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Far the Crusader.
The Marriage Contract.
tiT- UAST E . DRY A K .
CHAPTER IV.
“ Meetinp* are oft.
Ssdler than partings, in this world of change.”
‘Winter had called his ruffian blasts to northern
clime-*, and the footsteps of Spring falling soft and
route as Summer dew, were seen in the young
v : Mt* sprinkle 1 over the hillsides. The home of
Margaret Graham was upon, the out-skirts of the
town, and adjoining it was a narrow belt of beau
tin;! c and worvi.*, where now the soft groan of fresh
ly i'adding foliage mingled with the bright coral
hu-.d fringe of the map e, and the deep, changeless
vordtie of the holly and wild olive.
A path winding through this strip of forest, was
Margaret’s favorite walk, and a large, heavy crab
apple tree, bowed with fragrant blossoms, was her
chosen resort; for the sloping knoll beneath it—
covered with green moss and strewn with the del
icate y colored petals that had been showered like
miniature snow-flakes from the branches over
head, for -ud a fit -couch for a wood nymph, and
rdk.r.h and a >h I’- rcu scat to* the one who'sotight
I;.- r- treat, that the aWecl voices and tianquilizing
influence cf Nature might allay the fever of her
hwiL
i R was one Ucikd.jiH afternoon, when April was
writ ng the sweet promises of the year over field
and wojd. that Margaret, throwing on her straw
walk. tig bar, took a volume she was reading! and
sought this retired grove.
Arrived at her favorite tree, she was so charmed
with the erguisite clusters of buds and blossoms
rw; ylng a’-fte her, that she throw the hook upon
■ the turf and flr.roih g tip toeoa the knoll, endeav
ored to ebh.in possession of the hugest and most |
beautiful spray. In springing to reach it, her ba 1
had hd.en from her hfad find hurg by its broad I
green jt .bons, while her rich hair, escaping from
its con'd;; -moyt, fed over her flushed cheeks. Jir*t
as she had succeeded in reaching the coveted’’
branch, an i WaJ^b waking off its flowers, a voice
behind her cl aimed,
44 Yon look hke a picture, Margaret. I only
wish I was an artist, that I might make my for
tune by transferring you to canvass.”
The toms were so full of joyous animation, even
tenderness, that she could scarcely believe them to
be her husband’ l *. She had been so occupied as
not to mark the approach of an intruder, and
now hastily putting the curls that shaded her
face, she eaw that it waa indeed Oswald, who bay
ing reined in his horse, sat regarding her -with
earnest admiration. - ’
** Only wait until I put this cluster in my hair!
I am sure it is prettier than any picture cOnld be.
Look at this nest of miniature buds, tinted like
some Bea shell,” she replied, catching the gayety
of his mind, as springing to his side, she hem her
head that he might place tL© flowers in her hair.
With a smile liglriog up his grava features, he
twined thorn in her curls, and then, with a rever
ence which she inis’.o. 1; ( r he touehe<l
his lightly so her forehead.
‘ Rut wirbre are you going;P* she added, throw
ing a wrath of yellow jt-ssamine around llic arch
ed neck of “Sahadin.’’ “I thought you were to
stay aL home this evening. 1 lvftyou writing let
ters, -in the iii rary. n
“ Ves, hut I happened to remember some busi
ness with Mr. Hale, that should have been attend
ed to before. It wii! occupy the- rest of the day,
so a pleasant evening to you', my pretty Dryad,”
and giving the reins to his spirited steed, he soon
ooeared in the windings of the pathway.—
. : ■ ll r a ret threw herself upon the yielding turf at
foot :>f the Gee, this sudden g’cam cf sunshine
givi; . less -ombre hue to the reflections in which
,-s e .uulgyd. But the beauty of all around her—
too soft nrroma. of flowers—-the voices Os hinging
bisds, and lie lulling music of the brook, insensi
bly led her thoughfa into another channel.
The scene recalled the picturesque banks of the
Claire, and the ardent, impassion ate yonng lovsr,
who had first removed the sea! from her iieitvt’s
deep founta’n of affection. The scene of their first
meeting rose vividly before her, and again she
beheld him standing upon the bank of the foam
ing liver, one arm clasping the lifeless form of the
girl he had rescued, while with the other he swept
aside the wet locks from LB'fur brow, and looked
up into the eyes whose silent admiration would
have been a sufficient reward for much greater
peri l .
