AN IDEAL LOVE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXX, Issue 9307, 16 September 1893, Page 3 (Supplement)

AN IDEAL LOVE.

by BERTHA m. CLAY, ■ or of "For a Woman's Honour," "'Twixfc Lore and Hate," " Fair, but Faithless," " Thrown on the World," etc.

CHAPTER XL.—(Continued.) is the evening Howard was congratulating himself upon bis day's work. My lord had retired for the night, and his nephew was in the librarry alone, smoking and turning over various schemes in his fertile brain. He heard tho clocks strike eight, and immediately afterward was disturbed by Wilkin?, the old servant who had known him from boyhood. " A lady to see you, sir," he announced. •'To see me! A lady J" " Yes, sir."

"What is her name? Whab ia her business The curate looked bewildered. Ib was a very strange hour for visitors of any kindfar a lady, extraordinary. " She comes from someone named Massiuger, sir—someone at Littlehampton," replied Wilkins. "Ah ! Is she a lady, or has she the look Ci" a servant ?" " Well, sir, she is a lady— dressed, good-looking, and well spoken." ' " Must be Alice Sherrard," thought Watnage, " but if it is she there must be something terribly wrong for her to come at this hour." Then ho added, aloud: "Admit her, Wilkins, and see that I am nob interrupted until I ring." Wilkins retired, and one minute later was ushering into his master's presence a slight-looking lady, heavily veiled. The curate stared at her in surprise, but turned ghastly white when she raised her veil. It was La Petite Loraine—ib was the wife of John Dillon ! His first impulse was to ring for Wilkins to conduct tho woman out again, but she raised an imploring finger, and uttered one word, " Don't!" " Why have you forced yourself upon me in this way he angrily demanded. "Why did you lie to my servant?" "Can you not guess?" she asked. "I could not have seen you had I sent in the name of Mrs. Dillon. John told me this, and I want to plead for himto make terms with you if you are not quite heartless."

A hard, bitter look came into his eyes. "Well, what is it you have to say he laid, coldly. Although she was tired and travel-stained he did not ask her to be seated.

"I have only come to plead for my husband," she went on, abjectly. "He surely deserves a little kindness—a little consideration at your hands. He wants you to withdraw your charge against him"

"Impossible!" interrupted Watnage. " Impossible. The law woule not permit it. The affair is quite out of my hands." Oh, do not say that," she sobbed, hopelessly. "If you will help him—if you will not press this matter, and let him leave the country—he will return to you all the papers he has of yours, and the agreement you signed." "I never signed anything, my good woman, and 1 cannot interfero in the ullair. Mr. Dillon is misleading you." "Ah, Mr. Watnage, how can you say so? You know that he is not. You know that he has done much for you -saved you probably from prisondisgrace— " Oh, I cannot stand this sort of thing, madame; I will not stand it," he said angrily. " You really must go away. " •• Do you absolutely reluse to do anything for the man you have made a tool of, and ruined —for my husband She drew herself up determinedly; her eyes lost their timidity, and gleamed hard and cold ; her voice was no longer tremulous and beseeching, bub firm and strong— almost shrill.

