THE MYSTERY OF HADDON'S FERRY.

Auckland Star, Volume XVIII, Issue 203, 31 August 1887, Page 6

THE MYSTERY OF HADDON'S FERRY.

By E. D. E. N. Southworth.

CHAPTER XXIX.

fled ! Oh, chance! Oh, wondrous change ! Burst are the prison bars,— Thia moment, here, so low, So low, so agonised, and now Beyond the stars. Oh, change! stupendous chaneio! There lies the soulless clod; The sun eternal breaks, The new immortal wakes,— Wakes with his God. CAROLINK SOUTIIEY.

"Listen," came in fainter murmurs from

the lips of the dying man.

.Gerald Fitzgerald bent down his ear and strained his attention to catch the expiring

sounds.

But the lips moved no more; the last word was spoken; the last breath was drawn; Maurice Fitzgerald had dropped into that last, delicious sleep from which the waking will ba in another world.

Yet his son listened, knowing his attention to be in vain—listened in that mute awe which precedes grief, even in the heaviest bereavements, and holds the spirit motionless, spell-bound, in the presence of death.

At last, still holding the dead hand, he sank upon his knees by the bedside and prayed silently. Then he arose, and, with reverential tenderness, closed the sightless eyes and the mute lips, and drew the sheet over the lifeless face.

Finally, he closed the window shutters, and left the chamber of death.

In the hall outside he met Miss Greenleaf, who had just left her room, attended by Gertrude. "We are quite ready to relieve you, Colonel Fitzgerald, and to take our places beside Mr Fitzgerald," said Miss Sue cheerfully. " My father has passed beyond our charge, my dear Miss Greenleaf. I thank you earnestly all the same, however," gravely replied the bereaved son. " You do not mean to say—" exclaimed Miss Sue, and there she stopped appalled. "My father is gone, Miss Greenleaf. He passed away scarcely an hour ago." "lam deeply shocked. lam profoundly grieved," said Miss Sue, as the tears rushed to her eyea. " The will of Heaven be done," muttered Gerald Fitzgerald, in a choking voice, as he struggled for composure. "Go to your room and lie down, dear Colonel. You should not be troubled with details just now. Leave all to me for this one day, and take your rest. I will see- all done that is necessary, and I will send off a . messenger immediately for my brother," said Miss Sue, with thoughtful kindness. "I thank you, Mies Greenleaf. I will retire for a short tims. Pray do as you , suggest," replied Gerald Fitzgerald, pressing her hand and then relinquishing it, as he turned away and entered his own room, ! and, dressed aa he was, threw himself down, exhausted, upon his bed. ;• Not to sleep 1 Sorrow for the sudden ; death of his father, so faiJ as lie could realise it even now, and pain and perplexity .in regard to the unrevealed, • fatal secret which old Maurice Fitzgerald bad died in trying to utter, kept his mind wrought UP to a state of excitement entirely incompatible with sleep. The sudden death of his ■ father was an accomplished fact, leaving I behind it a dull, still, deap-seateii pain. . with a presentiment that it would soon awaken and realise itself in poignant sorrow. But the mystery of the untold secret in ! which the honour of the high Fitzgeiald ; was at stake —this was a living, active, irritant trouble! It had not died with 1 Maurice Fitzgerald.-"*"^ livetMtt the keepI ing of a wandering mad woman, and might, : in any inward move (which she described :as being the possession of a malignant 1 spirit), be suddenly disclosed to the world ! '■ And what was this mystery ?

