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[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
THE RKLEA SB.
BT HELEN GREY.
The Dark Angel hath come,
Tread lightly the floor;
Come to take off the robe,
A Spirit once wore:
How the beautiful garb
Is earth-worn and soil’d 1
Be still 1 and breathe softly.
The Spirit's uncoil’d I
Hath it flown, the loosed Spirit ?
Or linger'th it near,
Hear the cold, worn raiment
That prisoned it here?
Or hear ye the rustle
Os its new-found wings
As upward and homeward
It Joyfully springs ?
Lift softly the garment
The spirit once wore,
Gently close the dimm’d eyes
That shall weep no more !
Meekly fold the cold hands;
On the marble breast.
Then leave ye the weary
To a welcome rest !
Twill sleep, through long ages,
’Neath the world's wild storm;
But sleep to rise again,
A glorious form.
In a purl tied Earth,
Twill spring from the sod—
A purified body,
The temple of God!
Thou that weepest, come gaze
On the midnight sky ;
See the bright jeweled gates
Os thy home on high;
Some night, Death's dark Angel
Will come, too, to thee,
And will take off thy robe,
And will set thee free!
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
SATURDAY NIGHT.
BY MRS. CAROLINE DENTZ BRANCH,
[concluded.}
CHAPTER VII.
*• Thou hast the secret charge
To read that hidden book, the human heart”
Lewis Gray sat alone in tlie silent bachelor
study, which was desolate indeed with its silent,
sad occupant. He had not, in his deep reverie,
moved a muscle for more than an hour, when
the entrance of a servant made him start
and tremble. A letter was handed him, and its
contents, though so quickly read, seemed to elec
trify him. Unused as he was to sudden exer
tion and action, on this occasion he seemed to
borrow his brother’s energy, and was in less
than two hours equipped for a journey, and on
his way to the place of starting. The road to
the rail-track, lay through the woods for a short
distance, and fearing to meet other travelers on
the highway, Lewis took a short path, through
the bushes. He was hastening onwards, when
he came suddenly upon Ellen Farmer. She was
seated on a fallen tree by the path, and looked
up smiling as he approached. Lewis, unfortu
nate that he was, was unprepared for this, and
the most painful emotions were pictured on his
lace, as he stood irresolutely before her. She
soon exclaimed in surprise :
“ Where are you going ? What has hap
pened ?’’
“ My brother has sent for me,” he replied
hurriedly. *
“ Few, so unfitted for exertion— must you go
alone ?”
Lewis listened to her feeling accents, and
looked bewildered upon the emotion she did not
attempt to conceal. Could it be concern for him
that so moved her ? In an agony of mind, he
lost his self-control, and said with an unsteady
voice—
“ Think not of me, when he dies among
strangers.”
Ellen stood like a statue for a few moments,
and gradually her face and lips became deadly
pale, her eyes so fixed and glassy that Lewis
thought she was fainting, and sprang towards
her. He entreated her to lean on him, and,
with the gentleness of woman, endeavored to
restore her, yet she leaned upon his shoulder
with her eyes closed, in the same death-like
pallor, giving sign of life only by the trem
bling of her eyelids. Lewis watched the tears
that slowly coursed down her cheek, and as he
gazed upon her in uncontrollable sorrow, it was
singular how constantly his mind dwelt upon
the vision which Charlie had pictured of Aliene,
as she was in the hour of their troth-plighting.
Lewis dared not move or speak, but Ellen did not
long yield to even a torrent of emotion like this.
She arose, and with downcast eyes and crim
son cheek was turning away with only a fare
well ; but Lewis detained i\>e chill hand she
had given in parting and said:
“ You shall hear from me, my sister. Asa
beloved sister I dare to treasure your memory.”
She looked up, her face eloquent with its grat
itude, and without another word they parted,
each reading the other’s suffering, and burying
the knowledge, as only the unselfish can bury
what is better unrevealed.
Lewis reached his journey’s end, and was still
Bern and strong, and unmindful of the cold gaze
which he had once so dreaded ; yet he feared
the worst. Mr. Withers was awaiting him, and
relieved hl% suspense at once. Charlie was
alive, but eveh Mr. Withers, whose equanimity
seldom deserted admitted solemnly that this
was a case of seriou* illness. Up the winding
staircase, after the porous little conductor,
poor Lewis, the deformea, slowly panted, and
was then ushered into the darkened chamber. —
Upon the bed lay Charlie’s wasted figure, and
his haggard face was like that of -death, only
that his eyes glowed in the fervid aWirium in
which he had for days been raving. Hkqyas so
changed, that Lewis might have groaned tepud
in anguish, yet he conquered the rebellious
row that strove for utterance. Charlie had been
seized with a fever directly after his return from
visiting Aliene, and it had never left him. He
had raved of his mother, of his childhood, had
called for Lewis, but seemed to have strangely
lost sight Os the incidents of the few past weeks.