Mr. Watnage shrugged his shoulders, bub he felt ill at ease. This woman looked like an avenging Nemesisa veritable Euraenides. He felt that the storm was about to break, and he prepared himself for ib. " I have not ruined your husband. I cannot interefere," he said, harshly. " Why do you come to me?" " I come to you because you can help him if you will. Only withdraw your chargetake back your papers, and he will get, at the worst, but a nominal sentence. Remember, he is my husband. You pretend to be a servant of God, and may want help yourself asain soon." "I refuse absolutely to do anything in the matter," was the cold reply, " but shall press the charge to the utmost. Now leave me." He moved to the bell-rope, but she darted upon him like a tigress, and he felt a sharp pain in his Bide. Like lightning she stabbed him once, twice, thrice, with a tiny dagger which she snatched from the coils of her hair, and he sank to the floor without a groan, his life blood spurting over the furniture and the carpet. " Thus do I avenge you, my husband !" she hissed, " thus do I avenge you ! The heartless, faithless, cruel monster is dead, and none shall know who has rid the world of a man who is— " She listened. Was that a sound at the door— the corridor? She turned the key in the door, and silently opening a French window stole ouj into the night. The tender grass gave back no sound, and she vanished like a shadow among the trees beyond. Meanwhile the unfortunate Watnage had recovered the senses of which he had been bereft by the sudden acute pain that had overcome him. He felt weak and sick, and raised one hand to his side. He drew it away a«-ain, and shrieked aloud. It was sticky with blood —hi 3 blood; he was stabbed—dying ! His horrible scream had been heard, and scon all was turmoil and hurrywild excitement and horror. A doctor was sent for by a galloping horseman, bub it was only a question of a short time—the question of a few hours—before the King of Terrors would step in and claim his own. Howard Eric Watnage, the schemer, the heartless plotter, lay in one of the gilded chambers he had so much coveted, waiting for the pale horseman to take his black soul to the other side.

CHAPTER XLT. A BRIEF INHERITANCE.

Trouble treads upon the heels of trouble, disaster follows disaster. When the Earl of Ravensdale knew that his nephew had been stabbed to death under his own roof—in the library below— he fell into a fit, from which he never Allied, and the dying man—killed by the hand of a woman— now the reigning lord of the soil. All the skill in the world could nob save him; the vengeful dagger had pierced a small artery, which was draining his heart drop by drop. He did nob feel any pain now, only a sinking, sick, wearisome sensation—he felt no bodily pain, but bis mental tortures were horrible. He cried aloud : " Kb—no, I will nob die ! Ido nob believe that this is death. I am youngstrong. There is long life before me. And his nurse rose in alarm, saying : "Oh, my lord, be silent. The doctors say you must nob move ; ib is fatal." "My lord How sweet the sound. My lord ! It was music to his ears. Then he would curse the name of Dillon and the woman who had taken his life from him. He never thought of praying to God to have mercy upon his sinful soul; he who had taught others to pray, and pointed the way to everlasting light. He wa3 much weaker by midday. He had been the Sari of Ravensdale since six o'clock that morning. The old earl had passed away peacefully at six o'clock ; he had died without a struggle, without a word, and now the new earl was dying. He was vindictive to the last, and continually asked if his slayer had been captured. " It was Dillon's last move," he reflected ; then there came forcibly to his mind the last words that Dillon had ever spoken to him— the last words uttered in Anderson's Hotel on the day of his arrest : " One point to you ; bub be sure the last One shall be mine !" The threat—the prediction—had come true : Dillon had scored the last point. " Doctor," he Baid, after a period of quiet, "ami dying?", , J '„ " I fear nothing will save you, my lord, the medical man said, sadly. "How long have I to live? Be honest with me, as ib may be of great importance toothers." "You may live until 'noon to-morrow, and you may be dead before sunset. All depends upon yourself. You musb be quiet, »nd lie perfectly still.**

