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For Richard*’ Weekly Gazette.
THOUGHTS AT SUNSET.
fcY CAROLINE HOWARD.
Tall Poplar trees, slight, waving Poplar trees,
That yielding bend before this evening breeze,
Commune with me ;
As by my casement thoughtful here I gaze,
Watching the sinking sun’s divergent rays,
Before they flee.
Oh! ye green trees, that calm and constant stand,
By the rude cast or balmy west wind fanned,
In patience still;
Lean with your pale and rustling silver leaves
O’er the deep quiet of these sun lit eaves,
My thoughts to fill.
gentle friends, whom sun-fight makes so
fair,
1 learn from you tin* lessons bard —to bear
And to forbear;
For when the storm-god scatters your young
stems,
And rifles from your pliant boughs their gems,
What is your care 1
You m • kly yield your choicest treasures up,
And smiling, taste and drink the proffered cup,
Whatc’er it be;
While singing still your breeze-touched,grateful
song,
Yuu bless the hand, which others might deem
wrong:
And so teach me.
l opceor in your simile may I tliu* dwell—
Forever may your plaintive, touching knell
Knock at my heart;
To upward, onward aims, may I aspire,
Aii-l of the promised Ileaveu may 1 desire
To share a part.
dli, trees, whose bending branches fan my check,
In whose soft murmurs sympathy I seek,
Guide me aright;
Plead for mo always with your notes of love,
That 1, like you, may rise towards realms above,
Whore all is Light.
if am AyjiiAj'j sAii.
OTTO SECOND PRIZE TALK.
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
THE NEW ARIAi
A TALE OF TRIAL AND TRUST.
J!Y J. M. LEGARE.
CHAPTER THIRD.
[ t was in everybody’s mouth—the choicest
subject of scandal for a week. “So he
has gone to the dogs, at last!’’ one ac
quaintance would say to another in the j
street. “ Well, I always said he was liv
ing too fast.”
“Could you expect anything else?”—i
the other would probably reply. “ Why,
the income of a King could not have en
dured it! I understand he used gold spoons
instead of silver—think of that, sir! and
every one of them engraved with his arms 1
—confound his aristocratical impudence 1” |
But in the drawing-rooms, and during
morning visits it was that the ruin was j
most minutely discussed: everyone had!
something to relate of her forebodings on
the subject for more than a month previous, j
or of what her own eyes had witnessed.
‘•The sale of the house and furniture
■will continue three days longer, I under- j
stand ; have you been to the auction yet, ■
Mrs. Maurice ?”
“ Yes, and what a display of luxury ! j
Why I never dreamed they lived so mag
nificently, extravagant as I knew they
‘verc!”
“ Well—pride must have a fall, you
know : and 1 hope I'm Christian enough to
be glad they’ll experience some mortifica
tion of the flesh here, to fit them foranoth
er world. 1 always knew what her finery
and carriages would bring her to!”
‘•She's humbledenough now, poorthing,
1 fancy. Why, would you believe, even
her new velvet and silk dresses were dis
posed of privately’, I bought one myself
at a third of it's real value. My husband
never should have made me part with my
wardrobe, if I cried my eyes out. I won
der how she will feel appearing in the
street or at church in a common calico or
delaine!”
“ Don’t tell me about her husband !” —a
third would join in—“he must be a mon
ster in human shape, not to keep back from
the sale a score of fancy articles I could
name which must have become necessities
rather than luxuries to his wife. Howev
er I ought not to complain for I have got
a complete set ot pearls which caught my
eye at the jeweler’s six months ago, hut
which I never could have afforded, had she
not bought them first.’’
“The most singular part of the whole
affair”—cried another —“ is. that I cannot
learn he owes a cent to any one. I can't
make it out! you know I am fond of in
vestigating these matter to the very bottom:
it aids one in rightly appreciating the
vanity of all human endeavors, besides
giving a more extensive view of the ele
ments of which society is really composed.