Oh 1 those bright lost hours, when young love’s
dream crowned tlu> days with light nnd Beauty—
in inoqking contract to their memory, the present
came before her. Ii was the firei time she had
allowed herself to make the dangerous comparison ;
but now she seemed to have lost her usual calm
control over her own feelings, and the brief expe
rience of her wedded life passed before her—those
long, weary dnjs, that had gone by with the dull
flight of black, ill-omened birds. Notwithstand
ing her boasted stoicism, her woman’s heart still
pleaded for love—-its natural aliment—without
which, even the noblest faculties of the mind lan
guish nnd droop, or else riso in unhealthy and
unnatural growth, liko plants when sheltered from
the vivifying influence of the sun.
Oh, I shall never, noier be happy again !” cried
Margaret, bowing her head among the cool fern
leaves, overcome by the memories to which she
had yielded,
“ Margaret, my Margaret 1” exclaimed a £ mil
iar vffice, and the next moment someone knelt by
her side, and taking her unresisting hand, pressed
it passionately to his lips. The low cry she invol
untarily uttered* was one of joyful surprise; and
forgetting for an instant the gulf that now lay
between them, her first sensation was one of un
ming.ed happiness; but recovering herself imme
diately, she shrank from his embrace, and crushed
back the glad welcome that had risen to her lips.
“ Claude,’ she said, rising and standing before
him, pale, but self possessed, “ Why have you
come to render me more miserable ? Dai not my
letter tell you all ? We are nothing to each other
now ; I am the wife of another.”
“ I know it all. Oh ! Margaret S why did you
fulfill that fatal promise? Was it not a greater
crime to utter vows with your lips, that your heart
could not sanction ? You will live a falsehood all
your life, Margaret.”
u tt is too late now, she said hopelessly, as she
sank again upon the morsy seat. “Duty must
take the place of flection now, and fov Claude,
must forget the past.”
“ Never! its memory is Woven with tny very
Lie. No, Margaret; thec-Vd barriers of conven
tionalism cannot separate hearts that Nature has
formed iur each other. They eannot make us
cease to love.”
Still she only repeated the words that rang like
a knell through her heart’s desolate chambers.
“ We khftt sllol dd have gone through life together,
‘-a k apart; and as she bowed her f&eo in
tier ungloved hands, Claude saw tars strug
./‘Y through the white fingers.
“, dear st,” he exclaimed, drawing her To
him ah the impetuous ardor she so well reraem
b red, • let tU paths our feet may tread diverge
ever so jar ipart, we are bound to each other by
a tie which Nature recognizes—by a love, none
tjk ka3 sacred that no superficial rites have sane
tioned it. At this moment, you are mine, far more
than his to whom you gave your hand at the
altar.”
“ 0h:! wlmt are y°. saying ?” cried Margaret*
releasing herself from his embrace, and springing
to her feet wuh a bewildered air. “ I must not,
listen to such words; I kiiow the weakness of my
owp heart. Oh! Claotje/in pity leave me. 1
Wily have you sought rue? Why did you come
to Edgc.Gon f r . / -
* “To see you for the last stime before leaving the
country forevor. I wished to show you the pic
ture of yourself I painted- from and fin
ished the night L received your letter. I arrived
here this morning; learned indde&fcflly vrytmt
PENFIELD, GA, THURSDAY, AUGUST 6, 1857*
secluded habits, and despaired of seeing yon. 1
did not hope for an interview, but I liugered
around your dwehing, thinking I might fliseern
your figure at the window, I saw you leave the
bouse,Ami immediately afterwards your husband,
rode aw/y. nn 1 then I waiter] a few moments and
followed you. Bnt yon sliail not long be made
unhappy by the presence of him you have so deep
ly Wronged. I only carnO so bid you farewell-
Do not refuse me this 1- fqf interview. It is no
crime, only to l<xk awhile into the sweet face that
is my inspiration, and dream that the old days
have came back arain. You will not go, Marga
ret P
Unfortunately for the firm purposes with which
?he was endeavoring to fortify herself, Margaret
raised her eyes to these of her poet lover. Those
bright, bewildering, fascinating eyesr— had she
forgotten their power over her in. former days ?
Involuntarily a smile played around her tips as
she encountered his glance of pleading eloquence,
and yielding to his wish, she again resumed her
seat upon the flower-sprinkled hillock, where the
lengthening shadows were playing fantastically
with the stray gleams of sunshine.
