Waverley Library (Octavo Edition) (no. 75) (1885 10 27)
The text was read from the page scans by machine (OCR), so it has mistakes and its columns may run together. See the pages · About this title · At the Internet Archive
Page 1
Pre ware, = jen plato te Ey Z - 2 iP: Esa age BH SCAD> ARG ine Sing eat SAS Beas i Ropynentsas 1835, by BEADLE aND ApaAms. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mail Matter. Oct, 27, 1285, . See Ae RSIS i = —_________— seme VOL VI $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price, N ; ae ‘ «oa Year. No. 98 William Street, New York. Five Cents. 0, 78. : , | P : ie be ‘THERE A BROTHER'S SIN: i os aan oo ee ee Christmas Day, 1860. : The group consisted of an elderly lady, whose Or, FLORA’S FORGIVENESS. face bore the traces of past beauty, and alle of BY RACHEL BERNHARDT. past sorrow. Her countenance was serene—even cheerful; CHAPTER I. but there was a haif-pathetic expression in her A BRAW WOOER. c eyes as they looked into the red blaze, where In a comfortable old-fashioned room of a house | maybe she saw the faces of those she had loved
Page 2
‘ ‘ and her figure the least trifle too plump. ‘mend her gloves unless so inclined, A BROTHER'S SIN. away, or rather above the others, that she started when they addressed her, and was with difficulty brought to understand the subject thev were discussing. On the left of Mrs. Chester sat a young girl of about eighteen, so like the elder lady, that you seemed to see in her all that the other had once been—as if she were a portrait of the mother, taken in the first flush of loveliness and youth. And she was very beautiful—Flora Chester, They say that no human face was ever perfect, and yet you hardly knew where to find a fault in hers. A jealous woman here and tkere had been heard to say that her fed under-lip was too full, But assuredly this critic had never found any men to agree with her, the masculine portion of the community being entirely on Flora’s side. ‘And no wonder; For, although one of the loveliest creatures under the sun, Flora was so simple and unaffected that she would dance with a school-boy, and smile just as sweetly on him as if he were a six-foot dragoon. But the person she smiled sweetvst of all up- on was Michael Pierpoint—the tall, handsome young man who had drawn his chair close to hers, and was bending forward to whisper something in her ear. The quick blush that followed his words, the bashful downward look, were pretty plain proofs to the initiated that Flora’s beart was not in her own keeping, although she might not be conscious of the fact herself. Nor indeed was she, Ii questioned, she would have answered candidly that she liked Michael very much; and Denald, too— Donald being the othei’s twin brother. But then it was surely natural to like people who were kind to you, and neither Michael nor Donald could do too much for his lovely neighbor. The two brothers resembled each other so closely that Flora never could understand af- terward how she had come to make any distine- _ tion in her feelings toward them. But who ever did understand the reason of their own sympathies or antipathies. » Love comes like Dian’s kiss—unasked, un- sought; and Flora, who had been a very child hitherto, awoke suddenly to the consciousness that she was & woman, and that there was something more for her to do than to trifle _ through the sunny hours, following every fancy that came into her pretty head. Not that sbe had ever meant to be idle and useless, but there seemed no work for her to do. and lost; and her thoughts seemed to be so far : hardly her fault if she seemed frivolous when she was not so. But the arrival of Michael and Donald Pier- point at Ayshe changed not only her feelings, but her whole life. They were the nephews and supposed heirs of a rich old bachelor living in the town, and he had invited them to stay a couple of months with him on leaving college, in order that he might talk over their future. They had each of them a moderate compe- tence, but being enterprising and ambitious, were anxious to make this moderate compe- tence into a large fortune. Mr. Pierpoint, who thought it only right and proper that they should work while they were young, encouraged them in this idea, and promised to do his best to help them carry out their wishes, At a party in the neighborhood two days after their arrival at Ayshe, Michael and Don- ald met Flora Chester (who had recently come to reside near Ayshe), and seemed to be mu- tually and warmly struck by her beauty and sweet, genial manners, * There had always been perfect confidence between them, and at first they discussed ber rapturously together; but after a while both became reticent; and knowing his brother to be somewhat fickle, Michael thought that Don- ald had quite forgotton his sudden fancy for Flora. Donald’s conduct favored this idea. . He no jonger singled Flora out at the parties where they met, but rather seemed to shun her, standing aloof with a grave, preoccupied air, instead of joining in the pleasures of the even- ing. Flora, who was given to weaving romances, fancied that he had been disappointed in love, and would smile at him sympathetically as she flashed by in Michael’s arms to the music of the band. He was the nicest young man she knew—af- ter Michaecl—and was sorry to see him so sad. She would have liked to comfurt him if she had only known how, and hoped that when he knew her better he might confide in her, as if she were his sister. Foolish Flora! She flushed to the edge of her hair at her own thoughts, innocent though they were; for, of course, the only woman who could be Donald’s sister in reality was Michael’s wife, And though she was getting to like Michael better and better every day, she had not thought herself in Jove with him, and was quite sure he never dreamt of being in love with her. December was the gay month at Ayshe, as Mrs, Chester hada handsome income for a people waited for the young folks to come widow lady, and Flora had no need even to home to give their annual ball, or whatever 5 me die meh Gin, ey ae - : , ; ae Te a ee en i ne ee Pe So it was form of entertainment they preferred. :
Page 3
being her first season; and, of course, every one asked the twin brothers, not only because they were very presentable partners, but also to please Mr. Pierpoint, who, as the rich man | of the town, was greatly looked up to in Ayshe. On this account Flora met Michael and Donald so often that it was impossible to keep on formal terms with them, especially as Mrs. Chester was so pleased with them both that she invited them to call; and they got into the habit, at last, of running in at all hours, and sbaring any meal that was going on at the mo- ment. Very often, too, Michael happened to be there when they were starting for a drive; and as he was such a good whip, and the cob was apt to be restive in cold weather, it was very natural for him to take the reins. Flora always sat beside him on the front seat, and they had pleasant talks on all sub- jects but one, and that Michael dared -not approach, for she looked so innocent and bash- ful, he feared to scare her, and lose all the ground he had so laboriously gained. . And yet the suspense tried him so cruelly that often, as he lay down at night, he made a half-vow to end it on the morrow, and learn He was very valiant all the next | his fate. morning, but no sooner did he catch sight of Flora in the distance than he felt his courage oozing away, and looked and felt as shy as she did, But the Christmas parties would afford him an opening, he said to himself; and perhaps he should be able to find out something about her feelings in the meantime. So he would wait. j _ But this was Christmas Eve, and still Michael - had not spoken. If he had loved Flora less, - he would have been bolder; as it was, he felt _ 80 cowardly, that he was ashamed of himself, _ But he knew that if Flora refused him his life - would be wretched forever and aye, and therefore it wasnatural he should shrink from the ordeal. But Flora was looking so specially lovely _ to-night, Michael’s eyes, as they feasted on her face, told his secret so plainly, the girl could not but understand, apd with the revela- tion of his secret came also the knowledge of ; her own. * . Poor child! she was so troubled, abashed, _ and joyful all at once, that she hardly knew how to bear herself. Her cheeks were burn- ing, ber hands cold, and her heart beat so fast she thought every moment she should faint. At last she slipped away on some pretext, and Once in her own room, Gropped into a chair, and covering her face with her hands, burs6 into tears; just like auy other foolish girl. ~ f A BROTHER'S SIN. Of course Flora went to every thing, this | But she dared not long indulge in this luxury, _ he added, still more softly, “My very own!” | * . be so rude, sir?’ cried Flora, as soon as she re- ' she replied, trying to speak severely. | you so dearly! | me to behave as I did just now, but I could not help myself; and will submit to any pun- | child, and do not know what men suffer who for she would have to return to the drawing- room, and did not want to take a pairof red eyes with her. So, after a while, she bathed her face, smoothed her hair, and then stole down-stairs with a timid step, ‘ The lamp in the hall was burning low, and — Flora never dreamt that any one was there - besides herself until she felt her hand taken suddenly between two warm palms, and Michael Pierpoint bent forward, with his face on fire, and murmured softly, ‘‘My life! my a love!” ? Meeting with neither reproach nor rebuff, and gathering her to his heart, his lips fluttered down tpon hers with a diffident but tender little kiss. CHAPTER II. WHAT THE RICH MAN OF AYSHE THOUGHT ABOUT If ALL ‘Ox, Michael, you shouldn’t! How can you covered herself a little. ‘I never thought you could behave so ill!” “Is it rude to love you madly, wildly, faith- fully, Flora?” he asked, loosening his hold of her, and looking at her with impassioned eyes, ‘‘T am very sorry Iforgot myself, but youare ! so charming!’ , : ‘Even if that were. true, it is no excuse,” ACTS other people did such things—” es “T should knock them down, of course,” an swered Michael, who felt his pulses quiver at the very idea. ‘But then you don’t, surely, class me with ‘other people? ” " ‘ Flora looked down, and her under-lip quiv- — ered. To have saved her life she could nob have uttered a word. Still, her silence was — not discouraging, somehow, and Michael ven- tured to draw nearer again. ‘You see, Flora,” he went on, “you are so different to other people in my eyes, and I love I know it was very wrong of ishment you like to impose. You are still a love as I love you.” : Still she kept silence; and her face being averted, Michael could not see the rosy blush that suffused it, or the tremulous little smite hovering about her lips, and grew frantic with fear lest he had offended past forgiveness. “Qh, Flora!” he cried, ‘‘ you cannot have a cruel heart, you who look so gentle; and it would be very unmerciful to condemn aman altogether for one fault. I never failed in. proper respect to you before, did I?” , “No,” she murmured,
Page 4
‘we to! 7 ee. bee ee ee “pe yes 2c r G heat. zg es NaS. ¥ ott ees ae Fe i, oe Se Py an - * And you do, you must, believe that I revere as muchas I love you,” he went on. “Tf it were not so, how could I want you for my wife?” His wife! How Flora thrilled through and through at the sweet name which was her great ambition; and yet she had not the cour- age to reassure him until he saidin a voice so broken by igitation that she hardly recognized it again, ‘‘I see you do not like me, Flora, and cannot bear to tell me so outr ght. I will not trouble you any more. You were my first and will be my only love; and miserable, des; air- ing, as Iam now, I would rather bave lost you than never have known you at all, for my {u- ture must needs be better, if sadder, for this experience. Good-by, Flora. You will not surely deny me one last shake of the hand? I must leave Ay-he at cnce this very nigh!” Then the woman in Flora co1quered her maiden diffidence, and, turning round to bim ‘she said, with great confusion, but firmly too, “You must not leave Ayshe at ali, Michael, for I—I want you here, with me.” Tam afraid Michael repented his first of- fense at this, but then circumstances do alter eases, of course. Flora was not the least of- fended this time, although she locked very red too. f “TT never heard the Christmas chimes sc ard so sweetly before,” murmured Michael, after a long and rapturous silence. ‘ Do youknow, I shall never hear them in all the years to come without a thrill? They will seem to have had so much to do with our happiness.” “Let us go out a minute, and listen,” said Flora. ‘Tt is so stifling here!” ter to-night?” Michael detained her to ack. “Oh, no; please, please wait till to-mor~ row!” she cried, anxiously. ‘‘ Let us have one ‘happy night, whatever may happen after- ward,” “Flora, you frighten me! Have you any reason to suppose that Mrs. Chester will ro- fuse her consent?” 4 No.” “Then why do you speak in this way?” “Because one can never tell; and it does seem, as you said just now, as if we were too happy, Michael. “You see, you have infected woe with your fears,” she added, with a faint smile, “I shall be dreaming of all sorts of horrors to-night.” “Nay, Flora, you will dream of me and of my love. ‘This is only the beginning of our life long happiness, I hope; and if we trust each other, there can be nothing to fear. Hark to the chimes—how clearly they echo my words, ‘Nothing to fear!’ We could not have chosen a better time for our betrothal, * A BROTHER'S SIN. ~ “Flora, dearest, may I speak to Mrs. Ches- | ee DP Ab eee for those very bells will ring us out of church on our happy bridal day.” : “ And when will that be?” she shyly said, “Very soon, Flora, I hope. We have noth- ing to wait for. [fam not rich, but have suf- ficient for us both; and when I have a second ~ and dearer self to work for, shall never rest — till I have made a home worthy of my wife” “Tam not ambitious, Michael. Ionly want your love,” ‘‘And you would marry me now, at once, Flora?” he asked, eagerly. “T would if I ought, Michael; but we must think of poor mamma a little. Our happiness must not make us selfish and inconsiderate; and, you see, it is hard for her to lose me so soon. I have not been home from school more than six months, and she has nobody but me,” “ Still, she must have expected you to marry, and leave her.” ‘Some day, but not so soon as this; and [ know how she used to look forward to having acompanion., If papa were alive it wouldn't matter so much, bué now she will be all alone when {am gone. I wouldn’t be without my mother for all the world!” “But I want you the most, my darling.” “Tam not at all sure of that. But I see I may break mamma’s heart if I like.” “Indeed you may not, for that would only be an indirect way of getting at mine.” “ How selfish men are!” “Yam afraid men and women both are self- ish when they are in love. It is a part of the complaint.” “You seem to be very experienced in such | matters, sir,” said Flora, bridling. | Michael laughed. *T only know what you have taught me.” “Oh! for shame, Michael! How could I ‘teach you what I didn’t know myself?” ‘You have known how to make fools of us all, Flora, at any rate.” Flora swept him a courtesy. “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Pier- point, and don’t think me very severe if I ven- | ture to hint that ina great many instances Na- — | ture had saved me the trouble.” ¢ “Tt is you who ought to be ashamed now, — Flora, for you are turning the tableson mo — with a vengeance. How can you say such wicked things while listening to the chimes — which preach of peace and good-will? Hark, — now!” he added, more seriously, as he drew her shawl closer about her shoulders, and step: — ped out into the moonlit garden. ‘‘ Was there — ever any thing sweeter or more solemn? Oue could almost fancy one heard the angels sing- ing a soft accompaniment behind the stars, Do — you know what I was thinking a moment ago, Flora?” ithe
Page 5
Ss Ae ee, Ve eee ee iia i \ Bol Agee a eae eg aia el lit > umesc Bee See FEE Oe Net pee Yeh AOE eae ‘ See 25h OTR th, A BROTHER'S SIN. «What was it?” “That we should do well to die now while our cup of happiness is full.” = Oh, Michael! what a sorrowful thought!” It sounds so, I know, but it is not really sorrowful, dearest, for those whom the gods love die young. There is a good deal of pain and grief in the world, and some of it might come to us,” ’ ‘Even then we could surely meet it bravely, if we might encounter it together.” “‘True, my darling, if it were anything that we might meet together. But supposing death divided us?” _ She shuddered as she nestled closer into his warm embrace, ‘“‘ Why must you picture such terrible things, Michael? We are both of us young and strong, and have never committed any great sin, either of us, tbat we should be punished so severely. Tt is surely best to look upon the bright side of things, and you have made me feel so very ye inn : ‘Why, dear Flora? Would you not rather choose to be with me in heaven, than parted from me on earth?’ “But what should part us, Michael?” “J don’t know. Indeed, what should?” he added, after the manner of a man who is try- ing to argue down some obtrusive thought. “You say you love me, Flora?” “You know I do, Michael.” ‘And let what may happen, you will be true tome, dear?” he wenton. “I don’t doubt you for a second, believe me; and can’t see what should come between us; and yet, some- how, I need this assurance.” : ‘¢Then you do doubt me, Michael.” “ Heaven forbid!” he ejaculated. ‘ But who desires also fears, according to the Latin line; - and I cannot help trembling at my own ex- ceeding happiness, for it does not seem as if it _of this great honor and happiness. could be real. This morning I dared not even flatter myself that you cared for me, and even now can scarcely believe it. I am sounworthy If it had been Donald now—” “Donald, indeed!” sho exclaimed, with a petulant movement of her pretty chin on his broad shoulder, ‘I like Donald very much, of course; but-—well, I don’t know—ho is al- ways so grave.” #3 : * And you don’t like grave people, Flora; is that what you mean?” ey: “J don’t like a man who is never grave, at any rate. But Donald always looks sad. I do pity him very much, Michael, because I am sure he must have some trouble. But though I am really quile fond of him,” she added, quickly, as if fearing to be misunder- _ stood, “I should never love him best of all,” Gi a a t ney = me tases’ oe =. G here re ees. poco Me oy oh ee oe ae ¢ ry a ols =i a 4 FP a7 ¥ ame > 78) erat iat Moa 'Y i 2 7 yrs eee | + nad “ And you love me best of all, Flora?” Flora was mute. salar ‘‘ Mrs. Chester comes a very long way before nie, I'll wager.” “She ought,” replied Flora, the more de- .cidedly that she was not at all sure she cid. “She has loved me for eighteen years, and you have only loved me for a few weeks,” ; “And yet I would die for you,” heanswered, — with a sincerity there was no misiaking, ‘¢ And could Mrs, Chester domore?? “Don’t let us talk about poor mamma any longer, Michael, or I shall never have cour- age to be engaged at all. Look! What is | that?” she added, suddenly, as she clung cioser to him, and pointed toward the shrubs with a terrified air, ‘I am*sure I saw somebody — watching us.” ‘Nonsense, child!” he answered, caressing her tenderly. “Who even knows that we are here?” “They might have heard our voices.” = “Tn that case, I should hope they would — have had the manners to retire!” he answered, loudly. ‘“‘Oh, don’t, please!” she said, in a timid tone. ** Supposing it were a robber?” ‘¢ What then, my love?” ‘“‘He might be angry, and attack you.” Michael laughed in spite of himself. ‘You dear little coward, what would be the use? I haven’t a farthing in my pocket.” ‘“¢He wouldn’t know that.” : “He might guess it, seeing me in evening dress, for robbers are uncommonly knowing, let me tell you. Besides, Iam so close to the — house, that I could have assistance in @ mo- — ment by calling out, which would not exactly But let me go and give him let you, indeed, . Fs suit Mr. Robber. a piece of my mind. “Oh, no, Michael; I won’t for I am quite sure there is some one there.” . ‘Was it any one you knew?” : “‘ Well,” sho said, reluctantly, “I thought it — * = ex was Donald.” ‘What! Donald playing the spy?” Lie “ He might have missed us from the room, — and come to see where we were.” ee “Possibly,” said Michael, after a little re- — flection. ‘Donald has great delicacy and tact, — 50 that he would not have joined us unless we |had made him, Not that we should have thought him one too many, Flora, sbould we? ‘Donald and I ‘have always been very fast friends, and Tam sure that no one will sym. pathize in our happiness as he will.” “JT, too, am quite sure of that,” she said, cordially. ‘But we must go in now, Michael. Mamma will be wondering what has become of us.” epee ‘One minute, and you shall go, dearest.” — And he gathered her to his heart with a