"Oh 1 this is horrible 1" he sobbed, " horrible ! I have taughb others how to die, and cannot die myself. I may never again see the glorous sunlight, the green fields, the blue sky, the beautiful country, the teeming cities ! Oh, it terrible to die !" "Do you wish to see the clergyman?" asked the nurse. " No—no. If the lawyer has arrived send him to me. I want to be sure that I am able to dispose of money and property ; I want to be sure that I am now my dead uncle's legal heir." The lawyer had arrived, and came in after he had consulted with the physician; he told Howard Watnage that he was absolute master of everything. The title would die with him ; he was tho last of the race,. and only a worthless estate in Ireland would reverb to the Crown. Everything else had been acquired during the laab century by the Ravensdales marrying for money. That was one of the chief reasons the name was practically extinct. The men had been avaricious—they would not marry afc all unless for vast sums of money. They had been fond of their freedom, and sought nob for a wife until past middle age. " Then I am very rich," said tho dying earl. • " Yes; there is not a doubt of it." And if I die without a will ?" he asked. " It may lead to much litigation, bub in the end the Crown will reap the benefit. I should certainly make a will of some kind." " Sit down then," the earl commanded. "Sit down, and it shall be done now." The lawyer obeyed, and called for pen, ink, and paper. , " I leave this estate intact to my wife—" " Your wife, my lord? I did nob know that you were married ! This puts a different aspect on affairs." "Never mind. 'I leave all my landed property to my wife,'" lie continued, rapidly, "'as a solatium for tho great wrong I have done her.' Put that, please, word for word. What value in cash, bonds, and securities do yon think there is ? Give it to me roughly. I know thab you went into ib closely for my uncle only a month ago." " About two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, my lord," replied the lawyer. "Well, 'I bequeath twenty thousand pounds to Alice Sherrard, and twenty more can be cut up among the following.'" He here mentioned mflttiy persons whom he had met in the Christian world, not forgetting the old servants, and finally ordered the residue to go to his wife unconditionally. He read this over when it had been properly drawn, and signed ib in the presence of witnesses. He seemed better after—more resigned, but he resolutely refused to have any prayers at present. In the afternoon he was surprised to hear that Miss Sherrard was waiting below. Would ho see her ? A flush came to his pale cheek, and he commanded that she be admitted to the chamber at once. He told the nurse to withdraw, and Alice Sherrard glided to his bedside,'a world of love and sorrow in her eyes. The dreadful change in him brought a sob to her lips, and she sank by the bedside, weeping bitterly. "Oh, Howard, my darling, why did you not send word to me ? I have come all alone"; I saw that you had been stabbed—l read ib in the newspaper, only a few brief words, and that is why 1 am here." He stroked her hair gently, for he at lash recognised the wealth of love he had despised. " Will you get well ?' she asked. "Ib is not very bad, is it ? The papers exaggerate things, and I was so frightened." " I shall be dead in a few hours, Alice ; the doctors can do no more for me." " Dead ! dead !" she said, wildly. " Oh, no; it is a mistake! You must) nob die, my loveyou must not die !" In a little while she grew calmer, and sat with one of his pale, thin hands between hers, gazing with adoration at the face that would soon be set and cold. " Does—does Mrs. Massinger —her daughter know of this?" he asked at length. " Do they know that I am dying ?" " We dared not tell Minnie ; her manner 13 so strange. She is —very ill. Oh, why should there be so much sorrow, so much that is dreadful, in this world ?" A spasm passed over his face. Since he had lain there he had had time to reflect; he had summed up a little of his wickedness. He would never be able to undo all the wrong that he had done. " What wrongs have we committed that we should be made to suffer so much ? You above all, Howard above all. You will not think the worse of me for loving vou, will you, dear ? You have another whom you call wife, bub ib is in name only. We were once all in ail to each other, darling, and those were the happiest days in my life. I shall never be happy again— never!" "Alice," he replied, turning his face from her, "I am unworthy of your affection—have always been unworthy. lam a bad man." She put her hands over his lips, whispering : "No, no! You must not say so, darling; I will not hear such foolish words. You are all thab is noble—all that is good." He shuddered, and continued : " Let me tell you something thab will surprise and shock you, Alice ; you will have to hear of my villainy soon ; it is sure to come out. Far better that 1 should bo the first to tell you—the only being who ever truly loved me." She looked at him sharply, incredulously. Were his senses beginning to wander? No, the light in his eyes was steady, bub they fell abashed before her gentle gaze. " Howard !" she gasped. " Nay, I am speaking truth, and to you only can I unburden my mind—to you only. My guilt will soon be known to the world." He was quieb for a little while, for the slight exertion seemed to have partially exhausted him. "I am fast growing weaker," he said. " Alice, when you have heard all, try still to think well of me." " Oh, darling, I shall ever love you," she sobbed. "We shall meet again in heaven." " Heaven may not be my portion. God forgive me. Alice, I have always been wicked, bub my worst sins are my latest. I have lived a double life. The man who has preached the Gospel to his fellowcreatures, and warned them of the life to come, was a man with a false, black heart. He was a gamblera schemer unscrupulous villain. He robbed the church, he robbed its members, he robbed his friends. He cared not whab the result was to others, so thab his own pleasures were gratified. He bent circumstances to his will, he was the friend, the associate, of a murderer—a forger ; he even listened to & plot to murder his own uncle. The letter thab nearly killed Miss Massinger was a forgery; her lover never wrote ib. The letter purporting to be from my uncle, threatening to leave me a pauper, was likewise a forgery. He never saw it; ib was one of ray tricks to win Minnie Massinger for my wife. , The announcement that Philip Massinger was soon to marry was inserted in the newspapers by me. It is all lies—everything. I am a living lie. My life has been a lie from first to last. lam damned below Judas, and there is no hope for me. I have been murdered at lasb by my companion in crime—by his wife, because I betrayed him. I could nob even be truthful—be honest— him. lam a worthy representative of the King of Hell, and he is waiting for me now on the dark Plutonian shorehe is waiting now !" He had risen to his elbow, his eyes wild and bloodshot foam was on his lips, and his chest was flecked with blood. He gasped, a shriek left him, and he gurgled, " Alice, kiss me once ! Oh, God, forgive 1" The poor girl clasped him to her arms, she kissed his dead face, then, with a scream, fell senseless to the floor. He was dead, and in the doorway stood the doctor and the lawyer, both of whom were horrified by the confession they had heard, CHAPTER XLII. " OH, MY DARLING ! COME TO ME ! COME TO ME !" Minnie's peculiar illness had not.been exaggerated by her mother.. For hours at a time tho poor girl's mind would become a blank, and she would sing gleefully the simple songs of her childhood, would prattle of the sunny hours of youth when life was fairydom. But of a sudden memory would return, like a black cloud, with all that was bright and beautiful blotted away—the horrible present would be there in all its hideousness, and she would moan with affright and pray bhab she might die. Every shadow in the room she likened to Howard Watnage—every step in the street beneath her window as his—he was coming to claim her 1 And one morning Alice Sherrard came to her and kissed her. She had been crying, and her face was drawn and white.