Well, I no sooner saw the sale and assign
ment of his plantation interest to trustees
announced in the papers, than down 1
went to ascertain from the merchants anil
shop people themselves, the amount of his
indebtedness, but although I stood cheape
ning this and that piece of goods, for, I
don't know how long, in each of the stores
they dealt at, and was as affable as pos
sible, I could not learn that more than a
chance dollar here and there was owed by
my grand lord forsooth, it having been
their custom to pay at the time of the per
chase.”
“ Bless me, madam!”—returns the first
speaker—“if you had pushed your en
quiries in the right quarter, you would
have found no mystery in the matter. You
all know young D’Ecourts who has just
become of age, and is determined to see
life, as he calls it. XX’ell he sometimes,
merely lor amusement, steps into a—a —
place of departed spirits—l mean where
people gamble: and who do you suppose,
he says, never failed to be there, as hard
at work losing money as most men are
making it, —but our ruined gentleman!—
For my part, I can't imagine how he kept
up an appearance of wealth as long as he
did!”
“Oh, if that was his character, the next
step, I suppose, will be the bottle or some
thing worse ; that is the way with such
gentry. I wonder if the} - can afford even
to keep a servant now. If I were his wife,
I would sit all day with my hands in my
lap, and not do a thing to make his pover
ty-stricken home comfortable—a proper
punishment for what he has brought about.
Poor thing, I dare say by this time she is
worn to a shadow by daily anxiety and
mortification!”
And was it so—had the heroic spirit
given way, the excitement of the sacrifice
once passed; and repining and reproaches
become familiar demons at his hearth,
whom recollection of his own folly and
vice hindered him from resisting by word
or look ? Let us see.
Small enough was the house with its
three rooms and little porch in front, and
the chintz curtains in the windows, chintz
covered couch and plain white ceilings,
presenting a marked contrast to the silken
hangings and gilded fretwork of their for
mer home: but on the brick hearth, the
, I
fire burned more cheerfully than it had in
the marble fire-place the sad night of the
confession ; and so, in the young wife’s
bosom did the old love blaze up brightly and
warm all within its reach,regardlessof the
humble objects in the midst of which it
was rekindled. She had drawn a round
table to the warmest corner, and herself set
out upon it their simple tea service, and
now sat listening for a hand upon the latch,
with a face that would alone have put to
shame the conjectures and gossip of her
former acquaintance. Presently her hus
band entered with a roll of canvass and book
in his hand: the furrows between the brows
were quite gone, and his whole manner
and speech betokened revived hope.
“Well Lu,” —he said, when he had
taken the chair drawn close to her's. hotd
■ ing her little hand between his. “ I am
quite ready to begin our work, and so will,
to-morrow, God prosper the endeavor!”
“ Yes”—she returned : “that He surely
will. I am happy in the very thought,
sweet husband, of being with you all the
day, for while you paint, you know, I can
read aloud, and then I shall feel as if 1 were
helping you along.”
“ Oh, take no credit to yourself for that
—he rejoined with a smile: “it was for
this very purpose I brought this book with
me, and so I design to do as often as we
require. And even if no purchasers for
my paintings can be found, we will not
regard the hours ill spent that kept us so
happily together.”
“ No, surely ! But you must not imagine
you will find no purchasers—that would
never do to begin with! I don't fancy
you to be either a Raphael or Rembrant,
but have not your paintings been admired
beyond measure by those who are esteemed
good judges ?”
“Yes. while there was something to be
gained by flattery, perhaps.”
“ Well, we will see who is right. Do
you paint and I will read, and only do
your best, dear Harry, and I have no
thought that we can quite fail.”
And his best he did, not only on the
| morrow, but on every succeeding day, less
because his faith in himself was great, than
to lighten the young heart that had aban
doned all for his sake, and whose words
had become to him as the voice of an angel.
