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diff --git a/old/69071-0.txt b/old/69071-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 922e5ac..0000000 --- a/old/69071-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8451 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Loved you better than you knew, by -Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Loved you better than you knew - -Author: Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller - -Release Date: September 30, 2022 [eBook #69071] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Demian Katz, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy - of the Digital Library@Villanova University.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVED YOU BETTER THAN YOU -KNEW *** - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - -Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end. - - * * * * * - - - - -Loved You Better Than You Knew - - - _By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller_ - - HART SERIES NO. 59 - - COPYRIGHT 1897 - BY GEO. MUNRO’S SONS - - PUBLISHED BY - THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK COMPANY - CLEVELAND, O., U. S. A. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. Cupid in the Rain 5 - - II. One Golden Hour 13 - - III. The Sweet Old Story 21 - - IV. Breakers Ahead 25 - - V. Retrospection 29 - - VI. Rebellion 34 - - VII. “The Fates Forbid It” 40 - - VIII. A Dark Secret 45 - - IX. A Bunch of Roses 51 - - X. A Feminine Weakness 55 - - XI. Cinthia’s Elopement 63 - - XII. Outwitted 69 - - XIII. Oh, What a Night! 74 - - XIV. Parted at the Altar 79 - - XV. “An Eternal Farewell!” 85 - - XVI. “Oh, What a Time!” 90 - - XVII. A Deadly Feud 95 - - XVIII. “Remember That I Loved You Well” 103 - - XIX. A Tragic Past 109 - - XX. Love and Loss 113 - - XXI. A Quarrel with Fate 119 - - XXII. When Years Had Fled 127 - - XXIII. “I Can Not Love Again!” 137 - - XXIV. “The Pangs That Rend My Heart - in Twain!” 144 - - XXV. “Like an Angel” 147 - - XXVI. ’Neath Southern Skies 152 - - XXVII. “Where the Clematis Boughs Intwine” 156 - - XXVIII. Only Friends 161 - - XXIX. A Secret Sorrow 169 - - XXX. Mysteries 172 - - XXXI. Most Bitterly Bereaved 176 - - XXXII. “A Cold Gray Life” 181 - - XXXIII. Puppets of Fate 187 - - XXXIV. “The Weight of Cruel Years Piled - Into One Long Agony” 192 - - XXXV. Cinthia’s Betrothal 197 - - XXXVI. An Obstinate Woman 201 - - XXXVII. Beyond Forgiveness 208 - - XXXVIII. Her Side of the Story 214 - - XXXIX. A Mortal Wound 219 - - XL. A Late Repentance 224 - - XLI. “The Greed of Gold” 230 - - XLII. In the Sunshine 235 - - * * * * * - -Loved You Better Than You Knew - - - - -CHAPTER I. CUPID IN THE RAIN. - - - “Love! It began with a glance, - Grew with the growing flowers, - Smiled in a dreamful trance, - Recked not the passage of hours. - - “Grief! It began with a word, - Grew with the winds that raved, - A prayer for pardon unheard, - Pardon in turn uncraved. - The bridge so easy to sever, - The stream so swift to be free, - Till the brook became a river, - And the river became a sea. - - “Life! It began with a sigh, - Grew with the leaves that are dead, - Its pleasures with wings to fly, - Its sorrows with wings of lead.” - -Could one lift the impenetrable veil of mystery that hides the future -from our curious eyes, what secrets would often be revealed, what -shadows would fall upon hearts now light and thoughtless--shadows of -grief, of horror, and despair! - -“It is better not to know,” agree both the poets and sages. - -Beautiful Cinthia Dawn did not think of that as she drummed upon the -window-pane that rainy autumn day, exclaiming rebelliously: - -“I wish something would happen to break up the dreadful monotony of my -life.” - -Widow Flint, who was her aunt and guardian, and as crabbed and crusty -as her name, looked at her with dismay, and retorted: - -“Some people don’t know when they’re well off. You have enough to eat, -to drink, and to wear, and a good home. What more do you want?” - -The girl looked at the dingy sitting-room, her own shabby gray gown, -then out at the dismal landscape, blurred by the rain and low-hanging -clouds, with something like frank contempt, and answered, recklessly: - -“I want pretty clothes and jewels, beautiful surroundings, gay times, -and lovers, such as other girls have instead of this humdrum, poky -existence--so there!” - -“Humph!” - -It was all Mrs. Flint said aloud, but to herself she added: - -“Good land! I do wish my brother would come home from his eternal -wanderings and take charge of his rattled-brained daughter. She’s too -pretty and restless, and I don’t see how I’m going to hold her down -much longer.” - -Cinthia Dawn was seventeen now, and ever since she had been given into -her aunt’s sole keeping at five years old, the strait-laced soul, who -was as prim and particular as an old maid, had been engaged in the -difficult task of “holding down” her spirited young niece. She had even -erred on the side of prudence, so great was her anxiety to bring her up -in the way she should go. - -When the lovely child first came her aunt said frankly to all: - -“I don’t want anybody ever to tell Cinthy that she is pretty.” - -“She can find it out for herself by just looking in the glass,” -objected one of her cronies. - -“I’ll tend to that,” said Mrs. Flint, crustily, and she furnished her -rooms with cracked and distorted mirrors, whose blurred surfaces gave -back indeed no fair reflection of the child’s beauty. - -She carried out her programme further by dressing the child in the -plainest, commonest clothing, and plaiting all her wealth of golden -curls in a single tail down her back, though she could not prevent it -even then from breaking out on her brow and neck in enchanting little -ringlets that a ballroom belle might have envied. - -To her dearest crony Mrs. Flint excused her course by saying, -confidentially: - -“Cinthy’s mother, who is dead now, was the vainest and prettiest -creature on earth, and she did wicked work with her beauty. I don’t -want to say aught against her now that she is dead; but Cinthy must -have a different raising, that’s all. My brother said so when he put -her in my charge. ‘Bring her up good and simple in your old-fashion -way, Rebecca,’ was what he said.” - -“That’s right. ‘Favor is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman that -feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.’ That’s Cinthy’s Bible verse, -and I hope she’ll live up to it,” returned the good crony, Deacon -Rood’s wife. - -So Cinthia Dawn was reared simply and plainly almost to severity. She -received her education at the public school, and at home helped her -aunt with the house-work. Surreptitiously she read poetry and novels. - -Such a simple, quiet life--just like thousands and thousands of -others--but Cinthia was outgrowing it now. She was seventeen--the most -romantic age in the world--and she chafed at the dreariness of her life. - -School-days were ended now, and her merry mates had their new gowns, -their dances, and their lovers. There were none of these for Cinthia -Dawn. - -Mrs. Flint said her niece was nothing but a child yet, so she was not -permitted to attend parties, and she vowed she had no money to spend on -finery. As for lovers, if she had any, the bravest would not have dared -present himself at Mrs. Flint’s door. She would have said to him as to -the veriest tramp: - -“Be off!” - -It was just the life to drive a pretty, spirited girl frantic with -impatience of the present, and longings for something better than she -had known--the longing that found impatient expression that afternoon -when she watched the dead leaves flying in sodden drifts beneath the -chill November rain. - -After Mrs. Flint’s curt rejoinder to her complaints she remained silent -several minutes drumming impatiently on the pane, then burst out: - -“Oh, Aunt Beck, don’t you want me to run down to the post-office for -your _Christian Advocate_?” - -“In all this storm?” - -“Oh, I won’t mind it a bit! I’m in a mood for fighting the elements!” - -“Then take your umbrella and overshoes, and hurry back.” - -“Yes, aunt.” - -Glad to escape from the monotony of the little brown house, she hurried -out into the teeth of the storm, and made her way through the village -streets to the little post-office. The rain blew in her face, and the -wind crimsoned her cheeks and made her dark eyes flash like stars. -Cinthia did not care. In her splendor of youth and health she found it -exhilarating. - -But going back, the storm, that had been gathering its forces for a -fiercer onslaught, increased in angry violence. - -She had left the paved main street, too, now, and was emerging into the -thinly populated suburbs where her home was situated. - -A great gust of wind met her at the corner of a street, taking her -breath with its fierce onslaught, wrapping her damp skirts about her -ankles, and whisking her umbrella from her grasp. She chased it wildly -almost a block, only to see it whirled into the middle of the street -and crushed under the wheels of a heavily loaded farm wagon lumbering -into the little town. Meanwhile, the vagrant wind pelted her with -drifts of dead leaves, and the flood-gates of heaven opened and poured -down torrents of water. - -“Take my umbrella, Miss Dawn!” cried the gay musical voice of a young -man who had been chasing her as fast as she flew after the umbrella. - -Turning with a quick start, she looked into the face of Arthur -Varian, a new comer in the town, with whom she had recently formed an -acquaintance. His laughing blue eyes were irresistible, and she cried -merrily as she took shelter under the umbrella: - -“Didn’t I look comical chasing the parachute? I was hoping no one saw -me. Thank you, but I can not deprive you of it.” - -“Then you will let me hold it over you? It is large enough for both,” -stepping along by her side, and giving her the best half of it as -they struggled along against the high wind. “I saw you coming out of -the post-office and have been trying to overtake you ever since. I -thought perhaps you would allow me the pleasure of walking home with -you,” continued Arthur Varian, bending his admiring blue eyes on the -beautiful face by his side--the bright, arch face with its large, soft -dark eyes set off by that aureole of curly golden hair, now blown into -the most enchanting spiral rings by the wind and rain. - -He had met her several times before, and he knew enough of her lonely -life to make him sympathize with her forlornness, even if her beauty -had not already charmed him with its girlish perfection. - -Cinthia met that glance and looked down with a kindling blush and a -wildly beating heart, for--it was of him she had been thinking when -she uttered her complaints to Mrs. Flint, longing for the privileges -of other young girls of her class that she might have opportunities of -meeting him and winning his heart. - -Who could blame her? for Arthur Varian was very winning and -handsome--tall, with wavy brown hair, regular features, a slight -brown mustache, a beautiful mouth--“just made for kissing,” vowed all -the girls--well dressed, and having that indefinable air of ease and -elegance that betokens good breeding joined to prosperity. - -Perhaps the fates had heard Cinthia’s longing for something to happen, -for the storm now gathered fresh force, and the darkening earth was -irradiated by a vivid and brilliant flash of lightning, followed by a -terrific thunder peal. - -The rain poured out of heaven like a waterfall, and the fierce driving -gale caught the frightened girl up like a feather and tossed her -against the young man’s breast and into his arms, that clasped and held -her protectingly, while all about them the air was darkened with flying -_débris_ and broken branches of trees that swayed, and creaked, and -bent, and crashed in agony beneath the cyclonic force of the elements. - -Cinthia was not a coward, but the situation was enough to strike -terror to the bravest heart. The edge of a cyclone had indeed struck -the village, and in almost an instant of time dozens of trees had been -uprooted, several houses unroofed, and the air filled with flying -projectiles, one of which suddenly struck Arthur Varian with such -force that both he and his companion were hurled to the ground. It was -a portion of a tin roof, and cut a gash on the young man’s hand from -which the blood began to stream in a ruddy tide. - -In another minute the wind began to abate, and they struggled up to -their feet. - -“Oh, you are cut, you are bleeding! and you did it to save me! I saw -you ward off that horrible missile from me with your hand. It must -have killed me had I received the blow, for, as it was, it grazed my -head. Oh, what can I do? Let me bind your hand to stop the blood,” -sobbed Cinthia, unwinding the silk scarf from her neck and wrapping it -tightly, with untaught skill, about his wrist above the wound to stop -the spurting blood. - - - - -CHAPTER II. ONE GOLDEN HOUR. - - -She trembled and paled as the warm blood spurted over her own white and -dainty hands as she essayed the task, and her heart throbbed wildly -with new and sweet emotion. She could have clasped her arms about his -neck and wept over the cruel wound he had received in her defense and -for her sake. - -“Thank you. That will do very well,” Arthur Varian cried, gratefully; -and taking her hand gently, he added: “I see we are almost at the gates -of my home. You must come in with me till the storm is over, then I -will take you home in the carriage.” - -Thoroughly frightened, and glad of a shelter from the still angry -elements, Cinthia accompanied him inside the gates of the finest -residence in the county--Idlewild, as it was called--being a large -rambling old stone mansion, exceedingly picturesque in style, and -surrounded by a fine estate in lawns, gardens, and virgin woodlands. -For many years the place had been tenantless, save for the old -housekeeper in charge, but last summer it had been carefully renovated, -and Arthur Varian and his widowed mother, who owned the place, had come -there to live. - -As the young man led Cinthia in, he added, thoughtfully: - -“You are quite drenched, but my mother will give you some hot tea and -dry clothing, and perhaps that will prevent your getting sick.” - -“Oh, I don’t think the wetting will hurt me. I’m very strong,” Cinthia -answered; adding, bashfully: “I shouldn’t like your mother to see me -looking like I had been fished out of the river. You had better take me -to the housekeeper. I know her well. She has been lending me novels and -poetry from your library ever since I was a little girl.” - -And, in fact, before they rang the bell the front door flew open, and -the old woman appeared, pouncing upon Cinthia, and exclaiming: - -“Come right in out of the wet, you poor, dear child! I saw it all from -the window, and I thought you both were killed when the piece of tin -knocked you both down. I believe it is a piece off of our own roof. My -heart jumped in my mouth, and I was about to faint when I saw you both -rising to your feet, and I got better at once. But, law sakes! wasn’t -it terrible? Your hand’s cut, too, ain’t it, Mr. Varian? Well, I’ll see -to’t in a minute, as soon as I take Cinthy to my room.” - -Leading the dripping girl along the corridors to a plain, neat bedroom, -she produced a dainty white night-gown, saying: - -“There, honey; jest strip off your wet clothes and put on that, and -jump into my bed and kiver up warm, whiles I go and sew up that cut on -Mr. Arthur’s hand, for I can do it jest as neat as any doctor. Then -I’ll dry your clothes and brew you both some bone-set tea to keep you -from ketching cold.” - -She bustled away, and Cinthia gladly did as she was bid, looking -ruefully at the puddles of water that streamed from her clothing on to -the neat Brussels carpet. - -When Mrs. Bowles returned she was indeed covered up in the warm bed, -with only her bright eyes and the top of her golden head visible. - -“Do you feel chilly, dearie? Drink this, to warm your blood,” she said, -forcing a bitter concoction of bone-set tea on the protesting girl; -adding: “Law, now, ’tisn’t so bad, after all, is it? Why, Mr. Varian -drank _his_ dose without so much as a wry face. Law, honey, but that -was a deep cut! It almost severed an artery. It took all my nerve to -sew it up, I tell you, and he’ll have to carry his hand in a sling some -time, sure.” - -“He saved my life!” cried Cinthia, eagerly. “I would have received that -blow on my head but that he so quickly warded it off with his hand. -See, it just grazed my temple,” showing a little bleeding scratch under -her ringlets. - -“Dearie me, let me put a strip of court-plaster on it! There, it’ll be -well in a day or two. Now, Cinthia, you take a little nap whiles I hang -your clothes to dry in the laundry,” gathering them up into a bucket. - -“I’ve ruined your carpet,” sighed the girl. - -“Oh, no; it’ll be all right when it’s dry. Them colors won’t run. -Don’t worrit over that, but shet your eyes and go to sleep,” bustling -out again. - -“Dear old soul!” sighed Cinthia, grateful for the kiss pressed on top -of her curly head. She shut her eyes, but she was too nervous to sleep. - -She lay listening to the storm that still raged outside, and wondering -what her aunt would think of her protracted stay, if she would be -angry, or just frightened. Then her thoughts flew to Arthur Varian, his -tender smiles, his bonny blue eyes. - -“I will never marry any man but a blue-eyed one,” she thought, -thrillingly, and at last fell into a gentle doze induced by weariness, -the warmth of the bed, and the dose she had swallowed. - -The nap lasted an hour, and when she opened her eyes Mrs. Bowles was -rocking placidly by the cozy fire in the twilight. - -“Oh, I have been asleep! How long?” she cried, uneasily. - -“Most an hour. Do you feel rested?” - -“Oh, yes, indeed, and I’d like to get up and go home. Are my clothes -dry?” - -“Oh, no--not yet; and as for that gray woolen frock of yours, it has -shrunk that much you can never hook it up again, I can tell you that! -But no matter. You’ve had it two years a’ready. I know, and it was too -skimp for a growing girl, anyway. But Mrs. Varian has sent you in a -suit of her clothes to put on, and when you’re dressed you are to take -tea with her and her son.” - -“Oh, but, Mrs. Bowles, I ought to go home at once. Aunt Beck will be so -uneasy over me.” - -“Listen to the wind and the rain, child. The storm is still raging, and -the horses can’t be taken out till the weather clears up. So make your -mind easy, and get up and dress, for Mrs. Varian will be in to see you -presently.” - -Cinthia got up rather nervously, with a little dread of Mrs. -Varian, whom she had seen at church and out riding--a beautiful, -haughty-looking woman, with olive skin and flashing dark eyes, very -young looking to have a grown son of twenty-three or four. - -“I would rather have my own clothes,” she said pleadingly. - -“They are all over mud and water, child, and I don’t think the maid can -have them fit for you till to-morrow. Mrs. Varian very kindly offered -the loan of hers, and unless you wear them, you’ll have to go to bed -again, that’s all. Here, let me help you,” said Mrs. Bowles, beginning -to slip the garments over Cinthia’s shining head. - -“But this crimson silk with white lace trimmings--it is too fine for -me, dear Mrs. Bowles.” - -“It can’t be helped, for this is more likely to fit--too tight in the -waist for her, she said, and she never wore it but twice; and see, it -laps over two inches on you. But I can hide that with the lace at the -neck and the bow at the waist. Now let me comb your hair loose over -your shoulders, it’s so damp yet. My! how it crimples up and curls, and -shines in the light! You look well, Cinthy Dawn!” She would have said -_beautiful_, but she was mindful of Mrs. Flint’s objection, though she -said to herself: - -“She can’t keep Mr. Arthur from finding it out, that’s sure. He knows -it a’ready, by the look in his eyes when he brought her in. And it’s -hot, impulsive blood that flows in the Varians’ veins. What is going to -come of this accident, I wonder? for I saw love in her eyes when she -told me how he saved her life. I hope he didn’t save it just to blight -it.” - -Cinthia went to the old woman’s mirror and looked at herself in the -unaccustomed gown. - -The glass was not blurred and cracked like those at home, and it gave -back her charming reflection truthfully. - -“Why, how pretty I look!” she cried, gazing in frank delight at the -beautiful vision, the lissom form, just above medium height, the -regular features, the fair arch face, the starry dark eyes, the -rose-red mouth, the enchanting dimples, and the aureole of golden hair -that set it off like a halo of light. “Why, Mrs. Bowles, I did not know -I was so pretty! But perhaps it’s only the dress.” - -“Fine feathers make fine birds,” returned the housekeeper, discreetly. - -“Yes,” sighed Cinthia; but she continued to gaze at herself in -delight, wondering, shyly, what Arthur Varian would think of her in his -mother’s fine gown. - -Then she turned with a start, for a light tap at the door announced the -entrance of Mrs. Varian, and the housekeeper hastened to present the -young girl to her mistress. - -Both thrilled with admiration, for both were rarely beautiful in their -opposite types, the elder a brunette of the finest style, the younger a -dark-eyed blonde, so rarely seen, so much admired. - -“I hope you have quite recovered from your fright, Miss Dawn,” her -hostess said, in a voice so exquisitely modulated that it was as -pleasant as music. - -Cinthia murmured in reply that she had enjoyed a delicious rest, and -was so grateful for the loan of the clothes that made it possible for -her to escape from bed. - -“I dare say our good Mrs. Bowles would have liked to keep you there all -night. She suggested that plan to Arthur after dosing him with bitter -herb tea; but he disregarded her advice, and is now waiting impatiently -for you,” rejoined the lady, casting an arch glance at the old woman -while she took Cinthia’s hand and drew her toward the door. - -When the door closed on them the old housekeeper wagged her head -doubtfully. - -“How sweet my mistress can be when she pleases; but I wonder if she -would be as kind if she guessed what I have read in those young -peoples’ eyes--that story of love--love between a rich young man and -a poor young girl, that folks like Mrs. Varian call misalliances?” she -muttered, uneasily. - -No matter what the outcome was to be, Cinthia Dawn had come to the -happiest night of her life. - -Though outside the windows the wild wind and rain swirled and beat with -ghostly fingers, inside Mrs. Varian’s luxurious drawing-room all was -warmth and light and pleasure. - -The lady and her son exerted themselves to make their young guest -happy, and she was so glad and grateful in her pleasant surroundings -that all were mutually sorry when toward ten o’clock the storm abated, -and the moon struggled fitfully through the lowering clouds. - -“I must go home!” cried Cinthia, with wholesome dread of Mrs. -Flint’s wrath; and their warmest urgings could not prevail on her to -stay--though in her secret heart she longed to do so forever. “I shall -bring back your clothes to-morrow,” she laughed, as Mrs. Varian bid her -a cordial good-night. - -Then Arthur handed her into the waiting carriage, stepped in by her -side, and the driver closed the door; and of that ride home we shall -hear more in our next chapter. - - - - -CHAPTER III. THE SWEET OLD STORY. - - -Mrs. Flint grew very uneasy over her absent niece as the short -afternoon waned and the fury of the storm increased to positive danger -for any luckless pedestrian. After fidgeting and worrying until the -early twilight fell, she began to say to herself that Cinthia was -probably all right, anyway. She had doubtless gone into some friend’s -for shelter, and would not likely return until morning. - -She took her frugal tea alone and in something like sadness, for -Cinthia had seldom been absent from a meal before, and she began to -feel what a loss it was to miss the fair young face about the house. -She suddenly realized the tenderness lying dormant in her heart for the -wilful girl. - -She sat down by the cozy fire with her knitting, and listened to the -tempest of wind and rain soughing in the trees outside, and Cinthia’s -rebellion that afternoon kept repeating itself over and over in her -brain until she muttered aloud: - -“She wants fine things and parties and lovers, does she? Well, well, I -s’pose it’s natural enough for her mother’s child, and for any young -girl for that matter, but where’s she going to get them? The lovers -would be easy enough--she’s as pretty as a pink--but I don’t want to -encourage her vanity, and it’s better to save the money her father -sends till she needs it worse. What if he should die way off yonder -somewhere, and maybe not leave her a penny? I wish he’d come home, I -do, or I wish she was homely as sin, with red hair and freckles, and a -snub nose like Jane Ann Johnson!” - -So she fretted and fumed until past ten o’clock, and that was an hour -beyond her usual bed-time; but somehow she could not get Cinthia out -of her mind, could not bear to retire while she was away, so she kept -glancing at the window, though scarcely expecting her to arrive before -morning. How could she, in such a storm, though the wind had lulled -somewhat, and the patter of the rain was dulled on the drifts of dead -leaves that muffled the sound of carriage-wheels, pausing too, so that -Mrs. Flint almost jumped out of her skin when there suddenly came a -loud rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, upon the front door. - -But she was not naturally nervous, so after a moment’s startled -indecision, she flew to the door and demanded, through the key-hole, to -know who was there. - -“It is Cinthia, aunt,” returned a sweet, mirthful voice. - -With a sigh of relief the old lady unlocked the door, and there stepped -into the narrow hall a vision that took her breath away. - -Was it Cinthia Dawn or a fairy princess, this beautiful creature in the -crimson silk and misty lace, the furred white opera-cloak falling from -her shoulders, the rippling lengths of sunny hair enveloping her like a -halo, the dark eyes beaming with “that light that never was on sea or -land,” but only in the glance of the happy and the loving? - -“Cinthia Dawn!” she began, in a dazed voice; but just then she became -aware that a tall and handsome young man, hat in hand, was standing on -the threshold. She knew who he was. Her pastor had introduced her last -Sunday, at church, to the master of Idlewild. - -“Good-evening, Mrs. Flint,” he began, beamingly. “I have brought -Cinthia home safe to you. My mother took care of her during the storm.” -He paused, faintly hoping that she would ask him to enter, it was so -early yet. - -But he did not yet know Mrs. Flint, much as he had heard of her -eccentricities. She simply bridled, and returned, in her stiffest -manner: - -“I’m sure we are _very_ much obliged to your mother, and you, too. -Good-evening.” - -Thus curtly dismissed, the young man shot a tender glance at his -sweetheart, and bowed himself out into the night again, the lady -slamming the door behind him before he was fairly down the steps. - -“Oh, Aunt Beck! how could you be so rude after all their kindness to -me? And he saved my life, too. Didn’t you see his arm in a sling?” -indignantly. - -“I don’t know as I noticed it. I was so flustrated seeing you bringing -a beau home, and you nothing but a child yet!” snapped the old lady. - -“_Child!