Hunder a Curse.

Otago Witness, Issue 1834, 14 January 1887, Page 30

Hunder a Curse.

By F. A. JOSEPH.

Chapteb VI. The Gold Fever.

When Joyo'e Baw bia companion led away between two constables be crept out of the courthouee like 5 vile reptile, glad to bide his bead anywhere, glad to escape from the gazing crowd, who could see the brand of guilt on his brow. Albert's wild looks of, vengeance were haunting him now, and a dark cloud lay heavy on his heart. Th^ sleuth bounds of accusing conscience dogged him closely, goading him to madness and despair. There was no rest for him ; day and night he 1 was 'constant' fear, and the stinging scourges of an outraged manhood were laid upon himi Ho could not now look into the faces of his honest fellows without a feeling of shame. England seemed a prißon,^HO ho resolved to place the diameter of the globe, between him and bis native land. Sharp are tbe stihgß of a guilty conscience to some natures, bur, alas ! there are others dead to every higher feeling— callous as the dumb for their fellows— w.ho Beem to be a species of brutes. O the bitter pangs that conscience can give to the more finely organised of our race ! In Borne bosoms it burns fiercer and deeper than a devouring furnace, and some endure throughout long years the agonies of the damned. 0 the hell t>f torture that some men and women have na their companion for long and weary years ! Because the God-voice in strong witbin them; because the spirit in willing, but the flesh ia weak ; because each offence againßt unalterable right brings down double punishment upon the offender, Wilfred, in spite of his youthful errors, was not devoid of finer feelings, and the agony he now endured was unbearable, till he cried out like .Cain in bis hopeless wretchedness. By day even, oh the busy etreats, he could not drive back the crowding thoughts that fired his mind, and Albert's pale face and searching, 'accusing eyes seemed- ever upon him. By night he often started from hia sleep with a pained cry, terrified by a vision of Albert orouching aver him like a tiger to the spring. Tbeae' dreams became «o frequent that ho almost lost his reason, and at last he determined to leave England for ever, to seek f orgetfulnees in the wilds of Australia. In bis boyhood's dayu he bad lived by tho Bea near Southampton, and bad there learned a good deal about phips. Profiting by this knowledge, he waß able to get a 'berth oa board an outward-bound vessel, when he worked bia passage to Melbourne. The voyage waa an uneventful one, and in due time Melbourne was reached, It waa summer in the southern hemisphere, and tho heat was oppressive ; a burning Bun by day, succeeded by close, suffo- . caking -nighta.- , Wilfred waa struck by the almost universal sallow comploxions of the Victorians as cr>ntra«tingr with the clear, fresh look of average English faces; but soon his own- face was as' sallow and sun-tanned as the rest, and bo ceased to nota the difference/, When he landed in Melbourne the gold fever was high One riarae was ia every man's mouth, and that name was Ballarat. The ttreets of Melbourne .presented a busy and animated scene. Motley crowd", of men, of almost evety nationality under the sun, were pressing forward, all drawn towards tho B.»rn9 pole3tar. The road betv»eon Melbourne and Balbratwas one moving mass, wbicb would quite defy description. Long bullock teams,' reeking and panting, patiently crept forward, with tardy and unwilling Bteps, not at ail in keeping with the eager baste of the drivers, who ceaselessly plied the stinging whips till blood stained the sides of the suffering animals. Packhorses, staggering under a hetercgenous load of tin dishes shovels, pick?, frying pans, and pa nikins; mop with wheelbarrows, and men carrying heavy burden*, all pressed on to the same El Dorado. Melbourne was soon deserted. Warehouses were closed, and maateis and servants were off to the diggings ; contracts were cut short,. for tbe workmen threw down their tools and j lined tbe rush. Even singing had to be given up in some ot their church ts, b^rauie the cboirsMvere suddenly broken up. There wan but one Buhj u ot of fireside conversation, and that was gold It glittered before thn mind's eyes of excited m*n and women, and the wildest pages of romance Devcr pictured fortunes such as they dreamed of. Merchants and cabman, magistrates and convicts, d6ctors and ecav.eogeis, editors and 'deviU, 1 ail deserted their occupations and went off to the diggings. " ' - Soon the vi'd^rness was a scene of, life and turmoil, and wilds, where only Australian Btockmen had been s»fln before, were now white with tents, and by night and day the busy hum of civilisation was- heard. But before the golden treasures could be tapped rough wmk had to be done. ,To the hardy eailor or eon of toil tbia was"' nothing ; but it waH otherwise with the merchant »nd doctor, who bad always been accustomed to wear gloves ; and the tailor suffered no less severely when the nepdle wan laid down and the' pick taken uo. Blistered hands and aching backs were all that many ever got for their. pain«, while other? found a fortune in a single week. There were many and sad disappointments to balance the ior- . anes made co easily. What comes lightly often g«es at» freely, ard diggers might be eeeo going to town one wet k with many ounces of gold in their billiPß, to return on the following penniless. .With wonderful rapidity hotels and stores sprang tip, often buUt of caUcoj »nd enormous profi/,9

