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LIFE'S SUNSHINE.
BY MRS. MARY WAKE.
Some grcpeamid the shadows here,
Nor dream life's sunlight is so fair;
Like “Peter Eell” they only see
The color of each flower and tree.
No higher, deeper meaning lies
In golden clcuds, or summer skies,
Than that which needful nature claims,
To further her most sordid aims.
And all the sweet imaginings,
That lend to life its golden wings,
And win the heart from sin and strife,
Are wanting in that sunless life.
Give me the simple heart that finds
Music in the mountain winds;
Companionship in birds and flowers,
Aud blessings in this world of ours.
Columbiana, Ala.
. DEI A MERE;
-OR—
Corinne the Sphy nx
BY PAUL C. LE SUEUR,
CHAPTER XL
To Eryc the weeks of Diana’s visit glided by
almost like some deasant dream, and when it
was gone he had an indescribable sensation, as
if he had been toying with something danger
ous but irresistibly attractive. Of love he did
not speak, and dared not; bnt there are tones
of the voice that tremble, and glances of eyes
that grow tender which speak more strongly,
truly, than can words. Bnt if ever at unguard
ed moments his manner betrayed his senti
ments toward her, his conduct afterward be
came more distant and constrained, for to as
pire to the love of this beantifnl creature, so far
above him where wealth had placed her, in him
seemed almost madness.
But the impulses of love are seldom restrain
ed or guided by the calm, cold dictates of ex
pediency or judgement. The very fact that her
love was not for him served but the more to
urge him on, and though he sometimes thought
bitterly how impossible it was for him to at
tain it, he yet felt himself drawn resistlessly to
ward her. Diana herself had learned from Mrs.
Delamere much of the smugglings and misfor
tunes of his past life, and yonng and yet unsul
lied by a cold world's teachings she had felt
for him at first a strorg, admiring sympathy.
When with total unreserve he sometimes un
bosomed himself to her and spoke of all the
bright aspirations which filled up the measure
of his dreams, her kindly gray eyes would
light np with sympathetic emotion, and flash
forth glances dangeronsly fascinating. The
honr of such bursts of confidence and inti
macy, however, would be followed on Eryo’s
part by moments of bitter regret and a look of
melancholy would appear in his face which Di
ana conld account for on no other snpppcsition
than that some secret tronble of the past was
weighing on him. She unconsciously guessed
right, but the past over which he grieved was
a very recent past, extending no further back
ward than two short months, sometimes days,
ago. He had S6en from the first how dangerons
it was to be near her, and had endeavored in
some feeble and reluctant manner to keep
away, but now, under the same roof, exposed
to the intimacy of every dsy life, be yielded
entirely to tha|. to which 'ye tad biW-rijirtifilly
yielded before, ’ ’
One day when Corinne had retired to her
rcora to repose, Diana tntered the parlor and
-at down to the piano. She tad not seen Eryc
since early that morning and ehe wondered why
he had not been near or spoken to her. Love
she thought not of, nay, the probability of it
had not yet occurred to her, but she missed
him much when he was absent, for she had
come to think that the tones of his voice were
pleasant and bad in them a magnetism which
she had heard in no other yet. It was the last
day of her visit lor she was to leave tomorrow.
She did not feel sad, but she played sad, soft
pieces and sang occasionally the words of some
monrnfnlly tender song. She sang cld songs
that had long since grown out of date like the
fashion of all things earthly—songs whose mel
ody welled ont as sweetly as of yore from grief-
burdened hearts, but which had been displaced
by noisier and more showy ballads. The room
wis heavily curtained and dark, and she knew
not that she had a listener until she heard some
thing like a softly uttered sigh behind her. She
turned and confronted Eryc. His eyes were
fastened on her with an expression strong in
them of a sentiment she could not well mistake
— an expression of the tender regard of an ar
dent, youthful heart. She felt it plainly, and
confusedly blushing, began playing again with
out speaking a word. Eryc came to her side
and together they sang the old songs over
again. There was the unspoken melody of love
within their hearts but they did not ntter it in
words: only occasionally by transient but all-
elcquent glances was its presence revealed’ On
the next day she left
After her departure Eryc noticed some change
in Corinne. The change had been silently and
gradually going on for some time, bnt not nntil
the joyous influence of her visitor had gone ont
from the hause did Corinne decidedly manifest
it. She became more gloomily thongbtfnl, and
if possible more pale. Her spells of dejection
were sometimes increased by fits of severe
coughing or lightened by moments of hysteric
al exhilaration. She had been morose and mel
ancholy for several days, when one evening, as
Eryc, endeavoring to draw her away from her
gloomy thoughts, related some little adventures
in which he and Harry Wilmot had been en
gaged. her manner suddenly changed,
•Rather a clever thing in Harry, was it not ?’