His heart was in his work, and what he
| most needed, practice, he found hourly, and
time flew swiftly by. Very few of their
former friends sought their more humble
roof, and half of those, probably merely to
gratify curiosity; however, now they felt
no need of friendship or of gossiping visit
ors, for within a few weeks, the world of
each had narrowed into the circle of their
hearth, and plans for present and future
afforded never wearying subjects of con
versation. Except during occasional ram
bles taken together, and passing to and
from a neighboring church on Sundays,
they seldom stirred abroad ; and—l do not
know whether or not this is matter of won
! der—the less they mingled with the world,
the happier they grew: it was not a selfish
happiness either; for humbler and distant
objects were within its scope. Os one
I thing they were certain, it tvas peacegiving
and even its cause, and in these features
at least, very unlike the pleasures purchas
ed by their wealth. Meanwhile the paint
| ing rapidly advanced, as well it might, and
in ten days time was quite finisbel ; then
it was transferred to a store, duly furnish
ed with title and price on a card attached,
and with anxiety, each endeavored to con
ceal from the other, our adventurers await
ed the result. But alas, no purchasers
j offered—and instead of money, came abun
dant criticism. “ Who ever heard of trees
being so blue or hills so purple ! —don’t
tell me about distance ! You don’t sup
pose you can convince me, sir, that a tree
two miles from my house in the country,
j is less green than the one at the foot of my
! steps!—all fudge, sir!”
Such were the speeches retailed every
evening to the painter by the shopman to
’ whom they had been spoken, and such
were the words modified as much as truth
; would allow, lest he should [tain her, to
which every night the young wife listened.
: At last, sick at heart and discouraged, he
caused the work to be brought home, an
gry with himself that he had ever trusted
in his own superior capacity ; sick at heart
too, but still for his sake, outwardly as
i corageous, and faithful as ever, his wife
received him with consoling words.
“He must not be distressed or mortified :
what did it really matter? Did not his
own wife thank him from the bottom of
her heart, for even making the attempt and j
should not that repay him ? answer now.” ;
“Yes—yes!” How could he avoid reply- j
ing in the affirmative, when she had nes-,
tied so fondly to his breast 1 “Yes!” he re
plied again kissing her upon the forehead.
“And besides, fully a hundred dollars
remained, which would go a long way
with even less economy than they already
exercised ; and long before that was gone, j
some means of income would be found—of j
that he must not doubt, indeed !”
She had risen and remained before the
painting, and now tried to regard it as she
would have viewed the work of a stran
ger’s hand, and so really perceive the de-1
met its: but this was a power over her
heart of which she was not possessed, and
in her partial eyes the work was faultless,
and so, in the end, she exclaimed. In
truth, the landscape, although one of less
perfection than she so readily believed, was
not deficient in beauty and worth; the de
fects being far less than he had hinjself
begun to believe, distrustful of his own
powers as he was, and overborne by a few
ill-considered criticisms. Os the latter she
was convinced, and employed all her elo
quence to dissipate his chagrin, and induce
him to make another trial, recalling to his
mind how hurriedly his pencil had passed
over portions which had been found te
dious, and suggesting that more patiently,
and with less haste, this second attempt
should be made, and then, if this too fail
ed—well, let it be the last.
It was practice, too, he most required; and
why not daily spend a couple of hours in
the gallery of paintings they had often,
long ago, visited together: all the instruc
tion needed to elevate his works above the
level of mere aiiiateui artists, could surely
be found there ; and, for the rest, that all j
critics might be thereafter most completely !
dumb-founded, and that Nature might in I
no degree be violated, what if he were to )
paint accurately tile lovely landscape visi- j
ble from the foot of an avenue of oaks, be- j
yond thA subuibs of the city, where they
had so often wandered during their long 1
walks of late ?
ft was well thought of. The easel was
again set up, and in the afternoons the}- j
went to continue the water-color sketch !
