Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 8, Number 9, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 18 August 1877 — Page 6

THE MAIL

Paper

for hie

People.

7 HE OLD SCHOOL BOOK.

On Mi« old schcx book in its dusty nook, With a tearful eye I gaze Come dowu, old friend, for an hour well upend

In talking of bygone days. ,T Vfy-is I gaze once more a In days of yore, On the task that vexed tbe braii The l«?a*on done, the victory won,

And I feel I'm a child again. And I seem to stand with tbe youthful band in tbe old bouse on tbe green I hear the fun ere the school begun, .~V

And Join in the gla isojne scene *|^f I take my place, with a sober face, O'er the well-carved dwk 1 penned, And hourly pore o'er the antiaue lore

Of thy wonderful page, old friend *.

Then our cares were few, our friends were true, And our grlefis were rare and light TUe world was naught (so we fondly thought)

But a region of pure delight. Bat time nas spea,and our path hasled lb rough the dark and tearful scene And passed away ire the good and gay,

Like the old house on the green.

Bnt we'll sing no more of the days of yore, for the tear drop dims the eye Kieep on, old book. In tbe dusty nook,*,

As in years that have glided by Ko frnllt we trace in thy honest face, but a mine of gold within Enriched he youth, as they sought the truth,

In Ihe old houseon the green

The Discarded Wife.

A ROMANCE OP THE AFFECTIONS.

By H. ARTHUR GRATTAN,,

Author of "Myra Graham," "Marion's Destiny," The Usurer'& Daughter," etc

CHAPTER X.

UPON THE BRINK OF A DISCOVERY.

Percy Hardwicke, on his way back to the Blue Dragon, turned over and over ygain in his hand the letter with which Edward Jerrold had intrusted him. With one of his blandest smiles, he read the superscription. 'Mr. Slider,' it said. •Slider,' be repeated to himself. 'I have heard the name, I fancy, but leannot exactly say who it belongs to. One of those luzy, horsey looking fellows who were hanging about the inn yard, and carousing in the tap room. Slider, Slitif r, I am certain 1 ought to know him.'

He could not, howover, settle it in his own mind to bis satisfaction, as he walked along, pondering upon the subject. 'It is rather strange, though,' he pondered, 'that she should write to one of those fellows at the inn. What can it be about? I'll find out who the fellow Is, and have a good look at him before I give him the letter. If I were only to Jight upon some little bit of scandal. But no, I am afraid there is no such luck.'

He walked on at a rapid pace, and soon reached the inn door. There he found Mr. Miles was ready, as uoual, to accord him a gracious welcome.

Hardwicke began chatting with him about the fine weather, and tbe number ef guests at the Inn. 'Was that Mr. Slider I was playing with last night?' he asked. •I forget, sir. Ah, though, I remember but I don't know the gentleman's name. Mr. Slider lain tbe parlor. He wears a wbito hat.' 'Will you bring me a glass of ale into the parlor?'said Hard wick. 'I want to sit and rest a while.'

A white hat! What incident connected with a white hat was it that flashed across his mind when he heard tho words.

He found a rather shabby looking gentleman seated before the tire, whose hat had evidently done blm good service, for it was. weather stained aud indented in several places.

Hardwicke took a sent in a corner, and proceeded to observo the stranger quiotly.

He was a man about twenty-three years of age, tall and well made, but with anything but a pleasing cast of countenance.

Tho expression of bis eyes was anything but a good ono, and they were also a great deal too close together. They were very restless eyes, too, and •wandered constantly to and fro In all directions save that of tbe face of the individual whom their owner was addressing.

His jaw was cut very square, and was ornamented with a dirty beard of several days' growth.

He had a very ugly scar, too, crossing his nose, with the beauty ef the outline of which it had very seriously imerfpred.

No, he was not a nice looking gentleman, this Mr. Slider and then there was written on h(s face, In unmistakable characters, 'blackguard' and 'thief.'

He was very slangily atttired, ami* with a great affectation of smartness but he was, withal, very dirty and sqal*d.

