their lives—but their efforts were vain. The water +increased in the hold, and it soon became evident that the Colossus would +hardly keep afloat until morning.</p> + +<p>But Providence was pleased to snatch those human lives from the +destruction which seemed inevitable, and just when they were most +helpless, most despairing, the lights of a strange ship were seen. They +succeeded in making their desperate condition known, and by day-dawn all +were safe on board the steamer; for the stranger proved to be a steamer +on her way from Liverpool to New York.</p> + +<p>The decks were crowded; Doctor Elbert was looking after his wife, and +Margie, clinging to a rope, stood frightened and alone. Some one came to +her, said a few words which the tempest made inaudible, and carried her +below. The light of the cabin lamps fell full on his face. She uttered +a cry, for in that moment she recognized Archer Trevlyn.</p> + +<p>"Margie Harrison!" he cried, his fingers closing tightly over hers. +"Margie! Mine! Mine at last! The ocean has given you up to me!"</p> + +<p>"O Archer! where have you been? It has been so weary! And I have wanted +to see you so much—that I might tell you how I had wronged you—that I +might ask you to forgive me. Will you pardon me for believing that you +could ever be guilty of that man's death? If you knew—if you knew how +artfully it was represented to me—what overwhelming proofs were +presented, you would not wonder—"</p> + +<p>"I do know all, Margie; Alexandrine told me. My poor wife! God rest her. +She believed me guilty, and yet her fatal love for me overlooked the +crime. She deceived me in many things, but she is dead, and I will not +be unforgiving. She poisoned my mind with suspicions of you and Louis +Castrani, and I was fool enough to credit her insinuations. Margie, I +want you to pardon me."</p> + +<p>"I do, freely. Castrani is a noble soul. I love him as I would a +brother."</p> + +<p>"Continue to do so, Margie. He deserves it, I think. The night I left +home, Alexandrine revealed to me the cause of your sudden rejection of +me. We quarrelled terribly. I remember it with bitter remorse. We parted +in anger, Margie, and she died without my forgiveness and blessing. It +was very hard, but perhaps, at the last, she did not suffer. I will +believe so."</p> + +<p>"If she sinned, it was through love of you, Archer, and that should make +you very forgiving toward her."</p> + +<p>"I have forgiven her long ago. I know the proofs were strong against me. +I am not sure but that they were sufficient to have convicted me of +murder in a court of law. You were conscious of my presence that night +in the graveyard, Margie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I thought it was you. I knew no other man's presence had the power +to thrill and impress me as yours did."</p> + +<p>"I meant to impress you, Margaret. I brought all the strength of my will +to bear on that object. I said to myself, she shall know that I am near +her, and yet my visible presence shall not be revealed to her. And now, +can you guess why I was there?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly."</p> + +<p>"Love ought to tell you."</p> + +<p>"It might tell me wrong."</p> + +<p>"No, Margie. Never! You know that I have loved you from the moment I saw +you first, and though for a long, long time I never dared to think you +would ever be to me anything more than a bright, beautiful vision, to be +worshipped afar off, yet it agonized me to think of giving you up to +another. For after that it would be a sin to love you. When I heard you +were to marry that man, I cannot tell you how I suffered. I set myself to +ascertain if you cared for him. And I was satisfied beyond a doubt that +you did not."</p> + +<p>"You were correct. I did not."</p> + +<p>"He was a villain of the deepest dye, Margie. I do not know as Arabel +Vere sinned in ridding the earth of him. When I think that but for her +crime you would now have been his wife, I am not sure that she was not +the instrument of a justly incensed Providence to work out the decrees +of the destiny."</p> + +<p>"O, Archer! It was dreadful for him to die as he did. But what a life of +misery it saved me from! I will not think of it. I leave it all."</p> + +<p>"It is best to do so. But to explain my presence at Harrison Park that +night. I went there hoping to catch a glimpse of you. I wanted to see you +once more before you were lost to me forever. I did not desire to speak +to you; I did not desire to disturb you in any way; but I wanted to see +you before that man had a legal claim on you. I watched your windows +closely. I had found out which was your window from one of the servants, +and I watched its light which burned through the dusky twilight like +the evening star. I wonder if you had a thought for me, that night, +Margie—your wedding night?"</p> + +<p>"I did think of you—" she blushed, and hid her face on his shoulder—"I +did think of you. I longed inexpressibly to fly to your side and be +forever at rest!"