The mellow light of sunset lent a witchery to
the scene. The wild retreat assumed ft softer
beauty, and Love was its animating spirit. The
bright birds and fragraqt winds sang of love; the
young leaves trembled to caressing zephyrs, and
the flowers, sprinkled everywhere like scattered
jewels, seemed the visible hand writing of Love
upon the earth, aa the stars are upon the heavens.
What wonder that those two young hearts should
yield to the silent spell of this all pervading pow
er, and in the interchange of congenial thoughts,
forget the flight of time—the vow's that might not
be revoked —the broad gulf that lay between the
paths before them in the future—-every thing—save
each other.
* * y % *
u lt is the last time,” murmured Margaret to
herself, to silence the accusing whispers of con
science. “It would have been cruel to deny Lim
the interview he so earnestly requested, as a part
ing favor.” Yet the quick blood mounted to her
brow, as she heard her husband’s tread up b the
gravel walk. He lingered awhile before opening
the door of the hail—perhaps in the hope that
another step won’d answer his own—a white arm
t>e thrown around him, and a kiss of welcome
pressed upon his brow : but upon entering the
silting room, Margaret did not even look ttp from
the enamelled card that had just been -handed her
by ft servant. Bbe sat for a moment, apparently
lost in thought; for her white fingers were ner*
vously bending the card, while Oswald searched
for his slippers and took the newspaper from the
t-.b!e,
“An invitation to Mrs. DeCourcy’s fancy ball,’’
she said at length, placing the envelope in his
hand, He glanced carelessly at iis contents and
returned it without comment. From mutual
disinclination, they had taken no part in anv
amusement of the kind since the first tVw weeks of
bridal gayety.
“ Will you go ?” she asked, with leal interest
in her tone3.
He looked up with surprise. “Even if I wish
ed to Attend, I have business next Thursday night
that will occupy me until late ”
“Then I will go with Jessie and Mr= Cameron,
I received a note from her this evening, begging
tne to accompany them.
CHAPTER V.
“ There was for him one only dream, cn earth !
There was for him one only star above!
He bent in passionate idolatry,
Before his heart’s sole idol!”
It was the evening of the Fancy Bail. Marga
ret’s dressing room wns lighted up with onnsual
brilliancy, and flowers, jewels, and ribbons were
strewn in bright confusion over the toilette. Nev
er had she lingered so long before her mirror—
never had she bestowed ro much attention upon
her own surpassing beauty—-and ns Bhe stood be-”
fore the Psyche glass, that reflected her entire
figure, fascinated by her own radiant loveliness,
never was the ideal Uaideq, whoro character she
personated, endowed by the Poet’s fsney with
rarer Symmetry or more lustrous eyes; whtlo her
oriental dress of amber satin, with its costly lace
looped up with sprays of natural jessamine, and its
wicie sleeves falling back to reveal the white and
jewelled arm, well suited her regal style of beauty.
“ It is the last time,” she had repeated* to her
self when justifying her interview with Claude.—
“He is ere this, farTtway from Edgertcti.” And
yet, although she would not have acknowledged it
to herself—the secret of her sudden desire to min
glo7n the gay scenes she had apparently twSune
ed, was the fmintf hope of seeing him again.
Leaning upon the arm of Mr, Cafaeroft, she
entered the crowded saloon of Mrs. DeCqurcy,
where her presence created a marked sensatipn
among the crowd of fashionables, to whom she
rtas almost a straDger. . iw-’ ‘Aa*
Mm. DeCourqy, the wife of the Edgertonmfl*
lioniaire, had spared no expense so the entertain
ment she intended should be tbe most brflflapt
on# of the season, and the ri.h mallow light of
the gilded ch#mlel!ers made the floorer ‘wreathed
room# —with their mirrored wal's, ornaments of
gold and crystal, and gaily rohgd oocup inia—a
a scene of fairy-like enchantment. Margaret’s
beauty obtained for her more attention than she
desired; but she had not sought indiscriminate
admiration and wit-hdrewrfrom it as soon as possi
ble.
She was sitting in a curtained n’cove, alone ar.d
thoughtful, leaningher arm upon the gilded harp,
and watching the ever moving forms before her,
when Jessie came up fluttered and exci’ed.
“Have you seen him?” she asked abruptly.
K Seen whom ?” inquired Margaret, her color
deepening as she spoke.