Percy Hardwicke bad plenty of time to notice all of these paiticulars, for Mr. Slider was deeply engaged with tbe Sporting Life,' and did not look toward tbe new comer after one brief glance of scrutiny. •Whv on o.irth can Jerrold'n wile want to write to that fellow?' Hardwicke asked himself, and could find no answer to the query. •P«rhips,' he thought. She may want to buv »i dog of him. He looks something' In the dog «teall way, or is a horse coper, or does the pickpockets or eut throats, when professionally engaged. It would Indeed be hard to tell just what his particular line of business is, but it's something felonious, that's certain.'

The object of his thoughts was pufflug at a large cigar. His dirty finders were ruamonted with showy, out not costly jewelry. •I wonder whether he owes a very long Mil thought Hardwicke.

He held the letter in his hand, but he hesitated about giving it. He felt extraordinarily curious about his disreputable acquaintance, and resolved upon finding out as much as possible before he delivered over the epistle with which lie had been in trusted.

How, though,

was

•He was at the fair yesterday, sir,I believe.' •Something in the horsey way, I sappose?' 'Most gents are, down this way, sir, bat I dont know what he calls himself, I'm sure. He does not seem to do mncb.' 'He's Hot a favorite of yours, Mrs. Miles?'

BO di mustn't

•Persons who keep an inn, sir, have no ri^ht to likes and dislikes.'

No, no you mustn't talk about them, at any rate—except among your friends.' •To be sore, sir. I know you wouldn't repeat what I said.' •My dear madam!' 'I don't half like that Mr. Slider, then, sir, if yon mast know tho truth, ana I'm not over comfortable about it bat, then, Mr. Miles is so easy about every thing, and no more use in the house than a child unborn •Made rather a long stay, I presume?' said Hardwicke.

We have I ecu sometime, certainly, sir, without seeing tbe color of his money but then, I'm sure, I'm no right to say anything, only I really don't like the looks of Mr. Slider.' 'How long has be been here?' 'It's more than a fortnight now.' 'I suppose be has friends in the neighborhood.'

'I suppose he knows someooay sue they are, I never heard of anybody 1 ing seen him with

I suppose be knows somebody st?ch as

rDon't

this information to

be obtained?' Perhaps tbe beet way to begin was to make a itew inquiries of the landlady, and then delicately question,Mr. Skier himself, and use how their statements agroed.

With this intention he lea the reorn, and went to the bar to purchase sonic cigar*.

He wasavery ingenious gentleman, and en very easily brought the conver eai ion round to the desired point. thai gentle

'I did not know in*? gentleman was Mr. Slider,' bo said, 'T tboughtlbat it was tbe same of another of those gentlemen.' 'tlie rwowfe Mr. 'SlM^r, sir, fMx*!ieve»* •Hsdhln't stav hrn» y» vcerdar. did he?'

But a

J~bav-

anyone,

unless it

'Soft voice?' 'Very soft and musical.' Hardwicke turned away, having learned all that he could from this quarter.

When he returned to tbe parlor, he found Mr. Slider had finished nis newspaper, and was smoking bard at his cigar. A' 'i •Fine day,'said Hardwicke. •Verj tidy, sir,' replied Mr. Slider. •At the fair yesterday.' •Yes—an hour or so.' '5 'Dealing?'

'No—pleasure.' •I went there myself to try and pick up a nag, but I couldn't find anything to my fancy,' said Hardwicke. 'Pack of screws all I saw,'replied Slider. •Pretty country about these parts. I'm staying here for a few days, and have been much taken by iu' •Yes, it's pretty enough,' said Slider, glancing out of the window. 'No judge myt«elf of that sort of thin •You came more for fiel sav, than landscapes.

care fbr either.'

'Fishing, then?' vVaste of time.' •You must find it rather duil work, then, I should think, sir, down here.' 'I do,' replied Slider 'but I'm obliged to stop fbr a time.' 'Oh, I beg your pardon. On business, of course?' •On my private business,' replied Slider, and' with these words walked out of tbe room, thus cutting short the conversation. 'Heowes bis bill, and is probably waiting for a remittance,' thought Hardwicke, 'that Is tbe reason of his long stay. And now aboat this letter. Ought he to have it?'