His malady took a still stranger turn when he
arose like a shadow from his bed. At times,
the fever in his brain returned like a shock of
electricity, and in a moment he was like a ma
niac, then it would leave him as suddenly, per
fectly rational, and free from fever. His reason
would return, but he was weak and capricious
as a child, and endured the society of no one
save Lewis, who bore with the utftrost patience
and tenderness all his impatience, and day by
day nursed him with unwearying care. The
physicians ordered change of scene, and travel,
and the brothers left the city together, a nearly
helpless pair.
Lewis had not dared excite the mind of Char
lie’by asking questions, yet he had felt that
some barrier had interposed between the love of
xttm sotrx&K&sf m> and fibksxdk.
Aliene and Charlie. Once or twice, when they
had been driving out, Lewis had seen a hand
some carriage dash past them, in which he saw
Aliene, and she had appeared to avoid even a
glance towards them, sitting in haughtiness by
her aunt Yet Lewis could see she was unhap
py. He desired no explanation, but secretly re
joiced that it was so, and Charlie seemed to
have forgotten her presence in the city and left
it without one look behind.
They wandered here and there, consulting
physicians who gave always the same advice—
“ travel, and keep his mind at rest.” But Char
lie grew more morose and sick, more helpless and
ungovernable. They went to the seaside, and
there seemed to be a magic for the invalid in the
sound of the rolling waves, and on looking out
over the restless waste, that at last chained
them to a resting place. Another matter began
to press heavily upon the mind of Lewis. They
were quickly exhausting their means, in this ex
pensive mode of life, and should no change take
place soon they might become dependent upon
the charity of strangers.
Lewis asked himself the question seriously—
What was to be done ? He was sitting on the
beach near Charlie, who was silently and intent
ly gazing out upon the waters which glowed in
the reflection of bright sunset clouds. He would
not burthen Charlie’s mind with so harassing a
subject, and whilst looking at the momentarily
calm face of his brother, bo asked :
“ Are you contented here ?”
Charlie looked up &s if annoyed at the inter
ruption, but replied—
“ Yes. I would like to sit here, just as I do.
and never move until the angel’s trump shall
sound I Oh! it would be so sweet, for life to
exhale itself away, as it were, on the soft hissing
air, and away over these trackless waters. ’
Lewis could not bear to mar this sweet and
unusual serenity, yet he gazed upon his brother
in such peculiar earnestness, that Charlie turned
suddenly, and said with his accustomed affec
tionate discernment, “ You are troubled, brother.
Alas! that I should become such a burden to
you; but lam not quite callous, and insist upon
your tellmg me what is the matter.”
There was no hope of evasion now, Lewis
knew, and hastened to make a candid confes
sion.
Charlie made no comment, but he bent over
the sand and marked it with his finger, as lie fell
into deep thought. He thought of the miser's
gold, of how calmly life might glide on, if paved
with the riches that would enable him to lie
and enjoy this “ dulce far niente,” this lethargy
of the soul. The wife, the good wife was the
one thing lacking. Suddenly he asked Lewis,
“Do you know a good woman, Lewis, a Chris
tian, one who would make a proper use of riches
if she possessed them, and who might take a
wreck like me for a companion in life ?”
Lewis answered fevently, after a short pause—
“ I do know such a one.”
“ You are merely surmising.”
11 No, by my honor, I know one who possess
es the most exalted character, who of all I have
met, would make the most energetic and pious
of stewards ; and who loves you, brother.”
Lewis had grown fearfully excited, and with
the conviction under which lie was moved to act
as ho did, he continued in solemn earnestness,
‘‘l am not speaking lightly, God knows my
heart.”
Charlie was roused from his lethargy and
asked eagerly, “What is her name—Where
shall I find her?”
Lewis, as if prepared for this, replied prompt
ly—“ Ellen Farmer is her name.”