That it was a most degrading secret was certain from the words of her who had spoken of it without revealing it, and of him who had died in the effort to utter it. It might also involve some case of deep injustice—some duty of heroic restitution. At all events, it was a mystery which it was now the duty of Gerald Fitzgerald to investigate and reveal. To do this he must hunt out and interrogate the mad woman Magdala. She had said that " while possessed of a devil," ehe was capable of revealing the secret. In other and more rational words when she was in the humour to communicate, she might do so. Thinking of this, Colonel Fitzgerald resolved to find her out. Meanwhile Miss Sue Greenleaf went down stairs and ordered Jeremy, the body-servant of the late Mr Fitzgerald, to call the household together in the long dining-room, as she had something to announce to them. The old man, without the least suspicion of the loss that had befallen them, bowed deeply, and withdrew to deliver his message. Miss Sue called Gertrude to follow her, ami went into the long dining-room, took her seat at the head of the table, and sat with her elbow resting on the shining mahogany and her head bowed upon her hand. Gertrude sat silent beside her. The door opened and all the household servants filed in, bowed, and ranged themselves in a line at the foot of the table, and waited for Miss Greenleaf to speak. Miss Sue then arose and said : " My goods friends, you all know how very ill your dear master has been. It will not surprise you, therefore, however it may wound and grieve you, to learn that—" . L i , , , Here Miss Sue was interrupted by loud cries, groans and wails of the assembled men,'women and children, who anticipated her fatal communication by breaking into wild exclamations of— " Ole marster is dead ? Oh, oh, oh ! ole marster is dead ! Dead and gone ! Dead and gone 1 Nebber see ole marster no more! Nebber no more ! Nebber no more !" The tumult was so great as to drown the voice of Miss Greenleaf, who ceased to speak while these affectionate, untutored children of nature gave way to the wildest • exhibitions of sorrow and despair, wringing their hands, swinging their bodies to and fro, shrieking, crying, weeping, sobbing, and continuing their weird refrain : " Ole marse is dead ! Dead and gone ! Dead and gone ! Nebber see ole marse no more! Nebber no more! Nebber no more !" .. . , It was more like the inarticulate, unreasoning lamentations sometimes seen and" heard among the brute creation than the mourning of human beings. , Gertrude looked on in an agony of sympathy and compassion as long as she could bear, and then bent her lips to Miss Greenleaf's ear and whispered : " Oh, Miss Sue ! speak some comfort to the poor souls. Tell them it is not so /" "What 'is not so,' my child? What can I tell them? Their master is dead and gone. I cannot tell them that is not so," answered Miss Greenleaf in a long whisper. ,—-•. , , T . "He is gone, but he is not dead. Miss Sue, you know better than that. Tell them. Teach them." •-■-. , "I cannot, my dear. It is a great mystery. I do not understand it myself. I am sure they could not be made to under--Bt^oh! yes, they could. There love would help them to do bo," murmured Gertrude.

Then taken out of herself by her great pity, carried beyond bashfulness, timidity, and all self-consciousness, she went down among the wailing negroes, mingled with them, laid her hands on such as she knew, and called them by name as she spoke to them. "Do not weep so, Aunt Hetty. Your dear old master is not really dead. He is more alive than he ever was before. As you are a Christian woman,-you know, this, and you must take it to your heart and fxel it, too, and get the comfort of it. Jeremy, listen to me. There is no death. Your good old master is more alive than you are at this moment; and ever so much more free than I am, or any of us ever can be, until we are free of the body for evermore. Oh ! dear friends, in all tho Lord's lovely universe there is no death, nor any possibility of death, but change to good and to better and better for ever. Let me tell you, Leah," she said, addressing the aged nurse of the late master; "you are over eighty years old, and have served a long, long time in the flesh. You have a daughter and grandchildren and great-grandchildren in the far Southwest, and you often want to go to them, but cannot. Now, if you were free, as your master is to-day, you would go to them at once—not to their visible presence, but nearer still to them—into their very souls. Oh !if I could only make you feel it all," she said, almost sinking in her sense of inefficiency and weakness. Then, using such homely similes as the butterfly in the chrysalis, the bird in the shell, she tried to inspire them with the perception of t^he truth of the continuance and ascension of life after apparent death, as she had received that truth from the teachings of Gabriel Haddon, and from the intuitions of the Spirit. And whether it was from the influence of her touch, or her voice, or her words, we know not, but we know that she calmed the wild tumult before she came to herself.

Then, as the coloured people quietly left the room, she came around and rejoined Miss Sue Greenleaf.

" My dear child, you have quieted them, but I don't believe they understand a word you said, I'm not even sure that /did," said Miss Greenleaf.

"Oh, Miss Sue, it is not always by understanding, it is by perception we get the truth. Perhaps they do not understand, but they perceived. Ido not understand, but I perceive," murmured Gertrude, reverentially. " All that is a great deal too metaphysical for me, my dear-. But I must send off a messenger for Royal to come here and attend to things. Colonel Fitzgerald must not be disturbed by details to-day," said Miss Sue, as she passed out into the hall, and sent Jeremy down to the stable with orders to mount and carry the tidings of the death of Maurice Fitzgerald to Greenwood, and to request Mr Royal Greenleaf to come immediately to the Summit to take the direction of affairs. Then Miss Greenleaf busied herself and her young companion with such preparations for the funeral as came immediately under her feminine jurisdiction. Royal Greenleaf reachod the Summit early in the afternoon. Colonel Fitzgerald being apprised of his arrival, came down to receive him.