Decidedly he should have had it long ago, yet Mr. Hardwicke still kept it in bis own possession.

He had put It away in his pocket, but now be brought it out and looked attentively for a moment at its superscription. r. Slider.'

Theae two words alone were written on the cover. 'I'd give five pounds to know what was inside,' thought Hardwicke, as be twisted the letter over and over between his fingers.

Bat he need not have given half the sam, fbr he had only—Only what?

He was alone. Nobody was looking. No one was near to interrupt him. Who would be the wiser? Could he not say he dropped the letter if any question was ever raised. •I'll do it,'be said.

Then, without any further hesitation, he broks the seaL

CHAPTER XL

ITRRCT

HARDWtCKK'S

rUTT.

'Now tor the mystery!' sail Hardwicke. He drew a long breath as he tore the envelope open.

Then for a moment passed and listened again, fbr be fancied that he beard a

moment'sreflection

was

'Yes, Mrs. Miles.' 'Some one said they met him in company with some well dressed female one night, on the fields leading to the valley but they weren't quite sure it was him, after all.' •In the fields, was it?' asked Hardwicke, with gathering interest. 'You don't know woo the female was though, I suppose.' 'No, sir she was a stranger, I believe. Anyhow, she had on a thick veil, and though tbe party who told me tried all she could to catch a glimpse of her face, or to bear her voice, she. could not succeed.' •And so you don't know what trade or profession he is?' •I have no idea, sir.' 'Or what brings him to this part of the country?' 'I cannot guess, sir.' 'Capt Jerrold's bouse is down in the valley you speak of, is it not?' *Yc8 sir.' 'I thought that was the valley you spoke of and that also reminds me that I mast go down there and make another inquiry respecting Mrs. Jerrold.' 'I beg your pardon, sir, but is anything the matter?' •Sfie is seriously ill, I believe.' 'I am very sorry to hear it, I am sare. She is a very nice lady. One of the kindest hearted and most charitable but you know her, sir?' 'I have never seen her.' •She is as good, sir, as she is beautiful, and that is saying a good deal, too.' 'Beautiful, eh? How old is she? ™, 'Quite a girl 22 at most.'

CTREE HAUTE SATTKDATEiBVICNTNa MADS

if there bad been, what was there to be straid of? But conscience makes cowards of us all, and tbe smiling gentleman was very pale and trembled slightly, in spite of his efforts to appear calm.

caused him

lo laugh at bis fears, and, tsking the letter from its cover, he spread it oat before him, and set himself to ita perusal.

It had evidently been written in great haste, and was smeared and blotted as though the writer had no time to wait till it got dry before it was folded and -directed.

Tbe words which it contained were these: In mercy's name, go! Leave an address where I can send to you.

Do not be afraid but I will send. Yon ought to know by this time that I shall not fall to keep my word after what I have suffered for your sake.

Bat, in mercy's name, leave tbe village or all will be discovered, and I shall be ruined. E.

Percy Hardwicke slowly perused this strange epistle, then again read it, then folded it, replaced it in its envelope, and put it away in a place of safety.

After this be made several draws at his cigar, which bad gone out entirely, unheeded, lit it again let it go out again, puffed at it after it was extinguished, then flung it from bim into tbe fireplace.

He rose to his feet, walking to the window, stared oat into the village street, iu wbicb the gambols of a pletn orio pig appeared most deeply to interest him.

Not for very long, however. He came back and stood before the fireplace, over which hung a dusty almanac that seemed to afford him matter for deep contemplation and reflection for several minutes. Again be turned away, and this time paced the room*.