He did not think he was compromising her
womanly feelings—lie would not have sullied by
a breath the purity of her love, to have saved
his own life ; but when the name passed his lips
he shook like an aspen leaf, and felt as if the
bloom in his own heart was blighted forever.
For a time, Charlie seemed unable to compre
hend the meaning of Lewis, and he kept repeat
ing over the name of Ellen Farmer as if to
steady his bewildered senses. Then, like a flash
of lightning, came the delirium; sni before Lewis
could prepare for his movements, he was far
down the beach, making the air ring with his
cries. A night of horror was before the wretch
ed brother. Alone by the bedside he watched,
observing anxiously how the fever rose higher
and higher, as the moments passed, and that he
was growing more and more uncontrollable.—
There were many families passing the summer
on the beach, many strong, healthy young men,
idling away a few weeks of their existence, in
the sports which the amusements of the place
afforded who knew of the afflicted brothers—
knew how much they needed assistance, and
yet Lewis was left to watch alone. Near mid
night, Charlie roused from a momentary dream
ing, to frantic delirium. He sprang up, in his im
agination transforming Lewis into the miser who
in his grave clothes had come to haunt his bed
side, and, with supernatural strength, he aimed
a blow at the breast of his brother. Lewis had
no time to prepare for it, and with an irrepressi
ble groan, he locked Charlie in a close embrace
and forced him to lay beside him on the bed.
The pain from the blow became excessive, and
yet he kept the tight hold upon his writhing
brother, praying to God for strength. It was a
gusty night, the air damp, and the darkness in
tense, and a miserable flickering candle alone
made objects dimly visible in the room. The
wind rustled the curtains, shook the doors, and
rattled the window panes mournfully; Lewis
started now and then,“listening in vain for the
tread of human feet, and once he saw the shad
ow of a man upon the floor; but the shadow
disappeared, mysteriously as it had come, and
the next moment a puff of wind extinguished
the light, leaving the room in utter darkness. It
was a solemn moment, and a fearful time, in
which Lewis lay listening to his brother’s ra
vings, and knew that blood was slowly oozing
from his own mouth and nostrils. At this mo
ment, the sound of a soft human voice close to
the window came stealing upon his hearing, like
distant music. He heard it saying—
“Do come, Carl. Thee can rest to-morrow,
for this is Saturday night.”
This pleading was responded to by a sort of
groan in a man’s voice, and then there came the
light patter of footsteps upon the stairs, and
B*tyis heard them approaching the door of the
rooiv. He heard the door creak upon its hinges,
and ujtep looking up wistfully, saw the queer
small ligate of a young girl standing as if irreso
lute upon threshold. She held a lantern,
and as she ragged it, to look more distinctly into
the room, he saw from underneath her close fit
ting Quaker liooa,uhe beams of gentle eyes.—
She made a quaint standing there, and
Lewis half forgot mE sorrows in the singular
emotions created as if by some magic, in behold
ing her. He tried to speak, tried to call her in
and explain his helpless conation, but to his hor
ror he had lost the power of utterance. A few
moments more and the little seatinel-like figure
entered, and stood by the bedside holding her
lantern still, and she looked compassionately
upon the raving youth. She had not seen Lewis
distinctly.
“Come in” she said, at which a burly young
fisherman came reluctantly in, very suspiciously
eyeing the sick man, but she laid her hand upon
his arm, and said, with slow earnest accent.
“ Thee must help me, CarL God will help
us.” T
As Carl caught; sight of Lewis’ blood stained
face, he gave anfcxclamation and in his rough
way hastily pull d the girl back from tho bed
side and set hin self to work in earnest, for the
relief of the sufl rers.
He kept muti ring now and then, but the girl,
whom he called Hada, hovered around him like
a spirit, lending in ever ready and efficient help
ing hand, and a i often as he muttered, she pat
ted his shoulde gently, as she would have sooth
ed a restless b ast, whilst all the time Lewis
saw her wiping iway tears which dropped quiet
ly but gently ft m underneath her hood. She
carried on her i rm a small satchel, and after ta
king from it a a nail vial full of some narcotic
mixture, she bis ught it to the sofa, upon which
Carl had placed Lewis, and she said:
“ This will d< tl.ee g'X)d, and thy friend will
sleep, if thee do t not object to his swallowing a
dose.”
Lewis tried to! smile, and motioned his willing
ness to obey all ker directions. She then gave
him the allotted dose, but Carl attempted in
vain to force Charlie into measures. Hada took
the glass which contained the medicine and ap
proached the bed unshrinkingly, though Lewis
saw the glass trembling in her nervous hold, and
heard how her voice quivered, when she spoke.