‘ Why the lion of the night. Mi's. DeCourcy
never gives a party without one—generally savage
looking foreigners, literary celebrities, or distin
guished statesmen, perfectly unapproachable, and
wrapped up in a lofty sense of their.own superior
ity. But this one is nothing of the kind. Be is
young and handsome—an artist 1 think—on his
way to Italy, and a distant rela’ive of Mr. De-
Courcy. But you must see him and be introduc
ed,” and walking lightly away, she returned in a
few moments and p:esented Claude Montrose.
‘‘Shall I be forgiven for again intruding ?” he
whispered, sinking into a seat by her side. “The
bird that has been's6 long a Captive will return
to its cage, even when set .at liberty,” and the
smile, which was Margaiet’sonly reply, was not a
reproving one.
But the words, low as they had had been spo
ken, were overheard by one eager listener, for
Florence Ashly stood near, partially concealed l>y
the drapery that curtained the recess, and watch
ing as she always did, every movement of Marga
ret, with her basilisk eves filled with serpent like
malice. From the first, Margaret had been con
scious that, she was the object of this girl’s bitter
hatred, and the words intentionally uttered by
Florence in her hearing on the night of her raar
riage, gave her a clue to the cause of this aver
sion.
Haughty, tyrannical, and endowed with keen
and subtle penetration, Florence Ashly had grown
to womanhood almost unloving and unloved;
remembering nothing of her mother, and feeling
no affection for her stern, business like father, who
paid brief periodical visits to the home of her un
cle, of which she was now an inmate. Her one
human feeling was her deep, absorbing love, al
most reverence, for her gentle cousin, Anna,
who'G Christian duties she admired without en
deavoring to imitate. But even this feeling par
took of the fierce impetuosity of her natnre. She
was painfully watchful of her idol. She was jeal
ous of the love she thought given to Oswald, but
when she fancied that bis marrikge to another, and
his “ base desertion”—for so she persisted in call
ing it, notwithstanding the remonstrances of her
cousin—had brought sorrow to the meek, uncom
plaining Anna, her fiery indignation was aroused
against him, and still more vehemently against
Margivet, who she believed had compelled Oswald
to fulfi 1 their youthful engagement.
*****
The Sweet Spring days glided by like the clouds
of a Sutmne: eve, and still Claude lingered at
Edgerton, and Margaret ceased to urge his depar
ture, or to chide him for his stay. There were
others too who seemed interested in his move
ments.
“Girls,” cried Jessie Cameron,* (the Duly indivi
dual who was never awed by Florence Ashly’s
haughty sarcasm,) “ Did you know that our statue
of clay has been animated, and that the hand
some y©ung artist is the modern Pygmalion ?
Ought he not to feel elated at such n conquest ?”
and she glanced mischievously at Florence, who
only replied by a contemptuous smile, as she
turned away from the group of girls who were
assembled at one of ,lhe fetinions succeeding Mrs.
DeOoureey’s grand fete. •
“Love!” she said scornfully. “I will leave it
to such silly creatures as Jessie Cameron and her
coterie, to pet all such ‘curled darlings.’ Just now
there i9 another and far different feeling upper
most in my mind.”
Half an hour later, she stood in the vine-cover
eel back verandali with Claude Montrose by her
side. IJo had be?n speaking very earnestly, but
a pauso had just ensued.
“ Now Miss Ashly,” he exclaimed, breaking the
silence, “ you have surprised me into a revelation
of my life secret; but I need not ask so true a
friend of Margaret never to betray it”
The shadows of the trumpet-vine were trem
bling over her face, so that he could not see its
expression of malignant joy, or the sinister smile
that curled her lip.
“ What a pity it is 1” she said lightly, as aho
reached forward to pluck a spray from the honey
suckle, “ that We were not born in your sunny
France—where the lietfrt iis not fettered by the
.iron chain of public opinion—where a woman who
has thoughtlessly united herself to a man she finds
she Cannot esteem, is not compelled by custom to
spend her whole life in his uncongenial society,-
Where in brief, it is no harm to love, as it among
these uascendant* .4 the Puritans, who denounce
what even Jesus gently reproved.”