Then coming to a halt once more in front of tbe open window, he broke into a smile of even greater benignity than was usual with him. 'I wouldn't have missed that letter for filly pounds!' said he. *No, not for fifty, at the very least and only to think what a very near chance I bad of losing it altogether. There was a moment when I was really on the point of giving it away.' lie became suddenly serious, as tbe thought of such a calamity occurred to bim. 'I bal my suspicion?,' be continued, after a brief pause 'but one likes more than a mere suspicion to go upon, if it's anything more serious than hanging a pickpocket. Of course I knew just how it would be, and of course I supposed that this letter would throw some sort of light upon the affair but then who on earth could have imagined that it would have been such a letter—such a damning

[ook

'You don't mean that? Dear me, I had formed quite another idea respecting her.' 'Has Capt. Jerrold never spoken of her, sir?' 'Oh, yes, of course. But didn't say whether she was old or young, or pretty or plain.' 'It was a love match, sir, I believe,' continued tbe landlady. 'They met one another somewhere at tbe seaside. Mrs. Jerrold was an orphan, living with an elderly aunt. She had no family, and very few friends, I believe, ana they lived very quietly. The country families hereabouts are very proud and exclusive, and so 'So what?' 'So that may be why they have shown hor the cold shoulder to some extent, though bow they touldfind it in their hearts to do so puzzles me.' 'Very good looking, is she,' said Hardwicke, musing, 'and tall?' 'About the medium height, sir.'

woof of what 1 must have another at it!' Again he drew it forth from his pocket and read it with a chuckle of int9nsesatisfaction.

Indeed, though, as a rule, anything but an impressionable or impulsive person, Percy Hardwicke upon this occasion could not refrain from pressing to his lips this tell tale epistle, which bad afforded bim so much real satisiac tion. •There are boobies,' said ho, 'who collect and treasure up the autographs of dead men who have made a name in the world, who would not give a penny to possess this piper, when I would willingly give tbe contents of all their ma seums for it, and think it cheaply pur chased.'

At the conclusion of this somewhat extravagant soliloquy, chancing to look up, he saw the eyes of Rourke, tbe blacksmith, fixed upon him, and drew back from the window, with someslight confusion. 'Cursethat fellow!' be muttered. 'H is lor everlastingly peeping and prying around some corner. It's very sure I should not bo able to carry off tbe pretty Miss Phoebe without taking him aa an accomplice. What an ill looking vagabond be is, though! I should be almost afraid of the fellow, if be were not such a heavy headed, blundering idiot! Poor little Pbcebe! 1 am not sure that there is not higher game to aim at than a publican's daughter, pretty though she is!'

Rourke was still scowling from his ambush, wondering to himself wbat letter that was bis rival was reading, and fancying, of course, that it was some epistle of an amatory nature which he bad received from tbe faithless Pboebe.

It is probable that if Percy Hardwicke could have seen this heavy headed, blundering idiot, as he chose to designate bim, and had known wbat thoughts were rankling in his niind, tbe knowledge thereof might have led him very senously to consider what was tbe best course to pursue, and whether it would not have been tbe most advisable course to turn his back forever upon the village and its inmates, instead of fluttering round aflame which, in the end, was doomed to prove fatal to him.

He bad other and more Important matters, though, according to his estimation of tbem, to occupy his attention. 'What shall I do?' be said to himself, continuing his reflections upon the subject of tbe letter. 'Suppose I wsit until she recovers from this indisposition, and tben seek an interview. Then, if there is any truth in the statements which this woman here makes about her beauty, tbe knowledge that I possess must plaoe her In my power.'

Another reflection, however, very soon occurred to him. Would he be able to see her?

Jerrold had said something about change of air. She might so away be fore he was successful in obtaining an interview.

If she were bent upon not seeing him. it would be very easy for her to avoia him. 'And she does not wish to see me, I am certain—though why?'

That was a question which mast be answered upon some future occasion. Why, on earth, could she desire to avoid bim?

Upon tbe first night of his arrival she could not have known that he was coming, unless somehow, by the way, she bad caught a glimpse of bim in her husband's company.