Page 6
‘ “aa f: . harpi a2 Ae yes, St ee Pe, . 4, ; Sines Pe u “ ramon ; a > ; DONA ie NAR € ER sre ae ee oe tight strain, kissing her with a ‘epnee yearning tenderness, almost as if they were about to part’ for a long while. At last, he loosened his hold, drew her hand through his arm, and led her back into the house, with & wonderful bloom on her cheeks, that came, no doubt, of the frosty air. Mrs. Chester was leaning back in her chair, and sleeping tranquilly; Donald sat at the center table, with a newspaper close to his face. He moved it a little on one side, as they entered, hazarded one swift, scrutinizing glanco into Flora’s face, then appeared absorbed in his reading again. Michael stooped his radiant countenance, so as to throw a shadow across the page, and said, gayly, “So, here you are, after_ all, old fellow! Flora fancied you were star-gazing in. the shrubbery.” Donald shrugged his shoulders, and: thereby, involuntarily, of course, shook cff his brother’s hand. “TJ don’t think it is exactly the weather fot star-gazing,” he answered, rather curtly. “ Moreover, I never had much of a fancy that way. Won't you take my seat, Flora?’ Why should I? There is plenty of room on the sofa.” “And room for two,” put in Michael, who seemed to have no wish to conceal the facé | that he considered this a great advantage. ‘I am not quite sure that we could not find a corner for you, old boy.” Donald shuddered convulsively ere he re- plied, in a hard, constrained voice, ‘‘Two are | _ company, three are none. Besides, you have ‘chilled me enough as it is.” “How?” And Michael Jeoked up sharply. aie “You brought in so much cold air with you,” ‘‘How could we be so careless, Flora?” said - Michael, banteringiy. ‘‘ We have given Donald cold in his little finger. You would hardly believe that was the same lad who, last winter, _erashed through the ice in a lake to rescue a little child he bad never seen in his life before, ‘would you, Flora?” And he laid his hand once more on Donald’s shoulder with an affectionate smile. The young man colored. “‘Pghaw!” he said. ‘‘You are so fond of ing on old strings, Michael! I shall wish ‘Thad left the child to its fate if I hear any more> - about it.” “You are cross to-night, Donald—that is the esac a Eo” aie - aa eae Was bog eae hate . a ee eT fF ll aes BROTHER'S SIN, pero | change the morrow must needs make in her | you going to begin? And, while you are sing- ‘ us.” fact.” _ _ © Well, perbaps I am,” he added, with a short laugh. “Tt is very churlish of me to show my temper before you, Flora, but I must a trust to your kind: heart for forgiveness this eo: and promise not to offend any more.” | Fis abil Michael’s oft-repeated prayer | ee ed Sa 00 ee that she and Donald might be good friends, Flora held out her‘ hand, saying very sweetly, ‘Tam afraid I am often cross too, Donald, so we must be mutually forbearing, mustn’t we? Come, now mamma is awake. and tha chimes have stopped, let us sing some Christ. mas carols—unless mamma minds,”’ she added, turning to Mrs. Chester, who was settling her cap in front of the glass. ‘Why, my dear, I should like it, of course,” was the ready reply. ‘“ You three sing so well together. Your voice is a tenor, Michael, isn’t it?” “So they tell me.” “And Donald’s a base?” ‘‘- Yes, Donald’s is a base, decidedly.” ‘*So that, with Flora’s soprano, you make an excellent trio,” said Mrs. Chester, arrang- ing herself on the couch again with an air of enjoyment and perfect ease that somehow felt like a reproach to Flora, knowing what a ~~ e C feelings. ‘*Come, young people, when are Ce ee Da ee me ing, Benson shall make us some punch to warm ‘To warm us?? echoed Michael, laughing. “Tam afraid we must find another excuse, Mrs. Chester.” “You must, certainly,” she said, glancing from one brother to the other with quickening interest and some surprise. ‘‘ But you look frozen, Donald.” He ‘moved abruptly out of her range of vision, responding, faintly, “I have had no exercise to-day, and that always makes me chilly. Don’t mind me. Ishall be all right in a minute or two,” Touched by something in his eyes, Mrs. Chester said, quite affectionately, ‘‘ Come into my corner, Donald, and you will be out of the draught. I can’t bear to see you look so wretched.” Donald laughed then. “T am sure you are very kind to trouble © about me, Mrs. Chester,” he replied; but, in- stead. of the seat she suggested, he helped him- self to the chair opposite Flora’ s, and sat there moodily, with his head on his hands, taking no apparent interest in the conversation going on around him. But when the punch came in, he jumped up © to help it; and Michael noticed, with surprise, considering how abstemious his brother,was as arule, that he drank two glasses to every one he served out, while his face flushed, and his eyes grew bright and defiant, “Love!” he sneered; “‘ who believes in love? Only old-fasbioned people, I trow. For my part, I am thankful to say I can suffice to my- self.” Michael observed him uneasily, a* =
Page 7
neo “TI don’t believe you are any different to the rest of us in that respect,” be said at last, “Indeed I haye often heard you say that a man’s life was incomplete until he had found a helpmate and Gearer se f.” * Ab! that was in my romantic days.” “And what has put such an abrupt end to all your romance?” ‘¢Hixperience,” answered Donald, gloomily. “That is the great disenchanter, you know.” “TJ don’t believe you mean anything you are saying, Donald,” said Michael, sharply; and he glanced significantly but furtively at the punch-bowl, as much as to indicate that Donald owed his strange opinions to that, and had better have nothing more to do with it. Donald understood the hint, evidently; but | it almost seemed as if some evil spirit possessed him to-night, for he stretched out his hund, and helped himself to another glass in the other’s face. Michael grew intolerably anxious at last, He had never yet seen Donald in the smallest degree excited by drink, and certainly the present prelude was not reassuring. To do him justice, his first thought was for Donald’s character; and then be could not help reflect- ing how any indiscretion on his brotber’s part might damage him personally when he came to plead his cause with Mrs, Chester. _ “She may fancy we are two wild lads to- gether,” he said to himself, ‘“‘and refuse to trust me with Flora.” And then he glanced anxiously at the clock. To his relief, is was on the stroke of eleven, and he had therefore a decent excuse for re- tiring. , ‘Come, Donald,” he said, cheerfully; told us not to be late.” But Donald kept his seat obstinately. «“There’s no hurry,” he said. ‘‘ Uncle will go to bed.” “Yes; but we shall keep the servants “Never mind about the servants.” Mrs. Chester had not hitherto noticed any- ‘thing peculiar in Donald’s manner, but she looked up sharply at this; and if Michael had not intervened with some remark that diverted “uncle up.” her attention, she must certainly have seen — that something was wrong. As it was, Michael, by dint of good general- ship, managed to get him into the hall, when. Donald seized hold of his hat, and darted out. Michael waited to put on his great-coat be- fore he followed, and then, the drawing-room door being ajar, what more natural than that he should take one little peep at Fiora as she sat pensively gazing into the fire, unconscious of , observation? But Flora was looking so excessively lovely that the one little peep became a long one; and as Michael stepped out onto the terrace, he .. You are going the wrong way Page ee ee ee ek ore aw ae saw the shadowy outline of bis brother’s figure at the extreme end of the road leading directly — away from Mr. Pierpoint’s house. ena “What is the lad up to tonight?” said. Michael, aloud. “I believe he is daft. The punch certainly. has got into his head,» Donald, Donald!” he shouted; “come backl = \?? z Donald heard him, evidently, for he slightly turned his head; and was it the silvery moon- — light that gave his face such a ghastly glenm? —for Michael had never seen him look like — that before. ist See “Do. you hear?” called Michael again. “This is tomfoolery, Donald! You will fail into the lake.” A horrible fear seized on Michael, and he felt his heart leap into his mouth, With a bound he cleared the hedge in front of him, — ‘and fell headlong into the ditch beyond, which fortunately, happened to be dry. NG In a moment he had regained his feet, and was rushing on again with a long, steady — stride. Michael had been a famous runner in his college days, and though he had got out of — practice through his dalliance on Flora, the feeling of Donald’s danger lent him wings, and he seemed to skim the ground rather than touch it. oe He kept his eyes fixed on Donald, but he dd ‘not call to him any more. He began to un- derstand that the Jad was in that mood when opposition only added to the excitement that was consuming him, and that his one chance of saving him was to hold his peace until they — | were actually face to face. ? %
Page 8
hekinoe: but if he left Donald to aig could he ever forget and be happy, even in Flora’s arms? _ phatic answer that rose to hhis lips and forced itself through them. give his as readily for me.” He turned his eyes momentarily toward Mrs, ‘Chester’s house, with a prayer and a blessing : the ice; and his brother said, in a hoarse but Bee calm voice: ‘Don’t’ come, Michael; Iam on my feet, and shall get on very well.” “Gripe hold of my hand, old fellow,” an- -swered Michael, brokenly. “There is no need, and the bank is slippery. is _ Stop where you are, ‘and I will join you ina | - Ininute.” “On your honor, Donald?” What do you mean? You don’t suppose I 7 ‘shall stay here longer than I can help, do yout” Michael was silent. He dared not speak out his thoughts until his brother stood safely be- side him, for his face was the face of a desper- ate man, although his words were fair. “Yam afraid you will catch cold, ” he said, at last last ‘ “Donald laughed. _ “The water is delightful. Michael; I am going to jump.” Tb wiatess BYay ‘take my hand, Donald,” said bis bro- ther, imploringly, for he dared not trust him even yet. “ You can’t jump in your wet clothes,” __ ** Nonsense!” And with one bound Donald, who. had the fictitious strength that comes of ‘internal fever, - eleared the bank, and laughed triumpbantly in -Michael’s face. _ “There! What did I tell you? . know what Iam capable of yet.” You are safe, at any rate, thank Heaven!” murmured Michael, gratefully. Sth ~ coat. and let us get home as fast as we can. am ‘so afraid of your catching cold.” “No fear of that. I am as warm as a toast,” replied Donald, jauntily. ‘‘ Put on the great- coat yourself; it would stifle me.” > “Donald, t beseech you!” . “Pshaw, Michael! You have been so much among women lately, that you have grown cold a fidget. Did you ever know me tocatch et?” ae How came you to fall into the Look sharp, You don’t I 0; but I never saw you in such a predica- Mz Donald regarded his brother with a strange, ¥ | ‘- \ BRomTERS SIN. “No; a thousand times, no!” was the em- ‘Donald has a right to my life, for he would | for his darling in his heart; and then was , _ drawing back, ready to spring, when he saw | - Donald’s head crash through the thin edge of | “Put on my | is aE PT : ‘‘That punch was so confoundedly strong,” he said; “Ithink it must have got into my _ head. Imeant to make straight for home.” Michael knew this was a falsehood—the first he had ever heard on his brother’s lips, but deemed it expedient to appear to accept the ex- planation given. “Ah, well,” he said, cheerful enough as to ' tone, ‘‘accidents will occur in the best regu- lated families. But don’t have anything to say to Benson’s punch another time, for it is, ! must own, a most potent liquor.” Donald walked along with his eyes on the ground, and did not speak again until they were close to Mr. Pierpoint’s house, when he | observed in an abrupt way, ‘‘ What on earth did | you want to come in after me for, Michael?’ | ‘¢Why, do you think—” “Pshaw! what is the use of being Quixotic?’ *¢ None whatever; but there is some in being | brotherly, I suppose?” | ““My dear fellow, all that sort of thing is a snare and a delusion, you may depend upon it,” answered Donald, in a hard, defiant tone. “We fancy we can’t "do without affection when we are quite young; but as we get older, learn that it is simply a luxury, not a neces- sity.” “ Anyhow, it is one of those luxuries tna: are good for a man to treat himself to, it seems to me.” “Why?” asked Donald, sharply. ‘¢ Because love is a great softener.” “Or a great hardener,” sneered Roland. *‘ Thore is a reverse to the medal, you know.” “Possibly; but it is not usual with you to be looking out for it,” replied his brother gravely. ‘But you arenot like yourself anyway to- night, Donald, and that’s the fact. When you have slept off Benson’s punch, you will, I hope, take a more cheerful view of things in gen- eral.” They entered the house at this moment, and parted at the foot of the stairs—Michael stay- ing to speak a few words to the old butler, and Donald going straight to his room. But when the former had been in bed for over an hour, he heard his brother still about, and wondered drowsily what could have happened that even- ing to disturb him so strangely, aud make him so unlike bis true self. The first thing Michael did in the morn- ing was to acquaint his uncle with his engage- ment to Flora Chester, and, to his delight, Mr. Pierpoint congratulated him most cordially, “She is a good little girl,’ he said, ‘and will make you an excellent wife; only that, of course, you cannot marry yet.” “No, uncle? Why?’ inquired Michael, his . face falling. “My dear boy, you must have something to , do first. Four hundred a-year is very well for \ Ee s PURE este ees eae el ee eee
Page 9
a bachelor, and might possibly do, with economy, for a young married couple; bu there are other contingencies to be provided for, you must remember.” Michael blushed like a girl. “Might we not think about those things later?” ‘ | “ Certainly not. Besides, I have heard Mrs, Chester say again and again that she would not give her daughter to an idle man,” “JT am sure I don’t want to be idle, uncle— it isn’t that; but I have a great horror of long engagements. ” “You prefer to marry in haste and repent point. “¢T am sure I never should repent.” ‘¢ All lovers say that, and Iam ready to ad- mit that you have more reason than most, for Flora is'a charming young woman, and has been well brought up; but because she is all this, you are the more bound to consider her interests before the gratification of your own wishes.” .. “But is it against her interests to marry me, uncle Bryan?” “At present it is, She deserves a good home; and what have you to offer her?” __ Michael’s head drooped, and he looked pain- fully discouraged. “J fancied my devotion would make up for a good many deficiencies in other ways.” ‘Perhaps it might, just now; but there is the future to think of, and you have no right to let her make any sacrifices, Michael. No, e my lad,” and hoe laid his hand kindly on the other’s shoulder, “go to work bravely, and a year hence, when you have some prospect of getting on, come back and claim her. If she is all I take her to be, you will have gained a good deal of her respect, and lost nothing of her love in the meantime.” Michael looked very disappointed; but saw the wisdom of his uncle’s suggestion, and ad- - initted it up to a certain point. “Only,” he repeated wistfully, “I bave the feeling I told you of just now—that Flora will never be my wife unless I marry her at once. ? “Pshaw?” exclaimed Mr. Pierpoint. ‘‘ Why not?” “JT don’t know, uncle. There are a good - many things one can’t explain, and yet feel to betrue. Iam not apt to have presentiments, and, therefore, this one frightens me,” “My dear fellow, I tell you what it is,” said Mr. Pierpoint, indulgently; “ you have never been in love before, and, therefore, don’t under- ‘stand your own sensations. ‘Who desires much, also fears much,’ according to our Latin cae the sweets, like other people. I dare say you haye all sorts of presentiments—men have at at ‘leisure, I suppose?” returned Mr. Pier- | primers; and you must take the bitters with - and expect to have the pleasure of dancing at your wedding next Christmas, for all that.” se teh ee | “Next Christmas!” repeated Michael, dis- consolately. ‘‘ What! wait a whole year?” “Why not ‘You are only twenty-four; — ‘Flora barely eighteen. What is the use of a couple of children trying to keep house, and bringing up other children?” ; bee “And you think twelve months will make | all the difference, uncle?’ a sins “Yes, I do. The thought of your coming ' responsibilities will make you look at things in Da ie 4% Nigh N: such times; but I hope a stronger light than you have hitherto done, = and therefore the year’s experience will help = you more than all those that have gone before, Believe me, Michael, I have your best interests a) | at heart; for you two lads are all Thave leftin = the world. If it were better that you should = marry at once, I would not withhold my con- ee sent; but I believe that it would be a serious — mistake, for several reasons—I do, indeed.” “T can’t see it, for the life of me,” answered — Michael, despondently. Pi “You will later, my dear boy. Listen to me, Michael,” he added, after a pause. “You know, don’t you, that I have some money in- vested in coffee plantations in Ceylon?” +09 “TI remember hearing you say so.” ‘‘ Well, my partner and manager—for he is both together—wants to come home, now that — his family is growing up, and it suddenly struck me this afternoon that it would be a good thing for you and Donald to go out there in his place.” : wa “‘ What if we mismanaged the estate?” ’ “Jarvis would stay for a month or so, to show you how to get along, and you could have a manager under you. I fancy you would both like the life, and Donald coul stay out there if he cared to do so.” “ But how would that advance ms, uncle?” — “Tn this way. I would make over th estate to you two, at the end of the year; a if Donald worked it, and you were the age: over here, you would make a very good thing of it, I am sure.” “ But what about Jarvis’s share?” Z 2 “T shall buy that, if you agree ene = a position, He has offered it to me at a fair and » reasonable price, and there is nothing to do | but to write to him that I have accepted his _ | offer, and to teil him to expect you and Donald — by the next ship.” ves “Must I go at once, then?” inquired Michael, — who began to think that fate was against him. : ree. “Tn a fortnight. I see that the Derwent- — zy water is advertised to sail on the 10th of Janu- ary, and you ought to be ready by then.” : “But, uncle, we have no right to let yor spend your money on us,” a aoe ! Tae