were made by the ineir wh'e ware first afield in these enterprises. Provisions' were sold at famine prices, and yet' the diggers paid what was demanded without a' murmur, and indeed they were glad often enough to get supplied at any price. • , ; ' It is amazing to note the rapidity with which tbe gold fever flies, and lands, far from the ' scene of activity are not slow to catch the infection. ' Soon Melbourne was filled with newcomers from every part of the globe, and from California in particular. Tho gold in the latter-place was pretty well exhausted by this time, and tbe miners who came from tbeso onco rich fields^ carrying with, thorn the experience of years of eearch for biddeur treasures, were tbe better prepared for, the discovery of new, fields of wealth The most 'striking thing on the diggings, p 3i haps, is the footing of equality upon which all men meet, for rank is not acknowledged, and the master and' his former servant might be aeon toiling in common in the same claim, with a community of purpose and interest. Though the greed of gold is a hungry famine, yet tbe diggers werenofc without their amusements, for always among diggers a great many light-hearted, devil may-care men are to be met in with. Some of the garoea indulged in were innocent enough — indeed, »o much so that the schoolboy need never s gain be ashamed of playing childish games. Anything to afford the means of whiling away a passing hour wab considered legitimate, and various were tho games and diversions invented for the occasion. Sunday was. the chief day for these recreations, as no one thought of digging on that day, for somehow — dim, perhaps,, and almost forgotten— memories of tho past etill glimmered' through tho mists of years of godlossnecs and recklsusneßß. So tbe Sabbath waa observed as a day slightly different from other dayH. Some of the less reokleßs refrained from in- , dulging in the games, standing aside in groups, quietly looking on. They could see no particular barm in the games, but pometbing — a Bmall, still voice-— warned them from joining in -with the general Sabbath desecration. Some, still lower down in the scalo of human degradation, spent that day— which in Christian landß is observed as a day of rest and quietude— in drinking and gambling. If remorse should trouble such, the cup of firewater is quaffed to stifle back the last relics of manhood as they struggle to asaert them selves. If visions of the balloted days in tbe long-forgotten past, when, with their parents and brothers and sisters, they enjoyed the solemnities of the Sabbath should arise, the same brain-chilling cup extinguishes all in clouds of darkness, reeking with the odour of Hades. The bou! subduing strains of the organ are hushed in tbe eougs of Bacchus, and tbe p eacher'a warning vojce'iß drowned with wild oaths and blasphemies. Thus the tide of humanity drifts t >wards the awful abyss in these desert wild?, where there is no Sabbath, and the presence of God would almoßt seem to 1 be wanting. But a few there aro who remain truo to their first lnve, and they do homage to their homo training by spending tbe' day in meditation and quiet communion with their God. 3

Monday morning brought with it the strifo and miatle'of t-.he diggers' life. Wilfred Joyce and' his oorapanion-— Dr Lewis, "of tbe ship he came to Melbourne in— -3xpected to (bottom their claim that day. The little doctor was all excitement, and worked like a man who had an imperative duty to perform and meant to do it, in aoite of blistered hands and aching back; but Wilfred, more .philosophic by far, took thiners coolly. ' Well, Will,' said the doctor after dinner, 'you bad better go down below, and I will work at the windlass this afternoon.'