He looked earnestly into her face for an instant,
and a glow overspread bu fine features, for her
tohe find manner hud expressed more than her
vrords had done. Both were silent for awhile;
Claude * revolving in his mini the thoughts his
companion had suggested, nnd she breaking off
the delicate pink buds of the honeysuckle and
scattering them at her feet. Suddenly she raised
her eyes,
“ And 6o yon really intend leaving us in a .day
or two, it may be never to return, Mrs. DeConrcy
tells me. I anvv you your pleasant tour, for I
suppose you will visit all the most noted scenes of
the old world ; trie galleries of art filled wirii ckef
<Toeuvres, that will give fresh inspiration to your
genius; the crumbling ruins, the Arcadian vales
arid lakes ‘that seem a downward sky,’ and then,
having wandered like a bird, from spot to spot,
you will choose the fairest, and bu Id there your
nest—romc secluded vaueluse—
“Far from the cruel and the cold,
Where the bright eyes of angels only,
In watchful kindness shall behold,
A Paradise so loved and lonely.”
“ But,” she added, fixing her penetrating eyes
full upon him, “your Eden would lose half its
charms without an Eve. Shall your Paradise be
destitute of one
“ Not if my utmost eloquence < ■. ••;.- IVV Ife
answered impetuously, interpret y tie mute lan
guage of those eyes, while her w dropped, Iks
distilled poison, into Tbs heart.
He started and colored slightly, ns figure gri
ded to hie side.
“Claude;” said Mrs. DeGourcy, “pardon me for
interrupting your Me a Me, but we have just con
cluded to arrange the tableaux for to-morrow nigLt
in honor of your departure, as yon seem determin
ed upon leaving the next day. I wish you would
use your influence in prevailing on Mrs. Graham
to attend. No one else comes up to my idoa of a
Eebekah, and she has positively refused to come*
Exhaust your powers of persuasion upon her how
ever, and I am sure she will consent.”
CHAPTER VI.
•* Oh fierce and strong is temptation’s power,
And the heart grows weak in the trial hour.”
In her dimly lighted drawing room, half buried
in the rich cushions of the sofa, reclined Margaret
•Graham, and upon an ottaman at her flet Claude
had thrown himself in an Attitude of careless grace,
while his hand wandered listlessly over the strings
of her guitar. Without, the soft April rain was
falling iu low music—descending like muffled
foot falls upon the green sward—filling the silver
cups of the field liilies and the fragrant chalices of
the roses that clustered around the window near
which Kit the two dreamers.
Never had Margaret seemed lovelier. Some
influence had. imparted a voluptuous softness to
her stately beauty, and her dark dress with its
full of dark lace, set off the dazzling fairness of
her complexion. She was listening to the half
whispered words of her young companion, whose
eyes full of intense and unrestrained admiration,
were fixed upon her varying countenance.
Taking the guitar, she sang,
“Oh ! would I were & spirit of song,
I’d float forever around, above, you,
For a musical spirit could never do wrong,
And it would not he wrong to lone you.”
“ It is no crime to love,” lie exclaimed passion
ately, taking the little hand that lay across the
instrument. “Two hearts that were designed for
each other, eftn as little restrain the gushing of
muflial feeling, ns two'streams meeting in the same
valley can prevent the mingling of their waters*
Tt vvould be more criminal to resist the impulses
of our nature. Destiny must be accomplished.”
It was a dangerous philosophy, and uncon
sciously to them, the tempter was beckoning them
to the flowery brink of a precipice.
“ Margaret,’ 11 said Claude, breaking a silence of
several moments continuance, “ hard as are the
words, they must be spoken. I came this even
ing, in very truth to bid you farewell. I leave
Edgetton to-morrow morning, perhaps this very
night/ 1
“So soon !” she almost gasped, growing white
as the roses in her hair, and endeavoring to con
ceal her agitated countenance, with the open book
she held. A slip of paper fell from between the
leaves, pencilled over in Margaret’s delicate hand.
Taking it up, Claude read aloud the touching
lines of the Highland bard,
“Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met, and never parted,
We had notr been broken-hcartefl.”
His voice, low and quivering wits! .notion, gave
a deeper pathos to the words, ’at seemed the
knell of departed hopes. Margaret was sobbing
like a grieved child. Olaudo drew nearer to her,
putting back lovingly the curls that shaded her
brow, and winding his arms around her slender
sown, he besought her in tones of passionate en
treaty to fly with him to the sunny land beyond
the •efmr-to the home, whose loveliness he paint*
C TERMS:
1 $1 In advanoe; or, $2 at the end ofthe yeir.
) JOHN H. SEALS
k • PROFttlEteK.
m. HIII.-NCIIBIR 31.
I c ’ ith all a poet’s enthusiasm, where no re
in -’v should meet her; where new,.lontig.aud
syn.; a I, slug ’friends would gather around -her,
and the past-i e only as a vague, dark dream—a
leaf torn from the book of memory.