Page 10
ge ah 3 otek he world will belong to you and Donald one of these days, and therefore you may as well have alittlenow.. But I want to hinder you from _ too soon taking such serious responsibilities,” “Uncle,” said Michael, after a long silence, *¢ will you tell me one thing?” “What is it?” + ¥our exact motive for sending me out of -England?” _-~—«-* You suspect I have another besides the one _ I mentioned, then?” ne “Yes, I do; because, after all, with the same __ assistance that you will give me out there, I might do something in England, and marry Flora at once.” Exactly; but that is what I wish to pre- __-vent, because I feel that you are both of you a Plenty of men marry at twenty-four, un- cle?” +“ ¥es; but women of their own age, who know something of the world, and can keep them straight—not a mere child like Flora Chester, who will need guiding at every step herself. Besides, I am not quite convinced that you are both of you sure of your own _ minds; and a year’s absence will be exactly the test that is needed. If you care for each other as much at the end of that time as you do now, you will have a very happy future before you; if you discover that you have made a mistake, there will have been no harm done.” “Except depriving us of a whole year’s - felicity,” said Michael, rather resentfully. “Por the sake of making you happier all the other years.” __ *TI don’t know about that. I am a great advocate for enjoying the present, and trust- ing to Providence so far as the future is con- : erocd: You know we are told to take no _ thought for the morrow, uncle?” . “Yes: but not in this sense. But, tell me, have you spoken to Mrs. Chester, yet?” fo, Bir.” _ Well, then, go to her at once, and if she consents to your immediate marriage, I will: put I fancy she will be on my side; and if go, you can tell her of my proposition, and hear if she approves. that I intend to settle three hundred a-year on - Flora at once, so that, in case of my death be- _ fore you are married, she may be provided poror.”” = ies Oh, uncle!” exclaimed Michael, ashamed of his former petulance; ‘how good you are!” “Not half good enough,” answered Mr. Pierpoint, sadly. ‘‘ But, at my age, we begin ) realize what a failure we have been, and to ) anxious to give the young folks the benefit ; A BROTHER'S SIN, “My dear boy, everything I have in the of our eeitetice to prevent them from going You may also tell her — hs f to pieces on the rocks where our own bark was shipwrecked. Mine has not been a happy life, Michael; but it is drawing to a close now!” “Uncle, I can’t allow you to speak like that! Remember you are only sixty years old, and may live a great many years yet!’ “T dare say; who can tell? But Ishould be sorry to think so, Michael. Life looks very bright to you; and that you may keep your illusions will be my earnest prayer. But I won’t detain you any longer. Go and see Mrs, Chester, and come back to me when you have had her answer.” - Michael rose eagerly, seizing his hat, and in another minute Mr. Pierpoint saw him go into the street, his hair sprucely brushed, and a flower in his buttonhole, ‘« Ah, those lovers!” he said to himself, with /a strange, wistful smile, and went, sighing, back to his seat, —_~———— | CHAPTER IV. THE CRUEL WISDOM OF MIDDLE AGE, | Frora was watching at the window, and as ‘soon as Michael appeared in sight ran and hid herself in a cupboard, and stopped up her ears, ' although there was not the slightest need for these precautions, Her heart went pit-a-pat against her bodice, like a prisoned bird against the wire of its ' cage, and her cheeks were like a couple of red | roses in their summer prime. All the morning she had had hard work not | to betray herself, so unaccustomed was she to anything like deception, and every affectionate word from her mother’s lips smote her like a sword. But all this was over now. At that very ‘moment Michael was shut up with Mrs. i Chester in her morning-room, and was getting ' through his nervous task as best he might. She only hoped her mother would not fetch | her down to ratify his words, for her courage i had all vanished, even before Michael knocked at the door, and she could hardly have faced a fly at this important moment. | But everything went on quietly enough— outwardly. | The big clock in the hall struck eleven— quarter past—the half hour—a quarter to— and was giving the little click that preluded noon, when the door of Mrs. Chester’s morn- ing-room opened abruptly, and Michael went through the hall like a whirlwind, opened the outer door, and disappeared. Flora had ventured as far as the landing by this time, and caught sight of his flushed face as he passed underneath. But as soon as he was gone she darted into her own room, and watched him, with ail her heart in her
Page 11
i a ee ; < eyes, as he hurried along the trim garden paths out into the road. “Mamma won’t hear of our engagement,” she had just said to herself, when she turned suddenly, and found Mrs, Chester at her el- bow. face pale, but she was not angry, only sorrow- ful, us she put her arms round Flora’s shoul- pare the two. TI know I Jove you very, very Mrs. Chester’s eyes were troubled, and her. ders, and said in a moved voice, ‘ why are ee you in such a hurry to desert me, chi had hoped to keep you for several years yet.” “But, mamma, you are not going to lose me,” “T can’t disguise from myself that it will be very much the same thing, Flora, for all men suspect their mother-in-law, and I should | not like to be an element of discord in your married home. A girl when she married must choose between her mother and her husband, and, of course, there can be no question as to which side she ought to take. I almost wish you had been a boy now, Flora.” “Oh, mamma!” “Then I should have kept you longer to myself, anyhow. But it is no use grumbling,” eyes were not becoming, stole away and left she added, dashing the’tears out of her eyes; | ‘you are only fulfilling your destiny, I sup- pose. I must make the most of the year that is left, for I have insisted upon that delay, not from any selfish motive, but because I believe it to be desirabie on account of your extreme youth.” “T am sure Michael is in no hurry,” said Flora, blushing divinely.- “ And I am sure he is, my love; but it for- tunately happens that Mr. Pierpoint takes ex- actly my view of the matter.” “You have seen Mr. Pierpoint, then?” “No; but Michael admittedas much. How- ever, he will tell you all this himself, for he is coming to take you for a walk at two o'clock.” “Mamma,” said Flora, resolutely, although her lips whitened as she spoke, “if you wish it, I will give up Michael.” _ “And break your heart, eb, Flora?” “That I can’t say; but I have heard that hearts don’t break very easily, and I ought to think of you before him.” Mrs. Chester turned her daughter’s face round to the light, and gazed steadily into the uplifted eyes. \ ‘‘Flora,” she said, at’ last, ‘do you love Michael Pierpoint?” “Yes, mamma,” was the modest, but firm reply. “ With all your heart and strength?” “ With all my heart and strength,” repeated Flora. “ Better than me, of course?” “Itis such a different love, I cannot com ‘ yet it was odd how soon she forgot her moth 'pain and disappointment in selecting her ' you would make it, but I have no mind that ; you should be a martyr. | time, but through ail her distress concerning ee | band’s death. dearly, mamma—so much, that { would. fice the whole happiness of my life to spare pain.” f Saree “‘ And then pine away before my eyes, Isup- _ pose?” ate “No, I don’t think I am one of that ; lif Pia < ake All the savor would have gone out of my perhaps; but if you were satisfied —” Pia And you imagine that I should be satisfied, — Flora?” ; <u ee “No,” she answered, promptly. -- iets “Then don’t talk nonsense, child. Iamsure — that if I demanded the sacrifice you speak of — Be happy your ai Pere e by this way; and I—well, 1 must do as well as can,” e ¥ Flora was crying unrestrainedly her mother, was proud and glad of Michael’s love. a Mrs. Chester cried with her a little; thesia o the girl away, and bidding her remember that she had Michael to please now, and that red her. ? No one could have called Flora selfish, and her's toi- Rty: let for the afternoon’s walk; while poorMrs, Chester, fast locked in her chamber, wept the bitterest tears that she had shed since her hus- i When Michael spoke of his uncle’s plans to” her that afternoon, Flora was first of all ge nant, for it seemed cruel to separate her m Michael in the early days of their love. Bui young as she was, she had a wonderful fund of good sense, and gradually came to see the ad- vantages that would accrue to her lover from this appointment, and to look at the matter in the right light. oe “Of course it will bo miserable to have the sea between us, Michael,” she murmured in her dulcet voice; “but a year will soon pas away, and then we need never to be ‘sep- arated again, Iam only a foolish little girl now, but while you are gone I mean to try very hard to grow wiser inevery way.” “Oh, my darling, asif I were not more than satisfied!” eee “T know you are, Michael; but then you are a little blind just now, and when your eyes are opened later, I want you to find me, as — nearly as possible, all you thought. It would | be so dreadful for you to be disappointed with me!” 4 “T amnot afraid of that,” he answered, garding her with infinite tenderness! ‘ Flora, how my heart will yearn after you all those weary months! Why, has your mot
Page 12
12 A BROTHER'S SIN. fergotten her own youth, that she condemns us to such a cruel parting?” “She does not mean to be unkind, Michael; but thinks wo are both so young that we can- not trust our feelings. I know I shall never change; but they say men are fickle, and you will see so many girls who are prettier and nicer than I am.” Michael had chosen a retired road for their walk; and after making sure that no one was in sight, drew her, blushing, into his arms, and kissed her with all a lover’s fire. “You little coquette! you are fishing for compliments! You know quite well that if I searched the whole world through I should never find any one to equal you.” “That is because you fancy I am so much better than Iyeally am.” “Nothing of the kind, miss. you, aud ought to be able to judge you rightly by this time.” “You are prejudiced in my favor, Michael.” “Not at starting. I didn’t fall headlong in love with your beautiful eyes, child, although Tadmired them vastly, 1 must own. But if you had been only beautiful you would never have won me, for the most perfect body in the world would never attract me if it were the harbor of a deformed soul. Do you know what first made me like you?” “No,” she said, shy and curious, “The way you spoke to your mother, and also to the poor, But the thing that finished me off, and made me quite certain that 1 could not live without you, was—guess?” Flora shook her head. ““T passed Stocker’s cottage one day, and hearing your voice, could not resist the temp- tation of peeping in at the window. What I | saw there made me your slave for life.” “What did you see there?” “Well, a very pretty girl leaning over a sick boy, with a face full of sweet compassion. | If I wanted to picture an angel, I should pic- ture her like that. “And, do you know, I had such a tender reverence for my darling after that, Ihardly think I should bave dared ask her to be my wife if she had not encouraged me by a little human coquetry.” “T am sure I never coquetted with you, Michael. I was too afraid.” “Too afraid of what?” “Of my own feelings.” This admission gained her another rapturous embrace. “¢My dear love—my sweet wife that is to be,” he murmured, ‘‘ how shall I ever be able ) thank you enough for all your goodness— how. properly evince my gratitude for the joy you Bave brought into my life?” be good to me, Michael; that is all I “On ask,” che said, with a simplicity that very nee : I have studied | | greatly touched him. ‘My whole life be- longs to you now, and I can only be happy by and through you.” “Can’t you trust me, Flora?? “T think I can, Michael. I don’t look very much afraid, dol? But we ought to go home now. We really must. Mamma will be | frightened if we are late, and you know she promised we should be as much together as possible the next fortnight; so we mustn’t im- pose uppn her kindness. By the by, you have not yet. told me what Donald said to our en- gagement?’ observed Flora, presently.” ; “Very little. He is never a great talker, you know, but he likes you immensely, Flora. | I remember his saying so about a week ago, so it is certain to be all right.” “‘ Won't he be jealous of me with you?” “Possibly, at first; but he is very generous- hearted, and will soon conquer such a feeling, and take you back into favor again. I wish he _ weren’t going abroad with me, for then I should have some one to write to me, and tell me just how you were looking, and so on. I know very well you will talk as lictle about yourself as possible, and that will nuturally be the sub- ject to interest me the most.” E | Then I will promise to be terribly egotisti- cal, and fill my letters with big I’s,” answered Flora, laughing. ‘‘ Indeed, I shall have nothing else to write about.” ‘“¢T am very glad to hear it. Oh, dear!” he added, with a sigh; “ what a pity itis that hap- ° py hours pass so quickly. We seem only to haye come out half an hour ago, and now it is time to go back.” “But the pleasure can be repeated to-mor- row, Michael.” ‘A pleasure never repeats itself, Flora; and who can count on the morrow?” “T wish you wouldn’t speak like that, | Michael; you make me feel so insecure,” | “Do I? Then I will try to change my man- ‘ners. You know I only mean, after all, that I like to be happy in the present. Most people ‘agree with me there.” “Of course,” she said; ‘‘ but it is so pleasant | to look forward as well. The present would /not be worth much if we were sure it would ° have no future.” 1 | On reaching home, they found Mr. Pierpoint seated very cosily at Mrs. Chester’s fireside, drinking a cup of tea and eating toast, although he greatly disapproved, as a rule, of what he called ‘‘ intermediate meals.” He welcomed Flora quite affectionately, pat- ting her cheek, and asking her when she was going back to school.’ He enjoyed his own lit- tle jokes so much that Flora could not help laughing shyly, although she would have been thankful if be had left ber alone. Howeyer, he stayed a full hour—a very rare \
Page 13
A BROTHER'S SIN. os - Mrs. Chester’s house. honor for him—and was considerate enough to leave Michael behind him when he went away, which showed, Flora thought, that he had not | forgotten what it was to be young. All her life long Flora could remember that all those she and Michael passed together, Their happiness Was so new, and excited them | so much, that they forgot the parting that hung over them, and were as frankly and | simply happy as two young children af play in the sunshine. Mrs. Chester watched them for a while; then had her reading lamp brought, and retired be- hind the newspaper, from whence she came forth only at tea-time. After. tea she had a nap, so that altogether Michael and Flora were as good as alone, the slight restraint adding a little charm of mystery to their whispered con- fidences. But it came to an end only too soon. The clock striking eleven roused Mrs. Chester, who began to fold up her newspaper in a sugges- tive way Michael could not disregard. But Flora followed him into the hall to get his hat for him, and he had the chance of one kiss before he went out int» the frosty night— the happiest man in all England, except for the fact that he was about to leave it. The next morning had to be given up entire- ly to business. Donald seemed well pleased at his uncle’s proposition, and his moody manner lightened a little, Michael, who had been watching him anxiously ever since his strange conduct on Christmas Eve, was greatly re- lieved to see him show some interest in their mutual prospects. Indeed, Donald was the moreeager of the two,and developed an activity of mind and body that made Mr. Pierpoint prophesy he would die a rich man, after all. Nearly every day he ran up to town, and, thanks to his zealeand enter- prise, Michael was able to pass nearly all his time with Flora. Mrs. Chester worked hard meanwhile at all contrivances for their cabin, and Flora was netting them purses, Little presents came from other quarters too, for the twin brothers were general favorites, although the young men bore Michael a grudge for carrying off the belle of the neighborhood, It had been settled, after some hesitation on Mrs. Chester’s part, that sho and Flora should accompany Michael and Donald to Liverpool, in order that the young lovers might see the very last of each other. Mrs. Chester had thought at first that this would be too much for the girl, but when she pleaded to be allowed to go, and promised to | control herself, Mrs. Chester gave in—against her own judgment be it said. The last evening thoy all spent together in | Donald had at first de- ' clined the invitation, saying he had so much to attend to that he could not spare the time; but | when Flora said, reproachfully, “It would — ; | be very unkind of you to disappoint us. when evening, for it seemed to her the happiest of | you think how long it must be before we are all together again,” he answered, in a moved voice, “Ii you wish it, Flora, that is enough. em “Of course I wish. iit, » she replied, tossing — her pretty head with unconscious “Naturally, you did not agree with her,” ‘observed Donald, with a kind of covert eager- ness that would have startled Flora if she had been an older woman. “ Naturally, I did agree with her, you mean, sir?’ and Flora pouted. What do “Have uetry.) ‘‘Mamma, was only saying last night that our — party always seemed incomplete without you.” you ever had even to wait fora welcome from — me?” ‘*'No; because you have a kind heart, Flora, But somehow I always feel in the way here.” “Then you ought to be ashamed of yourseif, Donald; for you must think mammaandI very false people!” “On my honor, Flora, I never meant that. I like Mrs, Chester immensely; and as Si you—” ~ He broke oi: suddenly, and turned away; as but being so innocont, Flora followed him, and put her arm caressingly through his. “You look upon me quite as a sister, do you not? Do you know, Donald, I used to be ak jealous of you at first?” ‘¢ Jealous of me?” “ Why not, if Michael liked you best?” ‘*But Was that probable, Flora?’ “T don’t know. fancy so then, at any rate.” “And now?” “Oh, now I am sure Michael loves me hest — You won't. grudge me my place, Donald, for I ought to of all the world, and you next. come first, oughtn’t I?” “Yes, ” he answered, readily; ‘‘I would not =f have it otherwise.” “Oh, thank you, Donald; you have made mo so happy by what you have just said, tor } have always been a little afraid that you were hurt with me for what had happened, and yet we could not help loving each other, you 4 know.” “Is that your theory, Flora?” “Yes; but of course, if we had known it to ; be wrong; we should have fought against the very beginning.” “And supposing you bad not conquered, what then?’ inquired Michael, with a faing shudder. “Then we should know we hadn’t tried enough, and have to begin all over again,” re- — plied Flora, simply. I was foolish enough to a5 Le te