Tbe second evenly could be no mistake. him that her sadden illatas came on just after he bad pointed out Hardwicke's approaching figure. •Does she know coe?rHardwicke said to himself. 'If so, I most know her. Though, how is it die is afraid to meet me? It ought to be tbe other way. There are several women whom I would rather avoid, if tbey are still alive, which I sincerely trust the majority are not! Ah! I have it now! She must be some one whose back history will not bear looking Into! Some one who knows that I know all about ber, and to afraid I shall tell tills poor fool, Jerrold. her secrets! Well, she shan't hoodwink me. at any rate, bowefer easi^n^e may have deceived my seafaring

However be was to act, one thing was

slight rauilng of the handle of tbe room moat necewiary did be wish tosuceessdoor. fblly carrv out his schemes, and that But no, it was a false alarm. There was was the employment of tbe gteatest poa-j 'Which way nod ger of interruption, and, indeed,' sible caution. nked Jerrold, When bis jovial friend

Wbat was his first step? Hardwicke ordered another dgar, and mtder its soothing influence, a great idea oocorred to him.

He rang tbe boll and ordered pen, ink and naper.then sat down and wrote to bis friend Edward Jerrold:

My Drab Jebbold: Some business will oblige me to go away for a f»w days, perhapa a week. When I return I will take my chance of seeing you. Trusting that Mrs. Jerrold will soon recover from her indisposition, I am, with best compliments to her, and to you,

Yours, very truly,

Pkrct Hardwicke.

After having reread this epistle, he smiled at himself in tbe glass with extreme self satisfaction, ordered his dinner to be served at 6, and went oat for stroll.

CHAPTER XII. ANOTHER FALSEHOOD.

That bis wife hsd told him an inten tional, deliberate falsehood there could not be fbe let.st doubt, and, as Edward Jerrold walked slowly toward bis garden gate, he was agitated by a see re of conflicting feelings, all alike very painful.

To doubt ber truth was to strike at the very foundation of all love and confidence existing between them and yet, how was her conduct to be explain ed?

He ielt agitated and angry, and incapable of calmly asking for an explanation of wbat puzzled him. She wa? ill, too, and this was not a fitting time to make any inquiries which might agitate her.

Suppose there were a secret! He felt quite sure now that some secret existed, but suppose it did, could not the secret be innocent enough?

Why, then, musthework mselfinto such a rage about it? No, at the pro time he would inquire, and, until then wait with all the patience he could sum mon.

He did not then feel that he was quite calm enough, though, to enter tbe bouse an^ so, instead, took a stroll down the lanes.

He walked on much farther than at first he had intended to, and came, at last, to a place to which he had seldom bent his steps upon any previous occasion.

This was whero there once had been a brick field a dreary, desolate spot, where tbe ruins of some sheds were scattered about, and where a row of mournful cottage?, in various stages of decay stood, dark and frowniug, against the leaden sky beyond.

Tbe suu, which a few moment before bad been shining brightly, had become suddenly overcast. The wind blew shrilly across the deserted, swampy laud spreading out drearily before him. It was coming on to rain.

He turned upon bis heel to retrace his steps as rapidly im possible, by the way that be bad come, wken be recollected that there was a short cut heme by the fields, if abridge which had been washed away by a flood of the mill stream, when last he heard anything of it, had since been repaired.

Oaly t» of tbe five cottages before bim were apparently inhabited, and be was about to approach tbe door ot one of these for the purpose of making inquiries, when the sound of a voice which was not unfamiliar to bim, smoto upon bis ear.

He listened and could distinctly hear the sound of sobbing, and also another voice, low and plaintive, pleading earnestly.

Then tbe voice that be thought be knew replied in a londer tone: 'No, no, I will be no party to the deceit.'

Again there was a low pleading, and then the louder voice in reply: 'I can never believe that you are not guilty. No, I can never believe it. Get up. Get up, madam, from your knees. I am very sorry for you, but I cannot help you.'

Jerrold stood irresolute and unoertain wbat to do, Some very unpleasant scene was certainly being enacted within the cottage, upon which he bad no right to intrude.

He did not, either, think that it was sn honorable act to stand there listening to wbat could not be intended for his ears, and be only remained there long enough to ascertain this much, before he turned away again, with the intention of appealing to tbe 'inhabitants of the other cottage for shelter.

With regard to his remembrance of tbe woman's voice, as one with which he was acquainted, he could not recall to mind where be bad heard it, and did not feel any deep interest in making the discovery.