</p> + +<p>"My darling!" he kissed her fondly, and went on: "I saw you leave your +room by the window and come down the garden path. I had felt that you +would come. I was not surprised that you did. I had expected it. I +followed you silently, saw you kneel by the grave of your parents, +heard you call out upon your father for pity. O, how I loved and pitied +you, Margie—but my tongue was tied—I had no right to speak—but I did +kiss your hand. Did you know it Margie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You recognized me, then? I meant you should. After that I hurried away. +I was afraid to trust myself near you longer, lest I might be tempted to +what I might repent. I fled away from the place and knew nothing of the +fearful deed done there until the papers announced it the next day."</p> + +<p>"And I suspected you of the crime! O, Archer! Archer! how could I ever +have been so blind? How can you ever forgive me?"</p> + +<p>"I want forgiveness, Margie. I doubted you. I thought you were false to +me, and had fled with Castrani. That unfortunate glove confirmed you, I +suppose. I dropped it in my haste to escape without your observation, and +afterward I expected to hear of it in connection with the finding of +Linmere's body. I never knew what became of it until my wife displayed +it, that day when she taunted me with my crime. Poor Alexandrine! She had +the misfortune to love me, and after your renunciation and your departure +from New York—in those days when I deemed you false as fair—I offered +her my hand. I thought perhaps she might be happier as my wife, and I +felt that I owed her something for her devoted love. I tried to do my +duty by her, but a man never can do that by his wife, unless he loves +her."</p> + +<p>"You acted for what you thought was best, Archer."</p> + +<p>"I did. Heaven knows I did. She died in coming to me to ask my +forgiveness for the taunting words she had spoken at our last parting. I +was cruel. I went away from her in pride and anger, and left behind me no +means by which she could communicate with me. I deserved to suffer, and I +have."</p> + +<p>"And I also, Archer."</p> + +<p>"My poor Margie! Do you know, dear, that it was the knowledge that you +wanted me which was sending me home again? A month ago I saw Louis +Castrani in Paris. He told me everything. He was delicate enough about +it, darling; you need not blush for fear he might have told me you were +grieving for me; but he made me understand that my future might not be so +dark as I had begun to regard it. He read to me the dying confession of +Arabel Vere, and made clear many things regarding which I had previously +been in the dark. Is all peace between us, Margie?"</p> + +<p>"All is peace, Archer. And God is very good."</p> + +<p>"He is. I thank Him for it. And now I want to ask one thing more. I am +not quite satisfied."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you will think it ill-timed—now that we are surrounded by +strangers, and our very lives perhaps in peril—but I cannot wait. I have +spent precious moments enough in waiting. It has been very long, Margie, +since I heard you say you loved me, and I want to hear the words again."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him shyly.</p> + +<p>"Archer, how do I know but you have changed?"</p> + +<p>"You know I have not. I have loved but one woman—I shall love no other +through time and eternity. And now, at last, after all the distress and +the sorrow we have passed through, will you give me your promise to meet +whatever else fortune and fate may have in store for us, by my side?"</p> + +<p>She put her face up to his, and he kissed her lips.</p> + +<p>"Yours always, Archer. I have never had one thought for any other."</p> + +<p>So a second time were Archer Trevlyn and Margie Harrison betrothed.</p> + +<p>On the ensuing day the storm abated, and the steamer made a swift passage +to New York.</p> + +<p>Doctor and Mrs. Elbert were a little disappointed at the sudden +termination of their bridal tour, but consoled themselves with the +thought that they could try it over again in the spring.</p> + +<p>Trevlyn remained in the city to adjust some business affairs which had +suffered from his long absence, and Margie and her friends went up to her +own home. He was to follow them hither on the ensuing day.</p> + +<p>And so it happened that once more Margie sat in her old familiar chamber +dressing for the coming of Archer Trevlyn. What should she put on? She +remembered the rose-colored dress she had laid away that dreadful night +so long ago. But now the rose-colored dreams had come back, why not wear +the rose-colored dress? She went to the wardrobe where she had locked it +away. Some of the servants had found the key out in the grass where she +had flung it that night, and fitted it to the lock. She lifted the dress, +and the beautiful pearl ornaments, and held them up to the light. The +dress was fresh and unfaded, but it was full four years behind the style! +Well, what did that matter? She had a fancy for wearing it. She wanted to +take up her life just where she had left it when she put off that dress.