• Agreed,' said Wilfred ; 'we can't be far off the bottom no if, and I suppose tho Budden apparation of a layer of gold would be too much for you.' ' O no, bl<?f>R you ! but my hands are bo *ore that I could not handle the pick any more to-day.'

•Well, here goeß, and before many more hours are over expect me to proclaim our gcod luck !'

Wilfred spoke lightly, but Mb thoufchtß were far different. He expected their olaim to turn out a * duffer,' like the on© next them, wbicb had already been bottomed, The doctor worked anxiously at tbe windlass, and as each bucket of earth came up he oarefully examined it, and then emptied it with an expression of disappointment and diegust. No gold had been unearthed, and already the sun was low, and so wore tbe doctor a hopes. At length a bucketful of different colour came up, and this was subjected to a closer scrutiny, but still it showed no trace of gold. The next bucketful seemed long in coming, Impatient of delay, tbe doctor shouted : * Will, what's up now ?' Wilfred did uot answer, and the question, was repeated. • Pn'lfmo up,' was tho reply. And in bis hurry to find out bow matters stood the little man nearly fell headforemost down the shaft himself. \ii J No Booner did the head of bis mate appear above ground than the doctor energetically exclaitaed: .- . ■

'Have yon found gold?' As his comrade was silent, he urged again, ' Speak, man ! what's our luck ?'

Slowly Wilfred drew oat of his pocket a handful of rough, nuggety gold and showed it. This was too much for the easily -ox cited doctor. He screamed with delight, and fairly hugged his grave companion. Nothing would satisfy him tbenbuta pigbtof the glittering treasure below. Wilfred lowered him, and allowed him to feast his eyes on their welcome we^l b. 'We mu«t guard our claim t< -night,' Haid Wilfred. ' I will take tbe first watch, and you can relieve me at midnight.' * Very well ; but we must have something to eat in the meantime,' replied the doctor.

'yea; I bad forgotten that. D~> you go and boil tbe billy, and we will drink our tea hero.'

The lucky find-rs guarded their treasure closely, and left no opportunity for pilfering bands to deprive them of their i-ard earned wealth. Nfcxt day as Boon as it was light tbe two men set to work to unearth their treasure. Wilfred went down first, and carefully Bcraped up all the rough gold hacould find. Wben he cume up the doctor, fearing that be might have Mr. any, wert b«low himself, and did get a little niore. Tiny did not carry tbeir explorations further, for already they were rich beyond measure, and as all their gold tud come out of little pockets in the ( bed rock it waa unlikely that another bnch rich find would be found in the same claim.

Tb" doctor was quite besido himself with joy, but Wilfred was graver than usual, He had wealth enongrb, and more than enough, to keep him corxf >rt»bly for tbe rest i>f. his days, but the wealth carrkd with it one sting.

A dark viiuon always obscured bis brighter dreams. The man whose life be had darkened always ro«e up before h m, with pitta, hard Bet face and flashing *yt-B, a» be e»w him last— an aocußipg tspirit he «oujd uot fowub. JJow

many have experienced 'the same bitter-feeliner. ' Wealth has come, but only to bear with it sorrow and remorse. The ba"ppin§ss which it was expected to entail upon its posseceoE barf'been found -to' fads into, mirk and gloom.;; Riches! Vile drops :it, can drees a man in splendid clothes, but does it make him >n>- baiter man? And yet how many strive with toil and pain,' to'secuieit. . Nay, ,1 he whole /dvlli^ed world groar.a under' the 'iniquity perpetrated to acquire it. It is wrung from the down trodden poor, extracted from their very 1 life-blood, -to' enrich the already Wealthy. <: , Every crime that fallen humanity is capable, of, every enormity that mau K ot, devil can devise, has been committdd'to secure the gilded bauble. Orphans' tears and widows' groans'' have been wrung forth, ruthlessly arid remorseleßsly, for its acqui«ition. O mani this is no light charge to carry before tho bar. of God's judgment !