He was on his way to the second cottage, when a carriage turned sbarpl round a corner of the road, and an elo erly gentleman called loudly to Jerrold by name.

Tbe Captain looked up, and recognized an old friend. •Why, Jerrold!' cried the gentleman, as the Captain drew near. 'What tbe dickens are you doing in these parts? How long have you been home? Why didn't you come to see me? How are you? How's your wife? How well you're looking!'

He talked very fast, and in a loud, cheery voice, and was a jovial, grayheaded man, with a large white mustache, tbe ends of which he munched between his sentences. 'I have not been long back, Colonel,' replied Jerrold. 'I only returned tbe day before yesterday and my wife. 1 am sorry to say, has been ill. That is why I have not called.' •Well, as long as the excuse is a good one, I don't mind. All I require, you know, is a good excuse. I should have called mvself if I bad known you were there. You know, a poor, wretched, lonely old bachelor, such as I am is always glad of a little excitement. Noth*

ing serious, I trust?' •Ob, no. Nothing

ig, though, there Jerrold bad told

very serious, thank

you.' •A bad time of tho year, everybody 111 but me, and I ought to be.'

She wants caange of air, I think. I most take ber to the seaside.' 'Change of air, eb? That's a kind of physic you sailors get plenty of. Rather too much, sometimes when It storms. But, look here, Jerrold, you tell your wife, with my compliments, that It is entirely her fault.'

How sor asked Mrrold, smiling. How so? Why, because it is. Because she locks herself up like the princess in tbe story books—because she is never to be seen at borne or abroad. That's howit is, air, and just take my word for it, there is no good comes of young ladies moping ana fretting.and forever hiding their good looks under a bushel.' 'She has not been out very much lately, I believe.' •Oh, my dear sit, she goes nowhere. Nobody sees ber. Nobody ever bears of her. Fbr my part I don't believe in her at ail. It's my opinion she's a myth, and no arguments of yours, or of hers either, can convince ms to the contrary, for Ptn troe*bora Briton, and have a right to be as pig beaded as 1 think fit.'

Which way are you golmr. Colonel?' his

Anally stopped, for want of breath, and b^san to pluck his mustache with gfeat violence. 'Right past your door so I'll give ja lift, and drop you down there, if you agreeable,' 'I shsll be much obliged to you.' 'That's right, and, as we go along, I'll tell you wbat I want you to do. A lot of young people have come unexpectedly to see ms you and your wife must dine with me to-night. Won't she be well enough? Come, oome! don't tell me! try to do your best and——Hallo! what's tbe matteif'

you 're

Something mast have been the matter certainly, from the expression of Edward Jerrold'a face.

Tbe Colonel followed the direction of his eyes, snd ssw that tbey were directed toward the door of tbe cottage, inside which the conversation bad taken

Elace

that the Captain had unwillingly eard. No very alarming object met bis eyes, however.

An old woman, in a clean cap and apron, with a kind expression of faoe, was standing upon the threshold of tbe cottage door, aud staring toward the carriage.

But suddenly, ss it appeared, catching sight of Jerrola's free, she withdrew hastily within tbe bouse, pushing sgainst some other person, uuseen, who stood behind ber.

What was there, tben, to account for Jerrold'8 turning at once all sort of colors at tbe sight of this, apparently, very harmless old woman.

Nothing, except that he recognised in ber the nurse who, according to his wife'* account, had gone away to visit her friends in some distant part of tbe country.

How was this new mystery to be accounted for? Was this another lie, and, if so, for what possible reason had it been told?

Jerrold leaned back wearily, and passed his hand over his face. 'It's nothing,' he said 'only a pain in the heart! What were you saying, Colonel?' iyXv

They were seme time in reecbing Jerrold's house by the winding road, for they were compelled to take a somewhat circuitous route and often to diverge from the direction in 'vhich a crowd making the journey would probably have flown.

By tbe time that Jerrold got home tbe rain was descending heavily. He bade the Colonel good-by, and ran across the garden into tbe house.