</p> + +<p>To the unbounded horror of Florine, she arrayed herself in the +old-fashioned dress, and waited for her lover. And she had not long to +wait. She heard his well-remembered step in the hall, and a moment after +she was folded in his arms.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At Christmas there was a bridal at Harrison Park. The day was clear and +cloudless—the air almost as balmy as the air of spring. Such a Christmas +had not been known for years.</p> + +<p>The sun shone brightly, and soft winds sighed through the leafless trees. +And Margie was married, and not a cloud came between her and the sun.</p> + +<p>Peace and content dwelt with Archer Trevlyn and his wife in their +beautiful home. Having suffered, they knew better how to be grateful +for, and to appreciate the blessings at last bestowed upon them.</p> + +<p>At their happy fireside there comes to sit, sometimes, of an evening, a +quiet, grave-faced man. A man whom Archer Trevlyn and his wife love as a +dear brother, prize above all other earthly friends. And beside Louis +Castrani, Leo sits, serene and contemplative, enjoying a green old age in +peace and plenty. Castrani will never marry, but sometime in the +hereafter, I think he will have his recompense.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONSTITUTIONALLY_BASHFUL" id="CONSTITUTIONALLY_BASHFUL" ></a>CONSTITUTIONALLY BASHFUL.</h2> + + +<p>I suppose there is no doubt but I was born with bashful tendencies, and +"What is bred in the bone, stays long in the flesh," to use the words of +some wise individual, who, like many another great genius, shunned +notoriety, and had for his <i>nom de plume</i>, Anonymous.</p> + +<p>My mother tells me that, when an infant, I had the ridiculous habit of +turning over on my face in the cradle, when there was company; and if the +visitors happened to be ladies, I turned red in the cheeks, and purple +about the eyes, to such an alarming degree as could not fail of exciting +wonder and awe in the heart of the most indifferent beholder!</p> + +<p>I remember that, when a child of four or five years, I used to take +refuge behind the great eight-day clock whenever my mother had callers; +and once I came near being frozen to death in the refrigerator, where I +had ensconced myself on the appearance of a couple of lady visitors.</p> + +<p>Throughout my boyhood it was the same, only decidedly more so. My +<i>debut</i> +at school was like an entrance into the ancient halls of torture.</p> + +<p>The austere schoolmaster, with his dread insignia of birchen rod, +steel-bowed spectacles, and swallow-tailed coat, was bad enough; the +grinning, mischief-loving, and at times, belligerent, boys were worse. +But the girls! Heavens! I feared them more than any suspected criminal +of old did the Terrible Council of Ten! All on earth they seemed to find +to do was to giggle at me! Of course, I was the object of their sport; +for they peeped at me over the tops of their books, from behind their +pocket-handkerchiefs, through the interstices of their curls—and made +me hopelessly wretched by dubbing me "Apron-string."</p> + +<p>The third day of my attendance at school was stormy, and my home being +at some distance, I was obliged to remain, with most of the others, +through the noon intermission. The little girls got to playing at pawns. +I retreated to a corner near the door, and stood a silent and not +unterrified spectator.</p> + +<p>By-and-by, a cherry-lipped little girl had to pay a forfeit, and one of +her schoolmates pronounced the sentence, in a loud voice:</p> + +<p>"Kiss Apron-string Sunderland!"</p> + +<p>That meant me. There was a wild scream of laughter, in which all joined, +and I took ingloriously to flight, with little Cherry-lips close at my +heels. I strained every nerve and sinew—it was a matter of life and +death to me—and I have no doubt but I should have won the race in fine +style, if I had not, unfortunately, in my blind haste, run against Miss +Patty Hanson, the primest and worst tempered spinster in Hallswell.</p> + +<p>My <i>momentum</i> was such that I knocked Miss Patty from <i>terra +firma</i>, very +much as the successful ball knocks down the nine-pins; and the <i>debris</i> +of the wreck—consisting of a fractured umbrella, a torn calico gown, and +a fearfully dislocated bonnet—Miss Hanson rose up—a Nemesis! And such a +thrashing as I received, at her hand, would have made the blackest +villain out of purgatory confess his sins without prevarication!</p> + +<p>I had heard my mother say that no one died till their time had come, and +I felt satisfied that my time <i>had</i> come. I vainly endeavored to repeat,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Now I lay me down to sleep!"