asked Erjc in conclusion.
•No!’ answered Corinno energetically and
with fretful emphasis; ‘I can’t say that I think
so. I do not like your friend Harry, and I can
scarcely conceive how any one else of good taste
can.’
•Why ?’ asked Eryc.
•Why ?’ ■he repeated with impatience—‘I
should think your question silly if I had not
seen before now how fond of him you are.
There are a thousand reasons why—more than
1 conld well mention at one sitting I am sure,
though he is not very much more hateful than
the balance of the contemptible jackanapes that
call themselves young gentlemen.’
■Saying which yon give me also a thrust.’
•If you are willing to incur reproach for his
sake it is no affair of mine,’ replied Corinne.
•Why almost the very lsst time I had any words
with him, he said to me what no gentleman
could say to a lady.’
•Pray, what said he ?’ asked Eryc.
‘It is hardly worth repeating or remembering,’
said Corinne, vainly tndeavoring to replace her
HDgr- mood with one of contemptuous indif-
rerenca; bnt since you seem bent on knowing,
yon shall hear it. merely because I once ven
tured to reprove mamma in his presence for
some oversight she had committed he asked me
it I didn’t think there was a hereafter, and then
broke out laughing in that silly, boisterons
rnaoner of his.
Gtntie reader, do yon not think Mr. Wilmot
was more than half right?
This little anecdote, and more especially the
manner in whioh she brought it in and related
it, were peculiarly amusing to Eryc, and he
langhed too, it mast be confessed, with some
thing of malicions pleasure at this timely coup
de grace of Mr. Wilmot. Seeing, however, that
this only irritated her he remarked, as if by way
of extenuation of the palpable lack of gallantry
of his friend.
‘Perhaps Harry is ratheranbions on that sub
ject himself. He generally acts as if he thought
the cbances of there being another world were
somewhat slender.
Corinne’s manner lost for an instant some
part of its irritation and after a short, thought
ful pause, she replied:
•There is no peculiar merit in disbelieving in
a hereafter—and not one grain of comfort, eith
er in believing that there is —especially for one
of Harry Wilmot’s inclinations.’ She paused
again for a short time during which her face
aud voice grew hard and joyless, and then add
ed . ‘It is some comfort to me also to think that
this life is all., •
Eryc looked at her searchingly and with
amazement.
‘Yon are snr-'ly jesfing ?’ he said.
‘Bah !’ exclaimed Corinne with a bitterness so
deep and so ample that there was in it a portion
for each one of the human race—‘jesting? I
never jest, I do not know experimentally what
jesting is, Don’t look at me in that manner—
as if yon were grieved at my depravity. Hear
me once and for all—if I believed and were con
vinced that there is snch a thing as this that
long-faced men tell ns of—of a life beyond the
grave,—an eternity of agony or bliss, do you
not know that I would sit down in sack-cloth,
ashes and prayer, apart from all haman kind
for the balance of my life ?’
She spoke with fierce irritation and in rapid,
restless accents as if harried forward by surg
ing tides of nnrepressed emotion.
•My dear cousin,’ asked Eryc with serious
ness and increasing surprise—‘where did you
learn snoh sad, nnhappy doctrines ?’
•Do bnt listen again !’ angrily burst forth Co
rinne, for she was now thoroughly aroused and
cared not how she might appear or express her
self. ‘When did I learn—as if I were a child
and had no other ideas than those picked np in
conversation. Here, read that and see !’