_” echoed Cinthia, scornfully, as she held her chilly fingers -to the blaze and the ruddy light played over her beautiful garments. - -“But what are you doing with the silk gown, and that grand white cloak, -all brocade and ermine? I don’t understand!” cried the old lady, -suspiciously. - -Cinthia laughed out gayly, happily, her eyes shining, her voice as -sweet as silver bells. - -“Why, I was caught in the rain and almost drowned, Aunt Beck, and my -wretched old duds were nothing but mud and water, so Mrs. Varian lent -me these things to come home in. Aren’t they becoming? Don’t I look -pretty?” setting her graceful head one side, like a bird. - -“Humph! ‘Pretty is as pretty does,’” grunted her aunt, though she could -not keep her eyes off the charming creature as she flung herself back -in an easy-chair and continued, gayly: - -“If you are not sleepy, Aunt Beck, I’ll tell you all about it.” - -“I guess I can keep my eyes open!” ungraciously, though she was dying -of curiosity. - -Thereupon Cinthia related all the events of the evening, from the time -she had left home until she bid Mrs. Varian good-night to return in the -grand carriage with the handsome master of Idlewild. Clasping her tiny -hands, she cried, in an ecstacy: - -“Oh, aunt, I can’t tell you how I enjoyed it all! Mrs. Varian is as -proud and beautiful as a queen; but she was so kind and sweet to me -that I felt quite at home in her grand house. As for her son--oh!” and -Cinthia paused and blushed divinely. - -Mrs. Flint snapped, irately: - -“Now, Cinthia Dawn, don’t you go getting your head turned by idle -flatteries from rich young men. Anybody but a silly child would know -they don’t mean anything.” - -“Oh, Aunt Beck, please don’t call me a _child_ any more. I am -as grown up as anybody, and you know it--seventeen last April. -And--and”--wistfully and defiantly all at once--“he _does_ mean it. He -loves me dearly--and--we--are--engaged!” - -Aunt Beck gave a jump of uncontrollable surprise. - -“Cinthy Dawn, you don’t mean it?” - -“Yes, I do, Aunt Beck. I have promised to marry Arthur Varian.” - -“But, land sakes, _child_--oh, I forgot; well girl, then--you don’t -hardly know each other!” - -“Oh, yes, we do. We have been acquainted some time. We fell in love -weeks ago, and--and--he told me in the carriage he loved me and wanted -to marry me.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. BREAKERS AHEAD. - - -Mrs. Flint was so surprised she could not speak; she could only stare -in wonder at the beautiful, excited creature with her happy face. - -“Oh, aunt, you are not angry, are you? He’s very, very nice, I’m -sure--and rich, too! He said my every fancy should be gratified--that -he would worship me. You will give your consent, won’t you, because -he’s coming here to-morrow morning to ask you.” - -Mrs. Flint found her voice, and muttered, sarcastically: - -“A wonder he didn’t ask me to-night! Why didn’t you tell him you would -have to get your father’s consent?” - -“Because papa has deserted me ever since I was small, and cares nothing -for me. It is you I’ve had to look for the care of father and mother -both. Why, look you, papa has never written me a line all these years! -He does not care what becomes of me. And we shall not ask him anything. -You are my guardian, and will give us leave to marry, won’t you, dear?” - -“When, Cinthy?” - -“Oh, very soon, he said--not later than Christmas, anyway. We don’t -want to wait long. You’ll be willing, won’t you?” impetuously. - -“I don’t know, dear. I’ll have to sleep on it before I make up my mind; -you’ve given me such a surprise. Though I don’t say but that it’s a -grand match for a girl like you, Cinthy.” - -“He said I was made for a prince.” - -“Of course. People in love are silly enough to say anything. But take -your candle and go to bed now, Cinthy, and we will talk about this -again to-morrow.” - -“Good-night, aunt,” and she lingered, perhaps hoping for a kindlier -word. - -The old lady, moved in spite of herself, and secretly proud of -Cinthia’s conquest, actually kissed the rosy cheek, saying, merrily: - -“Good-night--Mrs. Varian that is to be.” - -Cinthia’s heart leaped with joy and pride, for she took this concession -to mean approbation of her choice. - -With the chorus of a love song Arthur had sung that evening on her -happy lips, she went upstairs to her pretty bed-room, and was soon fast -asleep and dreaming sweetly of her splendid lover. - -But as for Mrs. Flint, she sat down again by the fire, in a sort of -dazed condition, to think it all over. - -Little Cinthia engaged to be married! Why, it was like some strange -dream! - -But the more she thought it over, the better pleased she was, for -Cinthia’s future had been a burden to her mind, and this would be such -a relief, marrying her off to such a good catch as Arthur Varian. -Why, the little girl had done as well for herself as the most anxious -father could desire, and she decided to give her consent to the match -to-morrow without the formality of asking his advice. - -Just as she came to this conclusion, she was startled again by another -rat-a-tat upon the door. - -“Good gracious! Who can it be knocking there at midnight almost? Some -lunatic, surely! Or maybe Cinthia’s beau come back to ask for her -to-night, too impatient to wait for morning!” she soliloquized, as she -sallied out into the hall, with the demand: - -“Who’s there?” - -To her utter consternation and amazement, a manly voice replied, -impatiently: - -“Your long-lost brother, Rebecca. Open the door. This wind is very -cutting!” - -Unlocking the door, a traveler stepped into the hall--a tall, -brown-bearded man of perhaps forty-five, blue-eyed, and rarely handsome. - -“Welcome, Everard!” she cried, and put her arm around his neck and -kissed him with unwonted affection. - -He had been her baby half-brother when she was married, the pet and -pride of the family. - -“Oh, I have such news for you! This return is very timely!” she -exclaimed, when they were seated again by the fireside. - -Thereupon she poured out the exciting story of his daughter’s -engagement, dilating with unusual volubility on the eligibility of the -suitor. - -“I suppose I shall have to consent,” he said, carelessly; then: “Oh, by -the way, what is the young man’s name?” - -“Arthur Varian.” - -The man sprung to his feet as if she had thrust a knife into his heart. - -“Arthur Varian!” he repeated, trembling like a leaf in a storm, his -face growing deathly white under the bronze of travel. - -“Why, Everard, what is the matter? Do you know him? Is there anything -wrong about him?” - -“Yes, no--that is, I must see him first! Oh, Rebecca, this is a -terrible thing! How fortunate that I came in time to nip this in the -bud, for Arthur Varian can never marry my daughter.” - -“You will break her heart.” - -He dropped back into his seat, groaning: - -“I can not help it, miserable man that I am; for Cinthia Dawn had -better be dead than the bride of Arthur Varian!” - - - - -CHAPTER V. RETROSPECTION. - - - I remember I was young once, - Ah! how long ago it seems - Since the happy days and months - Passed away like pleasant dreams! - For I loved then. I can smile now - At myself. ’Twas long ago, - Ere time’s hand had sprinkled snow - To cool love’s fever on my brow. - --ROSALIE OSBORNE. - -Everard Dawn’s words fell on his sister’s ears with a great shock, -so deep was the anguish of his tone and the emotion of his face, his -lips trembling under the rich brown beard, and his eyes gleaming under -their heavy brows like shadowed surfaces of deep blue pools, while the -pallor of his face was ghastly to behold. - -She studied the agitated man in wonder and terror, for he was almost -like a stranger to his sister, having never met her since he was a -youth of sixteen, just entering college. - -Since she had married in Virginia while on a visit from her home in the -far South, her communications with her relatives had been almost broken -off; the death of her father soon followed her marriage, and her only -visit home had been to the death-bed of her step-mother when Everard -was just entering college. - -She was his only near relative, and she had urged the lonely boy to -visit her often, but he had never accepted the invitation but once, -having to work too hard at his chosen profession--the law--to find -time, he said. - -Their correspondence had been infrequent, and she knew little of -him, save that he had been married twice, and that on the death of -his second wife he had brought her his child to raise, and gone away -abruptly, a broken-hearted, lonely man. - -Yet, as she looked at him sitting there, so handsome still in his -young, splendid prime, with threads of premature silver creeping into -the thick locks on his temples, and remembered how heavily the shadows -of grief had stretched across his life, the woman’s heart was moved to -pity and tenderness, such as she had felt in his babyhood days, when -he was the pet and darling of all. Her cold gray eyes softened with -sympathy, as she cried: - -“Surely, Everard, you have had more than your share of sorrow in life! -What new trouble is this? For, of course, you would not oppose such a -splendid match for your daughter without grave reasons.” - -He lifted his heavy eyes to her troubled face, and answered, bitterly: - -“Yes, I have reasons, grave and bitter reasons, for forbidding this -marriage, and I thank Heaven I came in time to prevent it. But ask me -nothing, Rebecca, for I shall never willingly divulge my reasons, not -even to the man whom I must send away sorrowing to-morrow over a broken -love-dream.” - -His voice fell to exquisite pathos, as if he almost pitied the man he -intended to wound so cruelly. - -Mrs. Flint was disappointed, crest-fallen, she had been so elated over -her niece’s prospects. - -She rejoined, uneasily: - -“I don’t know what Cinthy will say to this. Her heart is set on Arthur -Varian. He stands for everything she longs for most, and her hatred of -her life with me is intense and rebellious. You can never reconcile her -to it again.” - -“I must make a change in it, then, though my means are not large,” he -sighed. - -“So much the worse, for she loves luxury and pleasure, and her heart is -almost starved for love. You know I have a reserved nature, Everard, -and never pet anything. I have brought her up kindly, but rigidly, and -she resents my discipline and your neglect almost equally.” - -“Poor girl! Perhaps she has cause. I have certainly almost forgotten -her existence in these years of exile. But what alleviation was there -to my misery except to forget?” he cried, passionately. - -“Poor boy!” she sighed, forgetting that he was forty-five. She was -twenty years older, and to her he appeared young. - -He made a movement of keen self-scorn. - -“I don’t deserve your pity!” he cried. “I have been a coward, shifting -my burden on your shoulders, hating to come home, weary of my life. But -at last the voice of duty clamored at my heart. I remembered you were -growing old, and that the child was almost a woman. I came at last, but -even then reluctantly. Can you ever forgive my fault?” - -Many times she had said to herself, in her impatience of Cinthia’s -discontent, that she could never forgive her brother for saddling her -with the care of a child in her old age; but at the sight of him, so -sad, so broken, so self-accusing, she could not utter the words of -blame that at first had trembled on her tongue. She answered instead: - -“What could you have done with a girl-child? And I was the only one -you could turn to in your trouble. But I must warn you that you will -not find an affectionate daughter. You have been away so long that she -scarcely remembers your face, and she has chafed bitterly at your -neglect.” - -“I suppose that is natural, and--I do not think we shall ever be very -fond of each other,” he replied, with strange bitterness. - -“When do you wish to see her, Everard? She is in bed now.” - -“Do not disturb her sweet dreams. Our interview can easily wait till -to-morrow,” he said, with strange coldness for a man whose nearest tie -was this beautiful, neglected daughter. - -He got up and stood with his back to the fire, his pale troubled face -in shadow. - -“Don’t let me keep you up longer. You look pale and tired, poor soul!” -he said, kindly; adding: “Can you give me a bed, or shall I go to the -hotel?” - -“I can give you a room,” she answered, lighting a bedroom-candle for -him and leading the way to a cozy down-stairs chamber. - -“Good-night. I hope you will sleep well,” she said, leaving him to -ascend to her own quarters opposite Cinthia’s own little white-hung -room that she took much pains in beautifying after her girlish fancies. - -She peeped in at the girl and saw that she was wrapped in pleasant -dreams, for the murmured name of Arthur passed her lips, and she smiled -in joy beneath the gazer’s troubled eyes. - -“Poor little girl--poor little girl!” she murmured, as she withdrew, -her heart heavy with sympathy for the sweet love-dream so soon to be -blighted by the father’s stern edict of separation. - -“It is very, very, strange, the way Everard takes on about it. Why, he -went wild just at the very name of Varian,” she said aloud to the large -portrait of her long dead husband, Deacon Flint, good soul, that hung -over her mantel. She had acquired a habit of talking absently to this -portrait as if it were alive. - -She read her short chapter in the Bible, mumbled over her prayer, and -crept shivering into bed. But slumber was far from her eyes. The events -of the evening had unstrung her nerves, and she lay awake, dreading the -dawn of the morrow that was to usher in such disappointment and sorrow -to the sleeping girl now dreaming so happily of the lover who was never -to be her husband. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. REBELLION. - - -Cinthia would have slept later than usual that morning but for her -aunt’s hand gently shaking her as she said: - -“Get up, Cinthy. Breakfast is almost ready. Put on your Sunday gown, -and try to look your best when you come down-stairs.” - -“Is--is--Arthur here--already?” cried the girl, a beautiful flash of -joy illuminating her face. - -“Never mind about that; only come down as soon as you can, or the -biscuit will be soggy,” returned the old lady, hurrying out in -trepidation. The sight of the beautiful, happy face made her nervous. - -Cinthia hurried her toilet, not taking time to plait her hair, but -letting the bright mass fall in careless waves over the brown cloth -gown--her “Sunday best.” - -“How ugly it is!” she cried, with an envious glance at Mrs. Varian’s -finery spread over a chair; then she sped down-stairs, wondering -happily if Arthur had indeed arrived so soon to ask her aunt’s consent. - -But a strange man, tall, grave, brown-bearded, stood with his back to -the fire, scanning her with moody blue eyes as she fluttered in, and -Aunt Beck said in nervous tones: - -“Your _father_, Cinthy.” - -“Oh!” she faltered, in more surprise than joy, and paused, irresolute. - -“What a pretty girl you have grown, my dear!” said Everard Dawn, -coming forward and giving her a careless kiss. Then he took her hand -and seated her at the table, saying laughingly that her aunt had been -fretting about the biscuits. - -No emotion had been shown on either side. The man seemed indifferent, -with an under-current of repressed agitation; the girl was secretly -wounded and indignant. Her own father! yet he had never shown her a -sign of real love. Between this pair her poor heart had been starved -for tenderness. - -A little triumphant thought thrilled her through and through: - -“What do I care for his coming or going now? I shall soon be happy with -my darling!” - -She was wondrously beautiful this morning, even in the plain dark gown -that simply served as a foil to her fairness. Everard Dawn could not -help from seeing it, and saying to himself: - -“What peerless beauty! No wonder Arthur Varian lost his head!” - -He felt like groaning aloud, his sudden home-coming had precipitated -him into such a tragic plight, for the task that lay before him was -most bitter. - -He could not help from seeing the pride and resentment in her eyes, and -something moved him to say, apologetically: - -“I dare say you have been vexed with me for staying away so long, -Cinthia; but I have been working for you, trying to lay aside a little -pile, so that you could enjoy your young ladyhood. You shall have -pretty gowns and pleasures henceforth. Are you not glad?” - -It cost him effort to say so much, but there was no gratitude in his -daughter’s proud face, only a mutinous flash of the great dark eyes as -she answered: - -“I shall not need your belated kindness now.” - -“What do you mean?” impatiently. - -“Haven’t you told him, Aunt Beck, about--about--Arthur?” blushing -vividly. - -“Yes--yes, dear.” - -Cinthia nodded her head at him with a mixture of childish triumph and -womanliness. - -“You see,” she said, proudly, “I am going to be married soon. I shall -have a husband who will give me all I want--even,” bitterly, “the love -I have missed all my life!” tears sparkling into her eyes under the -curling lashes. - -He felt the keen reproach deeply, and exclaimed, gently and sadly: - -“Poor little Cinthia.” - -“Not poor now,” she answered, quickly. “It is _rich_ Cinthia now--rich -in Arthur’s love and the certainty of a happy future.” - -She meant to be scathing, poor, neglected, wounded Cinthia, but she -could never guess how the words cut into his heart and tortured him -with secret agony--he who meant to lay her love and hopes in ruins, to -blight all the joys of her life by the exercise of a father’s privilege -of breaking her will. - -But no shadow crossed his face, no trouble was apparent in his manner -as he laughed easily, and answered: - -“Nonsense! you are scarcely more than a child yet--too young to be -dreaming of marriage. I shall send you to school to complete your -education before you can begin to think of lovers.” - -“I will not go!” she said rebelliously, with startled eyes upon his -inscrutable face. - -“Cinthy!” reproved her aunt. - -“I will _not_ go!” the girl repeated, defiantly. “I shall marry Arthur, -as I promised, before Christmas!” - -She sprung from her seat and rushed to the window, drumming -tempestuously upon the pane, her habit when greatly excited. - -Outside the prospect was dreary. The _débris_ of yesterday’s storm -littered the ground, the limbs of some of the trees hung broken, the -sun was hidden under clouds that hinted at snow. - -Mrs. Flint whispered to her brother, apprehensively: - -“I told you so. She has a rebellious will, and she thinks you have no -authority over her now, because you stayed away so long.” - -“She will find out better about that before long,” he answered, -decisively, though the curious paleness of last night settled again -upon his handsome face. - -He went over and stood by Cinthia’s side. - -“It will snow before to-morrow,” he said, quietly. - -“Yes;” and she looked around at him with a flushed face, crying: “Oh, -papa, you were jesting?” - -“No. I can not give you to Arthur Varian, Cinthia. You must forget him, -my dear child.” - -“I can not, will not! I should die without him!” passionately. - -“No, no, you will soon get over this fancy, for you have known Mr. -Varian but a little time, and to-morrow I shall take you away from this -place, and amid new surroundings you will forget the face that dazzled -you here.” - -“I will never forget Arthur, nor will I go away!” she protested. - -“You can not set at naught a father’s authority, Cinthia.” - -“I disclaim it, I defy it! You have given me neither love nor care, -so you forfeit every right! Oh, I am sorry you ever came back here!” -stormed the angry girl. - -“Cinthy, Cinthy, come and help me with the work!” her aunt called, -sharply; and she left him with the mien of an offended princess. - -He took refuge in a cigar, and smoked moodily, till the click of the -gate-latch made him look up, with a face working with emotion, at a -handsome, elegantly clad young man walking up to the door. - -Cinthia had gone upstairs to make the beds, and her aunt went to admit -the caller. - -In a minute she ushered him into the little sitting-room, saying -nervously: - -“Mr. Varian--my brother, Mr. Dawn.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII. “THE FATES FORBID IT.” - - -Arthur Varian gave a slight start of surprise as he was presented to -Mr. Dawn, but the latter, more prepared for the encounter, bowed with -gracious courtesy, frankly shook hands with the visitor, and pushed -forward a chair. - -Then they looked at each other silently a moment, and that glance -prepossessed each in favor of the other--a natural sequence for Arthur, -since he guessed that his new acquaintance must be Cinthia’s father. - -They conversed several moments on indifferent subjects, both rather -grave and constrained, with a feeling of something serious in the air, -then Arthur came to the point with manly frankness: - -“I have found you here most opportunely this morning, Mr. Dawn. I came -to see Mrs. Flint on a particular subject, but of course you are the -proper person to consult,” ingratiatingly. - -“Cinthia has already told me of your suit for her hand, Mr. Varian,” -gently helping him out, as if anxious for it to be over. - -“You know, then, that I love your daughter--that she has promised me -her hand. I can give you every assurance, sir, of my possession of -those requisites every good man wishes to find in a suitor for his -daughter. I am rich, of the best blood of the South, my character -irreproachable. May I hope to have your approval?” - -He spoke diffidently, yet eagerly and with superb manliness, his -dark-blue eyes shining with hope, his cheek glowing with honest pride -that he had so much to offer to the lady of his choice. Without vanity, -he knew that he was, in worldly parlance, an eligible _parti_. No -thought of refusal crossed his mind. - -Yet Everard Dawn was slow in replying to what many might have -considered a compliment. - -His eyes rested steadily and gravely on Cinthia’s lover, while his -cheek paled to an ashen hue, and the hand that rested on his knee -trembled as with an ague chill. - -Arthur Varian noticed these signs of deep agitation, and attributed -them to parental love. He added, gently: - -“It seems cruel to harass you, almost in the first moment of your -return, with this matter; but it is not as if I proposed taking Cinthia -away from you immediately. We had planned for a Christmas wedding.” - -“This is the first of November, Mr. Varian,” he reminded him, coldly. - -“Yes, sir; so it would be almost two months before I took Cinthia -away,” smilingly. - -“My daughter is too young to marry yet. I came home to place her at -a convent school in Canada for two years, not dreaming that she had -notions of lovers in her childish head,” Everard Dawn continued, -gravely. - -“You see, sir, we have made other plans,” said Arthur, lightly, not -taking him _au serieux_. - -To his surprise, Mr. Dawn answered, frigidly: - -“Of course, those plans made without my consent do not carry.” - -Arthur began to grow excited by the portentous gravity of the other. He -exclaimed, almost pleadingly: - -“Mr. Dawn, you do not surely mean that you will make me wait two years -for Cinthia?” - -And to his utter horror and despair, the gentleman replied slowly, -sadly, and gravely, as if every word cost him a pang: - -“No, I do not wish you to wait for Cinthia, Arthur Varian, for the -truth may as well be known to you first as last, cruel as it must seem -at first. Believe me, I am sorry for your disappointment, and I hope -your fancy for Cinthia has not taken very deep root, for--she can never -be your wife.” - -“Mr. Dawn!” - -Arthur Varian sprung to his feet, and faced the speaker, with such -a grief and amazement on his handsome face as might have melted the -sternest heart. - -“Mr. Dawn, you can not surely mean this refusal! What reasons could -exist for deliberately wrecking two fond, loving hearts?” - -“Unfortunately, the reasons exist; but such as they are, I can not -explain them, Mr. Varian.” - -Arthur cried out, eagerly: - -“If you are offended at my impatience to claim Cinthia for my own, I -will agree to wait the two years you mentioned, or even more. Nay, so -deep and constant is my love, that I would rather serve seven years -for her, as Jacob did for Rachel, than lose the dear hope of winning -her at last for my own.” - -Everard Dawn rose from his chair, and grasping the back, to still the -great trembling of his frame, answered, with passionate energy: - -“Arthur Varian, there can never be a marriage between you and my -daughter. The fates forbid it, the unknown forces that control your -life and hers cry out upon it. You must forget each other, for your -love is the most ill-fated and hopeless the world ever knew. Arguments -and entreaties are alike useless. You will believe that I am in -terrible earnest when I tell you that I would sooner see my daughter -dead than give her to you as a bride.” - -“This is strange--passing strange, Mr. Dawn,” the young man uttered, -indignantly, yet still not as angrily as might have been expected. - -A subtle something about the man, with his grave, sad, handsome visage, -claimed his respectful admiration, in spite of the mystery that -surrounded his rejection of his daughter’s suitor. - -“It is strange, but true,” answered Everard Dawn, wearily; and he -added: “Do not let us prolong this most painful conversation. Nothing -can change the decrees of relentless fate.” - -Arthur felt himself politely dismissed, and turned toward the door. - -“You will at least permit me a parting interview with Cinthia?” he -murmured. - -“You must forego it. It is better so. To-morrow she leaves this place -with me forever. Your two lives must never cross again!” - -With a heart full of pain, and anger, and silent rebellion, the young -man bowed, and walked out of the house; but ere he reached the gate, -he heard flying footsteps behind him, and turned to greet Cinthia, -bareheaded and breathless, her cheeks pale, the tears hanging on the -curly fringe of her dark lashes. - -She clasped her tiny hands around his arm, reckless of her father’s -eyes watching disapprovingly from the window, and murmured: - -“Well?” - -“He refuses his consent, Cinthia, and says he will take you away -to-morrow where we shall never meet again.” - -“Arthur, you will never let him do it; you will not forsake me if you -love me!” wildly, passionately. - -“My darling, you know I can not live without you! Would you elope with -me?” - -“Yes, yes!” she began, eagerly; but just then her father appeared at -the door. - -“Cinthia, you must come in out of the cold!” he called, sternly; and -Arthur said: - -“Go, my darling!” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. A DARK SECRET. - - -Cinthia did not obey. She only clung closer to her sorrowing lover. - -“Oh, Arthur, don’t leave me! Take me home with you to your sweet, kind -mother! I hate that man!” she sobbed in wild _abandon_. - -Her father came down the walk toward them, and Arthur bent and -whispered rapidly in her ear: - -“Go in with him now, my own sweet love, for we can not defy him openly, -we can only defeat him by strategy. Be brave, darling, for--I will come -for you and take you away to-night.” - -He kissed her, in spite of Mr. Dawn’s great eyes, and pushed her from -him with gentle violence just as her father came out and took her hand. - -“Come, Cinthia,” he said, with gentle firmness, and she followed, -though she shook off his touch as though it had been a viper. - -“Don’t touch me! I hate you--hate you!” she cried, like a little fury, -her eyes flashing fire. “Do you think I will go with you to-morrow? -Never--never! You have made my life empty of joy, and now you envy -the sunshine that love has brought me! But you shall not part me from -Arthur--no, no, no!” and desperately sobbing, she flung herself face -downward on the floor. - -He sought Mrs. Flint in terrible perturbation. - -“Come, she is in hysterics!” he exclaimed, anxiously. - -“I told you it would go hard with Cinthy,” she answered, curtly. - -“Yes, I feared she would grieve; but, good Heaven! she is a little -fury--all rage and rebellion, swearing she will not go with me -to-morrow. She must be closely watched to-day, for there is no telling -what such a desperate girl may do,” he said in alarm mixed with anger. - -“Pshaw! she will simmer down when her fit of crying is over. I’ll get -her upstairs and give her a soothing dose. Her temper-fits never last -long, for Cinthy is a good child, after all, and I am sorry over her -disappointment, she sets such store by love,” returned the old woman, -in real sympathy for the girl and secret disapproval of his cold -attitude to his neglected daughter. - -He felt the implied reproach and answered, in weary self-excuse: - -“Rebecca, I know you think me hard and cold, but my heart seems dead -within me.” - -“That is no excuse for neglect of duty,” she answered with telling -effect as she went to the difficult task of soothing Cinthia and -getting her upstairs to her room. - -“A bitter home-coming!” he muttered, as he went out into the bleak -morning air, with its scurrying flakes of threatening snow, to try to -walk off some of his perturbation. - -Somehow the dreary day dragged through to the drearier late afternoon. - -Upstairs, Cinthia lay still and exhausted upon the bed after such a day -of tears, and sobs, and passionate rebellion as Mrs. Flint hoped never -to go through again. - -Everard Dawn took his hat and great-coat, and set out for another long -walk--this time in the direction of Arthur Varian’s home. - -Had he repented his harshness? Was he going to recall Cinthia’s -banished lover? - -The air was keen with a biting east wind, the sky was gray with -threatening clouds, and occasional light scurries of snow flew in his -face and flecked his thick brown beard as he stepped briskly along, -gazing over the low evergreen hedge at the beautiful grounds of the -fine old estate he had refused for his daughter. - -As he almost paused in his walk to gaze with deep interest at the -picturesque old stone house, he saw a lady come out of a side-door and -turn into an avenue of tall dark cedars that made a pleasant promenade, -shutting off the rigorous wind very effectively. - -He followed her progress with wistful eyes and tense lips. - -It was indeed the stately mistress of the mansion. Wearying of its -warmth and luxury, she had come out, wrapped in sealskin, for her -favorite constitutional along the cedar avenue. - -She walked slowly, with her hands behind her, and her large, flashing -dark eyes bent on the ground, as if in profound thought. - -Everard Dawn gazed eagerly after Mrs. Varian till she was lost to view -among the cedars, then, searching for a gate in the hedge, he entered -and turned his steps toward the avenue, so as to meet her on her lonely -walk. - -Slowly they came on toward each other, the echo of their footsteps -dulled by the carpet of dead leaves, dank and sodden with last night’s -rain, and the face of the man, with its gleaming eyes and deep pallor, -bore signs of unusual agitation. - -Suddenly the lowering clouds parted, and a dull sunset glow sent gleams -of light down through the cedar boughs upon the sodden path. The woman -lifted her large, passionate orbs to the sky. - -Then she stopped short and uttered a startled cry. - -She had caught sight of the advancing man, the intruder upon her -grounds. - -He removed his hat and stood bowing before her in the dying sunset -glow, the light shining on his pallid face and the streaks of gray in -his thick locks. - -“Mrs. Varian!” he exclaimed. - -“Everard Dawn!” she answered, in a hollow voice, and her eyes glowed -like live coals among dead embers, so ashy-pale was her beautiful face. - -Pressing her gloved hand upon her side, as if her heart’s wild -throbbings threatened to suffocate her, she called, hoarsely: - -“Why are you here? How dare you face me, traitor?” - -“I have not come to forgive you, Mrs. Varian, be sure of _that_!” he -answered, sternly. - -“You do well to talk of forgiveness--_you_!” she sneered, stamping the -ground with her dainty foot. - -“And--you--madame--would--do--well to crave it--not that it would ever -be granted you, remember. Only angels could forgive injuries like -mine!” the man answered, stormily, with upraised hand, as if longing to -strike her down in her defiant beauty. - -She did not shrink nor blanch, but her face was a picture of emotional -rage, dead white against the setting of satin-black tresses and rich -seal fur, her eyes flashing as only great oriental black eyes can -flash, and her rare beauty of form showing to advantage as she drew -herself haughtily erect, hissing out: - -“Go, Everard Dawn! Take your hated form from my sight ere I summon my -servants to drive you from the grounds!” - -Turning, as if to put her threat into execution, she was arrested by a -stern voice that said significantly: - -“It is more to your interest to listen to me one moment, Mrs. Varian.” - -She whirled back toward him again, saying, imperiously: - -“Be brief, then, Everard Dawn, for you should know that it suffocates -me to breathe the same air with such as you!” - -Evidently there was some strange secret between this haughty pair, for -he flashed her a glance of kindling scorn, as he returned: - -“What I have to say needs but one sentence to assure you of its -importance. Your son, Mrs. Varian, wishes to wed--_my daughter_!” - -A hoarse, strangled cry, and she fell back against the trunk of a tree, -clasping its great bole, as if to prevent herself from falling. Her -face wore such a look of agony as if he had plunged a knife into her -heart. - -Everard Dawn impetuously started forward, as if to catch her in his -arms--the natural impulse of manhood at seeing a woman suffer. - -Then he suddenly remembered himself, and drew haughtily back, waiting -for her to speak again; but she was silent several moments, gazing at -him with the reproachful eyes of a wounded animal at bay. - -Then she gasped, faintly: - -“Is she--is she--that Cinthia Dawn?” - -“Yes. Cinthia Dawn is my daughter,” finishing the unended sentence. -“She lives here with my sister, and I came home last night, after -being self-exiled for weary years, and found Arthur Varian and Cinthia -plighted lovers. I have forbidden their love, and sent him away; but -they are defiant and rebellious. I shall take her away to-morrow--but -in the meantime I came to you, for you must help me to keep them apart.” - -“I--oh, Heaven! what is there I can do?” she moaned, in piteous -distress. - -He looked at her in dead silence a moment, then answered, firmly: - -“Cinthia is only a tender girl, and I will not have her young life -blasted with the hideous truth. Arthur is a man, and if the dark secret -that comes between their love must ever be divulged, it is to him alone -it need be revealed. Will you charge yourself with this duty should he -persist in his resolve to marry Cinthia?” - -“If you asked me for all my fortune, I would rather give it you--but -you are right. The duty is mine. I will not shirk it, though it slay -me. Poor, poor Arthur!” - -“That is well. I shall depend on you to curb his passion. Farewell, -Mrs. Varian;” and with a lingering glance, he turned away just as the -last sun-ray glimmered and faded in the west. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. A BUNCH OF ROSES. - - -Cinthia had never spent such an unhappy day in the whole of her young -life. She could not realize that only yesterday she had been railing at -the monotony of existence. - -It was only twenty-four hours later, and a tragedy of woe had -overwhelmed her in its grim embrace. - -Only yesterday she had been planning, and hoping, and wishing for -some way to know Arthur Varian better, and now he was won, now he was -her promised husband; and through all the bitterness of her father’s -cruelty, that thought made glad her warm heart. - -She had shed little rivers of tears, she had sulked at her father and -aunt, she had refused to eat her dinner, and pouted among the pillows -all day long; but through it all ran one thrilling thought, Arthur was -coming to take her away to-night. He had promised, and she knew he -would keep his word. - -When her aunt went down about her household duties, she laughed to -herself at the thought of outwitting those two--her cold-hearted aunt -and her cruel father. The thought of their surprise, when they should -find her gone in the morning was pure delight. - -“There he goes now. I wish he would go and stay forever!” she cried, -petulantly, as she heard the gate-latch click, and springing to the -window, saw her father walking away into the gloomy distance. - -She sat down and watched him out of sight, adding: - -“He is very handsome and noble looking, and if he had treated me -better, I should have learned to love him well. But now I hate and fear -him, and I would die before I would go with him to-morrow. Dear, dear -Arthur, I hope nothing will prevent him from taking me away to-night.” - -And while she was moping, her aunt came up with a magnificent bunch of -roses, saying kindly: - -“Cheer up now, Cinthy! Here’s a splendid big nosegay for you, and a box -of French candy. I ’spose your pa sent it, because he went down into -the town a while ago, and said he’d get you a present.” - -“I don’t want any of his presents! Take them away!” Cinthia answered, -angrily. - -“Don’t be a little fool, Cinthy. I’m getting out of patience with -your airs,” Mrs. Flint returned, severely, putting down the gifts and -slamming the door as she stalked out. - -Cinthia loved flowers dearly, and the scent of the roses wooed her to -caress them presently, burying her face in the fragrant red and white -beauties. - -A note hidden among them scratched the tip of her nose, and she drew it -out with a cry of wonder. - -It was from Arthur Varian, and ran thus: - - “I have thought it all over, darling, and I think the only way for - us is to elope to Washington to-night and be married. I do not like - to steal a man’s daughter away from him this way, but his obstinacy - leaves us no other hope, and as there is really no reason to prevent - our marrying, I hope he will soon be reconciled. No doubt, mother - will help us to bring him around afterward, she is so very clever. - And I shall not let her into the secret of to-night, so that he can - not accuse her of connivance in our plans. I will be waiting near - your house with a carriage at twelve o’clock to-night, and you must - slip out and join me. Then it is only two miles to the station, and - away we go on the midnight train to Washington. Keep up your courage, - my sweet love, for we are going to be the happiest pair in the world. - - “ARTHUR.” - -Cinthia refused to go down to supper, and made a meal of sweetmeats. -The hours between dark and midnight seemed endless. She heard her aunt -retire to her room at an early hour, and her father later on. The -house was wrapped for an hour in profound silence, then she heard the -hall-clock chiming twelve. - -Cinthia was all ready, even to her hat and jacket, her face pale with -eagerness, her heart throbbing wildly. She stepped to the door and -turned the knob. Horrors! it did not yield to her touch. They had -suspected her and locked her into the room. - -An impulse came to her to shriek aloud in her wrath and defiance, -and to try and batter down the door and escape; but a timely thought -restrained her, and she drew back from the temptation, her eyes flaming -luridly, her temper raging. - -“They shall not baffle us, the cunning wretches! Arthur, my love, I -am coming to you, though the whole world oppose!” she cried, wildly, -rushing to the window and throwing up the sash. - -It had been snowing steadily for hours, though she did not know it. As -she leaned out into the darkness a great gust of wind and big swirling -flakes of snow stormed into the room, blowing out the light and -clasping her in a cold embrace. - - - - -CHAPTER X. A FEMININE WEAKNESS. - - - In the small compass of thy clasping arms, - In reach and sight of thy dear lips and eyes, - There, there, for me the joy of Heaven lies. - Outside, lo! chaos, terrors, wild alarms, - And all the desolation fierce and fell - Of void and aching nothingness makes hell. - --ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. - -The night was black as Erebus, the wind cut like a knife, and the air -was full of blinding snow that must have been falling for hours, it was -banked so heavily against the window-ledge, almost freezing Cinthia’s -hands as they plunged into it on leaning forward, for though she gasped -and caught her breath as the wild elements blew in her face and tried -to beat her back, she did not recoil from her fixed purpose, which was -to drop out upon the top of the porch and climb down to the ground by -the aid of a honeysuckle vine that wreathed over the trellis frame at -one end. The icy blast that shrieked in her ears was not enough to -chill the fiery ardor of her resentment at her father, and the yearning -of her heart for the dear lover from whom she feared to be separated -forever. - -Her tender young heart went out to him with an intensity of feeling as -she peered out into the stormy darkness of the night, wondering if he -was there waiting, and if he was growing impatient at her delay. - -“Ah, my love,” she murmured, impetuously, “I am coming to you--coming! -Neither bolts nor bars, nor storm nor darkness, nor anything under -Heaven, shall keep us apart!” - -The wind whistled past the eaves and seemed to take on an almost human -voice of sorrowing, as though it echoed those dismal words: “Shall keep -us apart, shall keep us apart!” - -Cinthia caught her breath and listened, it was so strange, that almost -human wail of the wind sighing through the great pine tree on the -corner. It seemed to be sobbing: “Apart, apart!” - -“How mournful it sounds!” she uttered, in an awe-stricken tone; then -she climbed through the window and dropped with a dull thud out on the -porch. Mrs. Flint heard the sound in her adjoining room, and muttered, -drowsily: - -“It is the snow sliding down from off the roof.” - -Cinthia crawled to edge of the porch, and felt out carefully for the -thick mat of the honeysuckle. - -She knew she was making a desperate venture, but she said to herself, -bitterly, that desperate emergencies require desperate remedies. - -With infinite care and patience she managed to get hold of the strong -matted vines, and swung herself carefully over the trellis, beginning -to make the perilous descent with bated breath, for a fall might mean a -broken limb, or, at the least, a sprained ankle. - -The wet snow clung to her face and garments and chilled her to the -bone; but she persevered, though the high wind threatened to loosen -her hold and blow her down every instant. What did she care for it -all, poor Cinthia fleeing from her dull life and her hated persecutors -to the tender arms of love? She would endure anything rather than be -cheated of her happiness. - -The cold snow flecked her benumbed face and hands, the high wind swung -her light form to and fro like a flower upon the vine, her breath -seemed to freeze on her lips, but her courage never flagged. Out there -in the night and the storm her lover was waiting. The thought kept her -young heart warm. - -She was more than half-way down now, and the wind began to lull. -Courage, Cinthia; the danger will soon be over, sweetheart, and love -rewarded for its brave struggles. - -But, alas! how often bathos overcomes pathos. - -Cinthia was only a girl, after all, with the usual feminine attributes. - -As she swung herself carefully from branch to branch of the vine, -hoping and longing for her feet to touch _terra firma_, yet sustained -by unfaltering courage, there came to her a sudden wild and terrifying -thought that made the blood run colder in her veins than all the raging -storm had force to do. - -She had remembered that of late the immense vine to which she clung had -afforded a delightful gymnasium for a score or so of large rodents, -causing her aunt to threaten to cut it down. - -The feminine mind has one idiosyncrasy known of all men, and -accordingly ridiculed, but never overcome. Cinthia did not pretend -to be stronger than her sex. With that sudden terrifying thought an -uncontrollable shriek burst from her lips, her numb hands relaxed their -grasp, and she went crashing down through space plump into a great, -great bank of drifted snow blown into a heap below the vine. - -Everard Dawn heard that shriek as he tossed on his pillow in restless -dreams, and suddenly raised his head. - -“What a night!” he cried, for he had been watching the storm ere he -retired. “How the wind howls to-night, shrieking like a human voice -through that splendid pine on the corner! How I used to love the wind -in the pines in my far Southern home until--_afterward_! But since then -it is an embodied grief to me, as in the plaint of one of our Southern -poets: - - “‘I hear the wind in the pines - With its soughing of wordless woe, - And the whisper of leafless vines, - Like a sad heart’s overflow. - Sigh on! they seem to say, - Sigh on, sad heart, to the night, - For the world is cold and gray, - And life has no delight.’” - -He listened with his head on his arm but the wind had lulled for the -moment, and the strangely human shriek he had heard began to affect him -very unpleasantly. - -“Was it really the wind?” he began to ask himself, wondering if it -might not be an hysterical shriek of his rebellious daughter. - -“Poor little Cinthia, God help her!” he uttered, sadly, and rising -from his bed, began to dress hurriedly. “I will go and see if there is -anything wrong,” he muttered. - -He had been very angry when he returned at dusk from his strange -interview with the scornful Mrs. Varian, and heard from his worried -sister about the flowers and candy she had taken up to Cinthia. - -“How is my little girl now?” he asked, anxiously, and started when she -replied: - -“She is in a dreadful temper, and when I took up the flowers and candy -you sent her, she ordered me to throw them away.” - -“Did you do it?” - -“No; I told her not to be a little fool, put them down on the table, -and came away.” - -“Rebecca, I fear you have made a grave mistake. I did not send Cinthia -anything. I intended to purchase a gift for her, but--I was--so -troubled--I quite forgot it.” - -Mrs. Flint studied a moment, then frankly admitted that the boy who -brought the flowers had not said Mr. Dawn sent them, in fact, had -merely said, “For Miss Cinthia,” and she had jumped at the conclusion -that they came from her brother. - -“They must have come from Arthur Varian. I take this very ill of him -after what I said to him this morning,” angrily. “Are you sure,” he -continued, “that no letter accompanied the flowers?” - -“I did not see any,” the old lady replied, uneasily. - -Everard Dawn was more versed in the ways of romantic lovers than his -prosaic sister, so he said, with a troubled air: - -“You may be sure that a sentimental note accompanied the gift, and they -may possibly have planned an elopement this very night. I desire that -you will lock her door on the outside without her knowledge when you -retire to-night.” - -“Very well,” she replied, and obeyed him to the letter. - -Recalling all this, the thought came to him that perhaps Cinthia, -finding her door locked, was indulging herself in a fit of hysterics. - -“God help us all,” he sighed, as he finished dressing; and, taking his -night-lamp, stole upstairs to listen outside her door. - -But all was still as death at first, then the wind rose again, and he -heard strange noises within the room. It was, in fact, the wind rushing -through the window and banging things about in confusion. - -He went and tapped on Mrs. Flint’s door, and she soon confronted him in -her cap and gown, exclaiming: - -“I thought I heard creaking steps in the hall. What is the matter? Are -you ill, Everard?” - -“No; but I fancied I heard strange noises from Cinthia’s room. Did you -notice anything?” - -“I heard the snow sliding off the roof, and the wind shrieking in the -branches of that great pine out there. It always sounds so human in a -storm, that I would cut it down only that Deacon Flint set store by it. -He said he planted it when he was a little boy. But I will go in and -peep at Cinthia just to ease your mind, Everard. ’Sh-h! we must not -wake her if she is asleep,” turning the knob with a cautious hand and -opening wide the door. - -Whew! how the cold air rushed in her face and thrust her back. By -the light that Everard carried she saw the window wide open and the -snow-flakes flying in on the carpet. - -“Why, how strange that the window should be open. Cinthia must be -crazy. Wait till I shut it, Everard, and bring in the light,” she -ejaculated. - -He obeyed, and when he entered, they saw what had happened. The room -was empty and Cinthia was gone. - -Mrs. Flint could not believe it at first. She ran all about the room, -and then all over the house, crying in wild dismay: - -“Cinthia! Cinthia! Cinthia! where are you hiding, honey?” - -But no reply came back, and very soon the unhappy father found out -the truth. She had actually escaped by way of the window. Securing a -lantern from the kitchen, he went out for a short while, and returned -with a very accurate report. - -She had slid down the honeysuckle vine to the ground, and there were -tracks in the snow leading to a sleigh that had been in waiting not far -away. The marks of the runners were quite distinct, in spite of the -drifting snow. - -“She has eloped with Arthur Varian. I must follow and bring them back,” -he said, with terrible calmness. - -“Yes, for I found the letter that must have come with the flowers -blowing about the floor of her room,” she answered, giving it to him. - -He read it, groaned bitterly, and thrust it into his pocket. - -“I must pursue them,” he said again. “Tell me where to find the nearest -livery stable, Rebecca.” - -“It is half a mile,” she said, giving him clear directions, but adding: -“Oh, Everard, you will not venture out in such a storm. You may catch -your death of cold!” - -“You know not what you talk of, my sister. I would rather catch my -death, as you say, than permit Arthur Varian to marry Cinthia Dawn!” he -hurled back at her, hoarsely, as he rushed from the house out into the -night and storm. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. CINTHIA’S ELOPEMENT. - - -Meanwhile Cinthia’s fall and shriek had been heard by other alert -ears--no less than Arthur Varian’s, who had been waiting impatiently -in the shadow of the trees for ten minutes, wondering whether Cinthia -would come or not, fearing lest the fury of the storm should daunt her -courage and hold her back. - -With his eager eyes on her window, he presently saw the sash fly up and -Cinthia’s beautiful face and form outlined against the background of -the lighted room. The next moment the gale blew in and extinguished the -lamp and darkened the beautiful picture. - -But in that moment he saw enough to relieve his fears. Cinthia wore -her hat and jacket ready for traveling. She was coming to him, his -brave little darling, and out yonder waited a swift horse and sleigh, -and plenty of cozy buffalo robes to shelter her from the cold in their -swift drive to the station. - -He advanced to the gate and stood with his eyes fixed on the door, -eager to give her a joyous welcome when she appeared, lest the thick -darkness frighten her back. - -Then his ears caught the soft thud on the top of the porch, and, like -Mrs. Flint, he thought at first it might be snow sliding off the roof. - -The wind arose with a great bang and clatter among the loose shutters, -deadening the sound of the branches as Cinthia swung herself off -the vine and began her descent to the ground, while her eager lover -strained his eyes through the thick darkness, watching the door to see -her come. - -Then suddenly the wind lulled so that he could catch his breath, and he -heard a soft rustling in the vines, as if they strained under a dead -weight. - -“Heavens! what is that?” he muttered, with a half suspicion of the -truth; and, tearing open the gate, he rushed across the yard through -the wet, impeding snow, already half a foot deep, to the corner of the -house just as Cinthia shrieked and fell into the little bank of drifted -snow so soft and cold. - -With a bound, Arthur was by her side, stretching out eager hands, -crying, in a passion of love and grief: - -“Cinthia, dearest, are you hurt?” - -He reached down and gathered her up like a child in his strong arms. - -“Oh, my love--my treasure! What a terrible risk you ran for me! Tell me -if you are hurt!” - -She whispered nervously against his breast: - -“I don’t think I am, only frightened almost to death. I -thought--thought--every bone--would be broken--but the snow was as -soft as a feather bed! Oh, let us get away, Arthur, before they hear -us! You may carry me if you will--I am trembling _so_,” her teeth -chattering so that she could scarcely speak. - -“That’s what I meant to do,” Arthur replied, managing to find her face -somehow in the darkness and imprint a kiss upon it ere he strode away -with her to the sleigh, and tucked her in among the robes so that not a -breath of cold could reach her, while he kept up her courage with the -tenderest words, assuring her that she should never repent trusting -herself to him. - -“Oh, how dark it is! How shall you find your way along the dark country -road?” she cried in alarm. - -“Don’t you see my sleigh-lamps? Besides, I know the road well. I shall -have to drive slowly, but that will not matter, as there is no one in -pursuit, and the train is not due till one o’clock,” returned Arthur, -confidently, as he seated himself, took the reins, and chirruped to his -fleet pony. - -Cinthia snuggled up to his side, and sobbed and laughed hysterically -till he almost exhausted the whole vocabulary of love-words before she -said: - -“Oh, Arthur, I must tell you why I fell, and you will not call me your -brave little heroine any more, but only the greatest coward in the -world!” - -And the wicked young elopers, flying through the storm and darkness -of night toward the happy haven of marriage, laughed together till -they almost forgot their surroundings at Cinthia’s sudden fear, while -vowing but a moment before to fly to Arthur though the whole world -oppose. - -“To be frightened at the thought of a rat--not _at_ a rat, but just the -bare thought of touching one lurking in the vines--was it not utterly -ridiculous?” she queried, though not at all sure but that she would do -the same thing again. - -Arthur could only laugh at her confession, and rejoice that she had -sustained no hurt from her fall, so they sped along through the night -and storm, each very, very happy in their youthful love, and confident -of forgiveness from the obdurate father when he should learn that they -were married. - -“We shall be in Washington by breakfast-time to-morrow, and we’ll go at -once to a minister and have the ceremony over. Then we will telegraph -your father and my mother that we are one, and that we shall spend our -honey-moon North,” said the young man, planning everything happily -without a thought of failure. - -“Papa will be simply furious!” laughed Cinthia; “but he can not take me -away from you and send me off to school, thank Heaven, as he proposed -to do. And as for his forgiveness, I feel quite indifferent to it. I -don’t care if I never see his face again. But your mother--what will -she say, Arthur? Perhaps she preferred for you to marry some beautiful -rich girl?” anxiously. - -Arthur squeezed her to his side with one free arm, as he replied, gayly: - -“Don’t worry over that, love, for my mother was so charmed with your -beauty and sweetness last night, that I felt sure she would be glad to -have you for a daughter, so I made bold to propose to you on the way -to your house, and told her all about it at breakfast this morning. -Dear heart, she has never crossed a wish of mine since I was born, -and she said I had taken her by surprise, but she would give me her -blessing, and did not care how soon we set the wedding-day, it would be -so pleasant to have a young girl in the house. Was she not a darling? -So when I came to ask for your hand this morning, and your father -snubbed me so cruelly, I did not have the heart to go back to her then, -for I feared she might not countenance an elopement, the Varians are -so proud. I stayed away, making arrangements for our flitting, and -sent her a note that I had gone off on a sudden trip, and would wire -particulars. But, bless you, she will be all right when she hears we -are married, though she will never forgive your father for crossing the -will of her spoiled boy.” - -Laughing and chatting happily in the joy of being together they drove -along very slowly, for fear of an accident, and because Arthur thought -they had plenty of time to reach the station. - -But suddenly and most inexplicably, the gentle little pony began to -balk, starting backward so quickly as to almost throw the occupants out -of the sleigh. - -At the same time it began to neigh in a frightened way, requiring all -of Arthur’s skill to reassure it. - -Trembling violently and neighing distressfully, it stood still in the -road, refusing to budge forward an inch. - -“He is frightened, poor fellow, at some little obstruction in the road. -I had better get out and remove it,” said Arthur, giving Cinthia the -reins, and springing out into the snow. - -Giving the trembling pony a reassuring pat and word, he passed him and -went on to examine the road. - -Cinthia heard him cry out in alarm and wonder as he stooped down. - -“Oh, what is it?” she exclaimed, curiously. - -“Cinthia, there is a human being lying here unconscious in the snow--a -woman!” - -“Oh, heavens!” - -“What shall we do?” continued Arthur, distressfully. - -“Oh, Arthur, we must take her into the sleigh with us and carry her to -the station! Oh, how terrible to fall down unconscious in the snow on -such a wild night!” cried Cinthia, beginning to sob with sympathy, the -cold air turning the tears into pearls upon her cheeks. - -Without more ado, Arthur dragged the inert form up out of the snow, -and staggering under the heavy weight of a large, unconscious woman, -managed to deposit his burden in the bottom of the sleigh, after which -he got in himself, saying, as he took up the reins: - -“I am sorry this happened, because it will draw upon us undesirable -notoriety at