</p></div> + +<p>as both fitting and appropriate to the occasion; but Miss Patty thumped +the words out of me, to the tune of the Umbrella Quickstep, in staccato.</p> + +<p>Little Cherry-lips came nobly to the rescue.</p> + +<p>"For shame! Miss Hanson," she cried, "to beat a little boy at such a +rate! It won't mend your umbrella, nor straighten your calash! And the +perspiration is washing the paint all out of your cheeks!"</p> + +<p>My enemy left me to fly at my defender, whose name was Florence Hay. But +Florence was a little too agile for the old lady, whom she speedily +distanced, while I made good my escape into the sheltering foliage of +an apple-tree, where, securely perched on a strong limb, I remained until +school was out, and the girls had all gone home.</p> + +<p>After a time, at my urgent entreaties, my parents removed me from the +village-school, and placed me at an institute for boys. I had thought, +previously to the change, that I should be perfectly happy when it was +effected; but I had, somehow, miscalculated. I missed the bewitching +faces of the girls I had fled from, and, for the first time in my life, +I realized that the world would be a terrible humdrum sort of a place if +there were nothing but men here.</p> + +<p>To confess the plain truth, I had discovered that, in spite of my +bashfulness, I loved every single girl I had ever seen—not even +excepting good black Bess in my mother's kitchen, who concocted such +admirable turnovers and seedcakes. But at that time, sooner than have +acknowledged such a weakness, I would have been broiled alive.</p> + +<p>As I grew toward manhood, my bashfulness got no better. It was confirmed; +it had become a chronic disease, as irremediable as the rheumatism, and a +thousand times more distressing.</p> + +<p>I was frequently invited to quiltings, apple parings, huskings, etc.; but +I never dared to go, lest I should be expected to have something to say +to some of the feminine portion of the company.</p> + +<p>If my mother sent me on any errand to a house where there were girls, I +used to stand a half hour on the door step, waiting for courage to rap; +and if one of the aforesaid girls happened to answer the summons, it was +with the greatest difficulty that I could restrain myself from taking +refuge in flight. And after I had got in, and made known my business, +I knew no more what was told me in return than we know why the comet of +last summer had a curved train.</p> + +<p>At church, I habitually sat with averted face, and cut my finger nails; +in fact I had performed that operation for those digital ornaments so +often that there was very little left of them to practice upon. I most +devoutly wished that it had been so that folks could have been created +with knitting-work, or something of the kind, in their hands—it would +have been so nice when one didn't know what to do with his upper +extremities.</p> + +<p>As for my feet, though not remarkably large, they were constantly in the +way. I have often seen the time when I would have given all the world, +had it been mine to give, if I could have taken them off, and consigned +them to the obscurity of my pocket.</p> + +<p>One eventful day, my mother took it into her head to have a quilting. +Early in the afternoon I retired to the garret, as the most isolated spot +I could think of, and ensconced myself in bed. All the girls in the +neighborhood were invited, and I would sooner have faced a flaming line +of armed batteries.</p> + +<p>Such a gay, joyous time as they had of it, judging from the sounds of +merriment that occasionally floated up to my retreat! I longed to be a +witness of the frolic I knew they were enjoying, but I could not summon +resolution enough to venture from my concealment; and so I wound the +sheets round my head to shut out the gay peals of laughter, and tried to +think myself highly satisfied with my achievement. I was comfortable and +safe, so far as I knew; but the hours were long ones, and I prayed Time +to jog on his team a little faster, if convenient.</p> + +<p>By-and-by, the merriment grew louder; there was a pattering of eager feet +on the garret stairs, considerable loud whispering in the passage, and an +infinite amount of giggling. Good heavens! What were they going to do? I +clutched the bed clothes with frantic hands and drew them around my head, +to the utter neglect of the rest of my body, probably believing, like the +ostrich, that so long as I saw nobody, nobody would see me.</p> + +<p>Directly the door was thrown open, and, evidently, there was a +consultation on the threshold.</p> + +<p>"Go in, Flory!" said the gay voice of Kate Merrick, the pride and tease +of the village. "Go in, I say! What on earth are you afraid of? Boy +Sunderland won't eat you, if he is a bear!"</p> + +<p>"But what will he think?" asked Florence Hay, softly. "He is so bashful! +Goodness! Kate, how can I?