from, which the oil-landscape was growing j
into existence. What a life of peace, of
which he had never dreamed, was this;
and yet, only a few days previous, had
he mused darkly on his way homeward, j
whether it were not better, now that he had
made an endeavor anu failed, to draw a ;
portion at least of his former income from
the forbidden source, and at all events se
cure her comfort who relied upon his suc
cess for support even. “It would he so
easy,” the tempter urged, “to allow her to
believe the amounts obtained by a just
though tardy appreciation of his merits;
and in that case, he might paint as care
lessly as he pleased, as there would be no
necessity, but rather the reverse, of exhib
iting his work. Besides, at the worst, it
would only be a sale forced upon the real
owner of the estate, as he could have the
paintings laid away in safety and consider
ed his property whose money had been
taken as an equivalent, whenever he should
appear in person--refraining each time
from drawing more than the supposed value
of the piece. Why hesitate ? it might be
that no one beyond himself would ever
know a breath of the transaction!”
But when, before he had yet decided, he
stood in the centre of his little world, and
saw T the earnest trnsi ins wite’s evei v tout
and tone expressed, he thanked God in his
inmost soul, for having been permitted
even to struggle against the evil counsel
until that moment; and at the thought, the
demon fled from his heart, for far less diffi
cult was it now to drive the tempter out,
than it had been of old.
But a wish had for some days occupied
the thoughts of the wife, which gradually
took the form of a resolve. It had been
customary with her to give freely to the
poor, and now it pained her generous heart
not a little to refuse alms when solicited.
It was true, they possessed very little, but
what hindered her from adding to the a
mount; and if, instead of sitting idle du
ring her husband s absence, she were to
employ her fingers, how easy would it be
to obtain sufficient to do a world of good,
besides (perhaps) laying by a sum to meet
incidental expenses, the disclosure of which,
at some day of necessity, might remove a
weight from Harry’s mind ; so, for the pre
sent, he should remain ignorant of her new
occupation. Busy hours now, were the
two or three of his daily practice, and in
a week a couple of delicately worked col
lars were completed and folded neatly in
paper, on their way to find a market.
Here, unfortunately, at the very com
mencement, she committed an error: it was
not easy to overcome the ill-defined reluc
tance she entertained to entering in so hum
ble a capacity, the splendid fancy store
w hich had been the theatre of most of her
extravagance but a month or two previous,
—and accordingly she determined to apply
first to the mistress of a rival establishment
across the street. Between these antago
nists in trade, existed a bitter hatred, and
recognizing in the fair applicant, at a glance,
the fine lady who had spent hundreds over
the way, the latter gratified her spite by
declining even to look at the articles. Our
heroine felt some indignation, as she could
not but distinguish the true motive, and
now regretted that she had not set aside
her scruples and gone at once to the store
at which she had expended a portion of her
wealth; but there, too, disappointment
awaited her. She remained silent, with
her veil down, until a customer, one of her
i ball-room acquaintances, by whom she did
not care to be recognized, had been served,
and then stated her errand ; but Madame ;
La Tour, who had nothing to lose by of
fending her former patroness, had seen her
leaving the opposite store, and not choosing
to be obliging when applied to in any mat
ter after her rival, merely praised the work
and returned it, remarking that it was ne
cessary she should sell only genuine French
articles to retain the custom of the fashion
ble world;. probably they might be pur
chased from her at some of the smaller
stores. And so, with feelings very differ
ent from those with which she had last is
sued from the door, the applicant returned
to the street, half resolving to abandon the
design altogether. However, she would
make one attempt more, and on the result
of that rest her hopes. The shopwoman
here was quite a stranger, and having no
ulterior design to answer, readily purchas
ed the collars at a sum fully equal to our
heroine's expectations, and engaged seve
ral others of like pattern. What a light
heart she carried home with her! But a
trial was approaching, which, trifling in its
features, tested fully the moral courage so
recently developed in her bosom. During
her second visit, her well-pleased employer
staled that a pair of magnificent library
chairs had been purchased at some auction
by one of her customers, who wished her
own crest and initials substituted for those
wrought upon the velvet back : could she do
it I And suiting the action to the word, she
withdrew a cloth, and disclosed what Lou
ise had too truly foreboded while she spoke
—a gift once given to Harry, embroidered
by her own needle. She shrank from the
undertaking a moment—no more —and then
with a voice that faltered in spite of her
struggle to appear calm, directed in what
manner the velvet might be removed with
out injury. And I verily believe, that
more than once during the lonely hours at
home, while she drew out silken shred af
ter shred for a stranger's pleasure, which
but a short year before she had so joyfully
arranged, to win a pleasant word and look
from her husband, tears dropped upon the
work ; but if they did, nothing of them
dreamed that husband; only the angel be
held them, that stood invisibly beside her;
for if there was not a holy angel in the room,
why was her heart so full to overflow
ing with grateful peace, while her eyes ran
over with quiet tears'?