" This is very sudden, Gerald—very sudden, indeed. I feel for you, my boy; I do indeed. I remember when I lost my own father; big man as I was, I—I —I—" Here honest Royal Greenleaf'a voice quite broke down, and he finished by silently wringing the hand of his friend and turning away. '^Sitdown, Royal, and let me offer you some refreshments after your long ride," said Colonel Fitzgerald, by way of putting an end to condolences.

" No, no, no ; I couldn't touch anything now, thank you. I came here to serve you. Tell me how I can best do it. lam absolutely at your orders. You have only to command me, sir," said Royal _teenleaf, earnestly. "1 thank you from my heart," replied Gerald Fitzgerald, taking and pressing the hand of his friendly neighbour. . Then the two gentlemen drew their chairs together to discuss the business that brought them into company. Gerald Fitzgerald gave his instructions, and Royal took out note-book and pencil and jotted them down. When Mr Greenleaf had received the last direction, recorded it, replaced his pencil and note-book in his pocket, and was in the act of rising to take leave, Colonel Fitzgerald stopped him by suddenly inquiring : " Royal, do you know anything about a certain poor, mad woman, who roams around the country under the name of—of Magdala, or where she is to be found ?" "I know a very uncertain mad-woman of that name, bat I haven't the leas b idea in the world where she is to be found," replied Mr Greenleaf.

••Can you tell ms anything at all about her? Who is she? Where she came from ? What turned her brain ?"

"Is it possible you don't know anything about Magdala?" " You know that I have been an absentee from home for nearly the whole of the last fifteen years—four years at West Point, three in Florida, three in Mexico, and five on the Western plains." "That is go, certainly. *Of course, you could know nothing about Magdala. And to tell the truth, we know very little. She is the one mystery of our prosaic neighbourhood."

" Did my father know her well?" " I don't think he knew her ab all. I never saw her at the Summit or near it in my life. She haunted the valleys, not the mountains. Favours Greenwood, Forest Lodge, and the Cave House with lier visits, but has never been seen _t Hill Top Hall, or Summit Manor House, I believe." Colonel Fitzgerald could have set hi* neighbour right as to the mad woman's visits to the Summit Manor; but forbearing to do so, he inquired : " Will you tell me all that you do \no\v about this singular woman ?" ' Yes, certainly ; but that is little enough. Neither I nor anyone else about here seems to know anj'thing about her beyond that— that in the great flood of fifteen years a#> she was rescued from the water .in a halldrowned condition. Whether she was mad before, or whether the perils and sufferings of that awful night drove her mad, no one knows, or ever can know, I do suppose ; for, though she was brought to reason, many who saw tho most of her about that time declared their opinion that on that terrible night she lost her mind, her memory, and even her own identity. -Certain it is that she has never been able to give the least account of herself, or the slightest clue to her history. She could noteven tell her own name."

" How came she, then, to be called Magdala ?" inquired Colonel Fitzgerald. "Oh ! 1 have heard that in the pocket of her dress, when she was picked up, was found an empty pocket-book, on the little silver clasp of which was engraved the word —Magdala ; but whether that word was a name, or, if it was a name, whether it was hers, no one ever knew ; for when she herself was questioned on the subject, she only shook her head and said she could not tell. However, that was the way in which she came to be called Magdala. But why are you so suddenly interested in this poor, mad woman, if it is a fair question, Gerald?" gravely demanded Royal Greenleaf.

"I will tell you at some future time, neighbour, not now,"answered Colonel Fitzgerald. While they spoke together in the parlour the house was full of quiet bustle, if auch a phrase be admissible. People were moving about in silence or speaking together in whispers, as they busied themselves,in preparing to pay the last honours to tho remains of the departed master.