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! You must pay the forfeit, or your thimble remains in my +possession! I won't be coaxed over, this time!" returned Kate, +decisively.</p> + +<p>There was a slight scuffle, and then the eager hands of the coterie +began to pull away my fortifications. I resisted with the strength of +desperation, but I was no match for a dozen frolicsome girls. They +unswathed me, and while four of them held my two arms, Florence Hay +kissed me. Mahomet! Such a thrill as went through my heart! I devoutly +wished that she would repeat the experiment; but, instead of doing so, +she scampered from the room, followed by her boisterous companions. +Completely overcome, I crept under the bed, where I remained until +nightfall sent our merry visitors to their several homes.</p> + +<p>Well, the years passed on, and brought my eighteenth birthday. I had lost +nothing of my besetting difficulty. My mother was thoroughly mortified by +my conduct, and did not hesitate to lecture me soundly on my folly; and +my aunt Alice emphatically declared I was the most consummate fool that +she had ever seen! I knew it was true; but—so perverse is man—I did not +feel at all obliged to her for uttering it.</p> + +<p>One day it rained a little; in fact, it often does so. Florence Hay was +returning home from the village just as the shower came up, and, partly +out of regard for my mother, with whom she was a great favorite, partly +from the fear of ruining her new spring bonnet, she stepped into our +house.</p> + +<p>My mother was delighted to see her, and made her quite at home directly. +It was no new thing for the little maiden to visit my mother; but on such +occasions I had always, hitherto, taken flight to the fields or the +hay-mow. Now, however, it was raining hard, and I was holding silk for +my mother to mind; and a retreat was impossible.</p> + +<p>Though in exquisite torture, every moment, lest the pretty visitor should +address some question to me, and oblige me to speak, yet I enjoyed being +where I could look into her bewitching face immensely. She had such blue +eyes! and such cherry lips! And those lips had kissed me! I blushed +red-hot to think of it, and my good mother anxiously commented on my high +color, saying she was afraid I was going to have the erysipelas. +Erysipelas, indeed!</p> + +<p>It rained all the afternoon. Florence stayed to tea, and, by the time the +meal was over, I had broken two plates, knocked down a saucer, upset the +cream pitcher, and nearly cut the end of my thumb off with my knife. +Also, the rain had ceased, and it was dark.</p> + +<p>Florence declared she could not stop another moment. Her friends would be +alarmed about her; she must go at once. My mother urged her to remain all +night. But she could not think of it; and, while she was arranging her +wraps, my mother beckoned me into the entry.</p> + +<p>"Roy," she said, decisively, "Florence should not go home alone!"</p> + +<p>"I can't help it!" said I, doggedly. "I guess nothing will devour her on +the journey."</p> + +<p>"My son!" she exclaimed, with just severity, "I cannot permit you to +speak in that way of one whom I so highly respect! It is ungentlemanly! +Your father is absent, the servant is busy, and Florence has a full +half-mile to walk. You will attend her home!"</p> + +<p>My limbs trembled under me. I should have darted from the back door, and +left my mother's favorite to shift for herself; but my austere relative +had kept a firm hold of my arm, and, without further parley, drew me back +to the parlor.</p> + +<p>"If you must go, dear," she said to Florence, "I will not urge you. Roy +will walk home with you."</p> + +<p>Florence opened wide her blue eyes in evident astonishment; and, as for +me, the whole creation was in a whirl! The room went round and round like +a top—I was obliged to grasp the back of a chair to keep from falling—I +was penetrated with speechless dismay.</p> + +<p>"Roy! Florence is waiting!" said my unrelenting mother.</p> + +<p>There was no appeal. To use a vulgar, but expressive phrase, I was "in +for it;" and, nerved by a sort of desperate courage, which sometimes +comes to the aid of the weak in great extremities, I flung open the door, +blundered down the steps, and out into the street. Florence followed +leisurely behind, shut the gate after her, and fastened the latch. How I +envied her her provoking coolness!</p> + +<p>We went on; she one side of the road—I the other, and about three yards +in advance of her. By-and-bye, when we had proceeded in utter silence for +a quarter of a mile, my companion said, demurely:</p> + +<p>"Roy, you can get over the fence, and go in the field; and I will keep +the road."</p> + +<p>The little jade was quizzing me. I could not endure her ridicule, so +forthwith I made a sort of flying leap to her side of the street, +spattering the mud in every direction as I alighted beside her. I had +just begun to think how much better the footing was on that sidewalk than +the one I had just left, when I heard somebody whistling, and, looking +up, I saw Will Richardson, a mutual acquaintance, approaching. The cold +perspiration started to my brow—how could I endure to be seen going home +with a girl? I could not! No, never! The idea was out of the question! +I flew to the wall, sprang over, and threw myself down behind a pile of +stones.