Wealth ! Ab, there is a mine ,of i wealthy worth exploring for its hidden treasure, deeper and purer than the ocean, and more lasting than its bulwarks. Give me a noble, culturedmind, and rit h is I will esteem but useful drcsa, fitting to bH uaed for time only, while the wealth of knowledge will keep for 1 eternity. Wilfred and bis mate placed their gold in the bands of the' escort, and followed op to Melbourne. Here they parted, likely,, enough never to meet strain. . '

'Good- bye, old churn,' eaid the doctor, as be wrung Wilfred's hand before parting, * I maysee you acme day in Old England, but' 1 for the, present I mean to settle down in the colonies;' for I think it too bad to run away from the place that has u.aad ub so well.*' 'That )B true enough,' ' replied his friend; 1 but I have duties, stern and imperative, that recall me. I may return some ' day and hunt

you up. •' " " •*""* '** * ' ''' .. They- parted— Wilfred to go, on board the steamer about to sail for London, and the doctor to search for Borne good investment for, his money.

Chapter VII. The Shadow of Death.

All was hurry and bußtfe in Mr Welston'a houße. The party was suddenly broken tip. Albert's mother was seized with sudden illness, and Maud was w\ld with prief. For a long time the wounded man lay, with a deathlike, pallor on his cheek, motionless, and apparently lifeless. - Absolute quiet wan maintained, around him, and it needed air the' physician's skill to fan back into life the fast expiring flame. At length be woke, and gazed around him like one in delirium. Seeing hie father standing over. him, he turned away hi« head and strove to rise, but the effort v/aa too much, and he relapsed into, unconsciousness. Then , the doctor ordered ail out of ,the room, 'and himself attend nd his , patient all through the night, When f morning came Albert was lying pale and calm,' , but quite conscious rf hi« dying state. doctor bad explained a)], and ho knew that death was inevitable. Geutly and tendery tho kind doctor made this known to the young man. ' Welcome death,' waß tho reply, ' for years; my life has been a living death, and the reality is welcome now.'

* Hush, young man !' replied good Dr Ecclcs, ' God gave, and God takes away when Hifl time cornea.' ! * 1 ' Yeai and to His will I humbly bow.' His father entered, and again the flush of emo ion stole over tbe face of the dying man. Struck dumb with suppressed' emotion, the proud, Bttrn man, utterly broken in, spirit now, bent over tbe fainting form of his son, and kissed his fevered brow. A sweet smile lit up his palo face, and for a moment Albert seemed to forget his pain. ' Ob, fathor ! I have longed for this. I know what # it must bave coßt yon to stifle your love for me, for you indeed loved me once.'

Hia father groaned, but he could not speak. No confession of guilt and pUading for forgiveuntßS had crossed Albert's lips, and so he felt disappointed With a saddor heart than before hi iTtlently rose from tbe bedside, and repaired to bin utudv, there to brood in silenco over hii dark thoughts.

Even in death Albert was too proud to ask th« fo> givouof-s he did uot need. He knew himself that he hart done no wrong, and there was nothing to auk forgivenußS for. Through weary days acd anxious! nights' Maud betit over him, with all a sister's deep devotion, and often with bis head resting upon her a> in ha xlept, when in any other position sleep seemeii irnr oasible. Hur prwence appeared to cany witn it a charm, which at all times' oonld r</Vtfie him from the stupor into which ho' frf quently tank. "i et, thera ia a magic charm in the prewnce of ono fondly loved, be it a Fsibter, naothor, or wife, for love is stronger tba'u de<Uh, and tbe dying can look to tho unknown beyond with calmer spirits when surrounded by loved ones. But vain the Bister's passionate devotion, and in vain the mother's bitterest tears. The angel of death was bovering above him, and none but God could Btay the .rushing of hia wingfl. ,*, I 'Mother.' said the dying man one,evening aa' be lay calm and subdued } 'how strange it seems that I should be passing away like this. Truly my life has been a mysterious one, but there must become wifo purpose behind it all. We are ehort-pighted mortals, and we know not what is for our good. My epirit has been ?roud and rebellious, but it is bumble nowv. 'here is only one thing I lot>g for before I die, ' and that is reconciliation with my father. I do not deserve his displeasure but be thinks I. do You do not think me guilty, mother ?' ■

' No, my son, I have never though); you guilty. To me you have ever been the same noble boy, and nothing could make you other in my *ipht.'