She held the cup tovards him and said:
“ This will do that good. Hada will not de
ceive thee.”
Her words, so fev and childlike, or perhaps
the tones of her svftet dear voice, seemed to
sooth his delirium life a spell, and his ravings
hushed as he instineively obeyed her motions,
and swallowed the tedicine. It was not long
before he sank to »dep like a weary child, all
the time with his faci towards Hada, and when
he was closing his lumber-laden lids, his eyes
deep with meaning Here fixed on Hada’s quaint
figure.
Carl kept his station in a chair by the side of
Charlie, but the pooi fellow had worked hard
all day, and soon sinrred loudly, with his head
thrown back upon bs arm. The potion quieted
the quivering nerves of Lewis, but did not im
mediately produce sbep, and he lay, as Charlie
had done, with his fascinated gaze upon the little
Quakeress.
She was watching, intently, motionless as she
sat, and when Lewis thought she too was be
ginning to nod, she said suddenly,in a half whis
per
" Thee shall see tie Doctor. He will do him
good, lam sure. 11 sink thee is not far off from
a better than the Doctor, for thy troubles. Ido
not trouble for thee.”
'Lewis listened half-dreaming, and in ponder
ing on her words —conjecturing on her quaint
presence, and blessing her ministrations, the
room with its humbl; furniture and occupants
gradually melted away and mingled with the
motley visions which haunted his slumbers. —
Through all his dreaming, the beams of Hada’s
eyes glowed, and the accents of her voice rang
upon his ears like seraph music, of which he had
dreamed in waking.
CIIAITER VIII.
The brothers no longer needed assistance,
since the night of Ilacla’s advent. She was un
wearying in her kindness and quiet unobtrusive
attention, and she kept Carl ever obedient to
her will. Her gentle presence and her words
which, like manna, dropping in time of need,
did more for Charlie’s restoration than all the
physician’s art; and better far than bodily health,
came tho healing to his spirit sickness. Hada’s
sweet spirit, in its true unwavering devotion to
God, led him into the way of Christianity. She
held open the door of faith so wide, and point
ed out the way over which she was traveling so
fearlessly and trustingly, in such truth, that he
followed; flinging behind him every shadow of
a doubt; and like a sunburst, a peaceful glow
filled his soul, and abiding there, changed all his
life. Lewis recovered from the shock of that
memorable night, and Hada alone knew of the
blow, which had caused the rupture of a blood
vessel. Charlie’s gratitude for the devoted at
tentions of Lewis was unmixed with pain, un
conscious as he was of this incident, and ever
patient and self-denying, Lewis lived and grew
more than cheerful as Charlie returned to health.
One afternoon, when Lewis followed Chari#, as
he wandered upon the beach, they came upon
the same spot which they had before chosen for
a resting place, and Charlie paused. Hada was
coming towards them from the opposite direc
tion. She had been walking far out upon the
damp sands left bare by the tide, and was so
closely watching the various tracks, beneath her
foot way, that she did not see the brothers until
Charlie spoke.
“ Come here," he called out pleasantly, “ sit
down by me on this rock, little physician. I
want to ask you a great many questions.”
She obeyed, but said nothing, though it was
very unusual to see her considerably agitated,
as she was then. Lewis alone appeared to re
mark this.
“ Where do you live?” asked Charlie as soon
as they were seated, side by side on a small rock,
and Lewis still stood by them. She seemed to
to be surprised,but answered promptly,
“At Will Blake’s, the fisherman, who is the
father of Carl. His house is there,up the beach,”
she pointed to the place, “where thee can see the
blue smoke, and the torches at night.”
“ And your name is Hada Blake ?”
“ They so call me—because—” she paused ap
parently in great embarrassment, and Lewis
thinking probably .there was something in refer
ence to the young Carl which made her coy,
stopped his brother’s queries.
“ This is a one-sided battle of curiosity, he
declared. “I urge Hada’s claims, begging that
she may question you for a time.”
“ Have you any questions to ask me ?” Char
lie asked, as if growing amused with the sub
ject.
“ Yes sir, but thee might not like any one to
listen.”