</p> + +<p>I heard Will and Florence laughing together in a vastly amused way—and +then she took his arm, and off they went! I shook my clenched hand after +them; at that moment, I think I could have cudgeled Will without +compunction.</p> + +<p>The ridiculous story of my adventure got wind; no doubt Will spread it, +and I was the laughing stock of the village. My mother gave me a sound +berating, and my staid, punctilious father administered the severest +rebuke of all—he said I was a disgrace to my ancestors.</p> + +<p>I managed to live through it, though, and a few months later entered +college. I will not linger on the days spent with my Alma Mater; the +history of the scrapes which my mischief-loving fellow students got me +into during those four years, would fill three volumes of octavo.</p> + +<p>At the end of the prescribed time, I graduated with the highest honors, +for I had always been a most determined bookworm; and, with my diploma in +my pocket, I returned home.</p> + +<p>My friends were rejoiced to see me, they said; aunt Alice informed me +that I had improved wonderfully in manners, as well as looks; she thought +me decidedly handsome, she said, which remark, I privately concluded, was +the most sensible of any I had ever heard her make.</p> + +<p>The day following my arrival at home, my mother spoke of Florence. I +had been longing to ask about her, but dared not hazard the question. +My mother thought that I ought to call on the Hay family, we had always +been intimate, she said, and it would be no more than courteous for me +to surprise them with my presence.</p> + +<p>I told her the truth. I should be extremely happy to do so, but I lacked +the courage.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said I, frankly, "you know my cardinal failing. Be merciful +unto me. I should only make a fool of myself."</p> + +<p>"I will make an errand for you," she replied, quickly; "Mrs. Hay is +troubled with a cough, and she wanted some of my tomato preserves for it. +You shall carry them over."</p> + +<p>Ah! it takes a woman to manage things; depend on that.</p> + +<p>I caught eagerly at the suggestion, for the imaged face of Florence Hay +had obtruded between my eyes and endless Greek roots a great many times +during the past four years. I was glad of an excuse to see once more the +face itself.</p> + +<p>Armed with my letter of introduction, a glass jar of tomatoes, and +arrayed in my best suit, I rang the bell at the door of Mr. Hay. A +servant girl admitted me, and showed me directly into the room where +Florence was sitting.</p> + +<p>How very beautiful she had grown during my absence! I had never seen so +fair a vision! She rose at my entrance, and, bowing with inimitable +grace, extended her hand.</p> + +<p>"Am I correct in believing that I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. +Sunderland?" she said, with gentle politeness.</p> + +<p>I bowed—the jar slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor; I made a +hasty movement to take the hand she had offered me, and in so doing put +my foot on the jar; it was crushed to atoms, and the seeds and syrup flew +in every direction! The obstacle beneath my feet made me stagger; I +grasped the folds of a window-curtain in the hope of saving myself, but +my equilibrium was too far gone—down came the curtain—over I went, head +first, against a flower-stand, on which were a nondescript array of +flowerpots, a canary bird in a cage, and a big Maltese cat in a basket.</p> + +<p>The force of my fall upset the stand, and, with all its favorites, it +turned over on the carpet! Plants, cat, bird, cage, and Roy Sunderland, +all lay in one mass of ruin together at the feet of the astonished Miss +Hay. The cat was the first to recover her presence of mind, and with a +"midnight cry" which would have appalled the stoutest heart, she sprang +into my face, tearing up the skin with a violence worthy the admiration +of all persons who believe in the wisdom of "getting at the root of a +matter" at once.</p> + +<p>I scrambled up—gave the animal a blow that sent her to the other side of +the room—and hatless, and bloody, made for the door. With frantic haste +I seized the handle—it did not yield; the door was fastened by a spring +lock, and I was a prisoner!</p> + +<p>Imagine my dismay! Florence stood looking at me, and there was a smile on +her face that she, with great difficulty restrained from breaking into a +decided ha! ha! Just then I would have sold myself to any reliable man +for a six-pence, and thirty days credit.