As Colonel Fitzgerald uttered his last words, Gertrude Haddon entered from the conservatory with her arms full of white flowers, with which she glided softly across the parlour, merely bowing to Royal Green - leaf as she passed, and took them in to an inner room. .. . ... " There goes my future wife—it she will have me !" exclaimed the bachelor master ot Greenwood, when he had returned her bow. . Gerald Fitzgerald gave a scarcely porcejitible start and looked at his visitor intently. . ~. , ~ Royal Greenleaf, unconscious of his host s fixed regards, went on speaking recklessly. " Jehosophat, King of Jorusalem, what a lovely girl this new heroine of my sister s is, to be sure ! And how amazingly like the Fitzgeralds she is ! Don't you think so . " I—have not noticed any such likeness, answered the colonel. , " Well, you look at her attentively the next time you meet her and you will see it at once." .. „ ~ " I should not like to be so rude, said Gerald Fitzgerald, somewhat coldly. " Oh, I don't mean that! I don t mean that you are to stare at her, but look at her well, and you will perceive her wonderful likeness to the beautiful Fitzgerald women." ... "She is certainly not in the least like Geraldine or Patricia," said Colonel Fitzgerald, emphatically. " Oh, I don't mean these younger ones. No, she is not like them. Nor do I think— begging their ladyships' pardons—that thenbeauty is to be compared to the beauty of their predecessors — your lovely aunts, Gerald." , "Ah ! I do not remember my fathers sisters, Royal." " No, they both died before reaching the age of twenty-five. Helena went first, then Camilla. This girl is the living image of Helena." "It is an accidental likeness, then, or an imaginary one. I never heard any one speak of it before," said Colonel Fitzgerald, as if ho would have changed the conversation. But Royal Greonleaf could talk of nothing else. " I never noticed the likeness, striking as it certainly is, until the girl was brought to Greenwood—for, indeed, I had seen very little of her previous to that day." ( " Yet she was brought up at Haddon s Ferry, and you must have crossed the river at that point many times every year," said Colonel Fitzgerald, gravely. "I know it, and yet I scarcely ever saw that lovely girl, and never near enough -to notice her. I suppose her old grandfather, or rather guardian, Gabriel Haddon, kept her carefully out of the way of such a wild bachelor as I am reported to be." " I should think that quite likely," drily observed Colonel Fitzgerald. "But I will tell you one thing, Gerald. If. I had seen this sweet girl earlier, I should not be a bachelor at this hour !" exclaimed Royal Greenleaf, nodding archly. " That is, if the young lady could have been persuaded to accept you as a husband," said Colonel Fitzgerald, quietly. " Of course, I mean that." " But she is as yet a mere child." "Oh, she is young, sure; enough ; but that is a fault which must daily mend. And one thing is as certain as fate —Miss Haddon shall be the mistress of Greenwood within three months of this date, if she will consent to take Royal Greenleaf 'for better, for 'worse !' " exclaimed Gertrude's admirer, rising and clapping his broadbrimmed straw hat upon his head with an emphatic thump. - Colonel Fitzgerald bowed and waved his hand, with, perhaps, some little latent irony. ' " And now, if I am to see those people to-day and get back here by sunset, I really must be off," continued Mr Greenleaf, drawing on his gloves. "Bo allow me to offer you some refreshment before you go ?". urged Colonel Fitzgerald. " Why, man alive, where should I put it, if you were to give it to me? I just got up from a full meal when I jumped upon my horse to ride here. No, I thank you. 1 could not eat another morsel or drink another drop, Good-day for the present," said Mr Greenleaf, holding out his hand.

" Good - day, then. Pray accept my hearty thanks for your kind services to-day," said Colonel Fitzgerald, warmly shaking the hand of his eccentric neighbour. Royal Greenleaf hurried from the house, and a few minutes later his horse's hoofs were heard clattering away from the yard. The new master of the manor remained in the parlour, walking up and down the floor, until his attention was called by a lpw voice.

" Colonel Fitzgerald!" He turned suddenly, to see Gertrude standing within the room. She had entered so softly that he had not perceived her presence until sho spoke. M Well, my child, what is it?" he inquired, bending his eyes kindly upon the sweet little face.

M Miss Greenleaf has sent me to ask if you will not come into the little breakfast parlour and take a cup of tea with us." " Thanks, dear child—yes. Miss Greenleaf is very kind and thoughtful," he answered, as he stepped forward, opened the communicating door, and drew Gertrude's arm within his own to lead her into the breakfast room.