"I am going away for a short time, dear," she said ; " a day or two. Good-bye, and be cheerful, darling." " What is the matter ?" questioned Minnio, rising to a sitting posture. "Do not leave me, Alice; do not leave me. You are my only protection from him. He will nob, he dare not, come here if you stay." Alice left the room, a sob bursting from her lips, and Minnie heard many whispers below—the whispers of her mother, of Alice, of Rebecca. What was wrong ? Why would they not tell her? A horrible suspicion crossed her mind ; there was but one meaning to it; they were conspiring to give her up to hor enemy—her legal husband. She slid out of bed, and was surprised to find that she could walk so well. Her bodily strength was returning, and if her suspicions were correct she would fly—fly J ho felb that hor mother was not to bo rusted, she was too weak—too plastic in the hands of this Howard Watnage. She listened—she heard his name mentioned, and she returned to her bed. It was quite true then—quite, bub she would defeat them. When Rebecca Horton came to make her bed, and tidy up the room, she was shocked by tho wild light in the girl's eyes. " Are you better, dearie ?" she asked. " I shall be well and strong 500n,," was the reply. " I thought I should die, but it is not to be yet. Since my illness I have not been able to walk until to-day, and I can get along well. I have walked round the room, Rebecca, and want to leavo here soon. I don't like it; there are too many awful recollections. You will not desert me, will youyou will not take sides with mother and Alice—those who delight in singing tho praises of the man I abhormy hateful husband? Oh, oh, my husband! How strange it sounds ! My* husband ! It sounds like the kneel of doom ; it makes mo tremble in affright. Toll me, Rebecca, is lie anywhere near to me ? tell me—tell me." " Oh, dearie, you do nob know what has happened. Lie down, child— are exciting yourself again." Minnie shrank from her with aversion. So she also was in the plob against her ! Oh, cruelcruel ! She had not a friend in the world—not one. It was easy to see— any child could see what their intentions were ; they were conspiring with Watnage to seize her, and take her away. He had the law up6n his side ; he had been merely staying away to make his plans perfectto blind her, as ib were. Although she had told Rebecca thab she was getting strong, she knew thab it was a fallacyshe was not strong, and would soon be dead, but death was so long coming, oh, so long ! Why should she live Her lover no longer lived—had never lived only in the spirit. " Oh, Owen, help me! help me !" she cried. Poor dear," sobbed Rebecca. "Why can't she forget that murderous villain with his handsome, false face ?" Then Rebecca went away, gently closing the door behind her, and Minnie slumbered for a little while, and dreamed of the dingle at Silverhurst, of tho June sunshine, and birds, and flowers, and of her god-like lover. Again was the old story told, till the evil face of Howard Watuage came before her, and she awoke, calling, " Oh, Owen, save mo ! Come to mo ! Save me ! Oh, save me!"