A soft emile stole over his face as. he repM d, 'And Maud has again and again declared that ebe would not believe me guilty. Then I may die happy, for you and Maud love me. etill. Something seems to tell nVe.tbat my pcor father will see his error before I die ' r - ■ A loud knock at the front door startled Mr, Welston, who, deep in revpjrie, e&t in silent grief, pondering over bis son's silence . con- . cerning the past. Mechanically he rose to opm the door t and to his evident surprise beheld tbe well known face — though older and graver- lptking— of his late confidential clerk.

'Wilfred Joyce 1 what ban brought you here?' waß tbe fiiet exclamation of Burpiise.

* I come,', was tbe eager rejoinder, 'if it be not too late, to free my eoul from the awful load that has crushed tbe enjoyment of life out of me for long enough. The other day I reached the shores of England after a couple of years' exile, aud faw in the papers an account of the terrible calamity which has fallen upuo yonr household. I have made ban»e to peek a dying man's foigivenep*, for J could not live with ihe weight of his curse upon me,'

The tnitb, terrible in its revelation, fHshrd like a fliod of c varpowericg lipbt upon; Mr Welstou, and, wiib » gttma of agony, he tank

•down 'upon* a chair 'and bur ted ■ his face in hia' hand.V-'V.. >'-"? i" i-- 0 ' '. - ' ■". ' ': f y, r .' ! ■ 'Theh rising fiarcely, with aftshin^eye's and

menacing demeanour,' ho grasped \, lifted by the coUar r and said— - ' •'^ComV'and confess your guilt to Albert b^foro .it la too late, that he may receive a ' father's bjeaping'ere he die.' ~ .White. yrifclilfear and conscious guilt, Wilfred followed, for Mr Welstcn looked terrible in bis avfyj r. Tho dying marf turned his head as he ■ he*>rd the door open. Instantly, as he saw the paJf,,. affrighted , face of Wilfred, a wild, fierce light shone in his eyes, and he raised himself in Bed : . but the effort was too great, and he Bank back, palo and speechless. ' : ,... Wilfred -advanced and" knelt beaide the bed. He s took pneof 'the. wasted white hands of the dyin,?;man in.his," and began, in a voice full of agonising remorce. , 7 ■ * Oh^ Albert Welaton I can you forgive me ?' ,„ , Veniojrse .and] shame overpowered him-; then resuming, ho said — ,-„ ,\Lct v me; not -go to my- grave with the ciirae of a 'dying man upon me. Already my sin/is greater than I can bear, and I havo en dured, oblate, a bitter agony.' 'Not'inpfe bitter than mine has been,' re-' plied Albert, with a low, pained voice.. '■AH, no ! I have borne all the agonies of a lost'feoul; but what must yours have beep. But, Albert, you knew that you were innocent, " and your conscience and your God bore testimony to tboeamft, and your darkest cloud had Mb 'silver lining. Blacker- than the darkest 'midnight; deeper than the gloomiest depths of ocean caves, Htormier than the hurricaooß of the West ,Eas been the solitude of ray soul.' '*' ' . The pleadiDg earnestness of his' voice and' the abject contrition of the man would have touched "a 'heart of stone., Albert was silent, but coiitendihg omoticna were raging in hia bosom.' 1 , -At length a oalni smile'stolo over his face r>i he said, t t 'Yeai as 1 hope to be forgiven, I forgive you. At first it seemed impossible; that. l could' ever, have foigivdn< tho man who! has blighted my life and caused me ho much duffering,, but I , now it is easier to forgive than tp curse. 'You have made my life, dark and bitter, but, it is oalmer now. , , Wilfred Visaed tho hand he held— that hand which be had seen last raised with the menace of vengeuce — the hand he bad always seen in his dreamy .raised to strike - and the hot teardrops fell jipou it. A calm, holy light shone in Albert's eyes as b* said, i .

"jjruiy it is divine to forgive.' Tbpn another' crept to the dying bed, and with a quivering form the father bowed bis bead beside that of bis son.