the station; but it can not be helped now, and I must -hasten on, for I have driven so slowly that we have not much time to -spare.” - -But just as they started off, he caught the sudden sound of sleigh -bells and the neigh of a horse quickly gaining on them, as a loud, -angry voice thundered: - -“Halt, or I fire! Choose death or instant surrender!” - - - - -CHAPTER XII. OUTWITTED. - - -As nearly hopeless as Everard Dawn’s pursuit of the fugitives had -appeared even to himself when he began it, he had succeeded better than -he could have expected. - -His only hope had been to catch them at the station before the arrival -of the train; but, owing to Arthur’s careful driving in the storm, and -the stoppage to take in the woman found unconscious in the road, he had -overtaken them while yet half a mile from the station. - -He had run all the way to the livery stable, and as soon as a sleigh -was furnished, leaped in and drove off at the highest speed possible in -the condition of the weather, his mind wrought to the highest tension -of trouble, rendering him unconscious of personal danger. As the -horse trotted briskly along, under the urging of voice and whip, the -light sleigh rocked from side to side, almost overturning twice, but -eventually gaining on Arthur’s horse, until he perceived the stoppage -in the road by the light that streamed from Arthur’s lamps upon the -snow. - -He heard their voices blending with the wind, he saw something lifted -into the sleigh, and wondered if his daughter had fallen out. Then, as -Arthur leaped in and chirruped to his pony, he rose in his seat and -shouted furiously: - -“Halt, or I fire! Choose between death or instant surrender!” - -And to emphasize his words, he instantly fired into the air, making -both their horses snort and rear with terror. - -Arthur’s only reply was to touch his horse with the whip, making it -bound furiously forward. - -A most unequal race ensued, Arthur’s sleigh being encumbered with the -weight of three, while Mr. Dawn was quite alone. - -One, two, three minutes, and Mr. Dawn’s horse flashed past Arthur’s. -Then he drove across the front of the road, shouting, hoarsely: - -“Stop! There will be a collision!” - -Cinthia had slipped down senseless in her seat, and nothing but -surrender was possible now. With a silent curse at his evil fate, -Arthur pulled the lines, forcing his plunging pony to a stand-still, -as Everard Dawn continued, menacingly: - -“I do not wish to harm you, Mr. Varian, but you must give me back my -daughter!” - -Arthur felt like a coward, but he realized that no other course was -possible now. With a groan, he answered: - -“I would rather part with my life than this dear girl, Mr. Dawn. Oh, -think a moment, before you sunder our loving hearts, of the despair you -are bringing into both our lives!” - -Everard Dawn drove back to the side of the sleigh where Arthur waited, -and said, sternly: - -“Cinthia!” - -“She is unconscious, sir.” - -“Ah, then, it was Cinthia you lifted into the sleigh. Is she hurt?” - -“It was not Cinthia, but an unconscious woman I found in the road.” - -“If Cinthia is unconscious, so much the better. We will have no scene -with her in transferring her to my charge, and she will not hear what I -must say to you.” - -“Speak on, sir,” Arthur answered most bitterly in his keen resentment. -And Mr. Dawn began: - -“I think very hardly of you, Arthur Varian, for disregarding my words -to you this morning. I said frankly to you that reasons of the gravest -import forbid the marriage of yourself and Cinthia.” - -“I had a right to be informed of those reasons, sir,” Arthur said, -hotly. - -“Say you so? Then go to your mother, Arthur Varian, and ask of her the -reason why my daughter can never be your wife!” - -Arthur started in surprise that this man should know aught of his -mother, but answered, quickly: - -“She can not know anything against it, since only this morning she gave -her pleased consent.” - -“She knows better now; and I say again, go to her and ask her for the -truth,” replied Everard Dawn, as he stepped out of the sleigh to take -possession of Cinthia. - -Arthur was before him. He lifted the inanimate form in his arms, and -kissed the cold, white face in despairing love before he resigned her -to the impatient father’s arms. - -“Ah, you can not surely guess of what a priceless treasure you are -robbing me, Mr. Dawn! May Heaven judge between us whether you have been -merciful to me!” he cried, reproachfully. - -“I rest my cause with Heaven,” Mr. Dawn answered, reverently, as he -placed Cinthia in the sleigh, covered her with warm robes, and drove -away with a cold good-night to the young man, who continued his course -to the station as fast as he could urge his horse to go. - -In his agony of grief at losing his beautiful, promised bride, and -in hot resentment of what he deemed hardness of heart in her father, -Arthur Varian had yielded without reflection upon the baseness of it, -to a sudden, overmastering temptation. - -His caresses and emotion on handing the unconscious woman to Mr. -Dawn had been simply a superb bit of acting. It was the poor waif of -the road he had placed in the arms of Everard Dawn, thus completely -outwitting the unhappy father while he drove rapidly on to the station, -hoping to board the train before his deception was discovered. - -In a moment the few scattering midnight lights of the railway town -began to appear, and Cinthia gasped and opened her eyes, beginning to -sob with alarm: - -“Oh, oh, oh!” - -“It is all right, darling. We have distanced our pursuers,” said -Arthur, cheerfully. “And here we are at the station, and the train is -coming. We have not time to go into the waiting-room.” - -He helped her out, and called a negro boy, to whom he intrusted his -sleigh, telling him to return it to Idlewild next day, and pressing a -liberal reward into his willing hand. - -Then he helped the bewildered Cinthia aboard the train and led her at -once to a stove, saying, tenderly: - -“Warm yourself, my darling, while I try to secure seats in the parlor -car.” - -“It is very unfortunate, indeed,” said the conductor, “but the Pullman -sleeper is crowded. Only one berth was vacant when they came into the -station, and it has just been engaged by a lady _en route_ for New -York.” - -The lady had indeed just taken possession of her berth, brushing -haughtily past without taking notice of either. Neither did Arthur -notice her, or he would have seen with surprise that it was his own -mother. Deeply chagrined that he could not get quarters for Cinthia in -the parlor car, he returned to her side, and they spent the hours very -happily till morning. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. OH, WHAT A NIGHT! - - -All unconscious of the deception that had been practiced on him, -Everard Dawn drove briskly back to his home, making no effort to -restore Cinthia, and, in fact, rather hoping that her unconsciousness -would last until he could place her in Mrs. Flint’s care. In common -with most men, he had a holy horror of sensational scenes, and shrunk -from hearing his daughter’s reproaches when she should revive and find -herself so cruelly sundered from her lover. - -So he made haste to reach home, and his thoughts on the way were most -sad and bitter, for in this man’s past was a tragedy of sorrow that -might have driven a weaker man to cut loose the bonds of unbearable -life with his own hands and hurl himself recklessly into the great -unknown future beyond. - -With his return to his sister’s house, everything had rushed back upon -him like the swell of some great river, and seared wounds had been -opened afresh, bleeding in secret beneath his outward calmness. However -handsome and prosperous he appeared to the outward eye, no man could -have envied Everard Dawn, having looked once into his tortured heart -and seen its secrets laid bare. - -Mrs. Flint was watching and listening for him, and as soon as the -sleigh stopped, she seized a lantern, and bundling herself in a shawl, -rushed out to the gate. - -Springing out and fastening the lines to a post, he said, triumphantly: - -“I overtook them, Rebecca, and Cinthia fainted with fear. I brought her -back in that condition, thus escaping a scene in the sleigh. I will -carry her in, and you can revive her at your leisure, while I return -the sleigh to the stable.” - -He lifted out the form, carefully shrouded in a large, warm robe, and, -almost staggering under the burden, followed the lead of his sister -into the sitting-room, depositing it on the long sofa, panting: - -“Cinthia looked so slender, I did not suppose she was so heavy. My arms -fairly ache. Now do you revive her, Rebecca, and soothe the poor girl -as tenderly as you can until I return presently.” - -“Well, I declare, I never saw such an unfeeling father in my life! -There he rushes off again, without so much as glancing at her face -to see if she is dead or alive. He doesn’t seem to bear one bit of -love for the poor, neglected girl, and I wish in my heart she had got -away with Arthur Varian and married him, that I do!” ejaculated the -old lady, as she heard her brother drive away, her usually cold heart -melting with sympathy for the hapless girl over whom she bent, drawing -aside the folds of the heavy robe from her face, adding, sharply: “And -a pretty how-d’ye-do there’ll be when she revives and finds herself -parted from her lover. Not that I believe he can _keep_ them apart, for -there’s an old saying that true love always finds a way, and----Oh, my -goodness gracious, _what in the world_----!” - -With that dismayed exclamation, the Widow Flint dropped the corner of -the robe, and recoiled as if she had encountered a nest of serpents. - -It was not quite so bad as that, but she certainly had good reason for -her surprise and dismay. - -For instead of her beautiful niece, slender, golden-haired Cinthia, -there lay a large woman of middle age, shabbily attired, with a pinched -face, whose cadaverous hue was outlined by long, straggling locks of -jet-black hair. - -“Dead!” cried Mrs. Flint, in horror; and the shock to her nerves was -so great that she rushed from the room and banged open the front door, -calling wildly down the road: “Everard! Everard! Come back!” - -But the homeless wind and vagrant snow blew mockingly in her face, and -no other sound came back, so she knew it was all in vain to stand there -shouting for one who could not hear. - -She went in and shut the door, groaning loudly: - -“What a night--what a night--and what a mistake Everard has made, or is -he only playing a foolish joke on me? Who is the woman, anyway? I never -saw her face in these parts before.” - -And presently conquering her terror, she stole back into the room for a -second look. - -The strange intruder lay there speechless, motionless, as if life had -indeed fled from her body. Mrs. Flint ventured to touch her hand, and -it felt like ice. - -“She is frozen to death!” she muttered, pityingly. “Oh, how I wish -Everard would return and explain this mysterious thing. I had better -feel her heart. Why, it seems to beat faintly, poor creature! I wish I -knew just what to do to bring her to life, for this is just awful! _Oh, -what a night!_” - -But, leaving poor Mrs. Flint to her dazed condition and perplexity, we -must follow the eloping couple as their train rushed on through the -night and darkness to Washington. - -They had spent several happy hours together on the train, heedless of -the other passengers, who mostly slept or talked together, apparently -taking slight notice of the young pair who sat apart conversing with -shy dignity and permitting themselves no slightest caresses, such as -might have drawn ready ridicule upon their love. - -Almost before they realized it, the day dawned, and the train rushed -into the city on time at eight o’clock. - -Arthur took a carriage, and he and his bride to be were driven to a -hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue, where he always stopped when visiting the -city. - -Calling the proprietor aside, he said, in his most genial fashion: - -“As I have known you a long time, sir, I wish to say that I desire to -be married to the young lady who accompanies me before I register our -names. Can you send out for the nearest minister?” - -The host congratulated him, and answered laughingly: - -“Cupid never was in such luck before, for the Reverend Doctor Sprague -is in the office at this moment, having called in to inquire about a -subscription for his new church. You will both please step into the -parlor, and I will bring him there in a jiffy!” - -Cinthia was all in a tremor now. - -“Must I not even bathe my face and brush my hair first?” she queried, -clinging to him. - -“No, love, not till the little ceremony is over. I can not rest till -I know you are mine and out of your father’s power,” Arthur cried, -ardently. “And, see, there is the minister! Be brave, love; it will all -be over in a moment.” - -“Doctor Sprague--Mr. Varian and his intended bride. I am to be the -best man, and give the bride away,” said the host, genially; and the -minister bowed, and opened his book, saying: - -“I should like two witnesses, please. Perhaps that lady looking out of -the window will oblige us.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. PARTED AT THE ALTAR. - - -Doctor Sprague, the minister, had noticed on entering that a tall, -stately lady in a long traveling-wrap stood at one of the windows, -looking down absently on the busy avenue. - -It was, in fact, Mrs. Varian, who had arrived but a few minutes ago, -and was waiting in the parlor until her room should be made ready. - -Tortured by a cruel unrest after her interview of the evening before -with Everard Dawn, she had decided to leave Idlewild for a few days, -until after he went away with his daughter. - -Her mind was quite easy over the breaking up of the untoward love -affair, as Arthur had written her a note earlier in the day, saying -he was off on a short trip with a friend, and would wire particulars -to-morrow. - -On learning from Mr. Dawn that he had rejected Arthur’s suit for his -daughter’s hand, she guessed readily enough that her boy had gone away -to drown his sorrow. She was glad of this, believing that change of -scene is a great panacea for hopeless grief. - -Acting on this idea herself, she determined to make a short journey to -Washington, and perhaps New York, in the hope of obliterating from her -mind certain painful impressions produced, or, rather, renewed on it by -the encounter with Everard Dawn at Idlewild. - -The man’s face and voice haunted her and brought back memories fraught -with pain. To escape them, she had fled from her home that stormy night -to seek “respite and nepenthe.” - - “I would not dig my past - Up from its grave of weakness and regret, - Up from its hopes that glimmered but to set, - Its dreams that did not last.” - -Absorbed in painful thought, she had not observed the entrance of any -one until the raised voice of the minister made her look over her -shoulder in cold inquiry: - -“I shall need two witnesses, please. Perhaps that lady looking out of -the window would oblige us.” - -Then the host advanced toward her, saying, courteously: - -“Madame, will you honor us by becoming the witness to a ceremony of -marriage?” - -Mrs. Varian inclined her proud, dark head in assent, and moved -gracefully forward toward the young couple who stood before the -minister, the girl bashful and trembling, the man pale, but with an -eager smile on his handsome face. - -The next moment a startled cry rang on the air. - -“Arthur!” - -The young man dropped Cinthia’s hand and looked around. - -“Mother!” in surprise. - -“Oh, Arthur! what is the meaning of this strange scene?” she cried, -coming up between him and Cinthia. - -The young man laughed easily, soon getting over his surprise, and -answered: - -“It means, mother, that Mr. Dawn refused to give me Cinthia, so we took -the bit between our teeth and ran away. But how came you here? You did -not pursue us, did you, dear?” - -“No, no; for I did not dream of this. I made up my mind last night to -come to Washington on a little--business trip while you were away. -When--when--did you arrive?” - -“Just a few minutes ago. And I thought we had better get married before -we registered, or even had breakfast, for fear Mr. Dawn might be on our -track.” - -“We must have traveled on the same train. How strange we did not -meet--how fortunate that we meet now!” she cried, with almost tragic -emphasis. - -“Yes, mother, for now you can witness our marriage and give us your -blessing. Cinthia, dear, shake hands with my mother.” - -Cinthia put out a little trembling hand, and looked timidly out of the -corner of her drooping eyes at the beautiful lady. - -She met a cold glance, and the hand that just touched hers without the -slightest pressure was icy. - -“Are you ready now?” asked the minister, again opening his book. - -“Yes,” answered Arthur, taking Cinthia’s hand, and turning to him -eagerly. - -But there came a low, heart-wrung cry from the mother’s lips: - -“_Wait!_” - -All turned toward her in surprise. - -Her eyes were like coals of fire, her face wore a bluish pallor, her -very lips were white as she uttered, hoarsely: - -“I beg pardon, but the ceremony must not go on--until--until--I -speak--to--Arthur!” - -Every word came jerkily between the pallid lips, and her outstretched -hand clutched Arthur’s arm. - -“Come with me--let me speak to you alone!” she implored. - -Every one realized that she was laboring under the most terrible -agitation. It seemed plain to all that she meant to forbid the marriage. - -Arthur frowned at her--the son whose wishes she had never thwarted--and -exclaimed, impatiently: - -“Can you not wait till the ceremony is over? Remember, Mr. Dawn may -come at any moment.” - -“No--I can not wait! Come,” eagerly, “I will not detain you long. -Miss Dawn, will you not wait here just a few moments while--I--I--tell -Arthur--the truth?” - -“Go, Arthur,” answered the girl, faintly; and she sunk upon a chair, -trembling in every limb, sure in her heart that something was going to -happen. - -Mrs. Varian was angry with her--she was sure. How coldly she had looked -at her, how reluctantly she had touched her hand with icy fingers! - -Mrs. Varian dragged Arthur away with her to her own room, and then the -genial host said kindly, in sympathy for the suffering girl: - -“I will send a maid to show you to a room to rest, Miss Dawn, while you -are waiting for your friends.” - -“Oh, I thank you,” she answered, gratefully, desperately glad to be -alone. - -When she was gone, the minister said, uneasily: - -“I do not believe there is any use in my waiting. There will be no -marriage if that proud Mrs. Varian can have her own way.” - -“You are right,” returned the host. “I could see plainly that she -intended to break off the marriage. I believe that she pursued them -here, instead of just meeting them by accident, as she pretended. I -never heard of such a coincidence. I suppose the girl is poor, as her -clothing was plain and cheap, and the mother and son are rich. In fact, -I know they are, because the young fellow has stayed here several times -before and he throws money about like a young prince.” - -“He said that her father had refused him her hand, so he must be a -very black sheep, as poor men are usually glad to welcome a rich -son-in-law,” said the minister; adding: “I believe I had better go, if -you think I shall not be needed. I am sorry for that sweet young girl, -for I am sure that proud lady will show her no mercy.” - -“If you are needed, I will send to the parsonage for you, but it would -be a surprise to me if the marriage comes off now,” the host said, -candidly. - -So presently the minister went away, rather disappointed at losing the -expected liberal wedding fee. - -Cinthia locked herself into the luxurious room, and laid aside her hat -and jacket, so that she might bathe her face and neck, and brush out -the golden waves of her beautiful hair. - -When she had finished, she gazed at herself in the long mirror, and -saw an exquisitely beautiful young creature, although her face was -pale, and there were dark circles under her heavy eyes, caused by the -excitement and emotion of the last thirty-six hours. - -She sunk into a large easy-chair, and waited, with a wildly throbbing -heart, for the end of the interview between Arthur and his mother. - -She had a lurking presentiment of evil. It had fallen on her at the -touch of Mrs. Varian’s cold hand, and the strange glance of her -eyes--so different from her sweet friendliness the night she had been -her guest at Idlewild. - -Yet Arthur had said his mother was pleased at their engagement. What -could it all mean? - -The lids drooped over her tired young eyes, and in spite of her -anxiety, weariness overcame her, and she fell into a heavy sleep--so -she did not have to undergo the suspense of waiting, for more than half -an hour passed away before there came a low, half-deprecating rap upon -the door. - -It startled Cinthia, and she sprung awake, looking about her in -confusion, before she comprehended her position. - -The rap came again, and a little impatiently, so she hastily opened the -door to Mrs. Varian, saying: - -“Pardon me if I have kept you waiting. I was fatigued with travel, and -fell asleep.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV. “AN ETERNAL FAREWELL!” - - -“I am glad you could sleep,” Mrs. Varian answered, as she stepped -across the threshold and confronted the lovely girl whose heart she was -about to wound so cruelly. - -But, somehow, she did not shrink from the task for a change had come -over her feelings toward Cinthia, and she experienced a sort of fierce -pleasure in the task now before her. In a way, it would be taking -revenge on a woman who had wronged Mrs. Varian, and who was dead -now--dead, but unforgiven in her lonely grave. - -For this girl, her daughter, how could Mrs. Varian cherish any love? - -Perhaps something like pity touched her heart as the large, soft dark -eyes turned upon her so wistfully, but she fought down the sympathy, -saying to herself: - -“Her mother had no mercy on me--none! And the same blood runs in -Cinthia’s veins. She could not be trusted to bring her husband anything -but ill.” - -She threw back her magnificent head with a haughty motion, and said, -curtly: - -“Sit down, Cinthia, for what I am about to tell you may possibly ruffle -your nerves.” - -Cinthia obeyed with surprising meekness for one so proud; but the -imperious woman before her had the habit of command, and every one -seemed to obey. - -She, too, took a chair, as if perhaps her own nerves were not quite -steady. Then she said: - -“Cinthia, you have done wrong in disobeying your father’s commands, -when he told you there were reasons why you should not marry my son.” - -Cinthia bowed without answering. She had no defense to make, only the -mute protest of her wistful eyes. - -“I am here to tell you,” continued Mrs. Varian, “that on my side there -exist as grave reasons as your father’s for protesting against your -marrying Arthur.” - -The blood rose in the girl’s face, mounted to her fair brow, and -receded, leaving her pale as death, her eyes beginning to flash with -pride. She essayed to speak, and faltered: - -“Arthur told me--that you--were pleased--with our engagement. I--I--did -not think it mattered much--disobeying a cold, unloving father who has -neglected me all my life. If he had been fond of me, kind to me, I -would have acted differently.” - -A strange gleam shot into the brilliant eyes of Mrs. Varian, almost as -if it pleased her to know that Everard Dawn had been cold and cruel to -his only daughter. Then she looked down and played with the diamonds -that flashed on her white hands, as she continued, gravely: - -“Arthur and I have talked matters over together--there are things we -would rather not confide to you, best for you not to hear--and we have -decided that your father is right. You can never be Arthur’s wife.” - -Perhaps Cinthia had expected something like this, but it struck her -with the force of a great shock. She began to tremble like a leaf in a -gale, crying out: - -“You do not mean that he--Arthur--rejects me--after bringing me away -from my father’s home to marry me--jilts me at the very altar!” - -It was piteous, that heartcry wrung from the profoundest depths of -feeling, and for a moment Mrs. Varian was silent, sympathetic. Then she -looked down again at her rings, and answered: - -“I beg that you will not blame Arthur; he is the soul of honor; but in -this matter he has no choice save to give back your promise.” - -“He sent you to tell me this? Why was he not brave enough to come -himself?” - -“He believed it was better not to see you again,” the lady answered; -and Cinthia gasped in a sort of terror. - -Not to see him again--her Arthur, her love, her king, who was just -now to have been her happy bridegroom! Why, this was too terrible to -believe! Parted in an hour, torn asunder at the altar by the cruelty of -those cold hearts that age and time had taught forgetfulness of love. -Why, this was too hard to bear! - -It seemed to her that she was swooning, dying; the same sick feeling -came to her that she had felt last night, when her father’s voice -shouted to them in the blackness of the night; but a sudden hope, a -lightning suspicion, restored her fainting senses, and she sat erect -again. - -“I--I--” she began incoherently. “Oh, Mrs. Varian, it would -break my heart to believe the cruel thing you have just said! My -Arthur--_mine_--who was to be my husband--to turn against me all in one -moment, to wish never to see me again! You are deceiving me. I will not -believe such an impossible story save from his own lips.” - -With that passionate defiance she lay back pale and panting, gazing -with half-shut eyes at her tormentor. - -“Is it so?” said Mrs. Varian. “Then you shall be satisfied. It was -only to spare you and Arthur pain. But perhaps it will please you to -hear that he suffers as much as you do over this pang of parting.” - -There came to her the first intimation of an unsuspected nobility in -the girl’s nature when Cinthia uttered, drearily: - -“It would be cruel--nay, wicked--in me to wish any one to feel the -agony of soul that is my portion.” - -“Yet Arthur shares it with you, child, to the deepest, bitterest dregs. -Come with me, and see.” - -She took Cinthia’s cold, unresisting hand, and led her along the -corridor; continuing in an explanatory manner: - -“He should have come to you, but the shock of his broken love dream -almost stretched him dead at my feet. I had to call in a physician, but -he is better now.” - -She pushed open a door, and led Cinthia in. She saw Arthur lying on a -lounge, with a ghastly face and closed eyes. - -“Are you asleep, my son? because, after all, it will be better for you -to tell Cinthia yourself. She can not believe me.” - -He started and opened his dark-blue eyes. When they fell on the placid -sorrowful face of his lost little love, the burning tears sparkled into -them and rolled down upon his cheeks. Years of anguish could not have -changed him more than this keen stroke of an hour ago. - -“Cinthia”--he breathed hollowly, and she came and bent over him, -impulsively slipping her little hand into his as he went on--“Cinthia, -do not think me false or fickle, or turned against you by the arbitrary -wishes of our parents. I never loved you better than in this hour when -I must part from you forever. Cinthia, it is the most fortunate thing -in the world that my mother chanced on us in time to prevent our mad -marriage. A great gulf is fixed between us that neither our love nor -our hopes can ever cross. My mother has telegraphed for your father to -come and take you home, and we must bid each other an eternal farewell.” - -Cinthia felt herself sinking, falling; but an arm slipped round her -waist, and Mrs. Varian, with a sigh, pillowed the unconscious head -against her breast. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. “OH, WHAT A TIME!” - - -Mrs. Flint was at her wits’ end to know what to do for the strange -woman whom her brother had mistakenly brought home as his daughter. - -The upshot was that she simply did nothing at all but to sit still and -stare, and wonder where the woman came from, how Everard came to bring -her home, and what had become of Cinthia. - -Presently she heard steps and voices, and rushed to the door, glad that -her vigil with the seemingly dead woman was ended. - -Everard Dawn, alarmed at the duration of Cinthia’s swoon, had brought a -physician with him, and exclaimed as soon as he saw his sister: - -“Has Cinthia recovered yet?” - -“You can see for yourself,” she answered, in a dazed way, as she -ushered them into the room. - -The two men, almost blinded by the brightness of the room, after the -outer storm and darkness, advanced to the sofa and bent over the -patient in keen anxiety, while Mrs. Flint blurted out, nervously: - -“Everard; what is the matter? Why did you bring that strange woman here -instead of Cinthia?” - -At the same moment the old doctor added: - -“It is not little Cinthia but a stranger.” - -Everard Dawn bent down with an air of incredulity that quickly changed -as he saw what a terrible mistake he had made. - -The cry that rose from his tortured heart, the baffled purpose, the -agony, the pain, rang forever in the ears of the two who heard it. Then -exhausted nature gave way. He fell writhing to the floor in convulsions. - -Then Mrs. Flint and the doctor had their hands full with the two -patients. - -They ignored the strange woman until Mr. Dawn had been quieted and -removed to his bed, where the doctor kept him quiescent by the use of -opiates while he turned his attention to his other charge. - -“Who is she? Where did she come from? I’ve never seen her face around -here,” he said curiously to Mrs. Flint, who replied by confiding -in him all that she knew, which, of course, threw no light upon the -mystery; so without more ado they set to work to restore the poor -creature to life. - -It was a serious undertaking, and lasted until the gray dawn of another -dreary day glimmered in through the windows of the sitting-room. - -Then the woman lay asleep, having recovered sufficiently to open her -eyes, stare at them uncomprehendingly, and to swallow some broth with -the avidity produced by starvation. - -“Poor soul! it is the want of food that has brought her to this pass. -See how flabby her flesh is, and how loosely it hangs on her large -frame! Look at her shabby, worn clothing, not much better than a -tramp’s; and her broken shoes, how pitiful. It is doubtful if she -survives even after the long spell of sickness that threatens her,” -said the doctor. - -“Good land, doctor, a long spell, you say? Why, what are you going to -do about it? Can’t she be sent to the almshouse?” - -“‘I was a stranger, and ye took me in!’” quoted the old physician, -reverently. - -The old lady thus referred to her bible, muttered repentantly: - -“Lord, forgive my hardness of heart! I’ll do the best I can, Doctor -Savoy; but I’m an old woman, and the nursing will go hard with me, you -see, along with my other troubles.” - -“You shall have help--there are plenty good women willing to help you,” -he replied, and rose to go, adding: “I will go and bring one right -away.” - -“Get me a trained nurse, doctor--I’ll pay the cost--for what with -Everard and _her_ sick on my hands, I’ll need skilled help.” - -“Oh, Mr. Dawn will be up and about in twenty-four hours, I believe, and -out and gone after his eloping daughter. You need not give him any more -of that opiate, and he will be awake for his breakfast. Tell him to -remain quiet in his room till I call again this afternoon.” - -So saying, the good old physician bustled out and away, and he did not -leave Mrs. Flint long alone with her burden of perplexities and worry, -but directly sent to her the best nurse the neighborhood afforded, a -stout middle-aged woman, with a keen eye and cheery smile, who at once -took on her younger shoulders the burden of Mrs. Flint’s care. - -Together they arranged a tiny hall bedroom--all there was to spare--and -removed the sleeping woman to the comfortable bed. - -“Now, Mrs. Flint, you go and lie down; you look dead beat, that’s a -fact,” the nurse said, compassionately. - -“I must start my kitchen fire and have a bite of breakfast first. -Afterward I’ll rest.” - -When the breakfast was over, she stole into her brother’s room, but he -was still sleeping heavily from the drug Doctor Savoy had administered. - -Mrs. Flint went to her room and snatched two hours of rest, from which -she was aroused by an impatient rapping on the door. - -“Mercy sake, who can that be?” she ejaculated, making haste to answer -the summons. - -She opened the door, and found a telegraph-messenger with a message for -her brother. He ran away shivering in the cold air as soon as she had -signed the receipt. - -Mrs. Flint turned it over in her shaking fingers, soliloquizing: - -“From Washington--to tell us of course that they’re married! Oh, dear, -what a time!” and she hurried to her brother’s room. - -To her surprise, she found him up and dressed, putting the finishing -touches to his toilet. The tears rushed to her eyes at the sight of his -haggard, miserable face. - -“Rebecca, I was fooled last night. Arthur Varian gave me that tramp he -had picked up in the road for my own child, and I let him deceive me. -But I shall go on their tracks at once,” he said weakly. - -For answer she held out the telegram. - -He snatched it with a cry of anguish, and quickly mastered the contents. - -His face changed marvelously, and he exclaimed hoarsely: - -“Thank God!” and tossed her the telegram. She read: - - “Cinthia is here safe with me, and not married. Please come at once - and take her home. - - “MRS. VARIAN.” - -The address was carefully given, and the man’s face, from anger and -distress, changed to keenest joy. - -“This is better than I could have hoped,” he cried. “Can you give me -some breakfast at once, Rebecca, for I must leave for Washington on the -earliest train.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. A DEADLY FEUD. - - -When Cinthia recovered her senses she found herself lying on her bed -and the air was heavy with the scent of eau-de-Cologne, with which Mrs. -Varian was gently bathing her face and hands. - -“Do you feel better now?” the lady gently inquired, and Cinthia -mechanically answered: - -“Oh, yes.” - -In fact her head was aching wretchedly, and her heart was heavy as -lead, but she would seek no sympathy from Arthur Varian’s mother, who -had turned against her so cruelly. - -“I am glad to hear it. Perhaps you will feel like taking breakfast -now,” touching the bell. - -“Oh, no, no, no!” cried Cinthia; feeling as if she could never swallow -a morsel of food again. - -“But yes,” returned Mrs. Varian, smiling, as she rose as if to go. - -Cinthia raised her heavy head and held out a deprecatory hand. - -“You are going,” she said, “and it is not likely that we shall ever -meet again. Wait till I ask you one question. Why is it that you hate -me?” - -“I do not hate you, child.” - -“Why deny it, when I have read it in your eyes?” cried the girl, -accusingly. - -Mrs. Varian’s face worked with emotion, and she started forward as -if she would have embraced the girl, then suddenly drew back, saying -huskily: - -“Cinthia, you are mistaken. I--I--do not hate--_you! It was--your -mother!_” - -“My mother!” the girl gasped, in bewilderment, gazing in wonder at the -beautiful and agitated face of the lady. - -Mrs. Varian continued, hoarsely: - -“My feelings toward you are complex, Cinthia. For your own sake, I -could love you--you are beautiful and winning, but between your parents -and me there has been a deadly feud--they both wronged me! I have hated -them both for years and years, and that hatred comes between you and -me, child, like an impassable gulf. That first night I saw you I did -not guess at your parentage, hence my attraction to you. When I learned -the truth upon the return of your father, my feelings changed. I do not -deny it. I could not contemplate with any calmness the thought of a -marriage between you and Arthur. - -“Now ask me no more. I have said more than I intended to do, and can -reveal nothing further of that past which lies like a dead weight on my -happiness. I must leave you to return to my son, but I will come back -when you have had your breakfast served to you, and--” - -Cinthia was sitting up on the side of the bed, her hair a disheveled -tangle of gold about her pallid face, with its great star-like eyes. -They flashed with sudden pride now as she interrupted: - -“Let me beg you to remain away, nor seek to cross again the gulf that -you say yawns between us. I am better alone with my humiliation,” -bitterly. - -“Do not call it that, Cinthia--you do not understand! And I must take -charge of you until your father comes,” insisted Mrs. Varian. - -“I prefer to remain alone.” - -“It would appear cruel in me to leave you like this, seemingly forlorn -and friendless.” - -Cinthia laughed mirthlessly, and reiterated: - -“I prefer to wait alone for my father.” - -“Very well, I must bow to your will. God bless you, my poor girl,” and -the haughty woman moved with a stately step from the room. - -Cinthia threw herself back upon the bed with closed eyes and pallid -lips. The agony of that moment no pen could describe. - -Was it only two days ago she had been wishing for something to occur -and break up the monotony of her life, and resenting Mrs. Flint’s -homilies upon her discontent? - -Something had happened with a vengeance. - -The love that had nestled in her heart that day, a shy, sweet -new-comer, had been fanned into strong, passionate life by hurrying -events that now closed round her like a grasp of steel threatening to -crush out all the sweetness of life forever. - -She had tasted the sweetness of loving and being loved, she who had -been lonely and heart-hungry so long; but now the sweet cup of joy was -dashed from her lips and bitter dregs offered in its stead. - -They had parted her from her heart’s love, Arthur. With his own lips, -that so lately had sworn eternal fealty to her, he had uttered the -edict of their eternal separation, for no cause save that their parents -cherished an old feud. - -It was cruel, bitter, and Cinthia’s heart hardened with rebellion -against her fate. - -She longed desperately for death to end the agony of love and -humiliation under which she suffered. - -“Oh, if I could just slip away out of life now--this moment!” she -cried, in fierce intolerance of her pain; and a lightning temptation -came to her to end it all. - -She began to pace restlessly up and down the room, wondering what -would be the easiest way to take her own life--her life that was so -unbearable now! - -It would be so easy to close all the apertures for air, turn on the -gas, and lie down on her bed until asphyxiation came to her relief and -wrenched life out of its suffering frame. - -“I wonder if it would be painful. I don’t want to suffer,” she said to -herself, with keen physical shrinking, while her active mind pictured -the scene when they should come to seek her and find her cold and -dead--her cruel father, fickle Arthur, and his revengeful mother, who, -for the sake of an old-time wrong, was willing to break two fond young -hearts. - -What keen remorse would pierce their hearts when they saw that they had -driven her to desperation and death! Perhaps they would repent when it -was all too late. At the moving thought, Cinthia dissolved into floods -of tears. - -She knelt down by a chair, with her head on her arm, and heavy sobs -shook her slight frame like a reed in the wind. - -She cried out that she wished she had never seen Arthur Varian, who had -taught her the sweet meaning of love only to make her more lonely and -wretched than she had been before. - -But a rap on the door made her start up in alarm and hastily dash away -her tears before she opened it to a white-clad waiter bearing a tray -containing a dainty breakfast, which he arranged on a little table, -then withdrew. - -Then Cinthia, in spite of her grief, discovered that she was -unromantically hungry. - -On yesterday, while sulking in her chamber at home she had refused food -all day, and on the train last night had only taken some fruit. - -The appetizing aroma of hot rolls, broiled birds, and steaming -chocolate began to appeal to her irresistibly, and she ended by drawing -up a chair and making a tolerable meal for a girl who thought her heart -was broken and was actually contemplating suicide. - -She did not feel half so morbid when she finished her chocolate. Life -was bitter still, but death did not seem so desirable. - -Her first temptation to suicide changed to a thought of flight. - -“What if I should slip away and hide myself in the great world, where -they could never find me again? I might make a career for myself, -become a great actress, maybe, and when they saw me successful on the -stage, they would think I had forgotten cruel Arthur, as I wish them -to do, for I would not have him think I love him still,” she thought, -bitterly, her mind running on novels she had read in which romantic -girls, thrown alone on the world, had encountered wonderful adventures, -and finally carved their names on the rock of love. - -Cinthia was utterly wretched and despairing, and in the mood for -anything reckless. - -She flung on her hat and jacket, and turned toward the door. - -She was actually going to venture out into the world alone, a desperate -victim whom fate had used most cruelly, and who longed to escape from -everything she had known into some new, untried sphere. - -She had no idea where she was going. She would escape into the street, -and wander aimlessly up and down with the busy throngs; that was just -now her only thought. - -She stretched out her hand to the door-knob, and at the instant a light -rap on the outside startled her. - -“It is Mrs. Varian; but she cannot forbid my going,” she thought, -defiantly, and flung wide the door. - -A stranger stood on the threshold--a lovely woman richly dressed, -faint, delicate perfume exhaling from her silks and furs. - -“Ah, you are going out? I beg pardon; but will you permit me to enter -your room for a moment? I have lately occupied it--in fact, only went -away this morning--and I have discovered that I forgot two of my -rings,” she exclaimed in a sweet, silvery voice like liquid music. - -Cinthia stood aside to let her enter; and, floating to the -dressing-case, she lifted the scarf and displayed two sparkling rings. - -“See! It is fortunate that the chamber-maid is honest, or that she -did not discover these. I thank you for your courtesy. But, excuse -me, you were going out. My dear young lady are you feeling well? I -assure you that you look extremely ill; and there is a sharp east wind -blowing outside. You are trembling; your face is as pale as chalk; your -beautiful hair is all in disorder. You ought to be in bed with your -mother watching over you.” - -“My mother, alas!” cried Cinthia; and again her slight form shook with -a tempest of sobs and tears that startled the handsome stranger, who -forced her gently into a chair. - -Meanwhile, Everard Dawn was speeding to Washington on the fastest -train. He arrived there at dusk, and took a cab to the hotel where Mrs. -Varian was staying, immediately sending up his card to that lady, and -receiving a summons to her private parlor. - -She was waiting there alone, and their greeting was cold and formal, -though she could not help noting the signs of last night’s agitation on -his pale face. - -Waving him to a seat, she recounted briefly all that had transpired -since their meeting yesterday. - -“I came away last night--frankly, I could not breathe the same air with -you--and I found them here. It was one of the greatest shocks of my -life,” she said, and he bowed coldly. - -She continued, stiffly: - -“She is here waiting for you, but in a most rebellious mood: in fact, -forbade me to re-enter her room to-day, so she must have spent a lonely -time, poor girl! But before you go to her, Arthur wishes an interview -with you on a very particular subject relating to Cinthia. You will -find him alone in there,” indicating a door. - -Everard Dawn looked fixedly at her a moment then bowed and left her -standing there, while he went in to Arthur Varian. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. “REMEMBER THAT I LOVED YOU WELL.” - - -The beautiful stranger pushed Cinthia gently into a chair, and sat down -by her side. - -“I hope you will not think me intruding, my dear girl; but you inspire -me with a strange interest. Are you here alone?” she cried, earnestly. - -“Alone!” answered Cinthia in a tragic tone, as she lifted her anguished -dark eyes and scanned the other’s face. - -She beheld one of the sweetest, fairest faces she had ever beheld. - -The lady might have been thirty-five or more, but she possessed that -charm of beauty that always suggests youth--perfect features, a -complexion fresh as the morning; large, tender eyes of the brightest -blue, and abundant tresses of shining golden brown hair, while a -mouth like Cupid’s bow in form, and crimson as a rose, revealed in a -dazzling smile small pearly white teeth, that added the last charm to -her winsome loveliness. - -Cinthia gazed fixedly at that winning face, drew a long breath of -emotion, and instantly became captive to beauty’s bow and spear. - -She was irresistibly drawn to the graceful woman whose sweet, silvery -voice sounded like music in her ears as she exclaimed: - -“You are in trouble, dear; I feel it, see it in your pale face and sad -eyes. I hear it in the anguish of your voice. And you are alone, you -say! Then I dare not go away and leave you like this, lest harm befall -you. Let me help you!” - -“No one can help me,” Cinthia answered in stubborn despair; but all -the while that voice and smile were thrilling her heart with subtle -tenderness. - -“Then the case must indeed be serious,” cried the lady, gently slipping -her arm around Cinthia’s waist, moved by an impulse she scarcely -understood herself; while she continued, gently: - -“My heart aches for your sorrow, dear, and although we are strangers -to each other, I long to comfort you. Confide in me, and perhaps I -can help you. Is it a question of lack of means? Or, sadder still, -of--love?” - -“Of love!” burst out Cinthia; and she dropped her head on that silken -shoulder in a passionate outburst of tears, won in spite of herself by -the divine art of sympathy. - -And then, since both were strangely, magnetically attracted to each -other, it was not hard for her to draw from Cinthia the brief, sad -story of her life and love down to the very moment when she had opened -the door to fly out into the street with the half-formed plan of -suicide yet in her mind. - -Oh, what a pathetic, moving story it was! And how it touched the -listener’s tender heart, moving her to tears! - -She could sympathize with all that Cinthia told her, and could share in -her resentment against her unloving father, her strict aunt, and the -lover whose affection had not been proof against the schemes of his -proud mother. To her eyes, as to Cinthia’s, it all looked as if Mrs. -Varian and Everard Dawn had made of the hapless lovers a sacrifice to a -family feud vaguely hinted at in the lady’s confession to Cinthia, that -her mother had been her bitterest enemy and was unforgiven in her grave. - -With all her heart she espoused Cinthia’s side, and freely expressed -contempt for Arthur’s part in the girl’s sorrow. - -“He has acted the part of a coward, forsaking you thus at the command -of his haughty mother, and I would think no more of him, dear, for he -is not worth it,” she exclaimed, warmly. - -Cinthia only sighed. She did not believe now that she could ever put -Arthur out of her thoughts. - -In spite of his seeming injustice to her, and the humiliation he -had put upon her, something in her heart vaguely pleaded in his -defense--perhaps his illness and pallor, and the keen anguish of his -voice when he had said to her so sadly that they must bid each other an -eternal farewell. - -There had been something solemn, even tragic, in that parting, almost -like the farewell of death. Resentment did not have any part in its -supreme despair. It was rather - - “As those who love - Are parted by the hand of death, - And one stands hushed, with reverent breath, - Gazing on funeral bier and pall. - But ere we close the coffin lid, - Let bitter memories all be hid; - If memory needs must break the spell, - Remember that I loved you well, - And o’er the rest let silence fall.” - -The lovely stranger continued earnestly; - -“You are young yet, and in time a new love may replace this lost one, -and bring you great happiness.” - -“Happiness is not for me. I am ill-fated!” moaned Cinthia. - -“Do not feel so despondent. The young are naturally morbid. I know that -by experience. I have had a great sorrow in my own life, and overlived -it.” - -Cinthia looked at her almost incredulously, she seemed so fair and -bright, and her inexperienced eyes could not read the signs of a past -grief in the delicate lines about the lips and eyes. - -“I have overlived it, and so will you,” repeated the lady. - -“Tell me how to do it. Help me!” cried Cinthia, appealingly; and as the -lady remained gravely silent a moment, she added: - -“Oh, if I could be filled with some great excitement that would occupy -my thoughts, I believe I could put him out of my mind, except in very -quiet moments. I was thinking just before you came in that I would like -to go on the stage to become a great actress.” - -An expression of dismay lowered over the fair face regarding her so -intently, as Cinthia continued, eagerly: - -“As we came to the hotel this morning, I saw through the carriage -windows large posters announcing the appearance of a great actress -to-night and this afternoon in a popular play. I have been thinking of -her, and that I would like to have such a life. Do you think if I tried -that I--might succeed?” - -“Ah, child, you do not know what labor and trouble would be involved in -such an undertaking.” - -“I should not care for that--it would be what I need to turn my -thoughts away from Arthur. And, indeed, the desire has taken hold on -me, fascinates me. I intend to try.” - -“No, dear, you must not do it. It is not wise, nor desirable. I am -glad that I happened in on you this morning, for there is no one -more capable of advising you in this crisis of your life. I tell you -stage-work is heartache and sorrow even when crowned with a little -success such as Madame Ray’s, whose name you read on the posters this -morning. I tell you this, and I ought to know, for I am that woman!” - -“You?” Cinthia cried, wide-eyed and wondering, and with a sad smile. -The other answered: - -“Yes.” - -Taking Cinthia’s hand, and caressing it softly in both her own, she -added: - -“When I was young, like you, I had a great sorrow that sent my thoughts -wandering, like yours, in search of a sensation in which to drown -memory and grief. I turned to the stage, and after a period of drudgery -and patience most painful to remember, earned a measure of success; -so I am in a position to know what I am talking about, and to advise -you against the course that I myself adopted. Not for worlds, my dear, -would I have you go on the stage. No, no; it is a feverish life in the -glare of the foot-lights. When I am rich enough to live without my -work, I shall immediately retire to a private life.” - -But she saw that her words had not convinced Cinthia. The feverish -fascination was still in her mind, the longing to escape from the -painful present into something new and strange. - -But she persevered: - -“If you will listen to me, dear child, you will yield to your father’s -wish to place you in school for two years. Believe me, the course of -study will be far less hard than the training for the stage. Suppose -you come with me now to our rehearsal, and remain for our _matinée_ -performance? It will give you a glimpse of theatrical life behind the -scenes that may perhaps turn your mind from this fascination.” - -“I will be glad to go with you,” answered Cinthia, eager for escape -from the wretched present, and with strange reluctance to part from the -charming actress. - -“We will go at once, then,” said Madame Ray, rising, and adding: -“Perhaps you should ask Mrs. Varian’s leave?” - -“I shall do nothing of the kind,” Cinthia answered, rebelliously. “I -have told her I wished to be alone, and she will not even know I am -gone.” - -“But your father might arrive.” - -“He can not do so until very late, and I will probably be back when he -comes,” Cinthia answered, but wishing in her heart that she were going -this moment so far out of her old life that she need never encounter -her father again--the stern, unloving father for whom she did not -pretend an affection. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. A TRAGIC PAST. - - -The actress did not urge her any further. Taking her hand as fondly as -if she had been her own daughter, she led her from the room, down to -her waiting carriage. At dusk that evening she had not returned, and -when Everard Dawn went to seek her, in company with Mrs. Varian, they -found the room untenanted. - -Mr. Dawn had come out of Arthur’s room with a pale, agitated face, -and a look about the eyes that in a woman would have betokened recent -tears. It had, in fact, been a most emotional interview, and one from -which he was glad to escape. - -But the softness of his expression gave place to pride and coldness -when he saw Mrs. Varian waiting for him, and he said, with a -haughtiness that equaled her own: - -“Will you have the kindness to conduct me to Cinthia?” - -She wondered why he did not say “my daughter,” instead of Cinthia; but -it pleased her, nevertheless, the indifference he showed toward his -child. She was selfish enough to feel glad that he had no love for the -daughter of the woman who had been her enemy in life, and whose sin -against her had been too heinous for any possibility of forgiveness. - -With a slight bow of assent she moved on by his side to Cinthia’s room, -where she knocked several times without receiving any answer. - -With a sudden misgiving at the memory of the girl’s desperate mood that -morning, she opened the door and looked inside. - -“Good heavens, she is gone!” turning to him with startled eyes. - -He answered sternly, rebukingly: - -“She should not have been left alone. But, of course, I could not -expect you to watch over her mother’s daughter.” - -Her great eyes flashed in her pale face as she retorted: - -“I certainly had no cause to love her, but I would not wish her any -ill. We had better inquire about her down at the office.” - -They did so, and were startled and mystified by the news that Madame -Ray, the actress, had called on Miss Dawn that morning, and soon -afterward took her away with her in the carriage. - -“The lady is playing at the Metropolitan Theater. Perhaps the young -lady has gone to the _matinée_,” said the polite clerk, wondering at -their blank faces. - -“Yes, yes, of course,” Mr. Dawn returned, unwilling to make his -perturbation known. He turned away with Mrs. Varian, saying to her in -an undertone: “I will go in search of her, and--you had better keep -this news from Arthur.” - -“I will,” she answered; and he left her with a slight, cold bow. - -She stood still in the corridor and watched him out of sight with a -stony gaze ere she retreated to her own room and sunk half fainting -upon a chair, murmuring: - -“Ah! cruel fate that made him cross my path again! Was I not wretched -enough already?” - -Whatever there had been in the past between those two it had surely -been most tragic, judging by their present scorn of each other, and -their impatience of the fate that had brought them together again. - -For more than an hour she crouched in her chair with drooping head -and a gray, ashen face, from which her great burning eyes shone like -live coals; then she rose and stared at herself in the long mirror, -muttering, bleakly: - -“What a wreck I look after one of those spells, wan and gray, like -a woman aged in an hour. It would frighten Arthur to see me like -this, and he would surely guess at the hidden fires that slumber, -volcano-like, in my breast, eating away love and hope and joy. He must -not see me thus;” and with the aid of cosmetics, skillfully applied, -she soon hid the traces of the passion-storm that had swept with -devastating force over her soul. Then swallowing a light draught of -wine, she sought her son. - -He lay quiescent upon the couch, as he had lain all day, after his -illness of the morning, with his white hand before his eyes. There had -been a most exciting interview between him and Mr. Dawn, and he was now -temporarily utterly worn out and exhausted. - -The unhappy mother sat down by her son and ran her slender fingers -caressingly through the soft clustering locks of his abundant hair. - -She saw his pale face writhe with a spasm of inward feeling, as he -muttered through trembling lips: - -“Are they gone?” - -She answered, evasively: - -“Yes.” - - - - -CHAPTER XX. LOVE AND LOSS. - - -Meanwhile, Everard Dawn flung himself into a cab and hurried to the -theater, his mind divided between thoughts of his daughter and the -magnificent woman he had left behind him. - -Arrived at the theater, he purchased a ticket, and