</p> + +<p>Mortified and crestfallen, I was strongly inclined to follow the example +of the heroines in sensation novels, and burst into tears; but crying, it +is said, makes the nose red, and, remembering this, I forbore.</p> + +<p>I suppose Florence pitied me; she must have seen from the woe begone +expression of my face that I was in the last stages of human endurance, +for she came quietly to my side and laid her hand on my arm.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Roy," she said, kindly—almost tenderly, I thought—and drew me +into a small boudoir opposite the sitting-room. Things in the latter +apartment were too nearly wrecked to make it pleasant for occupation, +I suppose.</p> + +<p>"There," she said, seating me on a sofa by her side, and speaking in a +consoling tone one would use to a child who had burnt his apron, or broke +the sugar-bowl, "don't think anything more of it." She was wiping the +blood from pussy's autograph on my face with her handkerchief—"Accidents +will happen, you know!"</p> + +<p>She was so close to me—her sweet face so very near mine—and the +temptation was so great that I trust I may be excused, especially as I +am a bashful man, and not in the habit of committing such indiscretions.</p> + +<p>I threw my arms around her and paid back, with interest, the kiss I had +kept so long. A burning blush overspread her face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Roy! how could you?" she exclaimed, reproachfully.</p> + +<p>I had gone too far to retreat; the words which for years had filled my +heart struggled up to my lips and clamored for utterance.</p> + +<p>"Florence!" I cried, passionately, "I love you! and I want you to be +entirely mine! Take me, and cure me of the bashful folly which has been +the bane of my life!"</p> + +<p>She did not reply. I was in a tumult of fear and hope, but a sort of +desperate courage kept me firm.</p> + +<p>"One word, Florence, only one word! Am I to be consigned to Hades, or +Paradise? Do not keep me in suspense!"</p> + +<p>She nestled closer to my side; her soft cheek rested against mine; her +breath swept my lips. She spoke but one word in accents of deepest +tenderness, and that word was my name—</p> + +<p>"Roy!"</p> + +<p>"Florence! my darling!"</p> + +<p>I trust that everybody will forgive me, and feel charitably toward me, +when I declare on my honor that I was happier, at that moment, than I had +ever been in my life before! "Popping the question" is acknowledged by +all to be a serious piece of business; and if ordinary men find it a +serious business, how much more terrible must it be to a bashful +individual like myself?</p> + +<p>A silence fell between Florence and me; perhaps I was holding her so +close to my heart that the effort of speaking was difficult, I should not +wonder. By-and-by she lifted up her face, and said, quietly:</p> + +<p>"Did you mean for me to marry you, Roy?"</p> + +<p>"Marry me? Yes, dearest, and that, too, before many days have elapsed! +I have been a fool so long that now I cannot afford to wait!"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but if I promise myself to you, how can I be sure that, on the way +to the altar, you will not jump over the fence, and leave me to fate and +Will Richardson?"</p> + +<p>"Confound Will Richardson! Florence, forgive me! I was little less than +a brute! Is there peace between us?"</p> + +<p>"Both peace and love," she whispered, softly; and my heart was at rest.</p> + +<p>My mother was overjoyed by the turn affairs had taken. Everything had +happened just as she had wished; and, to this day, the good lady idolizes +tomatoes, insisting upon it that it was through the agency of those +preserves that Florence and I came to an understanding. It might have +been—I cannot tell—great events sometimes originate in small causes.</p> + +<p>Florence—dear little wife!—for five years she has sustained to me that +relation; and if she has not cured me of my bashfulness, she has at least +broken me of its extreme folly.</p> + +<p>To other men afflicted as I was with constitutional shyness, I can +conscientiously recommend my course. Don't be afraid; the ladies admire +courage, and "None but the brave deserve the fair."</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FATAL GLOVE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 15989-h.txt or 15989-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/9/8/15989">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/9/8/15989</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution.</p> + + + +<pre> +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +<a href="https://gutenberg.org/license">https://gutenberg.org/license)</a>. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS,' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: +https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">https://www.gutenberg.org</a> + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/">https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/</a> + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> |