She reached and took up a book that lay close
by upon a table, and flung it savagely toward
him. He picked it np from the floor where it
fell, smoothed down the leaves which had been
bent and torn bv the violence with which it had
been thrown, and examined the title page. It
was one cf the works of Voltaire.
Inasmaoh as she had never before given evi
dence or intimation of such belief or tendency
Eryc, when he saw she was in earnest was to some
degree astonished, forjat first he had thought
that being in a fretful and despondent mood,
she had giyen utterance to expressions whioh
in a calmer honr she might repent of and wish
unsaid. In all probability he was partly right
in this supposition, for, thongbtfnl by nature
aud with her soul made full of gloom by dark
and subtle premonition of incipient disease, Co
rinne had brooded in secret over the mystery of
Being—with its ‘hopes and fears that wander
through eternity’ and unadvised and unassisted
had taken refuge in the skepticism in which too
often the troubled soul seeks relief from the
darkness that environs it. In this hour of
doubt she had turned with eager hope to the
writings of such men as Hume and Voltaire.
Let her not be blamed too severely for this. It
was the grasp of a drowning man for a straw—
the grasp of a despairing soul for hope even
though it were a phautom hope. And let not
these men be called shallow. For surely th*re
is a Hereafter au.d a beneficent God, ay,’ De
claimed loudly to every heart by th an’ a nig--
proa,oh of f,ven Mca Hu? f~- ’r |»‘
solemn Night—but these two men have strong
ly torn down old landmarks, and skillfully
shrouded in mists and obscurity the beliefs that
have grown venerable, ot the origin and des
tiny of man.
‘I am weary of doubting and thinking,’ said
Corinne, ‘and I could believe anything and
what I want is some proof beyond the sickly,
ghastly threats pf deathless flames I’ve had
dinned into my ears so long,’
‘As an answer let me read to you,’ responded
Eryc, what one of the deepest thinkers of this
or any other age has said in this connection, of
Voltaire. By chance I marked the passage only
yesterday.’
He took another volume from the table and
read:
‘That the sacred books could be aught else
than a Bank-of-Faitb Bill for snch and such
quantities ot enjoyment, payable at sight in the
other world; which Bill becomes waste paper,
the stamp being questioned—that the Christian
Religion conld have any deeper foundation
than IBooks, conld possibly be written in the
purest nature of man in mysterious,ineffaceable
characters to which Books and all Revelations
and authentic traditions were but a subsidiary
matter—were but as the light whereby that di
vine writing was to be-read—nothing of this
seems to have even in the faintest manner oc
curred to him, Yet herein, as we believe that
the whole world has now begun to discover,
lies the real essence of the question, by the neg
ative cr affirmative decision of which, the Chris
tian Religion, anything that is worth calling by
that name must fall or endure forever. We be
lieve also that the wiser minds of our age have
already come to agreement on this question; or,
rather were never divided regarding if. Chris
tianity, the Worship of Sorrow, has been recog
nized as divine on far other grounds than ‘Es
says on Miracles,’ and by considerations infin
itely deeper than wouid avail in any mere ‘trial
by jury.’ He who argues against it or for it in
this manner may be regarded as mistaking its
nature; the Ithuriel though to our eyes he
wears a body and the fashion of armor cannot
be wounded with material steel.’
‘Ob, that will do,' interrupted Corinne impa
tiently, ‘I have neither cariosity nor patience
to listen to the rest. I shall tronble myself no
more upon the subject. Death is a mystery any
way we look at it—the Mystery of mysteries
and neither you nor I nor any one else knows
what comes after or indeed that anything comes
after.’
She seemed to wish to say no more, and hear
no more and so the subject was dropped. How
painfully a few short weeks hence was Eryc to
recall this scene and conversation !
CHAPTER XII.
‘Eryc, Corinne is going ever to see Diana this
morning and I will be very glad if you will go
with her. ’
It wi s Mrs. Delamero that spoke, and Eryc
replied;
•Certainly, and with pleasure if you desire it.’