'And me, my pon, can you forgive me?' groaned the spirit-^trickcn man. Albert threw bia arms about biff father's neck ami kissed his cherk. He tpoke no work, but silence is oft move eloquent than the most itnpaßaioned speech. This day. had been an oventfnl one for the dying mar, and its quickly-varying '80<-UO3, like the figures in a kaleidoecope, bad faxed his expiring energies to tbeir utmo&t. From his father's embrace ho sank back exhausted. For a long time he seemed to hover on the confines of the -world of sbadows. and his sorrowing friends sood around, painfully waiting for 1 the ''coming of the grim king of terrors; . ."* "

The sua was sinking towards "the western horizon, 'gilding the clouds with amber and gold;" and soft and" beautiful his last beamß stolein through , the v open window and fell on Albpryg fa.cc,' 'The BUbdued light, tempered with Hb passage through tbe fleecy clouds, lighted up bis features with an uneait.hly hue " Ib seemed as if the glory-light from the world bojoud had already c^st its halo upon him.

Tbe fuu bad set and left behind him a bank of piled up clouds, dark and dense , below, but gilded at their upper t : dgo with, glorious light,', fitting emblem of him who, lay in the volley of. the nhadow of death, Tho deep, dense darknws of the low.er clouds resembled the gloomy Cayn of hiß brief life, whilo the radiant upper douda symbolised the lif -» ha waa about to enter. Ho lay with bin eyes closed „and apparently unconscious while the shadows deepened into night ; and tho hours had crept on til! mnr midnight before he awrke frnm'hia ai.up'jr. All had left the room but Maud. SttH true to her sisterly instincts ebe watched ove* 1 Albert, her heart torn by al- < ornate cor, flic! iota of hope and despair. When he.'openfld his eyes hrr loving hands were 'bathing hia brow and prnoothirg bnck bis clammy bail*. He pmiled faintly a» no be held her bea Imp over him— her face benming with unalloyed lc ye. . .

Though there were others only too willing to relieve her in her long watoh, yet i-ha firmly refuseti'to, leave hia bedside ib'rtughoufc that n!tjbV.,!fi, < waß well'fcr Maud that her brother Htigared for dftya on' the boundary of two worlds for her whi»lo enorgies woro concentrated' upon the tatk of watching over him, and .thus , her mind w»« withdrawn from dwelling upon her double blow. . Had Albert been killfld outright the Bhock would in all probability have killed bis sister, for the same blow that deprived' her of a beloved brother lost to her for ever one who, at leaßt had been a lpver-»-had been, but not now, for the sudden revulsion of feeling consequent upon hiß dia ~ bolical,»4t Had changed her love to tbe bitter- ' nestf of death. It it often said that misfortunes never coma singly, and in general it is better so'; lor, paradoxical though it it may appear, often when' th* mind would collapse under some fiudd^'n offl'ction it.seems.to brace itself wben the blow is repeated.

After parfcakinjf of a little nourishment Albert fell into a quiet sleep, and Maud caught the contagion while sitting at bis bed eide.' . Day bad dawned ere she awoke, but: the dying/man still slept, peacefully as a child, bis pale brow and blue lips showing that his days Vere few, '

The sun uprose from tbe realm of night, and the lark. sprang from her nest with the dew on her wings to greet his first rays,;- for no .eastern fire-worshipper ever pays' bis devotions' to tbe tnn-Rod" with' more constant heart "/than ' does the skylark. The birds carolled" * sweetly among the bongbft, and the' .b'eea pipped tbe, nectar from, the flow*>rß. The ruddy rays of the morning' sun bathed the" landscape in a flood of golden light, and the green of the trees end tbe blue of tbe seaappearpd deeper by contrast. J Tbe post boy whistled cheerily aa he went bis rounds, and the hearts of both man and beast were glad, -.'Maud stood by the open window which ad mitted the sweet ecent of the flowerß and gave passage to the cheerful notes of the birds ; but her brother slept on. She turned from the glad sight and pleaßi'ng.sounds and looked towards the bed where he lay, swift, hurrying tows'rds that bourne whence no' l ,(:ray*ller, r*tur~ni>. ; The coverlet gently rose and ; f ell aa his feeble hreath passed his' lips,' but Btill Hb sleep teemed ' natural and refresbinc. His chfl'eks were dimpled -with R pniilp, as though ii tbe mints and shadows of Bleep the voices of the birds, were transformed into ~ the inrufra of »DgeUl. ' M*ud moved aboyt tb« room eilent