All this while, the painting had been
progressing, and at length the last touches
were given, greatly to the satisfaction of
both. Then it was carried forth for exhi
bition, as the others had been, and Louise
confidently predicted an immediate sale.
But a day passed, and then another, and
no one had offered to purchase, although
all now acknowledged the accuracy of the
sketch. On the third evening, however,
our artist returned with a countenance that
at once betrayed his success; and what
success! It was strange to relate, but see,
he had the full amount to show there was
rto error: the purchaser had insisted upon
paying a third more than the price de
manded, and desired another painted to
match.
“ But who was this generous patron of
art—one of their old acquaintances T ’
lie could not tell, for the money and or
der had been received through the store
keeper, who either could not or would not
describe him with sufficient accuracy to be
recognized. There was a little mystery in
all this—whether designed or not, they
could not determine, but certainly quite
agreeable in its results: and with more
cheerful hearts, they looked forward to the
completion of the pre.-ent work. In the
course of a month, this too was transferred
to the usual placeand at Lu’s sugges
tion, the first, somewhat re-touched, ac
companied it; and now her anticipations
were realized, for both were readily taken.
But this time, their patron appeared. He
was evidently a man of wealth, not ill
looking, and somewhat passed the prime
of life. He both praised and criticised
: Harry’s labors, and learning, in the course
of conversation, his daily habits, frequent
ly, by apparent chance, encountered him
in the gallery of paintings; and Harry,
who at first shrank from all intercourse,
daily found the conversation of the former
more pleasing. What was unaccountable,
however, was, that at moments, he could
not resist the conviction that he had else
where seen this prepossessing face or heard
the voice—he could not he quite sure of
which—and then a closer scrutiny would
; induce him to suppose his imaginat#m ra
ther to blame than his memory. His wife,
; to whom he related this uncertain rccogni
’ lion, was all anxiety to see the stranger,
| confiding in her woman’s wit to unravel
the mystery, if any there were; but in
i this she met a defeat, for when the former
accepted her husband’s invitation, and sat
opposite to her at the fireside, she at once
determined in her own mind that the face,
feature by feature, was one entirely un
known. This was the first visit of Mr.
Eubank, but not the last by a great many,
| for, stating as a claim upon their indul
j gence, the fact of his possessing few friends
| in the city, and being glad of a quiet fire
-1 side, reminding one of a distant home, while
: compelled by business to delay his depar
ture, by degrees he accustomed them to
look for his coming with undisguised plea
: sure. But although they saw him almost
nightly, they learned little of his private
history, for he evidently avoided all refer
ence to his own affairs, and as carefully
[refrained from -prying into those of his
hosts by even casual enquiries. This was
a slight whim to humor, and they were
quite content to do so, although the itn
pression still haunted Harry of a face seen
elsewhere, hut when or how, he perplexed
his brain without avail to recall.
Six weeks had already elapsed since
Mr. Eubank had become a frequent guest,
when he announced his speedy return home,
wherever that home was: but before going,
made a proposal to Harry, the magnitude
of which astonished the latter in no small
degree. The proposition was introduced
by this abrupt enquiry one day :
“Can you paint figures, groups, as well
as you can landscapes ?”