Page 14
bebe been so undemonstrative that she had. _ fancied he disliked hor, turned round suddenly, and said, “Will you give me a sister’s kiss, Flora? i don’t think Michael would mind.” On the reget rT am sure he would be UP her mouth with the innocence "of a "Donald kissed her once, tenderly, reverential- , and then staggered toward the door, and isappeared. Poor Donald! how sensitive he is!” said _ Flora, to herself. “I wish ho didn’t take ichael’s engagement so much to heart; but I suppose it was to be expected, and he wiil be- aig reconciled in time. I must tell Michael as considerate as possible. Which she did, but somehow she forgot to y anything about the kiss. hat last evening was not a very cheerful _ one, although Mr. Pierpoint talked jestingly of year’s separation as if it were a mere noth- . and rallied Michael unmercifully when he id his face while Flora was singing his fa- orite song. _ Direetly the brothers entered the room, Mrs. Chester had been surprised at the alteration in Donald. Hitherto, both Michael and himself ad worn whiskers as well as a mustache, but ow Donald wore a mustache only; and when “that Mr. Pierpoint had thought it desirable to - make some distinction of this kind between hem, as otherwise it would be almost impos- sible for strangers to distinguish one from the other, “Bub wasn’t that a sudden idea?” Mrs. Chester asked. Yes; it was tho result of an accident that 1, and did not discover his mistake for il ten minutes. He said, then, that this sort ing would complicate all our business ar- ements, and we ought to make it impossi- ble. As an engaged man, Michael was aturally unwilling to sacrifice his whiskers, d therefore I laid mine on the altar of fra- ‘Well, I like you quite as well without iy Donel, and you won’t missthe warmth m5 appara," said Donald, laughing rather terly. ‘The nuisance will be having to © every morning.” Yes, but when you feel cooler all day in uence, you will find it a set-off,” an- ’ Mrs. Chester, consolingly; and then more was said on the subject of Don- Chester looked surprised, he explained | ened last night. Uncle took me for | Indeed, Flora never noticed the difference until Michaet called her attention to it; and then she had things of more interest to absorb her, and simply glanced his way, and observed eavelessly, ‘‘So he has,” evidently forgetting all about it the next moment. When every one was talking,the young lovers stole out, and stood under the stars together, just where they had stood on the night of their betrothal, The landseape looked much the same as then, only that the moon was on the wane now, and there were no Christmas bells to give them greeting. There they renewed their vows solemnly,, hand in hand, heart to beart; and Flora in- sisted upon being allowed to swear that if any- thing should happen to prevent her marrying Michael, she would never allow any man to take his vacant place. | “TJ don’t like you to make a promise of that sort, dear,” Michael said; “for you are very | young, and might suffer cruelly one of these | days for your vow’s sake. I know you will . be faithful to me while I live, and that is all | I ought to ask.” “But you know, Michael, you would rather , not picture it possible for me to care for any one else?” ‘‘Well, yes; but then I should be beyond picturing anything, darling. Besides, I love | you so dearly, Flora, that I desire your happi- ness before my own.” | * And I desire yours before my own, Michael, believe me.” “‘T am sure you do, Flora, Even this little while that we have been engaged, our lives have become so mingled, that I always feel now asif there were two of us to enjoy and two to suffer. Has that ever struck you?” ‘*Oh, yes; my life is much fuller and sweeter | DO nowadays, and altogether different. I felt | almost a child before, and suddenly have grown | to womanhood, with a woman’s responsibilities —for being engaged is so very like being mar- ried, isn’t it?” “T don’t think it is nearly so nice, love; for | if we were married there would be no need for us to part.” “True; but we said we wouldn’t grieve over the parting, Michael, only try to look forward with hope to our next happy Christmas. After all, the time will pass very quickly, as uncle | Bryan says, and—and—” And here Flora, who was so much wiser in. speech than in fact, burst out crying, and all the rest of their time was passed by Michael in. consoling the poor child, who had, at first, preached to him of courage and resignation. It may be doubted if either Michael or Flora. slept that night; but if another kept vigil with them, no one guessed it, All the sympa-
Page 15
ur, _ matter of course that she should be ready, al- thy of the two houscholds, and even of the en- | tire neighborhood, was with the young lovers, and they did not so much as divine the suffer- ings that were so proudly concealed and so bravely borne, Mrs. Chester had a somewhat restless night herself, for she heard Flora moving about in her room whenever she roused, and understood that the poor child was making very poor preé- paration for a trying day. However, it was no use remonstrating, and when she went to call her at six o’clock, and Flora came out in her traveling-dress, she made no remark, but appeared to think it a though they did not start until nine. The Derwentwater was to sail at noon the next day, and as Liverpool was an eight hours’ journey from Ayshe, they were obliged to sleep at the former place, unless they traveled all night, which Mrs. Chester strongly opposed. Flora shared her mother’s bed in the hotel, and was so thoroughly worn out by this time that she slept in spite of herself, and was thereby strengthened for that which she had still to go through. They were a very silent party at breakfast, and as soon as the mgal was over went off te the ship; and Flora had the sorrowful satisfac- tion of putting the last touches to Michael’s cabin, hanging up a charming photograph of herself beside his berth, which she made Don- ald promise to uncover as soon as Michael could no longer see her from the shore. “Oh, my dear love, this is very hard to bear!” Michael said, as he held her in his arms for the last time, with a passionate strain. **'You will be true to me, darling?’ ‘So help me Heaven, I will never have any husband but you!” “Bless you, my sweet one—my dearest, my precious girl!” he cried out, almost beside him- self; and then Mr. Pierpoint and Mrs. Chester took Flora away from him; and Donald, who was as white as death himself, caught hold of his arm and led him away. ‘* Let me see the very last of her!” Michael pleaded, ‘‘Who knows whether I may ever set eyes on her dear face again?” But Donald was inexorable, and held his brother fast until the good ship Derwentwater had sailed out of the docks, and was lost to sight in the cold and dim mist. — CHAPTER V. TOO TIRED TO WAIT. For the first month after Michael’s departure Flora took no interest in any thing, and wan- dered about the house ia a listless sort of way, neglecting even her poor, and seeming to be selfishly preoccupied in her troubles, A BROTHER'S SiN Lats Mrs. Chester let her alone, believing that her — es own common sense would be her best guide, ai bef . ter all; and she was right. Gradually F.ora resumed her usual avocations, and if something — of the savor had gone out of them, the girl never complained. | Meanwhile there came a long letter from Michael, from on board the Derwentwater, ard Flora brightened a little. She used to sleep with the precious letter under her pillow, and her first act on waking was to press ibagain and again to her lips. Mrs, Chester had to wait twenty-four hours — for any information, and then it oozed out very slowly. ; ‘Yes, Michael was quite well. ! ; “And was he enjoying his voyage?” et, ‘‘Oh, mamma, as if he could, under the cir =i cumstances!” exclaimed Flora, reproachfully, “IT meant as well as could be expected, loves es of course we know that he cannot be in wild — spirits.” rad “He is not in any spirits at all,” sighed rk Flora. ‘Every day he feels the parting more, — act he says, and longs more for our reunion.” et “That is quite natural; but making love is - not all a man’s life, my dear, and I think you © would despise Michael if he were satisfied — to remain tied to your apron-string.” oa “Indeed I should; but I wish he could hav: had some work nearer home.” ‘¢ Patience, Flora, and even that. will come, Do you know you are fortunate, having — much to look forward to, for so many of © just live because we must, and have nothing yrs hope for in this world.” ie “Then I don’t understand how it is have the courage to live at all.” : “My dear child, there are so many possthi ties in life which your limited experience would — not, naturally, embrace. People live on, somo- how, when they appear to have nothing to.live Soy for p “T dare say they do; but I don’t think should have the courage.” = “What do you mean, child?” inquired mother, sharply. “J didn’t mean that Ishould commit of course, mamma; but I fancy death see come as easily, if more slowly.” Mrs. Chester could not help saying, ‘ Ard yet you would still have me if Michael died!” ‘“‘T was not thinking only of Michael’s deaih, 3 mamma, but of any great trouble. You know p that if he were to return to-morrow, and your eos place was vacant, he would not get much; of ay) welcome.” Mrs. Chester kissed her, but sighed t She knew she could count on Flora’s affection, but knew also that she had no longer the first _ place in her daughter’s heart; and though she had so often told herself this must needs come, eee
Page 16
se her own mind. And lo! it had come upon her suddenly, re - her heart was very sore. Flora had declined all invitations the first few weeks, and was inclined to, persevere in - this rigid seclusion; but Mr. Pierpoint, who _ was learning to look upon her quite as a daugh- tor, sent for her one day, and represented mat- ters to her in such a light that Flora, who was really sensible, began to see that she ___ pained and annoyed her mother, and depressed - her own spirits, without in any way hasten- ing Michael’s return; and after that went out whenever there was a party in the neighbor- hood, and was almost shocked to find that she Pm had ‘not lost all her relish for these distrac- _ tions. Still her greatest comfort and pleasure were ee some- ad done before, ‘And so the winter passed, and spring and Ai summer came in their turn, yearning to give Place to the ruddy autumn, with its lingering - flowers and tempting fruits, With the fall of the leaf came a great change in Mr. Pierpoint. ing He had been ailing all through the summer, but those about him felt no alarm, as the bad weather always tried him a good deal. -_- _ He was sure to be all right when it became ooler, he would say when Mrs. Chester — ous, as there was no occasion to do so. ve And remember, ma’am,” he would add ae hindtingty to Mrs, Chester, é you are engaged to one for the first dance at Flora’s wedding- ; I don’t mind telling you, quite between at Michael is my favorite of the two Otis tess is something so honest and Bare about him.” Another month passed away, and although _ Mrs. Chester scarcely dared acknowledge her own fears, much less speak of them to Flora, began to see that Mr. Pierpoint was sink- ing so fast that there could be but little hope of bis ever seeing Michael again. _ He seemed to doubt this himself at times, for 6 was always giving them messages for ‘‘ the ads,” and occasionally, when at his best, would eall for his desk, and write eagerly for a few - minutes, - But this seemed to agitate him so much that =" Flora would try by every tender device to coax the pen out of his hand. *You know, unéle,” she would say, in her sweet, persuasive tones, “you have told me ee ond ase am not Dey % forget, You | | | away to hide her tears. “had always put off the evil day indefinitely i in” must economize oie strength ag sibel as pos- — There is no reason why you should not — sible, see Michael yourself, and say all you are writ- ing there, if you will only be careful.” “My dear child, all the care in the world would not keep me alive for ten days now.” “But we calculated that with favorable winds Michael might be here in eight, un- cle,” said Flora, who could no longer deceive herself respecting his near danger. ‘But what are our human calculations, child? — Can we still this cruel hurricane, which has been raging round our coast for the last two days?” “No; but it is not obliged to be general,” she answered, shuddering, for it almost seemed as if the old ‘man's fears were prophetic; or, | rather,-that standing on the edge of the un- known land, he must see and know things thai jswere beyond her view. “Tt always is general, After a spell of this weather one hears of so many disasters at sea, not only near home, but also at a distance, that we tremble for those we love. I have no penetration beyond yours,” he added, as if Le read her thoughts; ‘‘but I am drawing now on the experience of sixty years, my dear.” “Oh, then, please don’t, uncle Christopher,” she said, imploringly. “I have had such strange, dreadful presentiments myself lately, that I—I—” * Here she broke down a little, and turned But remembering that | Mr. Pierpoint must not be excited, she came | back to his side again in another minute, with a smile on her lips, although tears lingered in her eyes. ‘You see how foolish Tam, Ican’tbear the 1east allusion of this sort. Ido feel as if my life would be so utterly lost and hopeless with- _out Michael.” “Nay, Flora; you have a brave spirit, and whatever comes will be able to bear it,” said Mr. Pierpoint, with an impressiveness that Flora remembered in later days. ‘‘ You are not one of those weak reeds which break in every storm, but rather, it seems to me, you. would brace yourself to bear thee’ “‘T hope I should; but why should all this be, ' uncle?’ “‘ My dear child, Ii never said it would be; and I pray with ‘all my heart that you may have as much happiness as you deserve. But there are possibilities of this sort in every life, however bright it may seem outwardly, and surely it beboves us to be prepared.” ‘‘But .we should never have a happy mo- — ment, uncle Christopher, if we were always anticipating evil.” “To strengthen oneself so that it would be | possible to bear them courageously if they came is not to anticipate them, Flora,”
Page 17
«Ah, well!” ahs said, sighing, ‘it sounds so much like the same thing; and somehow I am feeling very faint-hearted alr eady. It may be this terrible wind moaning at one’s window all | night, like a human creature in pain, depresses me; or that I can’t get’ Mrs. Jacob's story out of my head.” “What was Mrs. Jacob’s story?’ inquired Mr. Pierpoint. “Tt was about her son. She told me she lost him in just such a gale as this, when his ship was within a mile of the shore. It was to have been his last voyage in any case, poor fellow, and he was to have married his cousin Mary a month after his return. I quite won her heart by crying with her, but I am afraid I was thinking more of Micheel than of ber son, too. Oh, uncle, if be were to be drowned!” “Then we should know it was for the best, my dear, hard as it might seem. let us hope that you will have a happy meeting, and a long life with our dear Michael.” -.“ Amen!” she answered softly, and bent down and kissed his hand, fot her heart was very full, ‘But our happiness will not be complete without you, uncle Christopber,” “Then Michael must come soon,” he said, “for my time is very short.” All the next week Mr. Pierpoint was so feeble and exhausted that they fancied each day must needs be his Jast. As he could not bear Flora out of his sight, Mrs, Chester remained in the house with her daughter, and perhaps prayed for Michael’s return almost as heartily as Flora did, for she felt that there ought to be some one belonging to him in the house at such a time, and Mr. Pier- point declared himself to have no relations but his nephews. Flora scacrely left him, except to take the repose that was actually necessary; and then Mrs. Chester had to insist on this, for the girl could not bear to leave the dying man’s bed- side, for when he saw her move, he would say, ever so wistfully, ‘‘Come back soon, my dear, but I don’t want to tire you, of cour “se,” All the while she was gone he would keep asking, in his restless, eager way, when she was coming back again: though when Mrs. Chester reminded him that she really required rest, he would evidently try hard to restrain his impatience. But it was wonderful to see how his dim eyes brightened when she returned to her seat by his side, and how readily he took from her hand the broth or wine he had refused before. The chief thing that troubled Flora was that sometimes, when: his mind wandered, he would call ber’Michael’s widow, and say to her, sol- emnly, “Ab! poor Michael, he loved you dearly! Boe true to his memory, child.” “TI promise you that,” she would answer, SIGS aot te es cade Michael had. lived, he wana ee 1 faithfully to the very end, so that he d | equal constaney. What a brave, bouny | was! As his mother said to me yester Poor Flora shivered convulsively. — | mother had been dead for years, _ ‘‘T mean last week,” he added, co himself. ‘‘ ‘I don’t fancy Michael ‘will 1 mm, great name in the world, because he has s tender heart he will be always mia. for others. But then what a happy h will have, and what a lucky weman | will be? And you know how right | don’t you, my dear?” “'Yes—-oh, yes!” she answered, in voice, “Michael is so good!” ie He laid bis hand suddenly on ner arm, her start violently. “Don’t say is, Flora; say was. You try and get accustomed to the truth, is lost to you forever!” i He almost shouted the last sentel Flora, whose nerves were all quivering, s up, and uttered a faint cry. ‘Oh, uncle Christopher, don’t say x “T must tell you the truth, since | will not.” And he gat upright w strength, his hollow, shining eyes” Bee pierce her through and through, “4% | kissed you for the: last time on eg wentwater, the day he sailed for ae This was only the wild fancy man, and Flora knew it, and yet were very swords. She "hid ber f bed-clothes, and tried not to hear bis and presently he fell into a sort of which lasted for several hours. Mrs. Chester made the girl come a but though she lay down at her ding, her nerves had been so unstr she had gone through that day that starting up and screaming, and would not comforted until Mrs, Chester lay down bi her, and folded her closely in her av “T shall never see Michael again!” sh out. ‘Never, never! Hesaysso.” “Hush, my darling! Who sae SE is Uncle Christopher.” _ “But, my dear Flora, I thought you much sense to listen to a dying snag What does he: know? His mind is Michael, naturally; and because his. is not at his bedside pictures all s misfortunes, Can’t you see the idl in his wandering mind that accounts or! ravings? I can, perfectly,” Flora shook her head despairingly. “No, mamma, for I have had su es ise