‘With how much pleasure?’ asked Corinne,
who bad heard her mother's request as she
sauntered languidly into the parlor. Eryc per
ceived the hidden drift of her question, and
steadily met her searching, half-aarcestic gaze,
while he responded:
‘No more than is consequent upon riding
over and coming back immediately. I do not
intend going in.’
‘That will not suffice,’ said Corinne. 'I shall
not be ready to start before it is too late to re
turn here to dinner. It will be alincst twelve
before I can get prepared. Besides, mama says
she wishes Vista to go. Of course in that case
the carriage cannot come back nntil evening. I
should very much dislike either to go or come
back alone with her, as she always seems con-
Btiained when she is with me, and I never know
what to talk about It is time I should return
Diana's visit, but if there are others there I
shall merely take dinner and return in the even
ing.’
•Make your own arrangements, answered
Eryc; ‘I shall be guided by your programme.’
It was no difficult matter for him to be guid
ed by a programme that carried him in the di
rection proposed. He had been straggling for
some tim9 against the desire to go in that same
direction, but with gradually weakening resolu
tion. He dared not of his own accord indulge
himself in the folly of another interview which
would rivet bat the stronger the bonds that
even now be conld not Jay aside. But. if go he
must at another’s instance, he was not prepared
to offer a very long or obstinate resistance. He
wondered at himself sometimes—wondered why
he did not leave Delamere forever, since he saw
his presence had grown objectionable to one, at
least of its inmates, and go forth into the world
to seek what lot therein life had for him. But
with these canw generally opposite thoughts
and feelings.
‘If I might but see bar just once more,’ he
would say to himself at such times, ‘I could go
away more contented.’
Opportunity after opportunity however, had
come and gone bfft he found himself no nearer
than before to his departure. His aunt and
uncle would not listen to any talk that related
to his goiug away, and scouted at the idea as a
thing that could not gain footing even for a mo
ment in their minds.
Preliminaries being thus satisfactorily agreed
npon, Corinne gave herself no further trouble
about the matter, and walking to the piano,
which stood open, made an iffort tc sing, but
not being in a musical mood, gave np the at
tempt, and began making preparations for her
visit.
It was a raw, ohiRy day when they started,
despite the spffiig-like look of the green young
April foliage around them. A oold moist wind
had set in from the East, and light, watery
looking clouds had gathered on the horizon
and began drifting slowly across the bleak and
cheerless sky.
To Eryc, as his fiist had been, this was a
lonely ride to Mr. Ether’s. Miss Devon seemed
to have lost all of her original vivacity of dis
position; Corinno leaned moodily back upon her
cushions, and occasionally smiled in an absent,
condescending kind of way at the sallies by
which he attempted to introduces little liveli
ness among them. So when the carriage reach
ed Mr. Ethmer’s, he drew a sigh of relief.
They had scarcely entered the gate when (hey
saw Colonel Fenton with Diana walking in an
other part of the yard.
As Corinne beheld him she involuntarily quick
ened her pace and drew near Eryc’s side, as a
child draws near the strong arm of a protector
in the hour of danger. She did not speak,
but he noticed that she was paler than usual,
and wore upon-tier countenance an anxious ex
pression. More in her appearance he did not
note; his eyes were busy elsewhere.
■> Diana and Colonel Fenton now espied them
through the shrubbery, and came forward to
meet them. After greetings were over, and
they had entered the house, they found Harry
Wilmot engaged in a game of cards with Mr.
Ethmer. At entrance the former desired
to leave off the? b^me.
‘Not till we finish the rubber,’ said Mr. Eth
mer. W
Harry did not manifest any further interest in
it however. In fact, he played with the utmost
indifference, and by the time dinner was an
nounced, which was soon afterwards he was
pretty thoroughly beaten.
At the table, Eryc, who sat opposite Miss De
von, noticed with a degree of curiosity that
she appeared Rejected aud when he began to
speculate fact, he could not arrive
■rA-guv; f*r“i' *'■• canse. there
of, though hec| fflembered that this was her
habit in general whenever she was in gay com
pany with Harry.