Yes, better, he believed, for his taste was
more decided in that branch of art.
“Very well; then paint me a group—
any hing. I wish to see for myself your
skill, before placing any great work in
your hands. Can you finish it in three
days ?”
“Yes. c-asilv.”
When the sketch was completed, he ex
pressed his satisfaction; and now came
the offer: that Harry should undertake to
paint a subject, the chief traits of which
he had written out on paper, the figures,
grouping, and, in fact, all details, to be
drawn from the former's brain, guided only
by what information he could bring togeth
er. If he would commence this at once,
that is, the designing, he would be entitled
from that hour to a salary of five hundred
per annum; there was no hurry, but there
need be no delay. The painting would re
quire from three to five years to perfect;
he must bestow upon it the whole power
of his mind, however, and the time might
be protracted to ten years, for anything he
cared. Well, was he content with the
terms, or did he reject them?
Reject them! No. Thus would the
tempter be effectually excluded from his
I breast, for now there would be no need of
! anxiety in the simple matter of mainte
nance, and by the aid of his pencil in less
er designs, he could even surround his no
ble wife with a portion of the comfort she |
had wo unhesitatingly resigned; and from
that day, the grouping of the great picture |
occupied a pre-eminent position in his j
thoughts. First of all, he read all that j
had been written on the subject, and much
of that he found in Pliny; then he com
menced arranging the figures in his brain
and on paper, so as to produce the most ‘
harmonious effect, and finally the tab
leaux stood dimly visible, “laid in” on the 1
broad canvass, like objects seen indistinct- ‘
]y through a mist. But all this was not
done once, but many times, for it is'notea- |
sy to satisfy one’s self with the crude pro- ;
ductions of the hand : and day by day pa- [
tience and perseverance, and pure love of j
art, expanded like blossoms in spring-time,
more and more fully, and made the very
breath of life pleasanter to inhale. By
degrees, these long hours of musing and
abstraction from the world around, began j
to leave upon his soul an impression of ,
gravity very different from austerity—mild
and ennobling ;. and as the traces of former i
criminality grew fainter, his thoughts turn
ed with less bitterness to the past, and with
more ot hope to the future. Yes, it was
God’s doing: it was wonderful, how min
ute circumstances, which at the time es
caped his notice, were now recalled as ev
idences of the guiding hand of a supreme
and pitying Being. Even the occurrences
he had once cursed his fate for bringing
about, now appealed to his clearer vision
unquestionable blessings : as, for instance,
the strange and dangerous error committed
in dating the fictitious will, since, but for
tiiik, what could have turned him from the
worship of his Plutus. to that of a truer
Lord 1 But one thing troubled him : was
God at all times present, at all times piti
ful: if so, why had he been permitted to
commit a robbery and almost a murder?—
It was true, a Providence had checked his
madness before the latter crime was perpe
trated in more than intention —but why
had even that been allowed; no good had
arisen from it, which might not have been
brought about by less harrowing means.
Could it be that God’s supervision was cas
ual not omnipresent ? But these doubts
too disappeared before the earnest faith ol
his wife: she believed with the sincerity of
a heart from which truth had never de-,
parted, that he was always, always , at j
hand to hear the cry of the afflicted; and
even when not invoked, was more merci
ful than mortal mind can conceive, to his
erring children. “ And for the rest,” she
said, “ dear husband, let us not presume to
question his ways, but trust —trust with
our whole heart and soul, that all will re
sult for good ; and surely so it will.”
Meanwhile, month followed month in
swift flight; a year passed, then two, a
third, a portion of a fourth, and the great
work was done. And here would be a
fitting place to describe minutely the paint
i ing which was the result of labor, mental
and physical, extending over nearly four
yeais, and in the production of which, the
utmost ability of no mean mind was taxed:
but in saying this much, I have given a
reason sufficiently valid fur refraining; for
how would it be possible to do justice in a
few written words to a work of such pa
tience and protracted toil. The mere out
lines, however, can be given, and this is
already half done, when the subject is
stated— The Story of Aria and P.etis
CiEcixNA, of Padua.