entered just as -the last act was being performed; but without glancing at the stage, -he threw a hurried, anxious glance around the glittering horseshoe in -search of Cinthia’s face. - -To his surprise and unutterable relief, he presently beheld her fair -face and shining hair half hidden behind the sweeping curtain in a -private box, from which she watched the stage with kindling eyes of -delight. - -Quickly he made his way to her side, and she glanced around at him with -suddenly gloomy eyes of fear and dislike. - -Bending over her, he whispered, agitatedly: - -“Cinthia, do not look at me so coldly and angrily. I am your father.” - -“You do well to remind me of your claim,” she answered, bitterly, -turning her glance back to the stage. - -The keen reproach cut deep, and for a moment he found no words -for reply, only followed her eyes to the scene where Madame Ray, -magnificently beautiful in white brocade and diamonds, was the center -of an emotional scene. - -“What a fascinating woman! It is the star, of course?” he exclaimed. - -“Yes; it is Madame Ray. She is more than fascinating. She is an angel,” -his daughter returned, warmly. - -“May I ask how long you have known the lady?” - -Cinthia looked around at him, and answered, perversely: - -“Long enough to love her better than any one else that I know.” - -“Is she so charming?” - -“Adorable!” - -“And Mrs. Varian?” anxiously. - -“I hate her!” Cinthia answered, frankly, with a flash of the eyes. - -“Because she parted you from Arthur?” he asked, anxiously. - -“Yes,” mutinously. - -“Ah, Cinthia, in that act she only showed you truest kindness.” - -“She hated my mother!” - -“And with good reason!” he replied, with a transient flash in his dark -blue eyes. - -Cinthia looked suddenly curious. - -“I should like to hear all about it!” she exclaimed. - -“Ah, my child, it is too sad a story for your ears, that old feud. I -pray Heaven you need never hear it all. We will go away to-morrow, and -bury the dead past forever,” he answered, earnestly, while he wondered -over and over how she had formed Madame Ray’s acquaintance, though he -saw that in her present perverse mood she would disclose nothing. - -They both watched the stage in silence for some moments, then she -startled him by saying: - -“I believe my kind friend Madame Ray would help me to become an actress -if I insist upon it. Would you consent?” - -“Certainly not. I have other plans for you,” he answered, with instant -decision. - -“But, I can not bear the idea of that boarding-school! I give you fair -notice that I am likely to run away from it and drown myself.” - -“Poor Cinthia, poor unhappy child!” and his voice grew suddenly deep -and tender, while he gazed with dim eyes at her flushed, defiant face. - -A great pity and sympathy rose in his heart for the hapless girl whose -life was blighted in its dawning by a hopeless love. - -He said to himself that he must rise superior to the self-absorption of -years and give time and thought to brightening his daughter’s life. - -Perhaps she might turn out more lovable than he had ever dared hope; -but even if not, there was his neglected duty staring him in the face. -He could not shirk it any longer, now that Cinthia had cut adrift from -the old life, and had no one to depend on but him. He must win her -from the despair and desperation of her present mood to contentment -with life. - -Speaking very gently and kindly, he said: - -“If you think you can not endure the school, I must make other plans -for you. How would you like to travel awhile?” - -Her dark eyes gleamed with sudden interest, and she cried, quickly: - -“It would please me more than anything else you can offer. I tell you -frankly that I am wretched, and that change of scene and constant -excitement offer the only panacea for my troubles.” - -“You shall have it; and I pray Heaven it may effect a cure. Listen, -Cinthia, I have very agreeable news for you.” - -She looked at him with a slightly incredulous air, and he continued: - -“A relative of ours has recently left you a small fortune, that will -enable you to lead a very pleasant future life according to your own -wishes. I am appointed your guardian, and you will have an income of -ten thousand a year.” - -“Ten thousand a year!” gasped Cinthia, in surprise and delight at her -good luck, for it seemed a great fortune to one who had been reared so -plainly and frugally. - -She was young and beautiful and always longed for the pleasures that -money could buy, and the sudden news that she was to realize her dream -did indeed dazzle her so that a smile came to her sad lips and a flash -of pleasure to her eyes. - -Her father thought, cynically: - -“Her sorrow did not lie so deep after all, and it will easily be -soothed by the gewgaws foolish women prize. Well, I am glad that it is -so.” - -He resumed, cordially: - -“I am glad of this good luck for you, Cinthia, for I have never been -rich myself, and my income has never been more than half what yours -is now, and that was earned by diligent practice at the law. I had -intended to do my best toward brightening your sad young life, but this -legacy comes most opportunely to enable you to gratify your desires.” - -“Yes, I am very grateful for it. Now I can seek constant diversion to -drown memory,” she answered, with a long-drawn sigh that showed him she -would not forget so easily as he had hoped. - -It did not occur to her to ask the name of the relative who had left -her so handsome a legacy, or to notice that her father had not spoken -of any one’s death. In her eagerness she accepted her good fortune -without curiosity, and clasping her little hands in growing excitement, -cried: - -“Papa, I have always wished to cross the sea. Will you take me?” - -“Yes, Cinthia; but should you not see something of your own land -first?” - -“That can wait, papa. My first wish is to put the whole breadth of the -world between me and Arthur Varian.” - -“Perhaps that will be best,” he assented; for her words touched an -aching chord in his own heart. - -Who could know better the aching pangs of love and loss than Everard -Dawn, who had tasted both to the bitter dregs? - -And how could he blame any one for the mad instinct of flight from -memory when he had been a restless exile weary years for no better -reason? - - “And I have wandered far away to quell my spirit’s wild unrest, - From place to place a lonely one, - And rocked on ocean’s heaving breast. - - “But in the sound of winds and waves - For evermore I heard thy tone, - Gazed down the mountain’s verdant slope, - And thought of thee, and thee alone. - - “The eyes whose sparkling light I loved - Shone on me from the midnight stars, - The crimson of the lips once kissed - Glowed in the sunset’s rosy bars.” - -The curtain fell to the crash of orchestra music and the crowded -building began to be emptied and the lights turned low. - -Both rose, and Cinthia’s father said, abruptly: - -“Shall we return to the hotel? Or would you like to go on to New York -to-night to get ready for sailing on the first steamer?” - -“We will go to New York to-night, but first let me go and say farewell -to my dear friend Madame Ray,” she said, hurrying to the greenroom. - -Everard Dawn went out and sent a note to Mrs. Varian, while he waited -for his daughter. - -It ran simply: - - “I found Cinthia at the theater, and we go on at once to New York, to - sail this week for Europe, by her earnestly expressed wish. In change - of scene and the rush of excitement she will seek oblivion of this - painful episode in her life. - - “E. D.” - -Presently Cinthia came to him from Madame Ray’s dressing-room, where -she had spent a long half hour, and her father saw that the dew of -tears hung heavily on the thick fringe of her dark lashes. Wondering -greatly at this mysterious friendship, he drew her hand through his arm -and led her away to the new life that lay before her in the untried -future. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. A QUARREL WITH FATE. - - -Mrs. Flint would have been very lonely after her brother’s departure, -but for the fact that she had her hands and her mind both full with -helping the nurse to care for the poor wayfarer so strangely thrown on -her hands. - -As it was, her anxiety over Cinthia was soon dissipated by the receipt -of a telegram from Mr. Dawn, announcing that he had found his daughter -safe in Washington, and that they would go on a trip to New York. - -Several days later a short letter followed the telegram, saying they -had concluded to take a run over to Europe for an indefinite stay. He -believed that change of scene was the best way to wean Cinthia from her -infatuation for Arthur Varian. - -No mention was made of the legacy that had so opportunely fallen to -Cinthia, but Mr. Dawn inclosed a liberal check to his sister, and asked -that she would use some of it in behalf of the woman he had brought -home that night, stating that he had recognized in her a former servant -of Cinthia’s mother. - -Mrs. Flint began to take considerable more interest in the invalid when -she learned this interesting fact. - -She had always cherished a lively curiosity over Cinthia’s mother, -and it had never been properly gratified, but the little knowledge -she had made her thirsty for more. That she was beautiful, vain, and -unprincipled, Everard Dawn had acknowledged; but he did not even -possess a picture of her, although Mrs. Flint fancied he must have -loved her well from the way he had exiled himself at her death. - -She was anxious for the sick woman’s recovery, for she fancied the -woman could tell her more of Everard’s dead wife than her brother had -ever chosen to divulge himself. - -So she was unremitting in her care, as were also Doctor Savoy and -the trained nurse; but for several weeks the woman’s life hung on a -thread, and it was evident that exposure of that wintery night had been -preceded by keen privation and almost starvation, making her hold on -life so frail that she had almost let it go. - -It was far into December before she became convalescent enough to -impart her name and some curt information about herself. - -“My name is Rachel Dane, and I came from Florida in search of work,” -she said, rather sullenly; adding: “I’m a capital sick-nurse, but I -could get no more work of that kind, and I thought I’d hire out for a -ladies’-maid, or even a cook, for I can do anything I have a mind to -turn my hand to.” - -Old Doctor Savoy to whom she was talking, smiled benevolently, and -beaming on Mrs. Flint, remarked: - -“I don’t think you’ll have to fare any further for a job as maid of all -work when you get strong enough, for my old friend here certainly needs -a good domestic, now that she isn’t as young as she once was.” - -Mrs. Flint had never thought of the subject in that way before, but -when her old friend, Doctor Savoy, presented it so artfully to her -mind, she consented to the plan, knowing that she would be very lonely -in the quiet house, now that willful Cinthia’s bright presence was -removed. - -So when the snows of Christmas lay deep on the ground, the new servant -was up and about the little house, serving her new mistress skillfully -and well, but preserving a rather sullen and taciturn demeanor, as if -somehow she had a quarrel with fate and could not be reconciled to some -scurvy trick it had played upon her now or in past days. - -While Mrs. Flint was wondering how to put to her some plain questions -as to her service with her brother’s wife, Rachel Dane forestalled her -by saying, in a sort of casual way: - -“When I got off the train at the station, I saw a man I used to -know--Mr. Everard Dawn. Does he live hereabout?” - -“No,” replied Mrs. Flint. - -“Visiting, maybe?” with veiled anxiety. - -“Yes.” - -“Oh! At whose house?” - -“At mine; but he has gone to Europe, now,” returned Mrs. Flint, -succinctly. - -The woman started, and muttered some inaudible words, as though she had -received an unpleasant surprise. - -“Perhaps you don’t know that it was Everard Dawn--my brother--who -brought you in here out of the snow that night?” added Mrs. Flint. - -“So he saved my life,” Rachel Dane muttered, grimly; “and you say he is -your brother, Mrs. Flint?” - -“Yes, and he told me he recognized you as a former servant. Is it true?” - -“Yes; I lived with Mrs. Dawn two years. It was when her eldest child -was born--before they left the South and moved North. I suppose she has -several children now, ma’am?” with eager inquiry. - -Mrs. Flint stared at her in surprise. - -“Then you haven’t heard--you don’t know--that Mrs. Dawn died when -little Cinthia was five years old and there never was any other child?” - -“Dead! Mrs. Dawn dead!” the woman cried with sharp regret, while a -spasm of pain passed over her face, and she sprung excitedly to her -feet. - -“You must have been very fond of her,” remarked Mrs. Flint, curiously. - -“Fond of her! Oh, yes, naturally. I lived with her some time, you see, -as maid of all work. Mr. Dawn wasn’t rich then, but perhaps he’s better -off now,” with keen interest. - -“No, and never will be; for it sort of took the heart out of him when -Cinthia’s mother died. He brought me the child to raise, and went off -wandering over the world to drown his sorrow.” - -Rachel Dane’s glum face related in surprise, as she exclaimed: - -“Humph! I never thought he was so fond of her as that! All the love -seemed to be on her side!” - -“So she was fond of him?” - -“Fond ain’t no word for it. She just worshiped the ground he walked on. -Her sun rose and set in him. She was grateful for a smile or a kind -word, and mighty few she got for all that; for of all the glum, moody -men I ever saw, Mr. Dawn was the worst. I believe he hated his own -life!” - -“It was a guilty conscience maybe,” suggested Mrs. Flint, watching her -out of the corner of her eye, to see how much she knew. - -“You mean that he had treated his first wife bad for her sake--yes, -maybe it was remorse. I don’t rightly know the facts, but I heard -whispers,” answered Rachel Dane, coolly; adding: “There was something -strange about it--his indifference to his wife, even after the child -was born, that she thought would bring them closer together. But, la,” -bringing herself up with a jerk, “this is all guesswork on my part. -Maybe he loved her in a reserved kind of way. Anyway, I’m mighty sorry -she’s dead. But where’s the child?” - -“Cinthia? Her father came and took her away while you were sick. They -have gone to Europe.” - -“There! the kettle’s boiling over!” exclaimed Rachel Dane, rushing to -the stove; and after that she avoided the subject of the deceased Mrs. -Dawn. - -But there could be no doubt that she was sincerely sorry over her -death, for she became glummer and more taciturn from that hour, and her -quarrel with fate grew more bitter. - -But she stayed on and on with the lonely widow, giving good service, -and perhaps grateful for the comfortable home she enjoyed, while she -certainly relieved the loneliness of the quiet home that echoed no more -to the girlish footsteps of Cinthia. - -Mrs. Flint missed the girl more than she could have deemed possible. -She had secret spasms of remorse over the rigid life she had led the -poor girl, all on account of having had a poor opinion of her mother. - -“I was trying to bring her up right, so she might not follow in her -mother’s footsteps; but maybe I was too hard on her,” she mused, “and -if I had her back here, I’d try to act a little different to the poor -girl. Still, I can’t think that anything I did to her was half as -bad as Everard’s refusing to let her marry Arthur Varian. To the day -of my death that’ll be a mystery to me why he refused such a good -chance for Cinthy. A poor girl like her ain’t never going to get such -another offer. And they do say that since the Varians came back to -Idlewild, that Arthur looks like a ghost. Mrs. Bowles says they have a -house-party for Christmas, with lots of awful pretty girls, but that -he don’t care for any of them, though his proud mother’s trying her -hardest to marry him off to one of them. Well, well, maybe his luck -and Cinthy’s may turn, and they’ll marry yet. I do hope so, for I love -to see a girl marry her first love.” - -There was one thing about her hand-maid that did not altogether please -the pious Mrs. Flint. - -She discovered that Rachel Dane was wholly irreligious. - -She neither attended church, read the Bible, nor said her prayers at -night--three facts that quite shocked her employer. - -In kindly remonstrating with the woman, the widow found out that she -cherished a grievance. - -Her quarrel with fate was poverty. - -“I will not worship a Being who makes such a difference between His -creatures, blessing some with riches and happiness, and cursing others -with poverty and woe,” she said, rebelliously. - -And all Mrs. Flint’s pious arguments made no change in her mood. She -only answered, flatly: - -“I beg that you will not waste arguments on me, ma’am. I’ve heard all -that before, and it don’t alter my opinion at all.” - -Mrs. Flint found out that the desire of the woman’s heart was to have a -snug little fortune of her own, and she would never have a good opinion -of the Lord until her desire was gratified. - -One day, while she was looking out of the front window, she saw Arthur -Varian going past in a sleigh with his mother, the silver bells ringing -out gayly as they sped over the snow, while their rich fur robes and -seal-skin garments gave evidence of their wealth and position. - -“Who are those grand, rich people?” she asked, enviously. - -Mrs. Flint told her, and added with pardonable pride, that the young -man had been a suitor for Cinthia’s hand, but her father had separated -the lovers. - -“He was very foolish, unless he had some good reason,” exclaimed Rachel -Dane. - -“He did not have any good reason that I could find out,” returned Mrs. -Flint; adding, regretfully: “It would have been a splendid match for -Cinthia. I have heard that Arthur’s grandfather, a Southern planter, -left him a million dollars in his own right.” - -“I wish I knew how to get some of it from him!” murmured Rachel Dane, -gazing with covetous eyes after the vanishing sleigh with its fortunate -occupants. - -And no thought crossed her mind that she was the possessor of a secret -that the rich Arthur Varian would have sacrificed his whole great -fortune to know. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. WHEN YEARS HAD FLED. - - - “I thought of thee--I thought of thee, - On ocean many a weary night, - When heaved the long and sullen sea, - With only waves and stars in sight. - We stole along the isles of balm, - We furled before the coming gale, - We slept amid the breathless calm, - We flew before the straining sail; - But thou wert lost for years to me, - And day and night I thought of thee.” - -One golden July day almost three years later than the events of our -last chapter, a little group of three persons stood on the deck of a -steamer homeward-bound, plowing her way through the blue waves toward -the harbor of New York. - -They were Everard Dawn, his daughter, and her friend, Madame Ray, -the latter having joined them abroad three months ago, after a long -correspondence, dating from the time of their meeting in Washington on -the occasion of the frustrated elopement. - -The actress had retired from the stage at last with a fair competency, -declaring that she was weary of the exciting life, and desired to spend -the rest of her days in quiet, away from the glare of the foot-lights. -At Cinthia’s wish, she had gone abroad in the spring, traveling -with her young friend for several months, while every day of their -companionship added to the strength of the bond of affection between -their responsive hearts. - -“I love you more than any one else in the world,” Cinthia had said to -her ardently more than once. - -And the actress had answered as ardently: - -“And I you, my dear. I wish you were my daughter.” - -The words put a new thought in Cinthia’s head. - -Why couldn’t clear, beautiful Madame Ray become her mamma? - -What was to hinder her father falling in love with the charming woman, -and making her Mrs. Dawn, and thereby her step-mamma? - -Cinthia felt sure that she could love her as dearly as her own -mamma--much more dearly, in fact, than she did her father. - -For, though she saw a hundred admirable things about him, and felt -rather proud of him than otherwise, Cinthia had never tried to overcome -her resentment of the past for those years of neglect, and the cruel -parting from her lover. She believed that Mr. Dawn and Mrs. Varian had -acted a wicked part in preventing her marriage, because of some old -family feud that would have been healed by her union with Arthur. - -So she still preserved toward her father a certain amount of reserve, -like a thin crust of ice, and he, on his part, although admiring her -grace and beauty, and sedulously careful and attentive to all her -whims, still brooded over secret sorrows that made him half oblivious -to the present with the best of his heart buried in the dead past. - -To Cinthia there came the sudden thought that to make a match between -this strange father of hers and lovely Madame Ray might be conducive -to the happiness of all three. Of herself she was sure that life would -be far brighter with this fair woman for a companion than spent alone -with Everard Dawn, who would always represent to her the blighting of -the fairest love-dream maiden ever cherished. - -She became the most designing little match-maker in the world, but she -was so transparent that she could not hide her plans from the objects -of her care. - -They detected her schemes with secret amusement, and pretended -unconsciousness, while inwardly rather amused at the little by-play. -That each admired the other was natural, but it was not the admiration -that deepens into love. Both had been deeply bereaved in a way that -left no room for the budding of a second passion. - -As for Cinthia, those years abroad had been like the bursting of a -promising bud into a perfect flower. - -In a few months she would be twenty years old, and the promise of -seventeen was more than fulfilled. - -Her slight figure was somewhat taller and more rounded in its gracious -contour, and her lovely face and large, soft, dark eyes had gained a -depth of expression--spirit blended with pathos--almost irresistible. - -The gold of her luxurious, curling hair had a deeper, richer sheen as -it rippled in a loose knot beneath the brim of her becoming little hat, -a Parisian affair that matched her stylish traveling gown, for Cinthia -had developed a perfect taste in dress that was very gratifying to her -father’s pride. - -Wherever she moved, she was the cynosure of admiring eyes, and a score -of hearts had been laid at her feet--some of them most true and manly; -but she turned from them with indifference, saying to herself that her -life was spoiled by Arthur’s falsity, and she could never love again. - -She called it Arthur’s falsity, always refusing to believe that there -existed any better reason than a former feud between their parents for -the breaking of their troth. - -She believed that Arthur was a coward, that he had too easily given her -up; but for all that she had not ceased to love him, though she did not -acknowledge this to her own heart. - -If you had asked her the question, she would have sworn to you that she -hated and despised Arthur Varian and would not have forgiven him the -slight he had put on her if he had implored her on bended knees, so -strong is woman’s pride. - -Yet, so weak is woman’s heart that she shrined his image still in its -deepest depths, and could not bid memory down--memory of the brief, -blissful time of love when the world seemed to hold nothing for -either save the other, when they had tried to thrust aside, with the -passionate obstinacy of youth, every obstacle to their happiness. - -“If Arthur had been as brave as I was, less under the control of his -mother, we might have been so happy!” she had said, regretfully, more -than once to Madame Ray, who agreed with her views, and always answered: - -“You are right, dear. He was weak and cowardly, unworthy of such a -golden heart as yours. I would forget him!” - -“Oh, I will forget him. I despise him now!” Cinthia answered out of her -wounded pride. - -Yet, as the prow of their noble steamer cleaved the blue waves, and she -stood on deck under the blue sky and burning sun of July, her thoughts -went before to her native land and to her lost lover, so dearly loved, -so strangely lost. - -She wondered where he was now, and if he was married yet, for Aunt -Flint, in one of her letters, had not failed to mention that there was -such a report in the town. She added that it would not be Mrs. Varian’s -fault if her son did not find a wife, for she kept Idlewild full of -visitors the year round, when she was at home, with pretty girls of all -complexions, from brunette to blonde. - -Cinthia’s thoughts often wandered to Idlewild, wondering what was -transpiring there, and trying to picture to herself the beauty of the -gay young girls with whom Mrs. Varian surrounded her son, trying to win -his love from Cinthia. It filled the girl’s heart with secret, jealous -agony that brought shadows of pain into her large, soft eyes as she -leaned against the rail and watched the dancing waves. - -“How grave you look, Miss Dawn, while every one else is rejoicing at -the home-coming. One would think you had left your heart behind you -on foreign shores!” gayly exclaimed a young man, approaching her and -gazing at her with admiring eyes. - -He was a young New Yorker--one of the _jeunesse dorée_--returning home -after three months’ absence. On the first day out he had fallen a -victim to Cinthia’s charms, and gladly renewed a former acquaintance -with Madame Ray, in order to secure an introduction to the beauty. - -As the actress knew him to be in every respect a most desirable -_parti_, she was very glad to present him to Cinthia, secretly hoping -that he might manage to supplant Arthur Varian in her tender heart. - -Cinthia certainly found him interesting, he was so good-looking, -with his six feet of athletic manhood, flashing dark eyes, and jetty -hair and mustache, while with his ready flow of small-talk he was -very amusing. She accepted his patent admiration and his respectful -attentions with the coolness of a belle accustomed to adulation, -letting him entertain her when she chose, and carelessly dismissing him -when not in the mood. - -Her mood was not very propitious now, and it was a very cold smile she -gave in answer to his remark that she must have left her heart behind -on foreign shores. - -“All the heart I have I brought back with me, although I must confess -to a fondness for the Old World,” she answered; adding: “I am not -enthusiastic over my return, because I have really no near relatives -in America, and papa and I intend to resume our wanderings in our own -country after a short rest.” - -Frederick Foster exclaimed, eagerly: - -“May I be permitted to know where the foot of the dove will first rest?” - -“I think we shall probably spend a few days at Newport while maturing -our plans,” Cinthia answered, carelessly. - -Foster’s handsome countenance beamed with frank delight. - -He cried, joyously: - -“To Newport? How glad I am! Why, that is where I am going.” - -“Indeed?” smiled Cinthia. - -“Yes, if you do not forbid my following you there, which I should -certainly do, even if I had not already made my plans. Oh, please don’t -frown upon me so, for, indeed I have promised my aunt and cousin--who -are there from the South--that I will stay there with them a while. In -fact, I shouldn’t be surprised if Arthur came to New York just to meet -me.” - -Arthur--Arthur! The name struck her sharply, like a blow. She shut her -lips tightly, and turned her head aside, lest he should see the mortal -paleness that she felt overspreading it, while she chided herself for -her weakness. - - “Archie Dean, Archie Dean!