Almost at tbe same moment Eleanor entered at the back door, panting and out of breath, her garments saturated, her boots muddy, her hair streaming wildly. 'Has he come back?' she asked of the girl who let her in. 'Yes, ma'am.'r» .j nf •When?' •This instant.' •Then I am too late.'

But before there was time to exchange another word with her servant, Eleanor, white and trembling, found herself face to face with the man whom she would have avoidod—ber husoand.

CHAPTER XIIL«

FACE TO FACE.

For a moment, both stood still without a word, each, perhaps, waiting on tbe otber to speak.

It was Jerrold who first broke the si-

•What on earth does this mean?' he said. 'Why did you go out?' '1 thought I should like a walk 'But 1 thought you were too ill.' 'I was not, or I should not have gone.-1 •But to be out iu this rain—was it net imprudent?' 'It was not raining when I started.' 'Have you been far? You are out of breatb. You look half dead with fatigue. How you tremble, too. For Heaven's sake, Eleanor, do tell me wbat all this means? Wbat is this mystery?' 'Mystery?' •Yes what is tbe meaning of these most unaccountable statements of yours? Why did you say that you had the trees cut down because tbey had been struck by lightning? Why did you say that our old servant had gone away to the country? Why do you write letters, and send tbem by stealth to a man at a public house? Wbat does all this deceit mean? I ask, Eleanor, for Heaven's sake, explain your oonduct or I shall go mad!'

She stood perfectly motionless, with a face as white and still as though it had been cutout of stone.

Her eyes were unnaturally large the pupils distended and fixed. Her lips were colorless and her teeth

80 tr

She did not look at him nor answer him. Her gaze sought some far off object in the landscape without, which apppeared bleared and dreary in the heavily falling rain. •Eleanor!' he said, after along pause, which seemed to be of Intolerable length to Edward Jerrold, whose strong frame was trembling with suppressed tion 'Eleanor, will you not me?'

emo-

answer

She turned her eyes fall upon him for a moment, and tben dropped them to tbe ground.

Tben, covering ber face with her bands, she sank upon her knees at his foot. •I »m ashamed to answer,' she said, In a low and quivering voice. 'Ashamed!' be cried, the not blood rushing in a torrent to his face 'what do yon mean? Get up—get up! in mercy's name, explain yourself!' 'Oh, Edward, you will never forgive me!' •Forgive you!—for what?' "For having deceived you.'' 'In wbat way?' he gasped,

He was suffering an agony. He waited, for wbat seemed to be an age, for ber to speak again, in trembling anxiety.

At last, in rather tremulous tones, she spoke: _. •I know I have done very wrong. Edward, but you roust bear my explanation ere you condemn me.'

He made as though be would have iken, but the words stuck in bis roat. His knees shook violently under him. He felt as though he would have fallen, had be not clung to the table for support*

spol thro

What was be going to bear? What was tbe meaning of her agita tion? Did it signify ber shame and disgrace?

And, as tbe thought psssed through his brain, he felt as though he would rather have struck ber down dead at his feet tbau have allowed the hideous truth to pass her lips.

Bat something stronger than bis will compelled him to remain silent.

He waited, longing to bear more, yet dreading that she should speak. But at length, as there is an end to all things, so there came an end to bis sufferings. •Oh, Edward,' die said,

'Do yon mean Martha?' he asked, with a sigh of relief. •Yes,' sbo replied, talking very fast, not even ror a single moment ralsbut ing her eyes to his feoe, *yes. angry with her. She be punished by tbe presence of her per-

not be:

You will

will always.

seen tor.' 'Wbst persecutor?' •Her second husband.' 'Second husband!' 'Yes, She was married again some time ago. She left me to get married.' 'Wbat! An old woman like she is?' 'You know, Edward, old women oan^i be foolish ss well as young ones.' 1 ''When did her first nasband die, then?' .* 9/ i* •He is not dead/ •Not dead?'

She still remained kneeling at his feet. She raised her beautiful face from her bands, and looked toward him beseechingly through her tears.

What could he do? He loved ber tenderly. He felt that she had acted wrongly in deceiving him but was the crime so great, ana was the motive a bad one, that had prompted her lo the utterance of these falsehoods?