‘Ah,’ he thought, ‘she fears he drinks too
much.’
Perhaps he was right, for, a3 the meal and
the day wore away, and Harry p.ftor having ha i
ample opportunities, had indulged only to a
very limited extent in the ‘perishable’ fluid, she
gradually grew more and more animated, and
finally joined iightly in the current small talk
of the evening. This was not one of Harry-s
drinking days, as he observed to Eryc, who sat
beside him, and so, when the meal was over
with, the whole party retired to the parlor al
most, if not altogether quite as sober as they
had left it, making due allowances, as a matter
ot course for the enlivening, invigorating tifeet
which always fallows, as a direct consequence,
the eating of what, in common phrase, is de
nominated, ‘a good square meal.’ Mr. Ethmer
now retired to his own room, and left his guests
to their own enjoyment.
In the meantime Diana perceived that Cor
inne bad grown dissatisfied and restless, and
she made every effort to entertain her. In this
she was not wholly unsuccessful, for the former
with all her whims and humors, had shrewdness
enough to observe that, after the departure of
Mr. Ethmer from the room, there was a certain j
tendency, among these who were left, to sepa
rate into pairs. This tendency being unchecked !
and uninterfered with, she readiiy saw that
Harry end Miss Devon would form one couple,
and either E'ya or Colonel Fenton with Diana
would form another, leaving herself alone with
the nnsuccessful aspirant to Diana's exclusive
companionship.
As for the first mentioned couple, she cared
not whither they went or what they did, but she
now exerted all the diplomacy of which she was
possessed, to prevent Diana from leaving her.
She did not desire to be left alone with either
Eryc or Colonel Fenton. Of the former she had
a secret hate, of the latter a mortal dread. The
very love even, if love it conld be called, which
she bore to Diana had something intensely jeal
ous and selfish in it. She could not endure for
her to have a single pleasure, such was the nn
happy bias of her nature, unless she herself
could be participant. This love, which in sober
truth was nothing but a whim and would in
stantly have passed away, the moment Diana
neglected to comply with any one of her nu
merous demands and caprices, was not very ar
dently returned by the latter.
Of this, Diana made no secret. She acted to
wards Corinne merely as she would have acted
towards any other person whomsoever with
whom she might have been thrown in contact,
and tho latter mistook for a love whioh she did
not merit, that which was nothing bat civility.
Not, however, that there was anything of the
dupe in the general make-up of Corinne. Her
eyes and thoughts ever wandered with lynx-like
scrutiny for everything that savored of decep
tion against her, and generally searched it out
with an accuracy that was sure and unerring.
But all that Diana did seemed to be done from
the dictates of a warm and generous heart, and
pitying Corinne, she did to her what less dis
interested souls had often done before—she pet-
led her. Moreover Diana had the rare faculty
of bringing out in other hearts whatever was
most laudable in her own, so that the former
rarely, when with her, ever showed tue unhap
piness of her disposition.
As the evening passed away the clouds which,
had been all day thickening, gathered dark and
lowered overhead, and descended in a deluge
of rain. All hope of returning home ere night
were given up by Corinne and Eryc could not
find it in his heart to advocate depaiture. Col
onel Fenton, however having enveloped himself
from head to foot in an enormous overcoat of
Mr. Ethmer’s by Diana’s suggestion, declared
his intentions of setting out without delay, as
he bad some business that called him home that,
night, and mounting his horse, he dashed out
into the fast falling rain with headlong speed.
‘He will get terribly wet, ‘ said Diana as she
watched him from the front verandah whither
she had gone to see him depart.
‘Hardly,‘ answered Eryc, who stood by her
side and bad some faint, wild hope that the Col
onel would either drown or break his n6ck, for
he liked not this show of sympathy—'twenty
minutes* ride will carry him to town at that
rate.’
After Colonel Fenton left, Corinne breathed
more freely. At her request Diana now went to
the piano and sang,
Eryc sat on one side of her and Corinne upon
the other.