Lewis understood that she wished him to be
out of hearing, and he smiled, thinking as he
made a step towards going, of how incongru
ous appeared the two natures of Carl and this
little Puritan with her refined loveliness of char
acter ; and yet he began to suspect that they
might have some feelings in common. He said,
as he moved away, _
“Catechize him thoroughly, and mind that
you exchange confidences. There must be no
robbery.”
Hada looked up for an instant towards Lewis
as if she would have begged him to remain, but
it was too late now. Charlie could not forbear
from asking a question himself, immediately.
“Do tell me, Hada, why you always wear that
hood. I have never seen you lay it aside, and
were it in any other head I should say it was
very ugly.”
“ Say ” she replied, evasively and laughing
quietly, “ thee might admire it, on the head of
the young lady who wears the diamond cross,
and who is so beautiful”
“ I have not seen such a young lady, nor care
to see her.”
“Thee hast,” simply replied Hada.
“Os whom do you speak?” he asked in sur
prise.
“ The young lady who wore black and who
rode out here so often in a grand carriage. They
said thee was to have married her." She went
on after a pause, seeing that he made no
response. “ She enquired how thee wast many
times, and asked-ij 1 1 was not afraid of thee.—
The stiff lady who was always with her called
her Aleen, I think.”
Charlie reflected bitterly upon Hada’s simple
revelation, wondered at the fact of Alien’s pres
ence on the beach, but his mind dwelt more
upon the lovely character of the one than upon
the hollowness of the other. Yet Hada’s had
not needed this contrast, to convince him of its
rare excellence. A question from her aroused
him.
“ Did’st thee love her?”
Charlie did not reply, without reflection.
“ Alas! no, Hada. She was not a Christian.”
“ And yet thee would have taken her to thy
home,” Hada echoed in reproachful cadence.
“ I want you to answer a question for me,
Hada,” ho began, unmindful of the subject
which she seemed to pursue with interest.
“You are a Christian, the most earnest and pure
of Christians. You keep your rush-light burn
ing brightly—what if you were entrusted with
a torch, could you bear it aloft, unmindful of the
weight, glare, &c. ? What if God were to give
you the stewardship of great riches ?”
The sweet voice did not waver in replying:
“ The wise, good Father above, would not
burden me beyond my strength. He would
send me the knowledge to use His gift.”
Charlie felt a thrill pass through his frame.
In Hada, tho miser’s conditions were all realized,
and as he looked at the quiet, quaint figure, and
thought that it might thus be ever near him,
with its presence lighting his pathway as noise
lessly and as radiantly as the stars —as he looked
along the vista of years visioned thus, he was
content; but a recollection seemed to come with
overwhelming force, and turn the calm current
of feeling. He took Hada’s small hand in his,
and said, whilst smiling at the queer mittens she
wore:
“ I can tell you a secret, Hada, and you will
keep it lam going home to secure a wife, if I
can; one whom I knew before Hada came like
an angel ministrant along my pathway: and one
who possesses all the virtues which a Christian
requires in a helpmeet, and who perhaps may be
willing to go with me through life. She is liko
you, Hada.”
She had gently disengaged her hand, and
stood with her eyes cast down, and face averted,
so that ho saw only the dark hair, parted
neatly on her white forehead. He was watch
ing her intently, and with a very strange expres
sion of face, during a few minutes of silence;
then he said, with the eloquence of true feeling,
“I shall bless you all my life,my dear young,
deliverer, my spiritual guide. You will not for
get me, Hada, nor cease to pray for me. lam
going to-morrow.”
ne waited for some word, some evidence of
feeling, and he would, if he had dared, again
have taken the gentle hand in his; but Hada,
strong in her pure simplicity, repelled even this.
She could not speak again, but stood trembling
for awhile, then suddenly turned towards him,
took his hand, as a child would have done, pres
sed it gently between both her small ones, and
then walked away. She met Lewis, when she
had gone a short way, but did not appear to see
him, for she passed him without a word. Lewis
looked after her slight figure, as ho paused, nor
did he move until roused by Charlie’s cheerful
voice, and when Lewis heard the voice so pleas
ant-toned, and saw such a bright look upon his
brother’s face, and remembered that in the mor
ning they were to see the last of Hada, perhaps
forever on earth, he was amazed.
Charlie had said, “Let us return home,” and
Lewis joyfully agreed, asking no questions of
the strange mystery which hung about the sud
den call to the city, nor in regard to his engage
ment with Alieno, but he could not suppress a
few thoughts about her to whom they both owed
so much.