He raised her In his arms, and kissed her tears away. He Implored ber to think no more aboat it—to forgive him for bis harshness. 'But how could you think that I would be angry with you?' he asked, reproachfully. 'Oh, never doubt me again, dear-f est but let me know all your troubles, tbat I may help and advise you, if it lies in my power to do so.'

He would have known further particulars respecting this affair of Martha's, but Eleanor seemed anxious to dismissIhu the subject, and he thought be would

talk to her some other time on tbe matter.

Scarcely had the words passed his lips when she uttered a low, moaning cry, as though she were suffering intense pain, and the next moment sunk back-

ward upon the sefa, in a death like swoon.

During the course of the afternoon Jerrold came to the determination to lose no time in quitting the neighbor-

It convit

hood, for he felt lnced tbat his

paired during his absence, and that int the weak and nervous state to which she had been reduced, any excitement might have tbe most injurious effects upon her.

The proposition of a trip to the seashore seemed to afford Eleanor the liveliest satisfaction, and she suggested that, ,, if it was possible, they should start next day. or at the latest, upon the day following.

But nardly bad this conclusion been arrived at, and

while

acquaintance. How very fortunate!' He ibqaired the way to the Colonel's house, and rewarded tbe girl with half a crown and one of his sweetest smiles, for her information. 'Now, my lady,' said Hardwicke to himself, 'we shall meet at last I'

Among

fy°a

will—you

must forgive me! Although I have told you so many falsehoods, I did it to screen the fault of one whom you have been very kind to.'

'No. She told me that he was. I, think that she believed it herself. She formed some connection with a man who was stopping at the inn the man I -tg wrote to. She went away to be mar-1/ ried. He sqandered her small earnings,' tben discovered that her first husband was alive. From that time he has been ,? threatening and persecuting herunmer-, clfully, and has extorted money from"

®7

her upon several occasions, and from me.' •Fiomyou?' 'Yes, indirectly. She could not pay the bribe, you know, so I was obliged to do so. It was upon that account that I sold the trees, Edward. Can you forgive me? I was so ashamed of my weak- ,T ness—I was so frightened lest you should take the law into your own hands, and chastise this man, and that he should1" wreak his vengeance upon Martha. Can you forgive me, Edward, for my falsehoods and folly?'

-•a

She looked ill, too, and complained of. her headache, and he could find no time for aught but tbe utterance of tender, soothing words, and terms of endear-i ,' ment.

-i

At least an hour was passed thus. The subject bad ceased to be discussed,,. when Jerrold inquired what were the* contents of the lotter she bad sent to Slider. .i. 'It was to tell him that we should submit to no more imposition, and tbat if he persisted in it we should inform you of the whole circumstance.' 'And wbat effect will tbat have, do you suppose?' 'I think he will go away, and leave us in peace. Did you give him the letter?' •No I gave it to Hardwicke to deliver to him.'

tbey were debating

how tbey would make an excuse toHarawicke for their great rudeness, the letter came from Percy, with the contents of" which tbe reader is already acquainted.

From this moment dated Eleanor's- ,^ miraculous cure. Almost simultaneously, did she seem to recover her old health and spirits, and when Jerrold related the circumstances

Night bad gathered in over the valloy some hours when Percy Hardwicke

of nis meeting with bis old friend, tbe on el an he in vi at on to in much to the Captain's astonishment and delight Eleanor proposed tbat they should go.

smilingly picked his way down the hillside toward the Captain's little house. •How agreeably I shall surprise tbem!' he thought, ss be noiselessly* ", opened tbe garden gate.

But in this he was doomed to disappointment, for the servant informed^ him tb&t her master and mistress had gone out to dinner. •How is your mistress this evening— quite recovered?' •Yes, sir, thank you. She has quite recovered!' 'And have tbey gone out to spend the evening anywhere near here?' .• 'To Colonel Wycberly's.' ., 'Wycherley!' repeated Hardwicke, musingly, and tben a triumphant smile flitting across his handsome face.

*44 4

[to bb continued.] &

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