About this time Bose, who had just come from
Delamere, appeared at the door, dripping with
wet and shivering with cold.
‘What do you want? 1 asked Corinne, rightly
divining that his business was with her.
‘Miss says how is yer?’ answered Bose without
ceremony or preliminary.
•Eryc smiled, much to Ccrinne’s wrath who
mistook his intention.
‘Take yourself out of her e, ’ she sternly said to
the envoy—‘Mamma never did or will have any
sense of propriety anyway.’ The latter part of
her remark escaped her in spite of herself.
‘She sent a note but it crumbled to pieces in
my pocket.’added Bose apologetically—‘rain so
hard.’
Eryc seeing ’the condition of the shivering
negro went over to Harry Wilmot and spoke
something in a low voice to him, which Corinne
unsuccessfully attempted to overhear.
‘Certainly,’answered Harry in a louder tone,
would like to have some myself.’
The two now left the room.
•Take yourself away from here, sir,’ again
commanded Corinne in a tone stiil more sharp
after her failure to overhear what Eryc had
said.
‘She say don’t come home dis evenin’, added
Bose who had not yet delivered ail his message.
‘Go!’ said Corinne, pointing with exasperation
to the door.
Bose put on his dripping hat which hitherto
he had held in his hand, and tnrned around
sleepily to leave.
At this instant Harry Wilmot reappeared
closely followed by Eryc who carried in his
hand a tumbler ol brandy which he presented
to Bose.
■Surely, Eryc, you do not think there is any
thing worth living form life except the “pleas
ure of the glass, do you?’ asked Corinne in an
angry and sarcastic voice. The icsinnation was
a telling and venomous thrust, and for an in
stant she eDjoyed it supremely. Eryc tnrned
without a word and for a short while looked up
on her with 9yes so fnll of stern, reproachful an
ger that she quailed before them.
Bose, however, took the tempting portion and
swallowed it with great relish, and, as he hand
ed back the glass, by way of expressing the
depth of his gratitude he said in a low voice to
Eryc:
‘Wish Delamere b’long to you, Mass Eryc.’
•Amen!’ shouted Harry laughing recklessly;
‘Gad! old boy, new yon see what wh skey will
do, don’t you?’
Diana sat near the door, smiled no less at the
argumentum ad homiuem of Mr. Wilmot than at
the flittering remark of Eryc's outspoken bat
good-intentioned well-wisher. Seeing this, Cor
inne bit her lips in vexation, imagining what
had been said to have had some reference to her
self.
The plenipotentiary departed however with
out further delay, Eryc resumed his station at
the piano by the side of Diana, and there was
more music. Bose and his messages were for
gotten by all save Corinne. And so the day
31 nee. '.‘ha niolit came on, ao^i Ery/j, like
men in general, tooif" ‘ho note off tii 'S'^’Ero i
the hour came for retiring he had fJgotten j
that he was poor and a wanderer—had for- I
gotten his hasty but honest resolution never
to see Diana again—had forgotten the great
gulf which wealth had fixed between them,
and which, like that between Dives and Laza
rus no mortal strength could bridge—had for
gotten everything save that bright sweet face
beside him radiant even now although he knew
it not, with the light of dawning love.
The next morning Corinne hastened her de
parture from Mr. Ethmer's with as much haste
as was consistent with decency. When she
reached home she fonnd a letter from Mr.
Glenville, informing her that he would see her
that very day and would like to have an ex
planation with her. With regtrd to what sub
ject the proposed explanation was to be, was
wisely withheld.
Her heart heat rapidly at this intelligence—
beat with dread of something terrible and in
definable. Mr. Glenville had studied effect
and consequence to some slight extent in his
day. He would have made a tolerable fair ac
tor.
Corinne made her toilet in haste for she
was all impatience and could not endure to
lose one moment of time. Indeed, before she
had completed it, her expected visitor arriv
ed. She went quickly in to see him. As she
entered the parlor Mr. Glenville arose and
cauie forward to meet her with dignity and
an aspect of unwonted seriousness. There
was also upon his face a look of grief express
ed that frightened her. Never before had he
met her thus. Altogether his manner was cal
culated to produce no slight impression. As
he greeted her he took her hand, held it, and,
gazed into her face as if to read her inmost,
thoughts, siid simply but significantly:
‘Ho has come again, Corinne!’