Mrs. Massinger seemed very preoccupied that day, for she only spoke to Minnie a few times; she was absent-minded, worried, and distrait.

In the evening she received a telegram. Minnie heard the landlady call to Rebecca that there was a telegram for Mrs. Massinger ; then there was more whispering, her mother cried a little, and she hoard Ro ; becca say, aloud : " Well, well, mistress, it's a sad thing, but it's perhaps besb for Miss Minnie— or his wife, I should say. I never can think of her as his wife. It wasn't no marriage at all in my opinion, and I'm sure it isn't in the sight of God." Bless you for those words," Minnie murmured. " But what does she mean will be besb for me? I know— yes, I know ! He has telegraphed that ho is coming to claim me. Am I strong enough to walk, am I strong enough to escape them ? I will try even though I go to my death. I have but one wish in life. I don't know why ib is, bub I must go. I must) see if tho spirit of my king lives in the little dingle—my beautiful lover. I know he is waiting for me there, I know ho will meet me there, and if I can die our souls will become as one, and we will live together for ever in the Elysian fields where none can partus." Her eyes shone like stars, with the wild light of insanity in them, and stealthily creeping out of bed she commenced dressing herself. She bathed her hands, face, and throat, she put on clean linen, at first in a weak, uncertain way, bub gaining strength with every movement. Was that someone at the door? Ib was lucky that she had locked it. "What do you want?" she asked. "I do nob wish to be disturbed." "Are you all right, darling?" her mother's voice asked. " 1 thought I heard you moving about." " Yes, mamma. I am looking for tho book that Owen Masters gave to me. I want to read it. His spirit is calling to mo to-night. Go away, please." Mrs. Massinger retreated,sighing heavily. The half-crazed girl forgot, for a space, her intentions; she lay on the bed again, bub a man's step below startled her into frenzied action again. It was only a male boarder, bub she was certain that ib was Howard Watnage* He had come, then, but his mission should be a vain one, he would not find the wife he was seeking. She went to her wardrobe, and pub on a warm cloak, a hat, and carried her boots in her hand. Stay, she must; have money ; she must have her treasures Owen's ring, Owen's letter, Owen's book of poems. She unlocked her desk, and took therefrom what she prized most on earth—her ring, her letter, the beautiful letter that Owen had written to —the talismanic ring that he had given bo her, and the book that breathed his spirit. Her purse contained two gold coin* and some silver— sufficient for her needs, she told herself, and then she listened for the heavy step on tho stairs. It was gone; Howard Watnage was perhaps waiting in the dark passage to pounce upon her. She drew open the door swiftly and silently ; she sped down the stairs, past the half-open door of the room wherein her mother was sitting in a listless attitude, out into the street, and away. It was fast growing dark, bub there were few people in tho streets, for ib had been softly raining for some time; there were plenty of faces in the verandahs above her— the faces of boarders in the various houses on the esplanade, looking at the rolling tide as ib clutched at the shore with eager hands. To them there was nothing strange in the figure of a woman hurrying along. They could nob see that she was carrying her boots in her handthey did not see the j strange, wild light in her eyes. Everybody was hurrying out of the rain. She reeled as she passed the last house, and nearly fell; her head was in a whirl. Then she felt the cold striking through her feet, and rested against a wooden fence to pub on her boots. She laughed a shrill, discordant laugh, and darted away again. There was a man's figure behind her. It was Watnage. Oh, how well she knew him, and the villain was giving chase. Ho meant to capture her then, he meant to assort the authority that the law had given him. She reeled on—on with a panting heart, with a strength that surprised herself, through the little town to the railway station, and asked for a ticket to London. Ib was nearly half-past seven, and the lasb brain bo the great city .was steaming in the station. She took her ticket, and walked on to the platform. Her enemy was not there. She would evade him yet. "Lunnon brain !" shouted a porter, and began to ring a bell with a hideous clang. Oh, why did he make so much noise? He would bring Howard Watnage after her; he would let everybody know that she was flying ! The guard had helped her into a secondclass carriage. He was in a hurry, and had nob even noticed that she was young and pretty, that she was white and wildeyed. He only knew thab it was a female passenger, and they were always a trouble, more or less. There was a shrill, unearthly shriek from the engine whistle, and with a gigantic snort, the great wheels began to revolve, and the train rolled away. Minnie was alone in the compartmenb, and sab for a little while gasping for breath ; there was a sharp pain at the heart, and her head throbbed so violently that she lay buck almost unconscious of what) ate luM,