Miss Sue Greenleaf was presiding at a small table, on which was arranged an elegant little tea-service, and many tempting delicacies. " I am glad you have been induced to join us, Colonel Fitzgerald. You must nob really neglect your health," said Miss Sue.

Colonel Fitzgerald bowed silently, placed his young companion in her chair at the table, and seated himself opposite to her, where he could, without rudeness or offence, study the meek beauty of her face.

"No; Royal is mistaken. This dear, dear child is nob like the queenly Fitzgerald women ; her beauty is less earthly, more divine. But how cotdd that honest brute, my cousin Royal, presume to think himself worthy to possess so lovely a girl as this for his wife ? I hope he will not really ever think seriously of troubling her with such a suit," said Colonel Fitzgerald to himself ias he sat and furtively studied her face.

'Miss Sue Greenleaf thought him very Ijbsent-minded, and observed that he took a long time to drink a single cup of tea; bub she considered that he had much to occupy his thoughts, and so, when he had finiihed one cup and refused another, she suffered him to rise and leave the table with*ut remonstrance.

"I wonder who she really is?" thought Gerald Fitzgerald, as he returned to the front parlour. "A waif of the AYilde? The ad«pted child of the old ferry-man. That is all we know of her."

CHAPTER XXX.

THE HEIR OF SUMMIT MANOR. Ah! why slould memory, veiled with gloom, And like asorrowing mourner draped. Sit weeping »'er an em ply tomb, Whose captive has escaped 1

'Tis but a mound, and will be mossed Whene'er the summer's grass appears; The gone, though wept, are never lost, We only lose-our tears.

4-NONYMOUS. Three days later, amid a vast concourse of friends, neighbours and relatives, the mortal remains oi Maurice Fitzgerald were laid in the family vault, under the little chapel on Summit Afanor.

After the last soleian services were over, the great crowd dispersed and returned to their several homes, Wing only a few of bhe nearest relations and moat intimate friends of the family, vho were invited to remain and be present avthe reading of the

last will and testament of the late Maurice Fitzgerald, of Summit Manor. Among those who accepted the invitation and remained were the Greenleaf s, of Greenwood, represented by Mr Royal and Miss Sue Greenleaf, Mrs'Doy, and Miss Patricia Fitzgerald, and Mr Benjamin Bowers, the Fitzgeralds, of Forest Lodce, and half a dozen other manors, all represented by Miss Geraldine Fitzgerald, and the Rowleys, of the Cave House, by Miss Horatia Rowley only.

The reading of the will was appointed to be performed in the middle of the afternoon in the long dining-room of the manorhouse ; and there, at the proper hour, were assembled all persons supposed to be interested in the matter, including the household servants and many of the held labourers. The attorney of the testator, the holder of the will, Mr Key worth, of Wildeville, sat at the head of the long dining-table, with a black Japan box before him. Nearest relatives and dearest friends filled the seats down each side and at the bottom of the board. Gerald and Geraldine Fitzgerald found themselves, by accident or Providence, seated side by side on the right handof the attorney. This was the first occasion on which they had met since their quarrel. And now only necessity brought them together. . ■ Colonel Fitzgerald acknowledged the presence of his beautiful betrothed only by a grave bow, which 3he returned with a slight inclination of her stately head, just as they took their places at the table. That was all. No word passed between them. He sat in perfect silence, his lips compressed beneath his dark moustache, and his eyes fixed upon the table. She reclined back in her chair, and slowly fanned herself with the black crepe fan of her deep mourning suit. The reading of the will was a short and 4|mple affair. Summit Manor being already an entailed estate, fell of itself into t[ie possession of Gerald Fitzgerald, as the only son and heir of his father, the late proprietor. A few legacies were left to friends, relatives, and dependants, and then all real estate, not entailed, and all the personal property of the testator, was bequeathed to liis only son, Gerald, residuary legatee and sole executor of the will.

"And now," said Mr Key worthy as he rolled up the document, returned it into its Japan case, and handed it over to Colonel Fitzgerald, "I have to congratulate you, sir, upon your succession to a large and entirely unencumbered estate. It is very seldom that such a thing ocours. I have never before, in my lons legal practice, met with a case in which so vaßt an estate was passed from father to son entirely free of all liabilities —"

Here the speaker was interrupted by a loud, crackling, derisive laugh.