There was ro response, huL the little .hand;he
held returned his burning clasp with a trembling
pressure, and triumphant joy flushed the bright
face of the artist lover; hut it wa3 quickly dis
pelled. The silent struggle in Margaret’s breast
was over, and putting away the loving arms, and
insing, pale but cairn, she said firmly, despite the
mingled anguish and’ tenderness that thrilled
through her tones,
“No Claude, it would be a sin—a sin that
would weigh heavily upon our souls. You must
go alone Claude; but if it will be any comfort to
you I will confess that at this moment my heart is
pleading for you; yearning to find rest and quiet
ia the sunshine of your love. But it must not be;
may God help and strengthen you aod-pressing
her pale lips to Lis forehead, she motioned him
away, and sauk again upon the couch in helpless,
hopeless grief.
It was all over now. She had refused the love
which she felt her earthly happiness; aye! her
very life needed ; and she had not even the satis
faction of feeling that the strength of virtue akm
had triumphed over temptation ; for as she lay
there, looking into her own heart, suspicion flash*
ed across her mind that less exal.ed motives bad
in part influenced her decision r that a germ of
affection for her husband lay hidden and hitherto
unsuspected in her heart. The beautiful glimpses
of his inner nature, that bis daily actions, more
than words, had giren her, had won her esteem;
but until this hour of temptation she dreamed not
;hat a deeper chord of feeling had been touched*
And now to love without hope of requital! how
this discovery chafed her woman’s pride; for of
late Oswald had been more cold and reserved than
ever, and her dormant jealousy had been reawak
ened in all its strength, when on opening a draw
of his private secretary, she discovered a small
staled packet, apparently of letters, with the words
“From Anna,” written upon the ribbon that
bound them. This, she dared not open, but there
was another envelope containing some faded vio
lets and a long, bright, tress of sunny hair.
Her thoughts had wandered to this discovery
of her husband’s souvenir?, when a slight tap upon
the Venetian blinds of the window’ near her arous
ed her from lier reverie, and as she looked up a
slip of paper fluttered to her feet. Opening it
she read tbe lines written iu an unfamilir hand.
“ Knowing you to be a model of conjug and devo*
tion, and being well aware how unselfishly your
affectionate heart rejoices in the happiness of your
husband, I cannoi refrain from inquiring if you
know in what manner that admirable benedict,
spends these delightful Spring evenings. May-hap
it was only a little bird loid me that they were
passed in the very agreeable and no doubt highly
pious society of a certain former lady love, who
was once, (perhaps is still.) the sole-mistress of
his heart. Does it not please you to know that
he has been so delightfully entertained> If you
are incredulous, and will take the trouble to go out
upon the unfrequented road leading from the Bel
woods, you cau witness the petite comedie your*
| acif” ” / ;
I Ilad the style been different, Margaret might
I have suspected Claude of disguising Ids liand
v. ‘.eg, but she knew that, though goaded bv dis
i appointment, and'even for the sake of achieving
an earnestly desired end, bis high, generous nature
would not inflict pain by such cruel irony; espe
cially upon the woman he loved. She sat for a
moment motionless with surprise and indignation,
and then crushing the letter with a hitter smile,
she rang for her majd and desired her to send up
the boy who acted as ostler.
“ John,” she said, as he appeared at the door,
“saddle black Jean, and bring him around imme
diately.”
“ What, mistis 1” ventured the boy, and the
shower not quito over yet. It’s sprinklin’ pretty
smartly now, and the sun’s do.WQ too I guess.”
“ Never mind the rain, go and do as I have told
you, as quickly as possible;” and with another
wondering stare, John disappeared -to obey the
command.
Margaret hastily donned her rich.habit; fasten
ed with trembling hands the velvet cap, whose
snowy plumes were scarcely more colorless than
the brow they shaded, and drawing on her guant
lets reached the gate just as John appeared, lead
ing the beautiful anjmal by his ornamented bridle.
Her rapid ride through her favorite wood soon
brought her to the’ unfrequented road, which as
the mysterious missive had said, was wild and pic
turesque, overshadowed by , arching trees, and
winding along 1 rills, and through vales watered by
babbling brooks. For nearly a mile, the only
house situated upon .it was the little cottage of
widow Lee, hid away among the trees. This,
Margaret -had passed, aud was beginning to hopfc
that her ride would prove?fruitless, when a sud
den turn in the road brOhght her quite near the
objects of her search.
Atroa had removed her hat, for the shower \m