done. Her memory was leaving her again bub she struggled hard against ib. She musb nob sleep; her enemies mighb be following, might be in the same train, bo far she had escaped them, and she laughed hysterically. She was obeying the spirit call, she was obeying the spirit of Owen Masters, the spirit of her love. Ib was beckoning her on— The train made few stoppages, and rolled into London Bridge Station at half-past ten. There seemed to bo the clanging of a hundred belli", the hoarse yells of a thousand men, a million of dancing lights. Minnie was shivering with cold, and a gentleman who was passing asked if he might assist her to alight ; bub she shrank back, with a low cry, and ho retired, calling the attention of a porter to her. , , _ " Where you for, ma'am ?" he asked. He was ft kindly-faced old fellow, and she saw that he was not an enemy. "I am on my way to the dingle,' she said, "at Silverhursb. Don't tell anyone." "Eh?" he exclaimed, in astonishment. •* Step oub, please; this train goes no farther. I'll geb your ticket for Silverhurst." He saw thab there was something strange about her, that she was ill, that her mind was wandering, and when he took her arm she tottered forward, and clung to him for support. "Ain't you gob no friends to meet you, miss !" he asked. " Not here. I have no friends," she chattered. " Oh, lam so cold." "Come into the refreshment room. You've gob to wait half an hour, and it's warm there." Ho saw her comfortably seated, and recommended a glass of porb wine, hob, to take away tho chill that) she was suffering from. "And now, miss," he said, " I'll get your ticket for you if you haven't gob one, and see you in the train." She gave him a sovereign absently, and ho saw the flash of diamonds in the ring that Owen had given to her ; he saw also the wedding-ring, and shook his head as he walked away. "Summat queer about this job," he muttered, " bub, then, what business is ib of mine ?"