--’tis the sweetest name I know, - ’Tis writ on my heart; but o’er it now is drifting the cold, - cold snow.” - -Suddenly a great shout arose from the crowd on deck. - -They were steaming majestically into port, and on the shore they saw -eager throngs of friends waiting to welcome their loved ones home. - -Answering shouts came back from the pier, and handkerchiefs were waved -while glad tears started into many eyes, it was such a glorious thing -to be safe in port, having weathered all the dangers of the sea. - - “Home again! Home again! - From a foreign shore. - And, oh! it makes my heart rejoice - To meet old friends once more!” - -“Do you see any familiar faces on the pier, Miss Dawn?” queried -Frederick Foster, wondering why Cinthia had turned her lovely face away -so abruptly. - -She looked back at him, pale, but composed. - -“No, there is no one that I know,” she answered; and in spite of her -pride, her lip quivered. - -It was such a dreary home-coming, after all, with no one to welcome her -and smile a glad welcome. She felt a keen pang of envy of the happier -ones by whom she was surrounded. - -Madame Ray and Mr. Dawn came up to them, and the actress said with a -little smothered sigh: - -“What a scene of joyous excitement and confusion! Parents waiting to -greet sons and daughters, lovers to greet sweethearts! I am almost sad -that there is no one to welcome us, Cinthia!” - -“Madame, you are mistaken on your part,” laughed Foster. “I see a group -of reporters with their eyes fixed on you already, and only waiting -till the gang-plank is thrown out to rush upon you, demanding to know -if it is not likely you will return to the stage again. To-morrow -morning they will report in their papers that you have returned from -Europe more beautiful than ever from your long rest, and with a new -play that will charm the theater-going public this winter.” - -Madame Ray darted behind him, exclaiming: - -“Do help me to escape them. I do not wish to be interviewed. I belong -to private life now.” - -“Mr. Dawn, will you kindly help the madame to escape the newspaper -men, and I will lead Miss Dawn ashore,” exclaimed Frederick Foster, -coolly drawing Cinthia’s arm through his, and rushing forward with the -tumultuous throng as the gang-plank was thrown out. - -Oh, what a Babel of noise and confusion! but through it all Cinthia -could hear the young man whispering ardent words to her, vowing that -the past week had been the happiest of his life, that he adored her, -and would ask no greater joy than to walk with her through life arm in -arm as now, heedless of the rushing, jostling throng. - -Would she give him one little word of hope to live on till they met -again at Newport? He knew he was presumptuous, but love was his excuse. - -“Oh, you must not talk to me any more like this. I--I----” began -Cinthia in confusion; but just at that moment they stepped on -_terra-firma_, and came face to face with a young man waiting there -with a lady on his arm, at sight of whom Foster whispered to his -companion: - -“My aunt and cousin, the Varians!” - -Sky and earth, and sea seemed to jumble and blend together in Cinthia’s -confused consciousness as her startled eyes met the equally surprised -ones of Arthur Varian. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. “I CAN NOT LOVE AGAIN!” - - -It was the most surprising and unwelcome _rencontre_ in the world, that -meeting between those four, Everard Dawn and his daughter and Mrs. -Varian and her son. - -Frederick Foster was the son of Mrs. Varian’s eldest sister, long since -dead, and therefore peculiarly dear to her, so that wherever he went, -he always kept up a correspondence with Arthur, of whom he was very -fond. So it chanced that they had written him while he was abroad of -their sojourn at Newport, and begged him to join them there on his -return. - -Later on the mother and son decided to meet him at the steamer, as he -might feel it a lonely home-coming, his father also being dead, and his -two married sisters being absent from the city. - -From the pier they had recognized Frederick on the steamer’s deck, -but as he stood in front of his three companions, they had not been -identified, otherwise Arthur would have gone away to avoid a meeting. - -It seemed to Mrs. Varian as if a most malignant fate had sent them -there when she lifted her eyes and saw before her Frederick, her -handsome nephew, arm in arm with Cinthia, while behind them walked -Everard Dawn with the beautiful Madame Ray. - -It was a painful, almost a tragic _rencontre_, and entirely -unavoidable, for Frederick Foster, unconscious of anything wrong, cried -out almost boisterously: - -“How do you do, my dear aunt? Happy to see you, Arthur!” embracing them -with effusion, and adding, to the pale, silent girl who clung to his -arm: “Miss Dawn, let me present my aunt, Mrs. Varian, and my cousin, -Arthur Varian.” - -A moment of shocked embarrassment was followed by formal -greetings--greetings as of strangers who had never met before. - -Mrs. Varian and Cinthia simply bowed to each other, both pale and cold, -but Arthur held out his hand, saying, almost inaudibly: - -“I am glad to meet you.” - -Cinthia bowed without speaking, and gave him her icy fingers in -response. Their hands just touched and fell apart, and their faces were -as pale as they would ever be in their coffins. - -Frederick Foster, without observing anything unusual in the air, -proceeded to present the others. - -“Mr. Dawn and Madame Ray, let me present my aunt and cousin, Mrs. -Varian and her son.” - -Again there were cold, surprised bows on either side, and the next -moment Frederick found that Cinthia’s fingers had dropped from his arm, -and the heedless, jostling, happy throng had closed in between the two -little groups, cutting them off from each other. - -“Oh, I say!” he cried, in dismay, “we have quite lost my friends. Will -you excuse me one moment while I follow and bid them good-bye?” - -But Arthur answered in a troubled voice: - -“My mother is almost fainting, Fred. Will you help me take her to the -carriage?” - -It was quite true what Arthur said. Mrs. Varian’s proud, dark head had -drooped heavily against his shoulder, and her face was marble-pale, -with half-closed eyes, while her breath came in slow, labored gasps. - -Somehow, the sight of Everard Dawn with the beautiful actress by his -side had given her an almost insupportable shock. - -Frederick Foster instantly became all anxiety and attention, and with -Arthur’s assistance he supported her to the waiting carriage. - -She leaned back among the cushions with shut eyes, while Arthur stroked -her brow and hands with tender touches, and her nephew exhausted -himself in wondering what had made her ill. - -Arthur answered evasively: - -“It must have been the great heat of the sun. She complained of the -warmth of the weather while we were watching the steamer come into -port.” - -The carriage rolled along toward their hotel, and Mrs. Varian grew -gradually better, opening her eyes presently and faintly apologizing -for the fright she had given them. - -“I am almost well again, and I think we can return to Newport -to-night,” she said. - -Foster’s thoughts recurred again to his friends, and he exclaimed, -regretfully: - -“I am very sorry that I lost sight of my friends, the Dawns and Madame -Ray. They, too, are going to Newport, and if I only knew at what hotel -they intended to stop, I would go and persuade them to make a party -with us going there.” - -“Please do not, Fred. They might think us officious, being strangers,” -Mrs. Varian cried, hastily. - -Frederick laughed roguishly, and answered: - -“I serve notice on you that you will not be strangers long, for I -intend to make Miss Dawn your niece, if she will give her consent!” - -“Ah!” cried Arthur, in a strange tone of suppressed emotion; but -Frederick did not notice, he was so absorbed in the thought of Cinthia. - -“Did you notice how radiantly beautiful she was?” he cried. “She is as -graceful and stately as a young princess, and her feet and hands are -exquisitely small and dainty. Her hair is a shower of gold, and such -beautiful, large, soft dark eyes, so haunting and mesmeric, I never saw -in another woman’s face. The first moment I met their full glance, I -realized that all was over with Frederick Foster.” - -“How long have you known the young lady, Fred?” his aunt asked. - -“Only from the first day we sailed for New York; but the moment I saw -her I was done for, and I believe if I had not secured an introduction -to her soon, I should have jumped overboard and drowned myself. Oh, I -tell you, it was a case of love at first sight--on my side, at least. I -don’t know how it is with her; but I was actually proposing to her as -we came down the gang-plank and met you, so I did not get her answer. -But I shall at Newport, of course. But, as I was saying, I got an -introduction through the lovely actress, Madame Ray, who had been with -them several months in Europe. She has retired from the stage now, and -I’m rather sorry. I’ve known her several years, and she was an ornament -to the profession--as good a woman as ever stepped.” - -“Perhaps she is going to marry Miss Dawn’s father?” ventured his aunt, -inquiringly. - -“I don’t know. They would make a splendid couple, wouldn’t they? And I -know that the lovely Cinthia would give anything to bring it about. She -is devoted to the charming actress.” - -“How I hate that girl!” Mrs. Varian thought, with secret, irrepressible -bitterness. - -“They are all coming to Newport, and I hope you and Arthur will find -them as charming as I do--only Arthur must not fall in love with my -princess,” continued Foster, blithely. - -Arthur only laughed, and just then the carriage drew up at the entrance -to their hotel. - -As Arthur was helping his mother out, she whispered: - -“If they come to Newport, we will go away the same day.” - -Meanwhile, the other party, quite as much disconcerted, had sought -another hotel. - -Cinthia lay sobbing on a low couch, and Madame Ray knelt by her side, -caressing her and murmuring low words of comfort. - -“Do not think of him, my darling. He is not worthy of one regret. Only -a coward would have deserted you as Arthur Varian did. I am sorry that -Fred Foster is his cousin, but that need not matter. He loves you very -much, and I would be charmed to see you marry this manly young man.” - -“Oh, I can never love again! My heart was broken by Arthur’s falsity!” -moaned Cinthia, sobbing in unrestrained grief that she would not have -shown to any one on earth but this sympathetic friend she loved so well. - -“Forget him, dear,” the other answered, as she had often done before, -laying the golden head caressingly against her breast, and kissing the -tears from the sad, dark eyes. - -When Cinthia had sobbed herself into calmness, she said: - -“Of course, we will not go to Newport now. I must not meet them again.” - -“No, we must not go to Newport now,” Madame Ray agreed; adding: “I -shall go on from New York to my home in Florida--a pretty estate left -to me last year by an old maiden aunt--and, Cinthia, I want you and -your father to come with me as my guests.” - -“But perhaps we ought to go and visit Aunt Flint first,” suggested -Cinthia. - -“No; for you are in danger of meeting the Varians there.” - -“That is true,” sighed Cinthia. - -“So you will promise to come with me, dear?” - -“If papa is willing.” - -When Mr. Dawn was consulted, he accepted the invitation for Cinthia, -saying that he had business that would take him to California for a -short while, but would join them later in the South. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. “THE PANGS THAT REND MY HEART IN TWAIN!” - - -Madame Ray despised Arthur Varian so much that she was bitterly -chagrined on learning that he was related to her favorite, Frederick -Foster, whom she hoped to see Cinthia marry. - -Foster had frankly confided his hopes to the actress, and elicited her -sympathy in his love. She had promised to do all she could to help him -win Cinthia, and it annoyed her very much that, for a time at least, -the ardent lover would be debarred from seeing the object of his love. - -Perhaps, too, if he should find out that love episode with his cousin -Arthur, he would not wish to marry a girl who had been so cruelly -deserted on the eve of marriage. She guessed wrongly that the Varians -would very likely use all their influence against Cinthia. - -But, however much she worried, she could see no way out of the dilemma. -Foster had been abruptly parted from Cinthia before he had taught her -to love him, and she saw no safe way of bringing them together again in -the present. Time alone could solve the problem. - -It was a great disappointment not to be able to take Cinthia to -Newport, where she knew that the girl’s grace and beauty would create a -sensation; but, of course, it was not to be thought of now. Cinthia and -Arthur Varian must be kept apart for the sake of the young girl’s peace -of mind. - -But how handsome and manly he had looked--not at all like the weak -coward Madame Ray deemed him. She found herself dwelling with pleasure -on his handsome face and form, his dark-blue eyes, and brown, -clustering hair. - -“Much after the style of Cinthia’s handsome father. I fancy he might -have looked like that when he was a young man, before the gray came -into his brown locks, and the anxious lines into his face,” she mused, -thoughtfully; and her eyes grew grave, and her cheek pale with a -sudden, startling thought that made her exclaim: “Good heavens! _could_ -it be?” - -The line of thought thus started was most distressing, as evinced by -the agitation of her face, and presently she muttered: - -“There may be a mystery, after all. I will try to get at the bottom of -it.” - -Meanwhile, Cinthia, struggling with the heartache renewed by her -encounter with her lost love, or her false love, as she preferred to -call him, made a great effort to throw off the weight on her spirits -and become herself again. - - “One struggle more, and I am free - From pangs that rend my heart in twain. - One last farewell to love and thee, - Then back to busy, life again. - It suits me well to mingle now - With things that never pleased before; - Now every joy is fled below, - What future grief can touch me more? - - “By many a shore, and many a sea, - Divided, loving all in vain, - The past, the future, fled to thee, - To bid us meet--no--ne’er again! - ’Tis silent all; but on my ear - The well-remembered echoes thrill; - I hear a voice I would not hear, - A voice that now might well be still.” - -Cinthia could not thrust Arthur’s image from her heart however much she -tried and longed to do so. She could wear the mask of pride over her -sorrow, that was all. - -Her father hoped and believed that she was overcoming her trouble, and -would have rejoiced as much as Madame Ray if she could have transferred -her heart to Frederick Foster. He who had known the pangs of wounded -love so well was eager to find a cure for his daughter’s heart. - -But all chance of this had been temporarily frustrated by her -unexpected _rencontre_ with Arthur Varian. - -He felt that all the old ground would have to be gone over now again, -and cursed the evil fates that had worked against him. - -He regretted that a sudden weariness of foreign shores had decided him -to return to America, and made up his mind to take Cinthia away again -out of reach of the Varians. This was why he had said that he was -going to California. - -He had decided to make a home for himself and daughter under those blue -and sunny skies, among orange groves and bowers of bloom, where life -would glide so softly amid wooing zephyrs, that it would seem like an -Arcadia even to disappointed hearts like his own and Cinthia’s. There -they would win forgetfulness of the past and hope for the future. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. “LIKE AN ANGEL.” - - -Madame Ray guessed not of the intentions of Everard Dawn, or she would -have been most unhappy at the thought of parting from Cinthia. - -With each day the girl grew dearer to her heart, and it had become her -secret fixed intention to make her home near to Cinthia’s, wherever it -should be, and never lose sight of her again. - -Her love for the fair young girl was a passion of devotion. She would -have sacrificed all she possessed to secure her happiness. - -Yet Cinthia seemed further away than ever from it now. - -“Ah, my darling, you should not brood so morbidly over the past!” she -cried, winding her arms around the fair girl’s waist. “You have lost -a lover, it is true; but think how much more I have suffered, when -scarcely as old as you, losing a beloved husband and darling infant.” - -“You have lost a child? Dear heart, how I pity you!” Cinthia cried, -tenderly. - -“Yes, Cinthia, I have lost a little daughter, who would be as old as -you are. It is for her sake I love you so dearly, because you are -motherless, and I, alas! childless. It is a sad story, and some day I -will tell it to you. Then you will see that my sorrow is greater than -yours,” sighed the lovely actress. - -Cinthia pressed her hand, and murmured: - -“You had their love till they died, and in heaven they are waiting to -welcome you home, still your own, still fond and true. But he I loved -proved false, and another may win him from me. Were it not better if he -had really died and belonged to me truly in heaven?” - -Oh, how sad the pathetic voice, how mournful the far-off gaze, piercing -the listener’s heart like an arrow! - -She cried out, bitterly: - -“Ah, Cinthia, you know not the depth of my bereavement. My husband is -dead, it is true. I had his love but a little while, but it was bliss -while it was mine, and I know it is waiting for me in heaven, but oh, -Cinthia, my little one, my baby--oh! oh! oh!” and she dissolved in a -passion of tears that startled Cinthia from her own morbid grief and -turned her to the task of the consoler. - -Most gently, most fondly, most lovingly she caressed the agitated -mourner, murmuring to her of the beautiful home, not made with hands, -where her dead child was a precious angel. - -“Think what sorrows she may have escaped by her early translation to -heaven. Is it not better thus than to have reached girlhood, as I did, -to have her faith and love trampled in the dust, and her life saddened -forever?” she cried, earnestly. - -“Ah, my dear, you do not understand. I had not finished telling you. -She--my little darling, my unnamed daughter, did not die.” - -“Not die!” Cinthia echoed, in bewilderment. - -“No, she did not die, and I know not to this day whether she is alive -or dead. She--was stolen--from me,” sobbed the bereaved mother, letting -her head fall on the sill of the open window where they were sitting. - -Cinthia was so shocked for a moment that she could not speak. She could -only throw her arms about the mourner and clasp her close with a love -as true and warm as if she had been the dear lost daughter. - -The balmy summer breeze swept in caressingly over the two fair heads -nestled close together, while Madame Ray sobbed: - -“Now you understand why I love you so, my dear. Not but that your own -beauty and sweetness is enough to charm any heart. But when I found -you in Washington that first day, a motherless girl scarcely past -childhood, forsaken by your lover, wretched, desperate, almost driven -to suicide, my heart went out to you in a passion of pitying love as -I thought, my own child, if alive, is no older than this one. Who can -tell but that she may be in an even more grievous strait than this poor -girl, whom I will try to advise and befriend, praying Heaven to deal -as kindly with my dear lost little one.” - -“Oh, you were an angel to me in that hour!” cried Cinthia, eagerly, -gratefully. “Oh, I was wretched and desperate, as you say, weary of -life and longing for death, almost driven by my humiliation to the -awful sin of suicide. When I opened that door, intending to rush -recklessly into the streets, careless of my fate, what terrible -calamity might have happened me if I had not found you standing like an -angel on the threshold, sent by God Himself to save me from myself. You -drew me back, you pitied and advised me, you made me a better girl than -I ever was before. And since that hour your love has been to me more -than words can express, my anchor of hope in a stormy life, my refuge -from despair, my haven of love. Oh, I have been ungrateful, nursing my -woe in spite of all your goodness and patience. I will try to be braver -and stronger, indeed I will. I will always remember the keen sorrows -you have borne while you wore a smile of comfort and cheer for me. And, -oh, I pray that God has given to your lost child as dear a comforter as -I have found in you.” - -The words, poured forth in a passion of grateful emotion, ended in a -burst of sobs, and they mingled their tears together and found subtle -relief in each other’s sympathy. - -When they grew calmer, Madame Ray said softly in her low, flute-like -voice: - -“I am glad indeed if I have been to you all that you say, Cinthia, -dear, for you were indeed in need of love and care when we first met. I -have lavished on you a mother’s love, while you have repaid me with a -daughter’s, I know.” - -“Yes--yes; but I could not fill up the void caused by your own child’s -loss.” - -“You have been a great comfort to me, dear, and I hope never to be -parted from you in life unless you marry, and even then, dear, I shall -manage to see you often, as a mother clings to a married daughter.” - -“How I wish that you and papa would marry!” cried the eager girl. - -“My dear, do not nourish such a thought. It can never be. I am sure -that both our hearts are buried in our dear ones’ graves.” - -“It does not seem as if papa really loved my mother much, or he would -care more for me,” Cinthia exclaimed, with the old resentment of her -father’s strange indifference. - -“My dear, do not judge him harshly. Mr. Dawn looks to me like a man -capable of strong affections, but he also bears on his face the signs -of tragic happenings that have blighted the promise of his life. If you -will take my judgment for it, dearest, your father is a most unhappy -and weary man!” continued Madame Ray. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. ’NEATH SOUTHERN SKIES. - - - “A fairy land of flowers and fruits and sunshine - And crystal lakes and overarching forests.” - -“Oh, madame, what a perfect morning! There is not the slightest cloud -in the clear blue sky, and the sheen of sunlight on the lake is -dazzling. The air is odorous with the scent of flowers, and the little -birds are almost splitting their throats with divine melody. What a -contrast to the bleakness of November in the North, or even in my own -loved Virginia, that three years ago I left in the midst of a whirling -snow-storm!” cried Cinthia Dawn, as she walked out on the long broad -gallery that surrounded her friend’s Floridian home. - -A fairer scene or a sweeter home would be hard to find than the pretty -estate that the actress had opportunely inherited a year before from a -deceased great aunt. - -It was situated in Marion County, on the suburbs of the pretty village -Weir Park, near the crystal Weir Lake famed as being the prettiest lake -in Florida, several miles in extent, with a magnificent expanse of -white sandy beach glittering in the golden sunlight. - -Lodge Delight was the suggestive name of the white villa, surrounded -by beautiful flowers and trees, where Madame Ray had brought her -beloved young guest, and for several months they had sojourned here -almost happily but for the haunting memories that made real happiness -impossible to either, even in so Eden-like a scene. - -But at least they were devoted to each other, and led an almost idyllic -life in the beautiful health-giving country so much sought in winter by -visitors from the frozen North, while Cinthia’s father still lingered -in California, though he wrote his daughter that she might expect him -now at any time. - -When Cinthia and Madame Ray came out on the broad rose-wreathed gallery -of Lodge Delight, in their peerless beauty, like the perfect rose and -the unfolding bud, they added the only wanting touch to the lovely -scene--the touch of human life. - -The young girl’s beautiful dark eyes beamed with fresh delight at the -fair prospect spread before them, while she cried out in rapture at the -lovely day. - -Madame Ray smiled with pleasure at the girl’s enthusiasm, and answered: - -“It is indeed beautiful, and I am rejoiced that you love my home so -well. It makes me grateful to my dead aunt who left me this idyllic -estate. It is quite too lovely a day to spend indoors. What shall we -do? Go walking, driving, or rowing?” - -Cinthia, with her golden head one side like a bird, cogitated a moment, -then decided on a long drive into the country. - -The carriage was ordered, and in a short while they were resting -luxuriously among the cushions, while a typical Florida darky handled -the reins, and sent the handsome black ponies spinning at a lively rate -along the road, past glistening orange-groves laden with golden globes -of fruit, and lovely homes where art and nature combined to make an -earthly paradise. - -“Take us a new route,” Madame Ray had said to him and he had chosen -a most attractive one, keeping them keenly interested all the while, -until about three miles out, Cinthia called to him, saying: - -“Let the ponies rest a minute, Uncle Rube, while you tell us about -those picturesque ruins over there.” - -They had just come opposite the remains of a once palatial mansion that -had been destroyed by fire, one of the long stone wings still standing, -a melancholy, dismantled ruin through which voices of the past might -fitly echo with the raving of the night-winds. Around it were neglected -lawns and gardens, the shrubbery growing in rank luxuriance about the -broken fountains, whose tinkling waters had once laughed in the sun. An -air of neglect, desertion and dreariness hung about the place, in spite -of all the brightness of the day and scene, that sent a chill through -the hearts of the gazers. - -“What a magnificent place this must once have been, and what a pity it -has not been rebuilt! Who owns it, Uncle Rube?” inquired Madame Ray, -with deep interest, and the old man said, with conscious pride: - -“It b’longs to we--all--all dat’s leff ob ole marster’s fam’bly dat I -use to b’long to. Dis place used to be de country-seat ob de fam’bly, -tell three years agone, when it burned down, and de mistis moved ’way -off to Virginia to anurr gran’ place she had called Idlewhiles.” - -Madame Ray and Cinthia both started violently, and looked significantly -at each other. - -Then the actress recovered herself, and whispered: - -“A mere coincidence. Dozens of places are called Idlewild.” - -The old negro let the reins rest on the horses’ glossy backs, -flicked a fly from one of their heads with his whip, and continued, -retrospectively: - -“Dis place now dey name Love’s Retreat, an’ no wonder, fer sech a place -fer courtin’ an’ sparkin’ sho’ly nebber was seen. Ole marster and -mistis had four chillun--two sons and two daughters--all four beautiful -as cud be, an’ all de young folks in de kentry used to be comin’ an’ -goin’ here; an’ de sparkin’ dat went on in dem flower-gyardens an’ -rose-arbors was a caution--you hear me! Umme, but dem was gay times -’fore de war! But, umme, when ’twas all ober, an’ Marse Captain Varian -comes home wid his arm gone, an’ his two sons dead on de feil o’ -battle, an’ de niggers all free, an’ eb’ryt’ing gone to wrack an’ ruin, -why, ole mistis nebber hole up her head no more--she jest died, dey -say, ob a broken heart for her poor boys lost an’ gone. An’ bime-by de -oldest geerl she fell in lub wid a Yank she met up North, an’ married -him spite o’ all de ’jections ob old marse, who, naterally, hated de -Yanks, dough dey say dat Marse Fred Foster was a mighty fine gen’l’man, -all de same, _an’_ rich as we all’s folks. But Miss P’liny--de youngest -geerl, she made a missallyance, too, so her pa said--up an’ married -a poor lawyer, an’ bime-by she got divossed from him, an’ no wonder; -it was a shame de way he kerried on wid dat ward ob his, de brazen -creeter! So now, when marse captain died, five years ago, dey warn’t -no one left at Love’s Retreat but Mrs. Varian an’ her little son. Dey -travel ’bout a great deal now, so I’se ’feard dey’ll never build up dis -ole place ag’in.