Page 18
a. If I had spoken of them they would it true.” n the contrary, my love, brooding over them has made them that. I could have dis- posed of all your arguments at one sitting, if you had given me the chance.” _ “J don’t think you could, mamma. You a w I love you very dearly, but if you were o talk to me forever, you would not talk down ty fears. Iam sure some great misfortune is nding.” “Or course there is, you foolish child! Poor Pierpoint cannot possibly be alive this time you are so absurd. Can’t you see, child, that . Pierpoint is delirious, and does not know he says himself?” “Exactly. That is why he speaks the ith.” Some, Flora; people don’t speak the truth ecident, or when they are mad.” uncle Christopher is a child and a fool er now, and is, therefore, wonderfully “That may be, but he is not a prophet.” Who can tell?” she answered, dreamily:— “Old experience doth attain _ Tosomething like prophetic strain.’ ” you don’t call that ‘old experience,’ don’t know what to call it, mamma, it is very strange. Just what I have 6 the least knowing what he was say- We can’t be sure of that. I fancy dying le understand things better than we do.” severely, tor she saw that Flora was so erical she needed scolding. I closed her eyes dutifully, and was t for full ten minutes, yagain, and began to pace the room distract- edly until Mrs. Chester, seeing that she could rest, carried her off for a walk in the but her eyes were still troubled, Chester felt sorry that she had to eb oe BROTHERS) 0; but children and fools do, they say; | aring these last weeks he has put into | “Pry and go | Then she started | 8 return to Mr. Pierpoint’s bedside. But he conscious now, and asking for her, so that it could hardly be helped. The next three days were days of terrible » anxiety, and the mournful watching, which makes the watchers feel as if they also were on the borders of the valley of the shadow. Indeed, everything grew so unreal to Flora, that she ceased to notice the weather, or to remember that Michael might come now at any four, ‘* Now, Miss Flora, my dear,” said the old nurse, “ you go to bed to-night. You can’t do any good here, for Mr. Pierpoint won’t get through the night, and isn’t likely to know any of us again. You will make yourself ill with- out helping him. Besides, suck scenes as this are not for young things like you.” ~ “Why? The young die as well as the old, | and gne can’t be too weil prepared.” | @F course not; but there’s time enough for all that, Miss Flora, as far as you are con- cerned, Why, you were only nineteen a few months ago.” ' And Willie Beresford was only ten, and yet he died.” | “That may be; but you mustn’t talk in that way, Miss Flora. I hope you have plenty of | happy years before you yet.” ““T hope so, too,” Flora replied, although her heart misgave her as she spoke; and then she | went back sorrowfully to ber post. The last sands had nearly run out now, and ‘the old man lay propped up with pillows, breathing heavily. His eyes were closed, and they had thought | him unconscious, but he looked up on hearing | Flora’s step, and laid his damp hand caressing- ly on hers, although he was too weak to speak. The wind roared in the chimney, the rain splashed against the windows. Everything | Was inexpressibly dreary as the hours wore | slowly on, striking with mournful impressive- ness down below in the gloom of the silent hall,” | Mrs. Chester did not leave the room, tired | = she felt, for she believed that Fiora needed er. The old nurse, who was hardened to such scenes, dozed in her arm-chair by the fire. Flora sat upright and brave, but very pale, conscious of a great fear and horror over above any thing she had reason to expect. The clock struck two—the darkest, dreariest and coldest hour of all the twenty-four— and then Mr. Pierpoint suddenly opened his eyes, and looked at Floru with a very wistful expression. ‘Tell Michael,” he said, in a loud voice, “that I waited for him as long as I could; but it is of no consequence now. We shall meet again soon; und Heaven bless you, dear}? atin nis oS ieee t Ket was |
Page 19
‘better to think of.” oie OT Paeted 5 satin a ee ene . And ashe spoke, he fell back on the pillow, “T wish you wouldn’t take that tone, dead. ; ald,’’ said Michael, reproachfully. 1 At this moment a carriage drove upto the riage will make no difference in my Joor, and a great gust of wind came'raging toward you. I am sure Flora would li through the hall, even to the sick-chamber; but Jess if 1 were untaithful to our old affection Flora had ‘fainted in her mother’s arms, and pecanse, after all, it is a certain guarantee tb the rest were too occupied to heed, I shall be constant to her.” é | ““T don’t expect she has any anxiety on ground.” 4 “T hope not. She has no need, assured If all the kingdoms -in the world were offerec to me to resign my darling, I should uct be CHAPTER VI. THE ‘‘CRUEL SOU’- WESTER.” ' MicHAEL would have enjoyed his life in the least tempted.” ee Ceylon amazingly, only for the separation from “J should think not, indeed. Who w Flora. But he felt that if he was not working | not prefer happiness to power?” 2? oa with her he was working for her, and this “Some people think power is happiness.” knowledge gave him so much energy that ina ‘Poor, misguided creatures!” said Donald very short time he had mastered all the diffi- | quickly. “ Give me love.” Cresoe culties of his new undertaking, and was able As the time for Micbael’s departure dr to dismiss the steward and take the entire man- | near, he became exceedingly anxious agement of the estate on himself, Donald. , Melancholy and preoccupied, Donald was The young man seemed so terribly depresse not of much use; but Michael kept hoping that that, remembering the attempt he had n he would come to take more interest in things on his life the last Christmas Eve, Michae when he was thrown upon bis own resources, | dared hardly trust him out of his sight. and tried to associate him with all his plans; What might happen when Donald was although the other would say quite bitterly at | to his own devices, Michael trembled to times: “It is all very well for you, Michael. | of; for it seemed to him that his brother You are going home at the end of the year to | such an evil counselor in his heart. PRX a charming young bride, while I am to be a Michael made every arrangement tha lonely exile for years.” save Donald trouble before he left— “Why for years, old, fellow? Besides, in | an excellent manager, so that, when hi any case, you will come~and pay us visits, you | ther liked, he might get away to Colum know.” a little gayety. t 3 “Tn fact, just take a peep at your Paradise, When Michael was dressed the morn in order to make my own lot the more desolate | his departure, he went into Donald’s roo by contrast,” replied Donald, gloomily. ‘‘Sure- | bid him good-by, but found that his brot ly you would not recommend that?” Pek “ Shall I tell you what I would recommend?” said Michael, in his cheery’ way. ‘¢ Well, what?” “A nice wife, old boy.” “Me a wife!” exclaimed Donald, with a sort of horror. ‘‘ Never!” “ What is the impediment?” And Michael turned and serutinized his bro- ther with earnest attention. ‘“‘“My own feelings. I have no taste for matrimony.” “ And yet you complain of your lot being desolate in comparison with mine.” “ Because itis. What the deuce am I to do with myself over here when you are gone?” ““Why, work, of course.” “For whom?” “For yourself; and because yorr success is dear to others. Flo and I will always feel as if something were wanting to our happiness all the while you are absent.” Donald laughed bitterly. ‘“‘No fear of that. You will have something i nary conduct, he questioned the servants, and ~ found that Donald had ridden away from home as soon as it was light, with a port- | manteau strapped in front of him; and ¢ : some anxious reflection, Michael came conclusion that the other bad done this in | to avoid a decided leave-taking, and that: perhaps, as well. Still, his mind was not at ease; and, in spi of his bright prospects, he found himself ofter sighing as he rode along at the terrible change this last year had wrought in Donald. After a while, as was but natural, began to dwell more upon his meeting Flora than his parting with his brothe by the time he stepped on board the Sim had made up his mind that it was his duty have more faith, and that if he trusted Providence all would come right in the The Simoom had scarcely left the before it encountered bad weather, and Michae saw only a few of his fellow-passengers f first four days, for even those who were t 3 Os wn a oO Qa >] =] for) is) — Q au a “<j wn 8 So i
Page 20
0 ably good sailors had not bargained for such a bad beginning. ; The women and children were particularly i, and Michael was so tender and helpful among them, Flora would have loved him more than ever, if possible, if she could only have been near. You never saw him on deck without some little one in his arms, and as- suredly its own mother could not have been gentler or more patient, or soothed its fractious complainings with more tact. But on the fourth day the storm abated; and, thankful to get a breath of air after their confinement below, the passengers began to crowd upon the deck, and bask in the pale, wintry sunshine. Michael found himself quite a hero, and was truly embarrassed by all the thanks he re- ceived, for he loved little children so dearly that he was amply rewarded for any trouble he might have taken by their caresses and “smiles. There was a tolerably large party at dinner that evening, and the captain, who, of course, presided, looked more cheerful than he had done yet. ‘‘We made a very bad beginning,” he said; A BROTHER'S SIN went on with his dinner; while Michael felt so overcome he was obliged to excuse himself long before the meal was finished and get upon deck. In about half an hour Donald came up, and touched him on the shoulder. “Surprised to see me, weren’t you, old boy?” he said, with his jauntiestair. ‘‘ The fact was, I didn’t want any fuss or explanations—what is the use of them when one’s mind is made up? —and so I started a couple of hours before you the other morning and got on board before you arrived. I meant to keep my cabin for a day only, but was so confoundedly sea-sick [ —couldn’t move until this afternoon; and thea, “but if the weather continues in the quarter it | is now we shall soon make up for lost time. I don’t like being behind if I can help it; but the winds and tides conquer me sometiimes.” “But youhave never been wrecked, Captain Marsh, have you?” said a pale, timid little woman on his right. ‘“‘That is why I came with you. Iam sure you must be skillful and lucky, both.” “T don’t know about that, ma’am. Anyhow, I am not sorry that this is my last voyage, for now my lads are growing up I am wanted to guide the home ship.” Then I dom’t know what my husband will do, for I shall never have the courage to go back with anybody but you,” said the timid lady, plaintively. were being drowned every hour of these last few nights.” _ “J fancy you would have felt very different- ly if you really had been,” answered the old captain, dryly. ‘There’s no mistaking that sort of thing.” ‘Oh, please don’t talk about iti I sha’n’t sleep a wink all night if you do,” she sighed, in a tone of such real distress, that Michael, whose heart was so tender he could even sympathize with imaginary fears, was bending down to. something kind and reassuring, when he sud- denly started, and with difficulty suppressed a ery, for there, opposite, helping himself to soup with great composure, sat Donald, Donald caught his eye, and nodded cheer- fully, as much as to say, ‘‘ Yes, here I am, old fellow. Ar’n’t you glad to see me?” and then ~~ “T could have deciared we | /as you were surrounded with women aul children, thought [ wouldn’t disturb you.” “But what does all this mean?’ inquired | Michael, coldly. “ Well,it means that I did not choose to stay bebind in this wretched country after you were gone. Mossop is perfectly honest and trustworthy, and understands his business. What earthly good should I have been out there under the circumstances?” “*T don’t know; and of course J have no right | to dictate to you, Donald, but I trust uncie Christopher will not be hurt.” “Tf he is, 1 shall tell him just this. If That stayed out there alone I should bave commniitivd suicide. And now don’t let us discuss the ques- tion any longer. You could not put yourseli in my place if youl. tried; and whatever uncle Christopher has to say I shall listen to respeci- fully, if that is any comfort to you.” “Tt isn’t that, Donald,” replied Michael, with a passionate burst of confidence; ‘but | am anxious about you altogether. You are so wotully changed this last year.” Donald’s lips quivered convulsively, and it almost seemed as if he would have said seme- thing. But whatever his intention might have been, he changed it suddenly, and walked to the other end of the deck, In about five minutes he came back, with a cigar between his lips, and seemed so gloomy and taciturp, that Michael saw it would not be wise to resume their former conversation, and waited for a more favorable opportunity. But it appeared asif Donald were determined to evade any explanation; for he took care his brother should never find him alone, and de- voted himself so assiduously to a family on board, that very often Michael did not so much as exchange three words with him the whole day. The voyage was now drawing to an. end, and every one was thankful, for the weatier had been terrible at times, and Captain Marsh’s fine, weather-beaten old face had often looked troubled enough, Once, even, when he was alone with Michael —to whom he had taken a great fancy—he
Page 21
said, with a sigh, “I wish it were well over, Mr. Pierpoint. I don’t want to make you un- comfortable, but I have been as full of fancies as a fine lady this voyage.” “ What kind of fancies?” <a e Tee Ve Poe kee eee he, gee ee re | “Oh, I don’t know,” he answered, evasively. | “‘Not pleasant ones, assuredly. But, then, in all my experience, I have never had such con- | friends, beckoned bim on one side, and said, in |.a low, earnest tone, ‘Let us be together to- tinuously bad weather before, and that is apt to depress a man. My last voyage ought to. have been my best, but if has come very short | of that.” . “« Has the ship ever been in actual peril then, captain?” “On two occasions we shipped such terrible seas I did not expect the old craft could right herself again; and one ages years sometimes in sich anxious moments as these,” concluded Captain Marsh, passing his hand through his ‘white hair. ‘(Especially when one has so many helpless women and children on board.” ‘¢ What would you do, supposing you knew there was no hope?” inquired Michael. ‘* You would tell us, would you not?” “Yes; it would be my duty. I could not let you go down like dogs without even a prayer, could I?” ‘“No,” said Michael. “I am glad I know this, for there is a storm brewing, is there not?” Captain Marsh shook his head significantly. ‘“‘T have been waiting for sunset, hoping it might clear a little then; but the clouds look angrier than ever, and there is a sound in the wind I don’t like at all. Isha’n’t go to bed, of course, and shall keep a most anxious look-out; but—I may speak frankly to you—I shall be very much surprised if we are alive by morn- ing!” Michael turned pale, for though a brave man, and a true Christain, life was very sweet to him, and he could not hear such a verdict as this without shuddering. “ Heaven have mercy on us!” he said, ina firm voice. ‘If you give up hope, I am sure there is nothing to be done.” ‘‘T have not given up hope yet, and sha’n’t so long as there is anything left of the old Simoom; but we are in for such a storm as would make the strongest ship quail, and the ‘‘Do you mean sheis nolonger seaworthy?” “Not exactly. I should have got her home aj] safe if the weather had cleared a bit.” ‘But couldn’t you have put into some port for repairs, if you will excuse me for asking the question?” ‘*T have never had a chance of that since it became desirable, unfortunately, I have been trying all day to get into shelter, but the wind has been against us. I must go now,” he added quickly, with a break in his clear, firm yoice. A BROTHER'S SIN. . 21 : ‘¢- Whatever happens, Mr. Pierpoint, we must meet it like brave men.” “‘ Ay!” answered Michael, gravely; and with 'a cordial shake of the band, the two men parted. P Michael went in search of bis brother then, and finding Donald in the saloon with his new night, lad, for it may be our last in this world!” Donald looked him calmly, almost trium- phantly, in the eyes. ‘“We must all die one day,” he said, “and as well now as later. Are all those people to | be sent to bed unconscious of their danger?” ‘““No; look there!’ answered Michael, and pointed to Captain Marsh, who bad come among them, and raised his voice above the din of the storm to say, with deep feeling and solemnity, ‘‘My dear friends, nothing but a miracle could save us now. Since we must die, let us die bravely, praying for ourselves, and ~ for those we love.” He shook a tear off his shaggy eyelashes, the only sign of weakness he displayed, and went back to his post, as a brave sailor should, CHAPTER VIL. OUT OF THE DEEP. MicHAxt looked at his brother as Captain Marsh’s words-reached them, and it-seemed as if the near approach of death had moved both — simultaneously, and brought back in a flash of thought the memory of all their old love and union, for they embraced each other as if they had been boys again; and indeed for the mo- ment they felt like boys. ‘Do you remember the day I was going to have a thrashing, Donald,” said Michael, softly, ‘and you went to Dr. Downe, and asked him to let you take my place?” : - “ Ay,” answered Donald, in a stifled voice; “nothing ever came between you and me until—until—” “Go on,” urged Michael. there was something.” *¢ And you never guessed?” “No; or I should have told you.” ‘‘T thought you would have seen that Il- ved | Flora Chester, even as you loved her, Michael, Simoom has been a good deal punished of late,” ' Heaven knows I struggled against the feeling © ‘with all my might, for how could I help seeing from the very first that she liked you best, But it had seized hold of me with a grip of iron, and I could not tear it out of my heart, Pity me, Michael, for I have suffered s0 terribly, that just now, when you told me of our danger, my first feeling was relief that the struggle would so soon be over.” ‘“Poor fellow!” answered Michael, with in- finite compassion, ‘ Why didn’t you tell me all?” “T have known — PF ad
Page 22