“ Shall you leave her without some token of
our deep gratitude—some evidence that we ap
preciate her worth ?”
“It would only pain her,” Charlie replied, “ I
have not forgotten to reward the young fisher
man, but, believe mo, it is best to part from
Hada as we do. She knows my gratitude—
knows that I will never cease to invoke God’s
richest blessings on her head.”
“ And this is all ,” muttered Lewis, in vague
forgetfulness of all the plans he had once formed
for the happiness of his brother. He instinc
tively visioned a time to come, when a lonely
figure would sit upon the sands, dropping tears
into the mockingly bright waters—he thought
of how keenly she, so trusting, would suffer in
patience and in meekness, and yet bear up and
wear a cheerful smile, that others might not feel
the weight of her sorrow—and yet, thought he,
“ She is fair, and formed like her graceful sex,
not mis-shapen, so that she could only hope for
a kind compassion ;” and thus thinking, Lewis
went out of his brother’s presence to weep
tears, that his own sorrows had never drawn
forth.
The brothers left at early dawn.
In tho humble hut of Will Blake, there was
consternation and grief on the same morning;
for their star-eyed Hada was missing. Carl,
who had gone out early to his work, had picked
up, close to a rock overhanging the water, the
little Quaker bonnet, and this was all the trace
left them of the flight of this angel visitant, who
had eome among them, and was gone like a
spirit.
Carl thought she had gone upon the rock, as
she sometimes did, and had missed her footing,
and fallen into the water, for there were those
quaint little shoe-tracks out to the rock, and none
that marked any return. Carl told his fears to
his weeping mother, and rushed out upon the
sands where no one could see him, and wonder
ed that they had never before thought there was
a heart underneath his rough, fisherman’s jacket.
The bonnet, which seemed so like a part of
Hada, and the lone tracks, were all the traces
left of her going from them so spirit-like, and
leaving a wide place vacant in their home.
CHAPTER IX.
Again tho bachelor stiidy became cheerful
with the presence of the long-absent brothers.
Lewis was happy, for had not the character of
Charlie received its crowning excellence, and yet,
strange to say, as Charlie seemed to have settled
into a kind of steady, overflowing enjoyment,
Lewis grew restless, as days flew by unmarked
by any change. More and more of an enigmu
Charlie became to the anxious brother, and
there was something so peculiar in their conver
sations, regarding the incidents of Hada’s ac
quaintance with them, that, as if by a tacit
agreement, they ceased to speak of her.
There had been many changes in the village
during their absence. Mrs. Farmer had died,
leaving Aliene under the adoption of her aunt,
and Ellen, who was the only remaining child,
was in the family of a friend, as governess.
The old Farmer homestead had gone into the
hands of strangers.
More than a week passed, after their return,
before Charlie spoke of visiting Ellen Farmer,
and though Lewis wondered, he said nothing.
* Near sunset, on an afternoon, Charlie arose
from the steps where they had been idly sitting,
and said carelessly:
“Well, I might as well discharge the duty at
once, and call on Ellen.”
“Do you feel it to be so onerous?” asked
Lewis, seriously.
“On the contrary,” he replied, “ but I have
not forgotten the revelation you made to me, on
the beach, and it is natural that I should feel
some timidity in entering her presence.”
There was a pause of some minutes, and then
Charlie continued, whilst striking the pebbles
nervously with his cane, “ I have made up my
mind, Lewis, to seek the hand of Ellen Farmer.
I have striven to forget how blindly I was de
ceived by one so near to her, and trusting to
your own clear-sighted judgment, I have dared
to hope for success. Now pray me ‘God
speed,’ and I’ll go on my way light-hearted.
It was strange how cold the words sounded
on the lips of Lewis, and his face was no bright
reflection of the words. He had been sincere
in what he had revealed to Charlie, but now ho
was haunted by a remembrance of Hada’s sad,
patient face, and his own reflected the image.
Charlie looked up, with a very peculiar expres
sion, and walked off without further conversa
tion.
When he enquired for Ellen at the house of
her friend, they told him Bhe was sick, and
with unfeigned disappointment he turned away.