By the he thus so abruptly and incoherently
alluded to, Mr. Glenville designfled Colonel
Fenton. He might very readily have imparted
this startling information to Corinne on
that memorable day when he had ridden back
with her from the lake; but his programme was
not then made up. Moreover he did not then
have much of an opportunity. For the same
reason she too,had been silent upon the subject.
But still had his course of action been deter
mined in his own mind he might easily have
found an opportunity both thou and since.
•1 know it she answered calmly, and seemed
to pause as if awaiting some funner revelation.
•Yon do not appear to regret it very much,’he
said with reproach and surprise as ho took a
s>at—‘or rather you do not seem to care much
about it.’
‘Why should I care?* asked Corinne. ‘Is this
the explanation you referred to in your letter?
She seated herself in a looking chair and be
gan rocking gently backward aud forward, re
garding him with an expression which he
scarcely knew whether to consider one of indif
ference or doubt. He was not abashed but
merei-y surprised. He had not expected this
calumtss on her part, though he was well a.vars
that what he had told her was no news to her.
‘This is the explanation, 1 he said in a tine of
tender upbraiding. ‘I thought I would have
seen some sorrow, some surprise at loast in you.
Corinne, as your conduct to me heretofore Las
never led mo to suppose you so utterly heartless
aud indifferent to me. My brother, Arthur, re
vealed uicaseif to me a lew days ago. I had seen
him several times before, but so cleverly is he
disguised that I have never suspected him. As
you wiil know, as long as even his very spectre
haunts me you are free from your engagement
to me. I release you now. Some worthier and
happier man may claim your hand. I surren
der ail claim whatsoever I have ever had upon
it. I cannot ask you to be the wife of the broth
er of a ’
Mr. Glenville sagaciously left the remainder
of the sentence to be filled by her own imagina
tion. The tones of his voice were affecting ami
his attitude dramatio. He might have affected
even a cold, disinterested spectator, for it was
nicc-ly done. Corinne was visibly affected. In
this place and with this man, where she should
have been all eye and esr for the detection of
fraud, she felt the blindest confidence.
‘Yon have known me too long to very little
purpose, Geeffrey,’she began eagerly, in spite
of her efforts to appear calm and collected, ‘to
suppose that this information can have any
weight in determining my future relation
towards you. No, I shall not consider myself
released from my engagement to you.’
Mr. Glenville was about to make use of some
strorg expression of love and admiration, for,
in expectation of this turn of affairs he had pre
pared it beforehand; but Corinne interrupted
him thereby preventing him from overacting
his pait perhaps.
‘You wonder,’ sho continued, at my lack of
emotion at what yon say. I have seen Arthur
Glenville myself. I accidently discovered him
a short time ago, and lie threatened something
nameless and dreadful if I ever betrayed him,
and l hnve not dared to speak of him to you
since. I have long suspected he was not dead.
It was something like instinct in me, until I be
gan to make enquiries. Then I grew more and
more certain. 1 made enquiries about the skel
eton that was found, and was told by those who
examined it critically, and who studied about
such things that it wa3 that of a weak and slen
der vonDg man. When I was in Florida I en
deavored to banish the thought from my mind.
But one night I overheard two men talking at a
supper table in a certain hotel. From these I
learned, that three or four years ago, there had
been, near the place where I was then stopping,
a young man of feeble health and moody tem
perament, who finally became insane and ran
away from his friends. They traced his course
as far as a few miles from the spot where Arthur
Glenville was -aid to have been drowned. When
I heard this I knew the truth. I hastened home
but I told no one what I had learned not even
you, Geeffrey, for I knew your generosity—!
knew how painful it would be to you to know—
to have him around you again.’
She came very near saying ‘to know your
brother was alive’ bnt as this, to say the least of
it, was not a very flattering assertion she changed
it into a milder one.