as 'a 'shadow, anxiously watching the sleeper, and allowing none to enter hiirooni ■At length be " returned ' to cbnecioupoesa and as be awoke be moaned With* pain. In an inßfcaat Maud was at his sideband with loving hands 'she tended him atid southed him. The first spasm of pain over^Wpee'med refreshed and much stronger, rajfte'fi, hie. quiet eleop, Though Maud was worn out with fatigue and want of sleep, yet she refused to leave Albert'i bedside.'* -Her mother .came to take her place, but still, Maud would not leave. Some eubtle instinct , told her that >tbe> end was near, for instinct is often ja/.'beUar and aurer guide than treason. Albert's, pleading looks, too, chained 'her to the : r6om; Cfor in the hour of .parting breath* the^souT ldnga to have neat it those' most fondly loved, - . r . " Wearily that day dragged^ *jong. and it« passing hours hung heavily upon the dying man; but every hour "that sped drew closer around him the veil which shrouds the boundary' of the unknown Tjeyorid.t All day, like * guardian angel, Maud watched over his couch, endeavouring by those matiy, attentions which love only can prompt to ..make smoother the great struggle between strong, young life and the grim 1 conqueror of all.' * Albert spoke, butlKttle, preferring to lie quietly with Maud's hahd'xilasped ia bis. The sight was one that raan might envy and angels smile"* fo look' upon— ir'pfofcur'tfof. true, disinterested \,love and devotion "which higher natures only are capablo^of,** ! Most of the time Albert remain d with -his leyes closed, but as the rays of the settingLSukagain fell aoroas his ooucb, be opened his eyes "and said :? Mtfaud. will yop.holp me ltd. Bit up for a little, aa'l want to eeo tho sun aa^for the last time? l^' , [; ) ; '", 1 In silenca Maud eomplied-.and gently raised her brother into a' Bitting posture. ' f For a time 'be uttered no (word; but gazed across the landscape with eager,' regretful gaze, as if ho felt it hard thai' one So: young, with the vigour of manhood upon Him, * should be compelled, by no fault of bis own, to leave the world and all its allurements behind him : but as the golden rays of the departing sun fell upon field, and bill, and wood, lighting all. up with gleams, of brighth«j?s, v and tinting everything" with glorious' colour^ihe dying man raised his eyes from earth, to heaven. Speedily the wearied expression of painful regret passed away from his face, and his eyes lighted up with a look of hope and joy, .. , - ' *Maud,' be said softly,. 'I feel that my hour has come. : Call father and mother, that I may say farewell. Ob, -often have I pined and thought it hard that I should dio so young, when there might have been work^left tor my hand to do ; but I. cam see with clearer vision now, and for me death iB robbed of its terrors, How beautiful is the light of the sun as it streams over tho Felda and dyes thoir'rich verdure with tints of more than earthly beauty ; but more glorious than anyone enn attempt tv describe is the light which I can Bee from a brighter eun beyond the, shadows of the tomb. Wo must part, my, sister, -but you have your work to do, on earth. ■ Soon we will meet to be together alwayß.' Softly, and with almost reverence and awe, Maud laid Albert back on (bo pillow, and went to call her parents. The effort to support himself while watching the 6tm net was too much for bitri, so that when Maud returned she found him, in a swoon. The sun had set, and the pi ed up clouds were gilded in colours of marvellous 1 beauty and variety, ■ The reflection from the clouds lit up tho room,' soon to bo the chamber of death, with a weird,' pale light. Albert opened his ey«B again, and with a last effort epoke a few parting words to his father and mother. The light faded from the landscape, and the dark pall of night hid the fields and. woods from view; and as the darkneffl crept over the earth and filled the room so that the watchers by the bed of death could not see each other, nc word web spoken. ' No sound was heard from' the bed where AltJext lay. With cruel misgivings Maud brought a Hhadod light, and then they saw that all bis Bufferings were over. A smile played on bin lips, and hia eyes still g&zdd with a far-away look to the Bhadow land never yet gazed upon by the eye of fhßb, and whose beauty only those are permitted to see whd pass to it through the portal of death.

(To be continued. I