The deck and prow of a Roman galley
appeared in the foreground, beyond, the
blue sea, as tranquil as a lake ; and upon
the former a mixed group of centurions,
soldiers and seamen—their countenances
betraying both admiration and horror,
while all eyes were fastened upon thattrue
heart, Aria, who, from her blood-dabbled
bosom, seemed to cry, with dying breath,
to her lord : “C®cinna, dear love—it hurts
not, dearest Ciccinna!” that he, too, while
there was yet time, and none regarded
him, might free himself from the ignomi
nious doom, towards which smooth seas
and favoring winds bore him swiftly. A
fortnight had elapsed since the completion
of the work, and onr hero and heroine
were in daily expectation of the arrival of
Mr. Eubank, to whom they had written.
At last he came, and unconcealed was his
satisfaction : the painting surpassed his
hopes, and was worth far more than the
amount drawn quarterly by his young
friend. It only remained to provide a
suitable frame, and for this purpose the
spacious canvass was removed. When
fairly gone, the two began to feel a gap in
their family circle, as it were; the story
had taken a hold nppn their hearts, of
which, until this moment, tiiay Luff been
ignorant, although each had secretly re
cognized in the design a mysterious illus
tration of their own past lives. This dis
covery had only been made within the last
!ycar; and the more it was weighed, the
, more wonderful did it appear that the inti-
I mate connection, however accidental, had
1 not before occurred to their minds ! Yes,
j there were the treacherous waters and
: pleasant breeze, by which he was carried
nearer and nearer to an ignominious end ;
and there the true wife, who feared not to
wound her own heart and abandon all, that
he might be freed ! Oh, the gentle, faith
ful soul—faithful even unto death !
CHAPTER FOURTH.
One evening, while they sat at tea, a
note was brought to Harry, who, upon
reading the few words contained, became
deadly pale, crumpled the paper in his
hand, and, after a delay of a few minutes
in the adjoining charnber, passed out into
the street. Our Nferoine was somewhat
disturbed by his hurried and anxious man
ner, but, sure of being informed of the
cause on his return, endeavored to divert
her thoughts from what would only cause
inquietude. But, when hour after hour
elapsed, and midnight was close at hand,
she could no longer strive against her un
easiness with the first success; and, laying
aside both work and book, with each of
which, in turn, she had endeavore 1 to oc
cupy her attention, listened with beating
heart to every foot on the paved side-walk,
which, at longer and longer intervals, dis
turbed the silence of night: hut none halt
ed at the gale —all passed on ; and their
reverberations, dying away in the distance,
left her to her lonely watch, and to await
the coming of another.
“Oh that she had been more prompt in
action—that she had begged to see the
note, which was surely the cause of his
absence! He never would have refused,
had she only asked it. And then hisconn
tenance in ijoing out —so pale, so unlike
that of her husband of late years, but near
ly resembling the face she recalled the
morning succeeding the confession. And
now that she thought of it, this was the
anniversary—the fourth —of that dread
1 night. Could he again have fallen ? No:
no; no!” She almost hated herself for
the suggestion, although it had not tarried
an instant.
At last, footsteps halted at the door;
she flew to turn the lock, and the next in
stant was resting upon his breast, murmur
ing only, “Dearhusband —dear, dear hus
band !”
He led her in by the fire, and they sat
down, her eyes eagerly reading his coun
tenance, turned, as it was, full towards the
light. Yes, it was the anniversary of that
fearful night; but how different, noir, the
face upon which she looked ! Joy, sub
dued but unmistakable, was visible in eve
ry feature, and with it mingled pride—not
the old scornful pride, but such as angels
may not disclaim—when his eyes at last
met her gaze. And this was the substance
of the strange tale he narrated