ilhenes even by a regret.” Poor child! there will “be a far more cruel ow in her Paradise now,” answered - Michael, with the tenderest compassion. “ But Tam afraid we must try not to think of her just now, Donald. You and I are about the Phahiieat here. Can’t we be of some use to all 1ose weeping women, for—for Flora’s sake?” Donald smiled softly. That is a good thought of yours, Michael; as we cannot tell what may happen, let us each other good-by before we separate. m bless you, old fellow! And if by any ice you should ba saved and I should perish, - this comfort to your beart, that I was to be spared the torture of witnessing your Miss 1a piness with Flora, although I loved you too de arly ever to doubt that she had chosen wisely i: rel.” “Ah, now I have my own generous brother again!” answered Micbacl, deeply moved. am so thankful that there is nothing be- _ tween us now—” sere tv the old Jove and trust,” put in Donald, Having weathered two storms, | _ begun to think there was nothing fear. Moreover, they had been lu'led > false security by Captain Marsh’s calm- | earlier in the evening, and some of the s m were just going to bed when he came ieir midst with his terrible warning. y knew that tbe brave old sailor was to put a good face on matters as long as leam of hope, and, therefore, his sol- ords had sounded like a death-knell, But eath seems so impossible when you are in preferred to believe that a miracle would srformed in their behalf. it in their secret hearts they knew better, huddled together in terrified groups, weeping and bemoaning themselves pas- ely, some swooning, while a few gathered ‘ children close about them, and waited for ne moment. hael passed by these ae was 3 not heist: nk you for trying to comfort me,” she tefully. “It isn’t that I am afraid, ull health and strength, and some of | A _ BROTHER'S SEN. is “really; only T am so sorry for Willie, for baby and I are all he has in the world. I wish I hadn’t let him persuade me to come away now.” “But, you know, it would have been worse for him if you had died out there, and he could have felt that it was his fault for not having sent you home.” * “T never thought of that,” she answered, her pale face brightening. ‘ If you should be saved by any chance, Mr. Pierpoint, will you write to my husband and tell him that I was quite brave at the last, and only troubled about him? Give him my dear, dear love, too, won’t you? _ We were so happy together those two years!” Her eyes were full of tears, but she still spoke courageously; and when Michael would have lingered by her side, she pointed to a poor, fainting woman, who had no friends on board, and said, gently: ‘‘She needs you most, | I have baby.” A huge wave rolled over the ship at this mo- ment, sweeping the decks, and rushing down the gangway, while the poor Simoom went tottering into the black gulf ahead, with the ' angry wind hissing as if it enjoyed its work of destruction, “Is it coming now?’ asked the young mo- ther, wistfully, to Michael; and when he an- swer ‘ed her sottly that he feared it was, she hid | her eyes against the child, and quietly awaited | her fate. But, somehow, the Simoom righted herself . , again; tand,then Donald stumbled and groped his way backto Michael’s side. “Do let us get up upon deck,” he said. “We can’t do any good here, and I should hate to die like a rabbit in a hols, shouldn’t you?” ‘‘-Yes; but I expect we should be washed away directly. I am afraid poor Captain Marsh is gone.” | “Then let us follow him!” replied Donald, | with exultation, ‘‘ We can’t follow a braver lead, can we?—and there will be some excite- ment to help one along. All these poor weep- ing women take the heart out of one, some- how!” * And yet some of them are raitbaeeilte | brave, too,” answered Michael, gently. “ But lay hold on me, Donald, and let us keep to- gether. Don’t you hear how the timbers creak? We can’t hold out more than a fow minutes longer!” “Heaven help us all!” said Donald. ‘It will be a sad Christmas in many homes, be- cause—” But his sentence was never finished. As be and Michael set foot on the dis- mantiled deck, there came a great rush of many waters, a wild shriek of despair from below, and then, with a shuddering lurch, the poor
Page 23
old Simoom turned over on her side, and went slowly down. ; Donald clutched at a spar, and he!d on to it desperately, just as Michael floated past him en the crest of a huge wave, and then was whirled suddenly down out of sight. 3 A little later, the brothers were close to- gether once more, and the moon, struggling through the dark clouds overhead, showed both their wan faces. So wonderfully alike were they, that one seemed like a repetition of the other, and you might have fancied you were the victim of a strange illusion. The wind having spent its fury and done its foul work, .began to abate now, and the moon came out full and strong, sh.ning calm- ly on the spot where the Simoom had gone down with its living freight. A few float- ing spars, a dark figure here and there with its forlorn face upturned, were the only signs of the terrible tragedy that would sadden so many hearts and darken so many homes that | Christimas-tide. “Thank Heaven, the storm is over!” said tha captain of the Derwentwater, as he shook | the spray out of his eyes and hair. ‘‘ An hour ago, I wouldn’t have given twopence for my chance of life, or yours either—eh, Benson?” And he turned to the first mate, who had been close at his side’ all through the perils of the night, and heaved a sigh of relief. “Look ahead!” he added, suddenly, in an excited tone. ‘‘There’s a man overboard! Is it possible that he belongs to us?” “ T think not, for I asked just now if any | ‘ne was missing, and they told moe no. But _ if the Derwentwater has pulled through with such difficulty, there may have been other vessels not so seaworthy which did not pull through at all. There is certainly a man there, but he does not struggle or call out, though he ought certainly to see us by this time, and therefore I judge him to be dead.” ‘‘Anyhow, we will give the poor fellow a chance,” replied Captain Lowe, who was a kind-hearted man, and moreover, was much softened by his close struggle with death that night; and he promptly gave the necessary or- ders. : In less than five minutes the drenched, life- less figure was drawn onto the deck, and Cap- tain Lowe knelt down heside it. “It is strange how familiar the face seems to me!” he said, reflectively. ‘‘ Where can I bave seen it before? I don’t believe the poor fellow is dead, though,” he added, after scruti- nizing the pale features with still more atten- tion. ‘Run and fetch Dr. Dawson, some- body! I amsure I saw the eyelids move!” Doctor Dawson had flung himself into his berth to get a little rest after the fatigue and excitement of the night, but he tumbled out again, and burried on deck. = oie “Why, good gracious!” as he examined insensible man’s features; ‘It is one of the young Pierpoints who went out with year! Didn’t you recognize him again, tain Lowe?” Bey | “Yes; that’s who it is!” returned Cap Lowe. ‘I knew the face so well, and y could not for the life of me remember name. Which of the brothers is it, docto you know?” + att Doctor Dawson shook his head. eT “T never knew which was which unless saw them together. Although, let me see, would be Michael, wouldn’t it? Donald w: no whiskers. But he is just coming to, a will be able to answer the question himself a few minutes, I hope, if we get him betwe some warm biankets, and give bim a stiff gle of brandy-and-water.” ra But the jork the sailors gave him in r him brought the young man back to h and he opened his eyes with a puzzled, ing ing expression. ‘“Thank you, Captain Lowe,” he said, languid recognition. ‘‘Whereis—” ““Your brother, Donald, you mean, do ‘you?’ suggested Captain Lowe, as the ott | looked about him ina vague sort of way. | Ab, yes; that’s it, Where is Don ‘“‘T am afraid I can’t tell you. Wesaw y 'in the water, and picked you up; but the ‘was no sign of your brother then. Howey he may have been saved by some other s Michael was so exhausted that he | seemed to hear, and yet there was a ' frozen look on his face, as if some horr overtaken him suddenly, which he had se ‘had time to realize. But after they h moved his wet clothes, and given hi stimulant, he slept heavily for a few ho and then, although much depressed, w and composed, as he inquired if his poo ' ther had been found. 2 Unfortunately they had seen no sign + of the unbappy passengers of the Simoom; Captain Lowe gently represented to Mic che that it was hopeless to expect it now, as they — were at least fifty miles from the scene of wreck, and running in the teeth of the “ But it is just possible you may fine Liverpool when you get there,” added Ca; Lowe, consolingly; “so you must keep ; your spirits, Mr. Pierpoint. If all goes we shall be in port the day after to:morre and then you will be able to make inquir | “That I will do, of course,” replied Michael 'sorrowfully; “but I am afraid there is Zh hops. If my brother had been saved at all, it ' would have been by you, for we were together | just before you picked me up,”
Page 24
. “When Tsaw you you were alone.” = I am afraid I was,” he answered, sadly; ‘but one hopes against hope sometimes.” gers became excited and joyful at the ct of seeing those they loved, a Pier- _ But, He was entirely without money; but, guess- -how it must needs be, Captain Lowe in- sted upon being his banker for the moment, Michael borrowed sufficient to purchase If some clothes, and pay his journey to d not look much like a happy lover go- ee ms mistress, as he took his seat in ace: was Regeard and pinched; and, though ice he had been wont to carry himself firmly, joped a good deal now, and had a nervous of avoiding the sympathetic glances that his way. clear that his nerves had been greatly re ever quite the same again. | ught no light into his eyes or smile to his , though he loved ber with a love that was* terrible in its passion and strength. gaa day had closed in when he reached Hs eat, and the rush of memories that pon him as he stood on the familiar form were almost more than he could | g that he was quite at the mercy of | dinpressions while he was s0 faint, he himself to take some hot soup and drink | }of wine before ho stepped into the fly | vas to convey him to his uncle’s door; for i that he ought to report himself there 6 went to Flora’s, as the old man was cular about these little observances, and have been hurt at anything that looked 8 young man was very pale when the car- opped—was it that he had a presenti- of the new trouble coming to him?—and | hook in nige limb as he alighted from the new that every one was up, for there | lights in the down-stairs windows; but 16 tried the door it was fastened, and his was answered by a woman whom he had ‘seen before. + was making his way past her into the ‘hen she stopped hin decidedly, — | few hours earlier, ' so often up to the Jast. “You really can’t go in, sir,” she said, “for Mr. Pierpoint is only just dead, and there’s no one to see you. Everything is in confusion. However, if your business is very particular, I could take up your name, and perbaps Mrs. Chester can tell you what to do.” She looked inquiringly at the young man, who staggered asif he had received a blow, and said, hoarsely, ‘Iam Mr. Pierpoint’s nephew, and did not even know that he was ill.” “Dear bless me! if I’d have known, I would have broke the news more gradual, sir—I would, indeed. But do step in, and I'll run up- stairs, and tell Mrs. Chester you are here. | What name shall I say, sir?” ‘“ Michael Pierpoint,” he answered, ina low voice as he passed in, and stood with a beating 'heart and blanched face waiting for Mrs. Chester to appear. She came at last, with a slow, tired step, and stood for a minute opposite Michael with- out either speaking. Then she held out both _ hands, and said, affectionately, ‘I amso thank- ful you have come; but I wish it had been a ” Your uncle asked for you But come and take something before we talk of these things. You look quite worn out.” “Tam worn out,” he answered, witha dreary sigh. ‘I have had so much trouble lately.” And he told her of the shipwreck and his brother’s sad end. “Poor, poor Donald!” said Mrs. Chester, softly. ‘ Flora will be dreadfully shocked and pained. But, thank Heaven, you were saved, for we could still less have spared you.” Then she told her story in turn, while Mi- chael swallowed with difficulty a few mouth- fuls of wine and bread. Whenshe found that he could not really take more than this, she ceased to press him; and saying she thought Flora would be able to see him now, went | away. In a few minutes the girl herself came in, | hesitated a little on the threshold, then came hurriedly torward into his outstretched arms. “Oh!” she exclaimed, with a sigh, “ why did you look so much like Donald? I “thought you were he for a moment,” “ And now?’ he asked eagerly, holding her at arm’s length, without daring to embrace her. ‘“‘ Now I know better, of course.” ‘My darling, your heart could not have de- ceived you so!” he murmured, rapturously. CHAPTER VIIL FACE TO FACE. One month after Mr. Pierpoint’s death, Michael and Flora were married very quietly at Ayshe. As both needed an entire change, they set- tled to go abroad for some months; and mean-
Page 25
wine ae Diba while, their house was to be papered and | painted, and newly furnished, under Mrs, Ches- ter’s superintendence. This gave the elder lady occupation and interests, which caused her to miss Flora less than she had dared to hope. Still, she was very glad when they wrote to say that they were comings home; gladder still when the happy day arrived, and Michael lifted his young wife out of the carriage, and placed her in Mrs. Chester’s arms, saying, laugh- ingly, ‘I suppose I must try and be generous, as I have had her all to myself for nine months. I am afraid when she gets you alone, she will tell you dreadful tales of the way I have used her,” There was no mistaking the serene happiness ‘that shone in Flora’s eyes, as she turned them tenderly on her husband. “TY am afraid I shall have some dreadful tales to tell of the way you have spoilt me, Michael. Would you believe it, mamma, he actually bought me a thousand pounds’ worth of diamonds as we came through Paris? I had never been quite cross with him before; but I was cross then, and scolded him very much. What do I want with diamonds—a happy woman like me?” “T did not know that it was miserable wo- men who looked best in diamonds,” returned Michael. ‘But what a metamorphosis, you have made here, mother!” he added, glancing about him with great satisfaction. ‘‘The place looks indeed like home now, doesn’t it, Flora?” “Delightfully so!” she answered; “and much as I have enjoyed our travels, it is very nice to beat home and all together again. We won't go away for a long time, will we Michael?” “That will be just as you wish, love, All places are alike to me, so that we are to- gether,” As the days went on, Mrs. Chester had the strongest and most convincing proofs of Flora’s ‘happiness. Michael was perfectly devoted to her, and she to him; and if was pretty to see with what chivalrous tenderness he re- garded her, and how proud he was of her beauty. The child that was born .to them in No- vember gave the last finishing touch to Flora’s felicity; and she would say to her husband sometimes, with a very wistful smile, ‘‘ Do you know, Michael, I tremble at my own good fortune? I have always noticed that when people are at the very hight of prosperity, some great trouble is sure to come upon them sud- denly.” . He tried to laugh, but she noticed that he shrunk, too, as if her words answered to some secret misgiving he had never dared express, “A BROTHER'S SIN. | heart would break.” / accustomed to this wonderful baby of hers, an | not rouse him, ‘his manner, that Flora became frightened, and ‘‘My dear Flora, you are weak yet, a: ready to fancy anything,” he said, at -la ‘‘ What have you done, an innocent child like _ you, that you should not be suffered to enjoy — your life? I am different, and deserve to be — punished!” ; : The frightened look in her large, soft ey: stopped him suddenly. ‘ “Oh, Michael, I can’t bear you to talk Ii that! Whatharm have you ever done?? _ ““My dear wife, I did not mean toscare yo but you could hardly expect that my life shou be a clear white page like yours. Men h more temptations, and—and—” ; “Don’t go on,” she exclaimed, with a sort horror. ‘I know you don’t mean anythi really, and have a babit of depreciating your- self; but you hurt me, for all that! If I co not respect as much as I love you, Michael, “You foolish girl!” he said, stooping to | ber. ‘‘Iam no worse than the rest.” the rest, of course. But I am not going to you persuade me out of my faith in you. Ma ma says the only fault you have is that y have too poor an opinion of yourself.” v2 “T thought humility was a virtue, my love.” — **Not when itis carried too far, sir.” — “You see, Flora, I am so proud in one we that Iam obliged to make up for it by extr humility in another. No one can accuse me having too poor an opinion of my wife.” _ But when Flora was beginning to get m had more time to observe ber husband came to the conclusion that he was wofully changed. Not in his love for her, for that grown almost exacting in its passionate ii sity; but in his spirits and manner. Sometimes he was recklessly gay, at oth so depressed that all bis wife’s gentle art coul And yet, when she question him, he would declare emphatically that was quite well, and the happiest man alive. At last Flora came to the conclusion that he was out of health, that bis nervousness was purely physical, and urged him to go up to” town, and consult a doctor. 5 One evening, indeed, he was so strange in putting her head down on his shoulder, she -aid, in her sweet, coaxing way, ‘ You really must go to town, and consult Doctor Starch, Michael, — T have been watching you for the last hour, and — you have kept starting and turning round as if expecting somebody you were afraid to mee Of course that is ridiculous, but it shows w a state your nerves must be in, that you co give such an impression; doesn’t it, dear?” “Of course any oue would be nervous who
Page 26