All turned in the direction of the open window, whence the sound proceeded. A wild face, with piercing black eyes and streaming black hair, was seen suddenly to drop down from the outside to the ground, and then all was silent. "It is that unhappy creature, Magdala, of whom we were ]ust speaking, Gerald," said Royal Greenleaf, resuming his attitude of attention to the lawyer. "Do not mind her. Go on, Dr. Key worth." "I was saying that I had never before known so vast an estate as the Summit Manor to pass from father to son so entirely free from encumbrance as this is. Even the legacies, you will observe, Colonel Fitzgerald, are to ba paid out of th« idle capital remaining in tyhe Wildeville Bank to the account of the late Maurice Fitzgerald. But it was always the pride of my late honoured client to keep the great manor entirely free from all liabilities.' " I wish I could say the same of Greenwood and its owner, Mr Keyworth," said honest Royal Greenleaf. " Hush, uncle ! You have a large unencumbered property in Paradise.laid up there by your good deeds to widows, orphans, poor cousins, and other forlornities—deeds that you could not have done and left your little farm of Greenwood entirely free from burden," whispered Patricia Fitzgerald.

The attorney now drew from his breast pocket two letters, saying : "These were placed in my hands about ten days ago by my late esteemed client, who sent for me and gave them into my keeping, to be delivered to the parties to which they are addressed, in case of just such circumstances as now exist. The letters will explain themselves," he added, as he delivered them both into tho hands of the heir.

" Are you acquainted with their contents, Mr Keyworth '!" inquired Colonel ' Fitzgerald, as he looked ab bhe superscription of the envelope, and seeing that ono was addressed to his cousin, passed it silenbly over to her.

" Yes, Colonel, I know their contents. In fact, I wrote the letters with my own hand to the dictation of the late Mr Fitzgerald. The letters may be called both private and public as to their nature ; and it is, of course, optional with you to read them aloud or in silence," said Mr Keyworth.

" If my good friends will give me leave, I will look over my father's letter before reading it aloud," said Colonel Fitzgerald, with a courteous glance around the table. Royal Greenleaf, in the name of the company, begged him not to stand on ceremony, but to proceed.

Gerald Fitzgerald bowed, broke the seal of his letter, and began to read with a perplexed and troubled brow, which grew more troubled and perplexed as he went on. Geraldine held her letber unopened in her hand, and her pale, proud face seemed prouder and paler than ever. The company looked on, and waited in anxiety and suspense. Gerald Fitzgerald finished the reading at length, folded the letter, placed it in his breast pocket, and sat for a moment in troubled sillence.

His friends looked on with feelings of disappointment, too plainly betrayed by their faces.

At length, after some reflection, Colonel Fitzgerald looked up, and said : " My friends, this letter from my father speaks to me now like a voice from beyond trie grave. lam called to act upon its counsel; but such action requires consideration and—the co-operation of another. Under these circumstances, I must beg that you will allow me time for reflection before I shall make the subject of this posthumous communication public."

" Oh, certainly, certainly, take your own time, Gerald," said Royal Greenleaf, heartily, though looking the disappointment he could not all conceal.

" Take a year ! Take a lifetime, my dear boy ! In fact, take for ever, if you like ! If you don't like to make known the contents of that letter to us, you need never do it. The lawyer said it was optional with you to do it, or not to doit," pompously exclaimed Ben Bowers, who did not care one penny what was contained in the mysterious letter so that it was not a codicil revoking the legacy of a thousand dollars left him by the will of the late Maurice Fitzgerald, which has just gladdened the heart of the poor, impecunious loafer. "Certainly, Colonel Fitzgerald has a right to keep his own secrets, if he pleaseß to do so," said Mrs Doy Fitzgerald. " There is, I assure you, my dear lady, some counsel that requires consideration on the part of myself and cooperation on bhe part of another," said Gerald Fitzgerald, with a gentle smile. " Now, ladies and gentlemen, as my business here is concluded for the presenb, with Colonel Fitzgerald's permission I will bid you good-afternoon," said the lawyer, rising and taking up his green bag. "You will do nothing of the sort, Mr Seyworth. You will remain and dine with w>* said Colonel Fitzgerald, heartily.

The attorney lifted his grey eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and bowed assent.