The hob port; wine and the warm room dispersed the shivering, and gave the girl new life. A flush came into her thin cheeks, and in her eyes was a fiery glow when the old porter came back. " Ah, you're looking better," lie said. "Here's your ticket, ma'am, and the train's waiting." She walked beside him like one in a dream ; she did not utter a word until she was seated in the train, and then murmured a faint, "Thank you." " You won'bgetin till nearly one o'clock,'' 1 he told her. " I reckon your husband or somebody'll be there to meet you ?" "My husband !" was the startled cry. "Oh, no! I am going to see Owen, his spirit has called me; we have to meet in the dingle." The porter looked bewildered, and he hardly know whether he was doing right or not to allow her to go on. "She's clean gone off it," he said, " but what can I do with her at this time o' night ? I might get into trouble—but there goes the signal." On went the train, and he gazed after it very much troubled, indeed ; ho knew not what to make of the girl, and there was 110 sleep for him that night. There were very few passengers by this late train, and Minnie snuggled up into a corner. The wild, hunted look had left her face. She was conscious of being nearer to Owen ; every throb of the mighty engine told her that, and she murmured : "I am coming, my love, my king. lam being led onward by my soul—my soul and yours. I know that you want me—that you are waiting for me at the place where we first vowed to love for evermore." As the train crawled into Silverhurst the clock in the church tower tolled the half hour after midnight, and she stood on tho platform, and gazed at the quaint old building standing far away on a hill, with a great round moon rising behind it. There was no rain falling here, and the air was soft and warm. The sky was full of shining stars, and the frogs were singing loudly in the rushes. " Any luggage, miss 2" said the voice of a porter. " No." " Expecb somebody to meet you V "No." She started away through tho little station, along the quiet, dusty road. Only two people had alighted at Silverhurst besides herself, and they had been driven off by a waiting coachman. She was alone and she had no fear. She had a long way to walk, and although she had seen so little of tho place before her footsteps never faltered, nor was sho one moment in doubt. She only met one person on the way, and that was a ragged, slouching tramp, aroused from his slumbers on the roadside. He saw that ifc was iv woman, well-dressed, and young. She was going to the village, and by some mistake her friends did not know of it. Such a chance was not to be lost. He started up, exclaiming : " A shillir»' for luck, miss. I'm stone broke." Ho held out a grimy hand, bub the girl stared at him with eyes that) were filled with an unearthly light. "I cannob stop," she said. "His spirit ! beckons me on." The moon shone on her white face, giving it a ghastly hue, and tho tramp dived into | tho hedge with a yell of terror. j Past tho church, and through the fields that skirted the pretty house of Philip j Massinger—on, on she went, and fearlossly I trod the dark woods beyond, nob heeding the shriek of the night birds, or the frightened twittering of the sparrows, aroused by the crackling among the dried leaves beneath them. On, until she stood upon the threshold of that sacred Bpob, wherein the souls of Minnie Mayfiold and Owen Masters had mingled, and become one in the sight of an all-seeing God. There was not a whisper, nob a sound, but those of the woodspritcs; the gentle beams of tho moon filtered through the trees, and cast upon that soft grass a covering of beautiful lacework too intricate for human hands to imitate, too lovely to be real. "The spirit of beauty dwells in the deep woodland, And fairies and fays now are sporting in glee ; While far, far above from the great and the good land The gold stars are nodding and blinking at me."

Minnie stood with a look of rapture in her eyes—upon bar delicate face, and then wearied out she sank with a happy sigh to the grassy bank, where she had been seated the day that Owen had found her, afraid of his dogs. She lived again that happy day, and the next one still happier the day when he told her that their souls had been bound in sympathy for years, that he loved her. She forgot that he had been faithless and wicked. She forgot thab all must be dead between them. She lived not in the world ; she was a spirit inhabiting a useless, dying tenement of clay. She had come to meet her twin soulher loverher king. My love !" she cried, "I am waiting. I have answered your call. Oh, Owen, my darling, come to me, come to me!" She gazed at the moon above, and gazing, dropped asleep, for she was weakshe was ill—she was weary. [To be continued.!