26 on rl nr ee BESS was so perpetually watched,” he answered, more sharply than he had ever spoken to her yet. ‘very time I look up I catch your eye asa matter of course.” _ “Don’t be cross with-me for feeling anxious, - Michael,” she said, her cyes filling. “If I didn’t love you so much I shouldn’t notice these things.” He caught her in his arms, and almost crushed her against his breast. “My darling—my darling! how could I speak to you in such a way! If you only knew all you would pity me. afraid I am going to be ill. ‘it matter? We have had a happy year to- back upon, sha’n’t I? And yet if they were to part us, Flora, I should certainly die.” ee ‘‘What are you talking about?’ she asked, ___ elinging to him with a sort of terror. ‘ Who should part us? Are we not man and wife?” a Yes; but one never knows what may hap- ‘pen. You might choose to leave me, Flora.” _ “Now you are talking nonsense,” she re- __ torted, laughing. ‘‘ pay my choosing to leave you!” “Can’t you imagine any circumstances that - would make such a step possible, Flora?’ **No,” she answered, unbesitatingly. gannot. ’» “Heaven bless you for that!” he exclaimed, _ and pressed her again and again to his heart. The next morning when Flora awoke she found a little note on Micbael’s pillow telling “her that be had gone up to town ov business, and she was not to expect him home that night s “unless he telegraphed. _ “How very odd for Michael to have busi- ness!” said Flora; and she went off to sleep again, smiling, for she had a notion that _ Michael’s journey to town meant Christmas presents for baby and baby’s mamma, He did not return that night, and the nex’ morning she had a few hurried but affection- ate lines telling her he should not be able to get away until the end of the week, but that, ‘whatever happened, he would be back by Ch rist- _. mas Eve, as it was an anniversary so dear to them both. = Flora was obliged to be satisfied with this promise, although she felt so utterly forlorn without Michael that she was ready to cry every time she glanced at his empty chair, _ Even her mother, dearly as Flora loved her, a ould not fill up the void, for Michael had ac- -_ eustomed her to such exclusive attention that she missed him every bour. --—s«- *Oh, Iam so glad he is coming home!” she se said, with a sigh of relief, as she lifted her sband’s last letter to her lips. ‘‘ Don’t “Ty gether, and whatever the future may hold in | store for me I shall always have that to look | ves Pe jae ae a et he Seog. | Ne” tS ee nee Boe te te , ‘ pice rik or ae . A Baceeees SIN. seth 3 incomplete mentally and physically without Michael, he is so-much the best part of my- self” Mrs. Chester had come to rejoice in this happy union, for Michael had kept his word faithfully. and she had gained a son without losing her daughter; so the good lady an- swered, frankly and freely, “I wouldn’t Jaugh for the world, my love. At the same time, I must be allowed to say that I have not no- ticed any deficiencies in you since your hus- _ band left.” IT mean I am | But what does ~ “ Because I have tried to keep them in the background, I suppose. But I am very lost | without him.” “T don’t wonder at that. I have missed him very much myself. However, we shall _ have him for Christmas, my dear; and there is ' one thing certain—Micbael has not stayed away for his own pleasure.” “Oh, no! He says his heart has been at home all the while,” replied Flora, smiling. And who could doubt that this was true when the young man Came back that night and gathered his wife into his arms with a yearn- | ing tenderness that seemed too deep for words? But when the flush of excitement had died out of his cheeks Flora began to feel anxious again, he looked so haggard and worn. But he was quite well, he said, and Doctor Starch had de- clined to accept him for a patient, on the plea that there was nothing the matter with him. “So you must give up trying to make an | invalid of me, my love,” he concluded, gayly, et laugh at me, mamma, but I do feelas if I were. “although I can see that you are longing to — coddle me.” Flora laughed; but was not convinced, for all that; and several times in the night she awoke trembling with the sense of some great weight on her mind—the shadow that a com- ing trouble casts before it with sensitive people, But she was as easily reassured as frightened; and as Michael seemed cheerful the next day, she put on a bright face herself, and tried to smother the cruel misgivings that kept knock- ing at her heart like importunate beggars clam- orous for relief. Would any of them ever forget that Christ- mas Eve so long as life endured? After dinner they sat over the fire, and talked until the chimes began to ring out, and then Flora crept cioser to her husband, and Jaid her head down“ on his breast, saying, softly: ‘*‘Do you remember, dear? We were very happy then, were we not? But not so happy as now.” “Not so happy as now,” he repeated, in a dull, mechanical way, and turned his head fur- tively to listen, not to the chimes, but to a slow, heavy step on the gravel path coming nearer and nearer, ry ea = ee , *< 6 1 wee at ae Ord
Page 27
” ‘Tn some ways you are altered since then,” Flora went on, dreamily, her eyes fixed on the fire. ‘You are graver, Michael.” “T have had sorrows,” he answered. ‘ Peo- ple cannot suffer as I have suffered and be quite the same, unless they are very shallow- hearted.” ““T know that, dear; but in little ways one_ cannot account for, you are so changed. To- night when you were singing it sounded so like Yonald’s voice, I quite started. You always have a tenor,” “And what have I now?” he asked, shudder- — ing. ‘*A base, of course. Don’t you notice it | yourself?” “My throat has never been strong since the | shipwreck, and that makes me hoarse, I dare say,” he said, taking up the poker, and begin- | ning to smite the coals. “If my heart is not changed, what matters the rest?’ ‘7 didn’t mean that it did matter, Michael; | quite the contrary. I am always glad when | ‘you remind me of poor Donald, for I should | not like to feel that happiness had made me | forgetful.” “And you think that I have forgotten my brother, Flora?” “No, Michael; I could not think that.” “No, indeed, for he is in my thoughts morn- { ing, noon and night; until sometimes, in spite vf your love and its infinite preciousness, I should be thankful to die.” He spoke vehemently, so that Mrs. Chester roused suddenly from her nap in a fright, and usked if any thing were the matter with baby. “I hope not,” returned Flora, smiling; “ but as she is awake, I will go and bring her down just for a minute. Our party seems incom- plete without her, doesn’t it? And I am sure se will enjoy the chimes.” “ Being a young lady of such extraordinary intelligence!” put in Micbael, with assumed gayety, as he opened the door for his wife, The young mother returned presently carry- | \ ing her bundle of lace and flannel as proudly us if it contained the only baby in the world; und, being seated close to the fire, she uncoy- ‘ved the little mottled face, and called upon Iichael to wonder and admire. ‘Tt was a pretty home scene, and a luxuri- ous one besides; for, when people have taste as well as means, there is very little they cannot accomplish. Moke, Flora, seated on the. bright hearth-rug, at- | tracted your attention first of all, for the fire- | light seemed actually to revel in the sunny | folds of her hair, showing the perfect com- | plexion, and deep, soft eyes, the clearly-pen- | ciled brows, and sweet smiling mouth in their | full beauty. Michael was handsome, too, broad-shouldered | i oe oa ee ee Arh ea A Nig y et a Bey oa a tae a Pr cae ee sh : 52 ett ao ate <P § : SIN, and manly-looking; and Mrs, Chester, witb her fine but faded face and stately figure, made a — charming background for the picture of young — married love. pee As Michael leant lovingly over his wife’s chair, caressing his child, how little he guessed — of the haggard, eager eyes at the window ~ watching his every movement with jealous rage. é This man had journeyed many a weary mile, you could see, for his clothes were travel- stained and worn, his shoes dropping to pieces — on his feet. ae The hollow eyes and gaunt features told — their tale of cruel suffering and privation; and, as he leaned against the window, you could see that he actually needed the support to keep him from falling. It seemed as if some strange igs fascination held him rooted to the spot, for, — though the sight appeared to torture him, he did not stir. A gleam of almost fierce passion flashed into bis eyes when the young husband drew his wife back against him, and kissed her long and tenderly. mat “Scoundrel!” he muttered in his beard, _ dragged himself along to the front door, which _ he opened without ceremony, and passed into the house. f se He seemed to know the place, and yet ho looked about bim with a certain surprise, as ifs he noticed somo change. He stood for a mi ute warming himself beside the huge log fire y then softly opened a door on his right, and peeped in, om It was much the same scene as before, onl that Mrs. Chester was composing herself for another nap; and, therefore, the young couple were able to converse more at their eas Flora bad slipped onto a low stool, with child still in her arms, and was leaning agai her husband’s knees, while his face, so wh “and troubled an hour ago, had brightened i a sort of passionate determination, as were defying Fate to hustle him off bis var tage-ground—he so prosperous and so beloved, The next moment he looked up; and the. before him, standing motionless, with haggai - eyes fixing his, was the specter of another — Michael, which was not himself. pean CHAPTER IX. ac “79 ERR IS HUMAN—TO FORGIVE DIVINE.” Fora was toying with the baby’s dimph hands, seeing nothing for the moment; but, feeling her support totter and give way, she, too, looked up, and uttered a stifled cry so of terror, that Mrs. Chester ran to her, and stopped short, gasping, horror-stricken, faint witb a strange fear, Ane The new-comer still remained motionless; but when Flora put out her hand imploringiy, he moved ever so little that she might touch a * os t
Page 28
= - = _- human being like herself. “Michael,” she said, in a voice of crepere aa _ anguish, “is it you?” He smiled with fine disdain. ~“T don’t wonder at your asking. I am _. wofully changed, am I not, from the happy _ Jover who pressed your lips just two years ago in a rapture of thankfulness fur the _ sweet promise they had just given? I see see that myself, and almost cease to wonder _ that you preferred the brother who was present _ and prosperous to the poor, broken-down man, Je whom sickness and separation bad reduced to a i mere shadow of his former self. And yet, “ faithless as you are, you dare not deny me, a now that we are face to face. I am Michael, it and that man at your side—your busband, the _ father of your child—is not Michael, though _ you have suffered him to take my name and “ang my rights.” -__ Flora stared at him with her lips apart, and ” the terror in her eyes deepening. “What does it all mean, mother?” she «said, at last, turning imploringly to Mrs. Chester; Z ‘do help me to understand! This is Michael —you ‘see that, don’t you, now? And yet— sd yet it is "too terrible! I shall go mad! at have I done that he should reproach me? Uh I thought my husband was Michael; so did you, | peak, some one! What does it mean?” __ Mrs. Chester took the child from her daugh- "s trembling arms, and laid it on the couch. en she went back to Flora, and took. her hand. _“Jt means, my poor child,” she said, with tender compassion, “that you have been grossly “deceived. Let Donald Pierpoint answer to his _ brother for the sin he has committed —you are ’ innocent as the babe yonder. Speak, sir, id explain all this!” she concluded, turning a haughty, imperious gesture to the mise- rable man, who looked as if he would fain have SS rouched down out of sight. ‘I will not suffer iy daughter to be wrongfully accused!'’ “What is there to explain?’ said Donald, anding at bay like a hunted animal. ‘TI ed your daughter wildly, passionately, de- ingly, and had but one chance of winning Kx his place.” ‘False! false!” exclaimed Michael, fiercely. ou knew that I was alive a month after the ipwreck, for I asked the good woman who had taken me in to write to you at Aysbe, os, roe that if you bad been saved a letter je ora here must reach you eventually. I was at death’s door even then, and did not leave my bed until months later: but at any e, I was alive, and you knew it ]” 1e letter of which you speak I received 1y wedding morning,” answered Donald, 2 _ him, and prove that he was no RE es but @ hoarsely. ‘A BROTHER'S SIN. ‘‘ But I swear to you that I broke not the seal until the next day; then there was nothing for it but to go on as I bad begun—” “ And pray that I might die off out of your way, I suppose?” put in Michael, with sorrow- ful bitterness, ‘‘T have never prayed at all since that night of the wreck—how could I? for my sin was very sweet to me, even while T suffered, But I aid think you were dead when no word came from you for eight months, and, Heaven for- give me! it seemed almost better "s0.” ‘Better fur you—I can understand that; dead men tell no tales. Besides, you were happy, and what mattered the rest?” “Twas not happy. The thought of you, and the knowledge of my sin, was like poison in my cup, and I could not be alone a minute that your face did not rise up before me like a specter. Many a night I have awoke in horror, though the wife I had sinned for was sleeping ' on my breast; and yet to keep her I would have sinned still more deeply, for my love for you, great as it had once been, was as nothing in comparison with my love for her, and though she will hate me now, I must needs be some- | thing in her life by reason of this happy year Michael was dead, as I belioved, and I | we have passed together, and because I am the father of her child.” A flush passed over Michael’s wan features, and he set his teeth sharply together. “ Won’t she remember also,’ he said, ‘‘ that you bought those privileges by a cruel, wicked | fraud?” ‘““May be; but women pardon a good deal that is done for love of them.” He hazarded one glance at his wife as he said this, but her face was hidden on her mother’s bosom, and he saw, by the convulsive movement of her shoulders, that she was cry- ing. But could he fail to remember the words she had spoken a few days ago?—that if she could not respect her husband as much as she loved him, her heart would break? 4 Yeg,?? ‘returned Michael, sternly; ‘‘ women do pardon a good deal in the man who loves them; but Flora is changed, indeed, if she could care for a traitor—a man who his been living a lie ail this while, shamelessly, pitilessly.” ‘“‘T am sure you do not believe that, Michael,” said his brother, brokenly. ‘‘I have sinned abominably, and made no effort to extenuate my fault or find excusesfor it; but that I have been without shame or pity ig untrue, for I have suffered fearfully this last year.” “‘ And yet you would not have made resti- tution even if you had been able.” “T would not have given up my wife, if that is what you mean. She is all the dearer to me, perbaps, that I suffered so much through her. Now, if she leaves me I cannot help it— would that I could; but at any rate, she will be
Page 29
’ her that she should be ignorant. h Soaies FAT ae | A BROTHER'S SIN. Nee The passion, the fierce determination of his voice and eyes as he said this, made even Mrs. Chester glance at bim with a sort of pity. She could not believe that her daughter would ever eare for her husband again, and yet he had given up his hopes of heaven for her love. — Mrs. Chester’s heart sunk when she thought of the many complications that might be brought about by one man’s sin; but her chief sympathy, as may well be supposed, was with Michael, who had been so cruelly betrayed by the brother whom he had loved so dearly. Putting Flora on the sofa beside her child, she went and sat down by Michael, and took his poor, wasted hand affectionately in hers. “You must try to bear up, my poor Mi- chael!” she said. ‘* You have one comfort, at least, for you know, now, that Flora ‘was never untrue to you, do you not?” “Yes,” he replied, with the calmness of de- spair; “but small the consolation, since she is lost to me, for all that, and I have begged my way back to her.” ‘Why was that necessary?’ “Well, I bad no way of proving my iden- tity, and, therefore of obtaining money. I was picked up by a small trading vessel, outward pound, and when I recovered consciousness found myself at a South Atrican port, without a farthing in the world. A kind Christian Jady there offered to shelter me until I could communicate with my friends; and it was from there I wrote the letter which reached Ayshe on Flora’s wedding-day.” “ And it was never answered?” s¢Never, to my knowledge, nor any subse- quent letter that I wrote either to Donald or Flora. I understand, now, why it hap- pened so in Flora’s case—of course those letters were not allowed to reach her.” ‘¢ What was the use?” answered Donald, in a dogged sort of way. “ We could not have changed any thing then, and it was better for And after- ward, until a week ago, | thought you dead.” ““T took the fever of the country, and it lin- gered about me for months, bringing me to death’s door again and again, and yet leaving me just alive, and that was all. My mind was so strangely confused all this while that I could not often remember my own, name; and when my kind nurse offered to write to you for me, I became so violently agitated with the effort of memory this entailed that she was forced to | desist. At last I rallied a little, and then my indefatigable friend managed somehow to get me a passage home, and I set sail for England. Thad just two shillings in my pocket and a change of linen when I arrived at Southamp- ton, but I wrote at once to my solicitors in way “ my wife while I live, my widow when I die!” T.ondon, telling them of the plight I was in, and ° a hy 3 ee bt Sees has hd —, Lhe 5, wel St fe ncs = AP eA ET rea 4 TMS AS eo Pte 7 = i: - Ae 7 4 z ? : = See c Aj ~ 7 tee 5 ae? we Sc et 41 r p a begging they would let me have a remittance, promising to explain matters more fully when Tsaw them. ‘To this letter, 1 received no an- swer, naturally, for they thought I was — an impostor; and then I tried Aysheagain, for 1 had a feeling that Donald must be alive, al- though I could not account for his silence. — You know the rest—you also know whatI saw when I dragged myself to my uncle’soldbome, __ and looked through the window. I suppose if | I had been a hero I should havecrept silently — | away, and died like a dog in aditch—nameless, ‘unknown, and Jeft them to enjoy their para- q aise undisturbed. Perhaps if I bad known ~~ | that Flora was innocent of any wrong, and yet | would have the worst of the suffering, I might — ‘have found the courage, for I loved her always _ better than myself; but, believing that she had = been unfaithful to me, I longed, at whatever cost to myself, to confound and rebuke her.” : Flora, rocking ber child on her bosom, looked | over at bim, and smiled. ee “Qh, Michael! you must have feltin your heart that I never could be unfaithful! What — | were earthly vows worth if I were not true? Tt was Michael Pierpoint I meant to marry, — -and believed my husband to be until a few minutes ago. Judge between Donald and me ~ —it is your right; and whatever you bid me — that will I do, I swear it!” ian 2 A flush of triumph and joy brightened Mi- ‘chael’s wan countenance, and lent a sudden | brightness to his eyes, whild Donald covered his miserable face and groaned with anguish. — “Flora,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “re- 'member the child, and, for her sake, do no — wrong, Ibeseech you! You have only tospeak ‘the word, and I will never trouble youagainon this side the grave, but do not throw me on my brother’s mercy. Let your heart decide the question, and, whatever that dictates, I will abide by-faithfully unto the end.” Ba She did not so much as glance his way as she answered, “T have elected Michael to judge between us, He will tell me what I ought to do.” ieee Donaid cowered back into the first seat at hand, and waited. Michael looked from one to the other, and a wild struggle raged in bis: Ak breast. 3 ae At last he said, in a constrained voice, Ce ae: cannot trust myself to-night; my mind is weak- ened by pain and fasting. Give me food, and — let me have the rest I so greatly need, and to- — morrow we will speak of all thisagain” Giving the child to her mother, Flora rushed | off to fetch Michael a glass of wine, and order ' the guest-chamber to be made ready forhim, _ To tend on him with a sister’s devotion, and | nurse him back to health and strength, was her es Oe as he <5 - a !