‘But it shall make no difference with me, Geof
frey,’ she continued. ‘If we part it shall not be
my fault.’
‘But such a life as you will lead, darling,’ ob
jected Mr. Glenville, too sure now, as he was at
first, of his game, to fear the result of urging
objections.
‘It will be happier for me than otherwise,’ re
turned Corinne. She blushed at her own bold
ness, Mr. Glenville told her he could scarcely
believe what he heard—but that his joy was
largely dashed with the fear that her motives
were those of pure generosity rather than of
love. He thus moreover informed her that he
had come, intending, as much as possible to
soften the severity of the parting pang, but that
now since he found himself more firmly united
than ever to her, he could hardly credit the
great amount of joy that had coma to him. In
short, Mr. Glenville swam in a summer sea of
glory. Ouce or twic9 Corinne was upon the
point of asking him about the scene at the lake,
but she did not wish to marr the enjoyment of
the present hour by any reference to the un
pleasant part; and thus went by an opportunity
which was not destined to be many times re
peated.
To be Continued.
fiSlit aud Humor.
person‘s
Cole*
Necessary evils—butchers and bakers.
Humility is always becoming to otlur people.
No more cider. It is now fluid extract of ap
ple. No law agin that.
No use trying, yon eau’t make a
voice clear by straining.
Busy-bodies, anomalous as it may seem, are
almost invariably idlers.
It suggests itself whether “Oil Kins
was a descendant of Anthracite.
Some men think it‘s virtue keeps them from
rascality, when it's only a full stomach.
Notlazomahuiztespixcatziu is, says Humboldt
the title of respect given to the priests of
Mexico.
Chicago wants the next world's fair, bat per
haps the next world won’t have any.
Some one says Miss Kellogg has a “voice of
two registers. “ Thai's why she sings with each
warmth,
It has long siuee been discovered (by manu
facturers! that American corn makes the best
Scotch whiskey.
The old gentleman who never touches ^‘spir
its, “ except as a medicine, was carried, home
yesterday on a shutter.
Au advertisement of a now soap in a London
newspaper began with “every man his own
washerwoman." Talk of Irish bulls,
The New Orleans Picayune says that fishin?
leads to philosophy. And sometimes both the
fish and the philosophers are in-seine.
Oar foreman wants to know why a man charg
ed with crime is like type ? Cause he should
not be locked up until the matter is well proved.
At a parish examination, a clergyman asked a
charity boy if he had ever been baptized. “No
sir,“ was the reply, “not as I knows of, bntLve
been waxmated. “
A seaman who had escaped one of the recent
shipwrecks, was Jasked by a lady how he felt
when the waves dashed over him. He replied.
“Wet, madume, quite wet. “
Leve rules the camp, the court, the arove
tue earth below and the heaven above, but
never sewed a gray patoh on a husband's black
trousers. That isn’t love. xhat‘s revenge.
How pleasant is a loveiy thing a little out of
season—a rose bud in winter, fur instance or a
.ass in church when the deacon s eve’s are
closed, bmlen apples don't begin with "it.
An old sea captain used to say he didn't care
how he dressed when abroad, “because nobody
knew him,“ and ha didn't care how he dressed
when at home, “because everybody knew him. “
A sailor, looking serious in a certain chapel
In a recent case ot assault the defendant
pleaded guilty. “I thins 1 muss be gulp-, ..
said he, "because tue plaintiff and 1 wore
only persons in the room; aud the first ‘kino I
knew was mat I was standing up , a d
U guUty^f dj ° r °“ hiS Da0k " Wd cafl
Old Tom Purdy, Sir Walter Scott’s
teiuiaat, once s.tid:
yourn
me.
for
s iavorite ht-
. f| — •.titnuo
inem are fine novels
rn, Sir Walter; they are just7v, \T °
“ I am glad ’to hear it, ^om ' -V 6 ‘°
when I've teen out ail dav har/i . blr j
aud come home very tired aud^ake "nn * W °‘r
your novels, I'm asleep directly •• Up 0ne of
w