As he walked out by a side-road, leading through
a grove of young oaks near the house, he seemed
to be lost to all surroundings, in his abandon
ment to disappointed feelings. A breath of
jasmine perfume, wafted on the air, came to him,
and instantly he was aroused. Something in
the fragrance, carried him into the past, and re
called vividly the presence of Ellen. He looked
around eagerly, and discovered a figure not far
off, reclining in a hammock, which was swung
between two trees. It was Ellen, he saw, when
he drew near enough to watch the lashes which
lay upon her cheek, and he knew by their quiv
ering motion that she was not sleeping, with
her closed eyes. She looked pale, in contrast to
her mourning dress, and the heart of Charlie
was deeply moved as he realized her lonely or
phaned state. He called her name, and when
she started up in affright, trembling and pain
fully agitated, he seized her hand passionately,
and pressed it to his lips with almost reverential
devotion. She saw that drops of moisture were
gleaming his eyes, and his face was pale from
emotion.
Bewildered and almost alarmed, she struggled
to leave him, but he forced her to meet his
full gaze, and exclaimed but one word. It was
“ Hada."
“ Did you dream I did not know you ? my be
loved Ellen,” ho cried, in a tremulous voice, as
he stood waiting for her to come close to his
heart, and looking all the while full into her pure
eyes. “ Did you imagine you could veil your
soul from my soul's gaze—or cheat me into be
lieving that the world could contain more than
one nada, one Ellen. No —praised be God, ye
are one, and ye are mine."
She no longer shrank away from him, but in
the holy trust which had, at last, como home to
hsr heart, she laid her head upon his bosom, and
smiled and wept and trembled; yet from her
eyes still shone the star-like beams of Ilada's.
It was ablest, joyful re-union, worth years of
suffering to them both.
Lewis waited long for the return of his broth
er, but he was repaid for the patienco with
which he bore the tedious time. There were
revelations to hear and to make on both sides.
The story of Hada’s disguise was very simple,
but the truth came upon unsuspecting Lewis
like a thunder-bolt. He had kept Ellen advised
of all their movements as he had promised, and
f as he would have done to a sister, he wrote of
their situation upon the beach. With Ellen, to
determine was to act, and taking advantage of
her friendship with some Quakers, she arranged
her plans so as to accompany them to the beach,
and it was through their aid that she became,
for a time, one of the family of honest Will
Blake, who was himself a stray Quaker.
She was favored in her design, by many cir
cumstances, and she had felt satisfied that her
disguise was complete, wearing as she did, false
dark hair—her own was golden. Her eye-brows
also, were stained dark. So closely did she
wear her hood, that one of the brothers had
been completely deceived. When her mission
was ended, and she learned that the brothers
were returning directly home, she was compelled
to make all possible speed, to return home her
self, lest they should arrive first and gain some
clue to her whereabouts. She had always kept
her friends, the Quakers, informed of her move
ments, and immediately upon her desiring to re
turn, they procured for her a boat, and before
dawn she had, as Carl thought, gone out upon
the rock, but to embark, not to fall into the
water. She returned by w’ater, and was in the
village bqjbre the brothers reached it.
Charlie had also to relate the history of his
first leaving home, and the miser s manuscript
was brought forth. Lewis listened to Charlie’s
glowing language, and whilst ho sympathized
in his enthusiastic feelings, he was compelled to
restrain his eloquence for a time, that he too
might a revelation.
"Listen,” he began, when they had re-read
the manuscript together. “It was on a Satur
day afternoon, not many weeks after your re
turn from college, that as I was w andering out in
the woods near our village, I met with an old
man. lie had the most peculiar and wretched
countenance I ever beheld, yet his piercing eyes
seemed to be ever busily searching into the very
souls of those around him. lie took a seat by
me on the grass, and gradually, without my
being aware of what he was doing, he had
drawn from me my own monotonous history,
and an account of many of our friends. He ap
peared interested in my misfortune, but more so
in the description 1 gave him of your character.
He probed me deeply in regard to you, when 1
had excited his interest, and though I tried, it
was impossible to withhold any relation from
him, in my fascinated condition. He accompa
nied me home on learning that yon were absent - ,
and there his quick eyes searched all objects.,
He looked at your library—your guns—your
garden; and at all times and places was draw
ing from mo a very daguerreotype of your life,
intellect and disposition. Ho was a stranger,
and lin duty bound, treated him hospitably,
but he was the most eccentric being I ever met,
and I must confess that his presence made me
uneasy. Ho accompanied me to a meeting held
in the Methodist Church, during the quarterly
conference, and he carried with him the same
searching spirit aud eyes. When we were dis
missed, he pointed out as she passed, the figure
of Ellen Farmer, and asked who she was.
Thereupon lie drew from me all that I could re-