Page 30
a BO. _ - one thought and aspiration. Beyond that she dared not look. Donald had blasted her whole __ future by his unholy fraud. _._. Now that she saw the two brothers together, _ she wondered how she could have been so de- ceived. Haggard and worn as Michael was, she had recognized him at once; whereas, with out mistrusting her husband, she had sometimes wonderingly asked herself why he was so much more like Donald the last year than he had ever been before. His voice had startled her strangely the first _ time he sung; and perhaps, if some one had hinted a doubt, Flora would have had a sudden ; e divination of the truth. But no one had, and ei fe ‘seemed too painfully impossible to come of its own accord into an innocent mind like hers. - Michael seemed so feeble and exhausted by x “tts time that he had reached his room, that _ Mrs, Chester was very seriously alarmed, and would have sent for a doctor, only that he begged her to wait until the morning. _ “Iam only weary,” he said, “and rest will restoreme. After having weathered so many storms, it would be inglorious to sink in a calm, would it not? Besides, my work in this i ‘world is not quite done,” he concluded, looking ‘at her with strange, wistful, eager eyes. “I ist make Flora happy before I go.” _ “Shall I tell you how to make Flora happy, “Michael?” He glanced at her inquiringly. ‘Get quite well and strong, my dear.” “Poor child! how little she must understand me. if that would make her happy. ‘There aro times when the only possible way out of your ies is to die.” " < “Yes; but that time is not come for you, Michael, and never will. Jt is not men like you, who have had great sorrows and disap- ‘pointments, who do such noble work in the world; and you are not alone, remember!” she added, emphatically. ‘‘ With me for a mother, pond Flora for your sister and friend, you may, urely, be happy, as well as useful?” shook his head with a mournful smile. - “Ts it possible that I should ever be happy again? But go down to Flora, Mrs. Chester; she wants you, poor child, more than I do; and tell her that my last prayer to-night, as it has | been for two years past, will be for her ” _ Mrs. Chester could not sleep that night. She was haunted by fears and misgivings. Flora had stolen into her bed with the child in her arms, and lay there through long hours = shivering, with her eyes wide awake and _ troublea, “Tet me stay here now,” she pleaded. “ Mi- el will tell me what to do to-morrow. I whe Coe he will want me to.go home to you again; vie and you will take me, won't you? And yet I . meet - is very weak of me, but I cannot mL zn ee an ue : r re ere a help pitying Donald. It must be so terrible to have your sin found ‘out and to lose all that you have sinned for. And,” lowering her voice, “he was very good to me, mamma,” She listened for a moment to the persistent, weary step overhead, telling bow Donald was getting through the miserable hours; and then added, with a sob, “‘I hated him an hour ago, but you see he is baby’s father, and—and—” She broke off, erying, and buried her face in the pillow. Mrs. Chester bent over her, and kissed her cheek, saying, gently, ‘‘ You need not bo ashamed of forgiving, Flora; and, perhaps, af- ter all, that is what Michael will bid you do.” “T think not—how could he? And I am afraid—at least, I am not sure that I realiy wish it. I have had such a terrible shock that | nothing seems real to me now, and I do not feel as if I had the courage to take up my life again. Ishall be worse than a widow, mamma, because, ifmy husband had died while I loved | and trusted him, I should have been able to look forward to our meeting in heaven. Now | [have nothing to look forward to; nothing, | save life-long misery.” “And the child?’ said Mrs, proachfully. ‘¢' You know I love her very dearly, mamma; Chester, re- | but think how sad to have her growing up | without a father’s care; and then there is all the responsibility, too. Iknow you will hein / me, mamma, but. I haven’t heart for the task, | Unfortunately, Donald made himself so neces _ sary to me in every way, that now I sha’n’t | know how to live without him.” It was in Mrs. Chester’s heart to say ‘‘ Don’t try,” for to forgive Donald seemed, after all, the easiest way out of the difficulty. But she restrained herself, remembering that Flora had chosen Michael as the arbiter, and was now | bound to abide by his decision. And, remembering Michael’s wrongs and sufferings, ber heart misgave her, tow. could he ever bear to see Flora con- soled, even happy, perhaps, with the man whe had robbed him of the woman who had been | dearer to him than life?” He had a generous spirit, she knew; still he was but human, and Donald had been very pitiless to him, preferring that his brother should starve rather than have the chance of coming forward to denounce him, Of course, if Donald committed the sin and meant to continue in it, he was forced to take all kinds of precautions to ward off detection, and all those unanswered letters were just a natural consequence of the original fault; but | they seemed to Michael so many witnesses against his brother, and hardened his heart against the delinquent.
Page 31
ae" : ; A BROT HER’S SIN. Bat who shall say witiisg softer ‘Suchta came ' to him as he lay a feeble, broken-down man under the roof that had. sheltered him so often as a boy? To rest was all he needed—he did not want to sleep; and when, through the dead stillness of the winter night, came the sweet voices of — the waits singing of “Peace on earth, and mercy mild,” he smothered his face against the pillow, and | _- wept and groaned in his agony. Mrs. Chester was painfully shocked and startled when she saw Michael in the full morning light; and, without consulting him, sent off for the old doctor who had attended him in a good many of his childish ailments. To her surprise, Michael, rousing from a sort of stupor as the other entered, said, with solemn gravity: “‘Thank you for coming to bid me good-by. I am greatly consoled to know that there are now but a few hours be- tween myself and eternity.” Mrs. Chester went away, and left them alone together, but very soon Michael sent for her, | and they had a long, confidential talk. Michael had written down his wishes with regard to his property (all of which he had left uncon- ditionally to Flora); and once signed and wit- nessed, this paper answered the purpose in- | tended as well as a more elaborate document, Flora sat by him all the day, and several times Donald stole to the door, as if he longed to enter and dared not. His sin had indeed found him out, and no one could fail to see at a glance the change wrought by that one night of anguish and remorse. His eyes were sunken, his face haggard, while his lips twitched convulsively. THE and slowly and “‘mantbuge approached bed. ¥ Michael opened his eyes full on him, with _ the tenderness of old days in their dim de then held out his almost transparent hand his brother, g Donald knelt down, and pressed it reverently to his quivering lips. : Smiling, Michael motiotied to Flora, p: her hand, unresisting, in Donald’s, and say faintly, é Forgive him, dear, for my sake: it my last earthly wish, ” fell back on the pil and still smiling, died. “When any ons came by he ‘disappeared , his room again, but seemed touched almost tears when Mrs, Chester followed him, said, “‘ You must come down and take thing, Donald. There is no need to le whole world into our sorrowful secret, aud | servants will wonder what makes their ma: behave so strangely.” “T will do whatever you wish,” he ans bravely; but though he went down with | she could not persuade him to bake ev glass of wine. a ‘“Why do you trouble about me?” he “You know I do not deserve it.” . Before she could answer him, Flora’ | in with a terrified face, crying breath] she touched her husband’s arm, ‘ Come aton —NMichael has asked for you! Come, 701 would see him once again alive!” : By an agitated gesture she ineies Chester to follow, and then darted 1 looking back once to see if Donald vere hind, With bowel head, shame-stricken, sorrowful, & humble penitent ‘before the brother he had wronged, Donald entered the sick-cl har END,
Page 32
— ts. PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY. THIRTY-TWO OCTAVO PAGES. 1 A_ Bride ofa mays or, The Mystery of Winifred Leigh. By Mary Reed Crowell, ; 2 The Girl ‘Vife; or, The True and the False. Bartley T, Campbell. - 8 Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweethearts. Wu. Mason Turner, M. D. 4 Married in Waste. By Rett Winwood. & Will She Marry Wim? or, The Masked Bride. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 6 His Lawful Wife; or, Myra, the Child of Adop- tion. By Mrs, Ann S, Stephens, 2 A Fair Face; or, Out in the World, By Bartley T. 1 Campbell. 2 8 A Mad Marriage; or, The Iron Will. By Mary A. Denison, 9A Daughter of Eves or, Blinded by Love. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 10 The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine. 11 The Bride of an Actor; or, Driven from Heme. By the Author of *€ Alone in the World,”’ etc., etc. 12 A Pair of Gray Eyes; or, The Emerald Necklace. By Rose Kennedy. 18 Without a Hleart. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 14 Aloneinthe Worlds or, The Youny Man’s Ward. By the Author of ‘ The Bride of an Actor,” ete., etc. 15 Motherless; or, The Farmer’s Sweethearts By Col. Prentiss [ graham. 16 The Secret Marriage. By Sara Claxton. 1? Sigter against Sister; or, The Rivalry of Hearts. + Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 18 Weart to Heart; or, Fair Phylis’s Love. By , ~ Arabella Southworth. ? 19 i ial Gold; or, Almost Lost. By Mrs. M. V. * Victor. 20 Entangled; or, A Dangerous Game. By Henrietia ~ — ‘Thackerny. 21 Sybil Chase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. By Mrs. Ann S, Stenbens, 22 Trust Her Not; or, A True Knight. Leicester. 28 Sinned Against, By ClaratAugusta 24 A Loyal Lover. — By Arabella Southworth. 25 The Country Cousin. By Rose Kennedy. 26 His Idols; or, The Il-Starred Marriage. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell, . By By By Margaret 2% Flirtations or. A Young Girl’s Good Name. By | Jacob Abarbunell (Ralph Reval). 28 Now and Forever; or, Why Did She Marry Him? ; By Heurietta Phackeray, 29 Orphan. Nell, the Orange Girl; or, the Lost Heir. By Agile Penne. 80 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. 81 The Little Heiress; or, Under a Cloud. Mary 4. Denison. 82 Log Year 3 or, Why She Proposed. By Sara C'nx- JON. 88 In Spite of Herself’; or, Jeanette’s Reparation. By S. R. Sherwood. $4 Her Face Was Her Fortune. By Eleanor Blaine. The Cuban Heiress, By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 86 Only a Schoolmiatress. By Arabella Southworth. 8? The Winged Messenger; or, Risking All tor a Heart. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 88 Was She a Coquette? or, A Strange Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray. 89 One Woman’s Heart. By George S. Kaime, Love-Mad; or, Betrothed, Married, Divorced and— By Wm. Mason Turner, M, D. Al For Her Dear Sake. By Sara Claxton. By Mrs. ; 42 The Bouquet Girl. By Agile Penne. | 48 Mariana, the Prima Donna, By Arabella Southworth, 44 The Ebon Mask; or, The Mysterious Guardian. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 45 Lucy Temple. Daughter of Charlotte. 46 The Three Sisters. By Alice Fleming. 4¢ The Creole Sisters; or, The Mystery of the Perrys. By Mrs. Anna . Porter. 48 A Marriage ot Convenience. By Sara Claxton. 49 ‘the Wife’s Secret. By Col. Juan Lewis. 50 Sir Archer’s Bride; or, The Queen of Hearts. By Arabella Southworth, 5t Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 52 Wometess; or, Two Orphan Girls in New York. By Albert W. Aiken. 53 The Maniac Bride. 54 Pledged to Marry. 55 Cecil's Deceit; or, The Diamond Legacy. By-Mrs, Jennie Dayis Burton. 56 Beatrice, the Reautiful; or, His Second Leve. By Arabella Southworth. 5? Without Mercy. By Bartley T. Campbell.- 58 The Baronet’s Secret. By Sara Claxton. 59 Agnes Hope, the Actiess; or, the Romance of a Kuby R By Wm. Mason fur. er, M. D. ting. | 60 A Widow’s Wiles; or, A Bitter Vengeance. ‘Rachel Bernhardt, 61 Did We Love Her? By Ba tley T. Campb Il. 62 Almost in His Power. By Lillian Lovejoy. G3 She mae Not Love Him. By Arabella South- worth. 64 Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl. Mason Turner, M, D. 65 A Brave Girl. — By Alice Fleming. €6 Lord Reth’s Sin, By Georgiana Dickens.. 67 A Wie ed Heart; or, the False and the Trne, . Saran Claxton, 68 Wis HMeart’s Mistress; or, Love at First Sight. By Arabella Southworth. 69 The Only Paughter. By Alice Fleming. 76 Why 1 Married Mim? By Sara Claxton. 21 Honor Bound}; or, Sealed to Sec:ecy, By Lillian Lovejoy. 72 A Man’s Sin; or, His Lawful Wife. : wood, 78 Wis Own Agains or, Trust Her Not. Southworth. @4 Adria, the Adopted. ton. ?5 A Brother’s Sin, By Rachel Bernhardt, 76 Because She Loved Him. By Alice Fleming. Ready Noy, 3. ; ?? A Strange Marriage. Ready Nov. 10. #8 For the Woman He Loved. By Agnes Mary Shelton. Ready Novy. 17. By Margaret Blount. By Sura Claxton. By By Wa. By 3y Rett Win- By Arabella By Mrs. Jennie Davis Bur- By Lillian Lovejoy. The Waverley Library is for sale by all newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. Beadle and Adams, Publishers, s No. es William street, New York.