"Geraldine, my love, are you not going to. read your letter ?" inquired Mrs Doy, with interest.

•' No, madam. I shall reserve it for the present," said Miss Fitzgerald, in a low tone, and with a face as white as marble. _ "My dear, you are not well. What is the matter with you ?" anxiously demanded Mrs Doy. " Nothing is the matter with me. lam in robust health. I always was so; but now I am tired to death of sitting here so long. Since the business that brought us together has been finished, I think we had better adjourn to the drawing-room," answered Geraldine, speaking in a loav tone that all her self-command could not make steady. And so saying, she aroso from the table and stood with her hands resting on the back of her chair.

Colonel Fitzgerald arose, bowed, and silently offered bis arm to lead her out. As silently she bent her head, and slipped her hand within his elbow, but held him back until the whole company had preceded them out of the room. Then she allowed him to lead her after them.

The pair went on in perfect silence until all the company had disappeared within the drawing-room, and they found themselves at the door of the library, which happened to be vacant at the time.

Then Geraldine stopped and held him back, raised her dark eyes to his, and with a gesture at once imperious and beseeching, pointed to the empty library. He led her in, released her arm, and stood silently before her, waiting her pleasure. How grandly beautiful she looked, standing in the midst of the crimson library, where the last rays of the setting sun, streaming through the stained glass of the Gothic window, falling behind her, surrounded her queenly form in a halo of rainbow glory—with iier hands clasped together and hanging down before her upon her black mourning-dress, with her stately head bent till all its richness of purple black locks fell around the warm, glowing, eloquent face. That face had been pale as marble a few moments before, but now it was suffused with lovely flushes. He looked at her with adoration, with worship, with expectancy. The letter that she held unconsciously between her clasped hands dropped unheeded to her feet.

He stooped and picked it up and gave it to her.

She slipped it mechanically into her pocket, and then held out both her hands to him, exclaiming in low, impassioned, vibrating tones:

" Gerald, I have wronged you—bitterly. I mourn for it—oh, how deeply ! Pardon me, Gerald. I implore you to pardon me, for I do love you ■- and honour you—and believe in you utterly ! I have—ever since I was a little child."

"I see the little child of five summers now, with her beautiful, dark, trusting eyes," murmured Gerald Fitzgerald, tenderly, as his hands closed on hers.

"I was wild and mad to have uttered such false and wicked words against you— you. my beloved, my honoured—"

" They are dead andburied and forgotten, as if they had never been spoken," murmured Fitzgerald, drawing her to his heart in a close embrace.

" Oh, you make me very happy ! I bless —I bless your divine forgiveness, Gerald !" she sighed, and overcome by the strong reaction of her feelings, she sank, half-fainting, into the nearest chair.

He was at her side in an instant, kneeling at her feet, holding her hands, breathing woi ds of fondest, truest love into her ears.

"Oh, Gerald, I fea>-—I fear myself—my almost insane moods, when another spirit, not my own, seems to possess me ! Oh, Gerald, can you always forgive —no, pardon ? We forgive faults, but pardon sins. Can you always pardon your wretched, insolent, ill-tempered Geraldine, because, ill as she is, she loves you, she honours you, and she always has and always will? Can you do that, oh, Gerald ?" she faintly implored. " I can and do forgive my own dear Geraldine for the sake of her great love, for her great beauty, and above all, for that I myself do so much need forgiveness," said Fitzgerald, kissing the fair hands that he Btill neld while kneeling by her side. '•Give me back my little betrothal ring, then," she murmured through happy tears. "See where I have kept it since it left your finger," he answered, detaching a slender watchguard from his neck, and drawing it from his bosom until he drew out the little engagement ring from its hiding-place. " Next my heart,"headded, as he replaced it on her finger. "Oh, Gerald ! May Heaven grant that I may ever be able to make 3 rou as happy as you have made me this evening. But my temper—oh, my diabolical temper!" she exclaimed, with half a sigh and half a smile.

" And now, love," said Fitzgerald, rising and seating himself by her side, <* shall I read to you my dear father's posthumous letter, which has so awakened the curiosity of our friends in the drawing-room ?" " Yes ; do read it to me, and then read mine. I shall wonder what they are both about."

"We shall soon see," said Gerald Fitzgerald, very gravely, as he unfolded the ietter and read.

(To be Continued.)