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. “WHERE THE CLEMATIS BOUGHS INTWINE.” - - -Uncle Rube had rambled on heedlessly as though he loved his subject -while his hearers listened in painful wonder; but now Madame Ray -brought him up suddenly by saying, nervously: - -“That is enough, Uncle Rube. Drive on a few miles further and we will -return.” - -A strange terror was stirring in her breast--terror of some startling -revelation that might shock Cinthia in the old man’s rambling talk. -She dared not let him utter another word; but strange suspicions were -awakened in her breast, and she resolved to have a private conversation -with Uncle Rube to solve her doubts. - -One of his statements had struck her with peculiar force. - -He had spoken of Captain Varian’s youngest daughter’s marriage and -divorce from her husband. - -In the next breath he had called her Mrs. Varian, Varian being her -maiden name. - -Why did the divorced woman and her son both bear the family name? And -who was the divorced husband? Of his name Madame Ray began to have a -secret prescient dread. - -Was she about to stumble on the mystery that had sundered Arthur’s and -Cinthia’s lives? - -She glanced nervously at Cinthia, but beyond a deep pallor saw no sign -of shock such as she had secretly experienced. Feeling thankful that it -was so, she exclaimed: - -“Uncle Rube’s story has given me the horrors! How sad to think of such -a happy family so broken up by the cruel, desolating war! But there -were many such. One could almost fancy the ghost of the past haunting -that desolate ruin!” - -They looked back with troubled eyes at the wrecked home that had -sheltered Arthur Varian’s forefathers and his own saddened youth. How -strange that he should thus be recalled to memory again when Cinthia -was just getting over their last ill-fated meeting. - -She read Madame Ray’s perturbed thoughts and feigned indifference, -saying: - -“It certainly gives one a sort of ghostly chill to gaze on the ruins of -such a home. Do you remember Byron’s lines on his old home?” repeating -softly: - - “‘Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle, - Thou, the halls of my fathers have gone to decay, - In thy once smiling garden the hemlock and thistle - Have choked up the rose which late bloomed in the way.’” - -They rode on along the broad, level road, finding always something new -to admire, but they did not talk so much or so brightly as before. -Their faces were pale and thoughtful, and a shadow had fallen on their -spirits--the shadow that always fell when they were reminded of the -Varians. - -Memory was poison to their hearts. - - “My heart hath but one passion - To forget. - Ah, is there nothing in the world then - To take away the soul’s divine regret?” - -But when they were returning along the same road, both craned their -necks eagerly toward the ruined home which had aroused in them so much -painful interest. - -They looked half questioningly toward each other, and Cinthia murmured: - -“I--I--should like to walk among the ruins--should you?” - -“I am always walking among ruins--the ruins of a life’s happiness,” the -actress answered, sadly enough; then added: “But yes, we can easily -spare time to go through the place. Uncle Rube, are strangers permitted -to enter Love’s Retreat?” - -“Oh, sartainly, mistis. De big gates ain’t never locked. Anybody is -free to go in and gather all de flowers dey want. It seem to me like I -seen some folkses dodgin’ ’bout de trees when we went pas’, but guess -dey’s all gone now. Shall I drive you in at the kerridge road?” - -“No; you may wait for us here in the shade of these trees while we -walk. We will return in fifteen minutes.” - -They pushed open the wrought iron front gates that clanged heavily to -behind them, and turning from the broad graveled walk, plunged into the -miniature thickets of blossoming shrubbery, shaking out odors of rose -and jasmine with the slightest touches as they walked along toward a -graceful little summer-house, heavily matted with rich purple clematis -bells starring the dark green of the leaves. - -“Let us go in,” said Madame Ray, stepping over the threshold closely -followed by Cinthia. - -Then both recoiled with a startled cry. - -Two young men in cycling suits were in the summer-house. - -They had slipped in there to hide when they saw a carriage stop at the -gate and two ladies entering the grounds. - -“Sight-seers whom we do not know, I suppose, so let us hide in here -and finish our talk and our cigars till they leave. I care no more for -womankind, be she never so fair, since I have lost the lovely queen of -my heart,” one said to the other; so they fled the scene till it should -be safe to venture out. - -He was dark and striking in appearance, the other was fairer and -younger than his companion by several years. His clustering locks were -light golden brown, and the beauty of his face was enhanced by the -expressive dark-blue eyes, where shadows of secret sorrow seemed to -lurk in half-discovered ambush. - -“Fred they are coming this way by their voices. Let us turn our backs -to the door, so that they will see we are not anxious to be disturbed,” -he said, presently. - -“A good idea, Arthur,” and suiting the action to the word, they -presented two broad backs toward the new-comers, who had barely stepped -across the threshold ere they recoiled, each with a stifled cry of -surprise. - -The Mother Eve that is in all men just as much as in all women made the -two smokers spring up and look around at the intruders. - -Then there were more startled exclamations all around. - -For the fate that seemed to pursue Cinthia Dawn with its cruelest irony -had followed her even here. - -She had fled from the far North to the far South to escape Arthur -Varian, and she had hoped never to gaze again in life on his too -fatally fascinating beauty--the manly beauty that had lured the girlish -heart from her breast only to toss it back to her at the command of -cruel parents, who seemed to have forgotten the fervor of youthful -love, or they never could have been so harsh to their tortured children. - -Yet, here stood Arthur Varian before her again--Arthur Varian pale to -the very lips, Arthur Varian with unmasked despair in his beautiful, -dark-blue eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. ONLY FRIENDS. - - - “I ask no pledge to make me blest - In gazing when alone, - Nor one memorial for a breast - Whose thoughts are all thine own. - - “By day or night, in weal or woe, - That heart no longer free - Must bear the love it can not show - And silent ache for thee.” - -But whatever cruel pain this unexpected meeting produced on Arthur and -Cinthia, its effect on Frederick Foster was wholly joyful. - -He could scarcely believe his own joyful sight when he saw Cinthia -again. - -For weary months, ever since their abrupt parting on the New York pier, -she had been lost to him as wholly as if she were already in her grave. - -The most eager and anxious inquiry on his part had failed to disclose -her whereabouts. - -With genuine grief--for he was most passionately in love with -Cinthia--he had given up the hopeless quest, realizing that nothing but -blind chance would ever bring them together again. - -His pride was cruelly wounded, too, for he felt that if Cinthia -had cared for him, she must surely have sent him an answer to the -interrupted proposal he had made while they were leaving the steamer -arm in arm. - -“I spoke too soon and just frightened the shy darling, big, blundering -fool that I was!” he thought, with keen humiliation, though he knew -perfectly well that many a girl would have simply jumped at such a -chance. - -But he had realized that Cinthia was not one of them, and made up his -mind, if he ever met her again, to besiege her heart with the most -chivalrous wooing that ever won a maiden. - - “Learn to win a lady’s faith - Nobly, as the thing is high, - Bravely, as for life or death - With a loyal gravity. - - “Lead her from the festive boards, - Point her to the starry skies, - Guard her, by your truthful words, - Free from courtship’s flatteries. - - “By your truth she shall be true. - Ever true, as wives of yore; - And her ‘Yes’ once said to you - Shall be ‘Yes’ for evermore.” - -When the hope of his heart was suddenly realized by the appearance of -Cinthia at the door of the summer-house, he fairly gasped with joy and -surprise as he sprung to meet her, exclaiming: - -“Do my anxious eyes deceive me, or is it Miss Dawn?” - -“You are not mistaken,” she answered, coldly, turning her eyes from -Arthur, whose presence she had acknowledged by a slight and formal bow, -and giving Frederick Foster her hand. - -He clasped it eagerly, almost forgetting Madame Ray, who in her turn -was greeting Arthur more cordially than Cinthia had done. - -For something in the woman’s deep nature was touched to sympathy by the -secret suffering evinced by his deathly pale face and troubled eyes. - -She said, gently: - -“This is a surprise, Mr. Varian, meeting you here among the picturesque -ruins of your old home.” - -“Yes,” he answered, huskily; and she saw that he also had received a -great shock and was struggling for calmness. - -She continued, trying to place him at his ease by saying: - -“When our driver told us this morning to whom these picturesque ruins -belonged, we were quite surprised, and took a fancy to explore them. I -hope we are not intruding. Of course we were not aware that any member -of the family was in the neighborhood.” - -“There is no intrusion. I will take pleasure in showing you around, -Madame Ray,” he answered, in that deep musical voice that so charmed -every hearer; adding: “My cousin and I only arrived last evening, and -our stay will be short, only long enough to make arrangements for -rebuilding Love’s Retreat.” - -“Ah!” she said, and the thought came to her that perhaps he was about -to marry. - -Perhaps he read the thought, for he flushed slightly as he added: - -“My mother wishes it, as she is very fond of Lake Weir, and anxious to -return to her old home. Fred and I are stopping at Weir Park Hotel. -Have you been long in this neighborhood?” - -“Yes, for several months. You see, it is my home now. I inherited a -little estate--Lodge Delight--from a deceased great-aunt.” - -“I knew your aunt well in my boyhood. She was a friend of my mother’s, -and Lodge Delight is little short of fairy-land. You have Miss Dawn as -a guest?” - -“Yes, for a long time, I hope. Her father is in California.” - -Fred Foster came up, beaming with joy and pride. - -“Madame Ray, the gods have surely favored me. Have you been hiding at -Weir Park all this time while I have roamed up and down the world in -weary search for you?” - -She answered with careless badinage, and Arthur moved away from them -to Cinthia, who stood apart outside the door with a cloud on her bonny -face. - -In hoarse, indistinct accents, he murmured: - -“Miss Dawn, will you permit me the favor of a few words with you? We -can walk along this rose-alley, and the others will follow presently.” - -She bowed silently, and moved on by his side between the rows of -blossoming rose-trees that, neglected and untrimmed, threw out long -briery arms across the weed-grown path, obliging Arthur now and then to -stoop and hold them aside from contact with her rustling silken gown. - -For a few moments they were quite silent--dangerously silent for two -who had not quite unlearned “the sweet, sweet lesson of loving;” for -in this charmed spot, that held the echo of lovers’ vows, beneath that -blue and sunny sky, with the zephyrs wooing the flowers, were a hundred -temptations to go back to the old days and the old love, whose summer -had been so brief, whose winter so dark and endless. - -They both felt it subtly, painfully. Their beautiful faces were pale -with secret anguish, their lips trembled with emotion, tears hid -beneath the drooping lids of the eyes they dared not raise to each -other. - -But Arthur knew that he must not linger in idle dalliance, that he must -break away from the spell of her beauty, that because he was a man, and -the stronger one of the two, that for her own sake his hand must break -the bonds of loving. - -He said tremulously, though he tried to make his voice firm: - -“You must not be angry with me, Cinthia, if I may call you so, for what -I am going to say.” - -She answered not a word, she only trembled like a reed in the wind. - -Not all her pride, nor all her scorn of his weakness, could make her -indifferent to Arthur Varian. - -He continued, in that low, sad voice: - -“We have put the past away forever, have we not Cinthia?” - -What a strange question that was. It made her heart leap with a -strangled hope. Did he wish to go back to that past, regretting his -folly, craving her pardon and her love again? - -She flashed him such a swift, startled glance that, misinterpreting it, -he cried out, quickly: - -“Ah, I knew that you could never forgive me. I could never dare to ask -it. It is not for myself I wish to plead, but for another.” - -“Another?” she echoed, faintly. - -“My cousin Fred loves you madly,” Arthur went on hoarsely. “He is a -noble fellow, with but few faults, and has a most lovable nature. Oh, -Cinthia, it would make me almost happy if he could win your heart and -make you--my cousin.” - -He paused, and Cinthia uttered one strangling gasp of surprise and -pain, and was silent. - -But in that moment the whole bright, sunny world seemed to go under a -pall of inky blackness. The birds seemed to cease their singing, the -flowers faded and turned to ashes, the last hope, for now she knew that -she had always cherished a faint, piteous hope, seemed to die in her -heart. - -She would have liked to shriek aloud in her pain and shame, like one -who felt herself falling down, down, down into a bottomless gulf. - -Now she knew indeed that Arthur’s love had been of little worth. It was -dead, dead--or he could never plead with her the cause of another. - -She felt as if she must faint in the extremity of her agony, but she -made a terrible effort to rally her strength and courage, and the next -moment she heard her own voice laughing hollowly, like a thing apart -from herself. - -“I have amused you,” Arthur cried. - -“Yes, very much,” she replied, laughing more and more, as if at some -great joke. - -In fact, she could not stop herself. She was on the border of an -hysterical outbreak. - -But Arthur was deceived by her seeming levity, and suffered a pang of -outraged dignity. - -“I see that you do not take me seriously, though I am very much in -earnest,” he exclaimed, stiffly. - -“So am I,” she answered, trying to subdue herself, and wiping her eyes -on a tiny square of lace. With another ripple of laughter, she added, -lightly: “I have often heard of match-making mammas, but a match-making -cousin is something new, ha! ha! and I am surprised at Fred Foster -getting another man to do his courting for him.” - -“Oh, Cinthia, you have quite misunderstood me!” he cried, in alarm. -“Fred has no thought of what I have said to you. He is indeed capable -of wooing for himself, and I think he has already told you of his love. -Do not, I pray you, be angry at him for my blundering. When I spoke to -you I had but one thought in my mind--my great desire to see you happy.” - -His voice was humble, imploring, but she checked her wild laughter with -a strong effort of will, and turned on him the fire of dark, resentful -eyes. - -“How dare you imply that I am unhappy? Can you dream I cling to the -dead past still, that I remember it with aught but relief that I -escaped you?” imperiously. - -“Is it so indeed, Cinthia? Then I am rejoiced to hear it, unselfishly -glad that I have not spoiled your life. The day may come when you and -I, each married to another, may yet become dear friends,” he cried, -earnestly, pleadingly. - -Cinthia felt that indeed she hated him now, but pride rose in arms to -mask every emotion. - -She laughed again and actually held out her hand to him, saying -carelessly: - -“A pleasant prophecy! Let us begin our friendship now.” - -He took the hand and bent his head over it. She felt a hot, burning -tear fall on it as he murmured: - -“Thank you and bless you Cinthia. We will soon get used to the new role -of friendship, and no woman ever found truer friend than I will prove -to you.” - -Then they heard the other two coming, and stopped to wait for them, -relieved at the interruption. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. A SECRET SORROW. - - - “I dreamed that time, I dreamed that pride, - Had quenched at length my early flame, - Nor knew till seated by thy side, - My heart in all save hope the same.” - -Cinthia had made a rash promise, and she realized it; but her pride -would not permit her to retract. - -She knew well that Arthur Varian was still too fatally dear to her -heart for her to meet him daily on mere friendly grounds; that would -only augment her love and her despair, since neither pride nor reason -had sufficed to quench the smoldering flame. - -Since Arthur was not conceited, and was unversed in the complex -windings of a woman’s nature, he was mystified, if not entirely -deceived, by the words in which she gave him to understand that she -loved him no longer, but was willing to let friendship take the place -of passion. - -Although he did not quite understand her manner, he was more than glad -to find that her love had been more shallow than at first appeared and -more easily conquered. He had been in deep earnest when he told her he -hoped that the day might come when each of them, married to another, -might yet become dear friends. - -His dearest hope now was to see her married to his cousin, or to any -man who could secure to her the happiness that had been so fatally -jeopardized by her broken betrothal with himself. - -As for his own marriage, at which he had hinted, his mother was trying -to bring that about with all the _finesse_ of which she was capable. -She surrounded herself constantly with fair young girls, and went much -into society solely on Arthur’s account, but she could not see that she -was making any progress in her desires. - -Arthur was equally courteous to all, but he never betrayed any -preference for any. There lingered about him a secret sadness that in -truth found no mitigation with time. There was a subtle change in him -only to be interpreted by the poet’s lines. - - “I have a secret sorrow here, - A grief I’ll never impart; - It heaves no sigh, it sheds no tear, - But it consumes my heart.” - -In secret he deplored this meeting with Cinthia, that had so suddenly -reopened the seared wounds of the past, but her assumed indifference -gave him a new thought. - -Perhaps if they were to meet daily on the new terms of friendship the -old bitterness might gradually be dispelled and better feelings result. - -He might also in this way help his cousin to prosecute his suit with -Cinthia. - -So Arthur fell into the net that Cinthia’s pride spread for his feet, -and it was written in the book of fate that he and Cinthia were to meet -daily for weeks, for with the arrival of winter guests at Weir Park -Hotel and vicinity, a little season of mild gayety set in, in which -every one in the neighborhood bore part. And as for Frederick Foster, -it seemed as if he could hardly exist away from Lodge Delight. - -Not that Cinthia gave him any particular encouragement to come, beyond -simple courtesy; but he was vexed at himself for former rashness, and -determined to try the effect of patient devotion in besieging her -heart. Besides, there were other men now trying to rival him, and he -must spare no effort to distance these rivals. - -Arthur did not always accompany his cousin on his visits; but he could -not avoid meeting Cinthia often in the social life at Weir Park, and -it seemed to him that she grew more bright and beautiful daily as the -unattainable always grows more lovely to our eyes. - -Whether she appeared in silk and lace and nodding plumes at some -garden-party, or in yacht costume for a lake excursion, or in cycling -suit on her wheel, or in evening-dress at some gay reception, Cinthia -was always lovelier than before to his admiring eyes, and he thought, -generously: - -“I thank Heaven that the dear girl has the means to gratify her -expensive tastes, for who knows how much it has helped in the cure of -her heart. Besides, she has now several lovers every way as desirable -as I ever was, and even if she refuses Fred she is sure to choose one -of the others.” - -Why was she sure to do so? Had not his mother presented to him scores -of pretty girls without touching his heart? Why should Cinthia’s fancy -be turned aside more lightly than his own? - - “The wind bloweth where it listeth, - And so with Love.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. MYSTERIES. - - -Madame Ray looked on at the little by-play with rather puzzled eyes. - -For once Cinthia’s pride had enabled her to keep her own confidence. -She told her friend nothing of what had passed between her and Arthur -Varian, choosing to let her believe that indifference had triumphed -over love at last. - -Madame Ray simply did not believe it, but she was mystified by the new -attitude of the quondam lovers, and she resented in secret Arthur’s -reappearance on the scene. She wished eagerly that Cinthia would lose -her heart to Fred Foster or some of her other lovers, but she did not -believe that there was the least chance of it. - -But the more she saw of Arthur Varian the more she was attracted by -his true manliness, until her first opinion of him, her preconceived -detestation, dissolved into thin air, and she became more and more -convinced that not simply a slavish submission to his mother’s will, -but some mysterious, impassable barrier, separated him from Cinthia. - -She had carried out her intention of questioning old Uncle Rube -as to the name of Mrs. Varian’s divorced husband, but he had -suddenly pretended an amazing stupidity and loss of memory that -was inconceivable, measured by his former sprightliness. On being -perniciously pressed by the lady, he admitted that the name, “as well -as he could _recomember_, was Brown.” - -She did not guess that an interview with Arthur Varian had caused the -loss of memory in the old servitor of the Varian family. - -“It was money in his pocket to forget the past when questioned by any -one,” Arthur cautioned him. - -“Brown, Brown--that sounds rather like Dawn,” cogitated Madame Ray; but -she could make nothing further of the old negro, and desisted, thinking -that after all she was sure to blunder on the truth at last, being in -the neighborhood of the Varians. - -Perhaps Arthur felt this also. They were bitter days for him when he -felt as if he were walking over a powder mine that might at any moment -explode and bring ruin and disaster. - -In his earnest way he fathomed Madame Ray’s feelings closely enough -to feel her vague suspicions, and he was sorely tempted to confide -his trouble to her sympathetic keeping, and beg her to assist him in -getting Cinthia happily married. That fact accomplished, nothing else -mattered. The whole world was welcome to his sad story. - -It was pitiful, his eagerness over Cinthia’s happiness. Madame Ray -observed it and marveled, saying to herself: - -“He put upon her the greatest insult almost that man can offer woman, -deserting her at the very altar; but he is as eager for her happiness -as if she belonged to him by the dearest ties. I believe he would give -his life freely to save her one pang. What _is_ the mystery? Is there -insanity in one family or the other? Or were some of _her_ relations -hung or in prison, thus making her ineligible for alliance with the -noble Varians? I would give the world to know the truth, for Cinthia’s -sake.” - -She and Arthur became almost unconsciously great friends, for when the -cousins came to call together at Lodge Delight, Fred Foster always -tacitly appropriated Cinthia, while the hostess was left to Arthur, -who never failed to make himself entertaining. - -He, too, had his little curiosity over certain things--namely, the -connection between the actress and Cinthia. - -“Are you related, you two, who are so fond of each other?” he asked -her, frankly, one day, when they had been acquainted going on three -weeks. - -“No, we are not related at all. I suppose it looks like it to you -because we are so exceedingly fond of each other,” she replied, with a -gentle sigh. - -“You surprise me,” he replied, in wonder. “There is so marked a -resemblance between you that I do not see how you escaped relationship.” - -“It must be your fancy, that is all. My eyes are blue and Cinthia’s -dark, my hair is light-brown and hers pure gold. Still, I might have -had a dark-eyed daughter, but I lost her in her infancy, and that is -one reason why I love Cinthia so--first, because she is so near the age -of my lost daughter, and again, because she is so sweet and good--and -unhappy,” she replied, pointedly. - -Arthur Varian winced, and replied: - -“I insist that Cinthia resembles you closely enough to be your own -child.” - -“Alas, I would that she were!” she cried, with sudden emotion. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. MOST BITTERLY BEREAVED. - - - “Where’er I go I hear her low and plaintive murmuring, - I feel her little fairy clasp around my finger cling; - - “I hope--I pray--that she is blest; but, oh, I pine to see - Once more the pretty pleading smile she used to give me! - - “I pine to hear the low, sweet trill with which, whene’er I came, - Her little soft voice called to me, half welcome and half blame. - - “I am so weary of the world, its falsehood and its strife, - So weary of the wrong and ruth that mar our human life. - - “Oh, God! give back--give back my child, if but one hour, that I - May tell her all my passionate love for once before I die!” - -Arthur Varian was somewhat startled by Madame Ray’s emotion. He looked -at her in gentle sympathy as she dashed the fugitive tears from her -eyes. - -She read his thoughts, and after a short silence said gravely: - -“You are surprised at my emotion, and you think me a very mysterious -woman. Perhaps you are even curious over my history.” - -“You have read my thoughts,” he answered. “But, believe me, it is not -vulgar curiosity, but the keen interest awakened by one so charming, we -would fain know more.” - -She acknowledged the pretty compliment by a grateful smile, and the -words: - -“I am tempted to gratify your wish by giving you a brief synopsis of my -life.” - -“I should be proud to be thus honored with your confidence,” he -answered, gratefully and truthfully, for he found her most interesting, -and guessed that some sad story lay masked behind the occasional pathos -of her smile. - - “‘If I dared leave this smile,’ she said, - ‘And take a moan upon my mouth, - And tie a cypress round my head, - And let my tears run smooth, - It were the happier way,’ she said.” - -It was not often that Madame Ray bestowed confidence on any one. She -was naturally a reserved woman, but she had grown fond of Arthur, and -read his friendly curiosity over her past. She determined to gratify -it, perhaps hoping for a like confidence from him. - -Glancing toward the open door of the drawing-room, where they sat to -see that no one was near, she began: - -“I was born in Macon, Georgia, about thirty-nine years ago, and was -married at eighteen to Richard Ray, a young man I had known from -childhood, and who had been my school-boy lover. We were devoted to -each other, and never had any girl better reason for devotion; for, -besides being magnificently handsome in a dark and manly style, he was -one of the noblest of men. - -“To refer briefly to our family history, Richard was the only son of a -Georgia planter ruined by the late war, and at the time of our marriage -both his parents were dead, while my father and sisters had died of -fever in my childhood, leaving mother and I alone in the world almost -save for her rich aunt who lived at Lodge Delight, and took scant -notice of our existence. - -“My mother had but a small property, and Richard was not rich; but at -his business--a real estate agency--he earned a fair competency, and -when we were married, we three, mamma, Richard and I, lived together -very happily until--alas!” she bowed her head and wept bitterly. - -“Do not continue if it pains you so,” Arthur cried, with keen sympathy; -but she checked a rising sob, and continued: - -“I have been most bitterly bereaved, for when only eight months a -bride, my dear mother was taken from me by an attack of heart failure. -Her death was very sudden, and without premonition. She was gathering -some flowers to take to the cemetery to place on the graves of her -husband and children, when she suddenly fell forward, and expired -painlessly among the roses. - -“It was a cruel blow, but I bore it bravely, because I knew that she -was reunited to her dear ones gone before, and I had my dear Richard -left to comfort me, besides the hope of a future blessing.” - -Again that heavy sigh from the depths of a burdened heart, whose agony -had been almost unendurable. Then she took up the thread of her story -again, murmuring: - -“I was so young; and I loved my husband so dearly, and he made me so -blissfully happy, that I was getting over my mother’s loss just a -little, when two months later--oh, Heaven, only two months later--God -took away my Richard!” - -Again her voice broke, and she remained sad and silent until she could -regain it, then went on: - -“On a trip away from home, in the interest of some intending land -buyers, he was killed instantly in a railroad wreck. Oh, my God! how -did I live through that sorrow? Only, by Thine infinite grace and love, -and the hope of that which was coming to me soon to fill the void of my -two sudden and awful bereavements. I almost went mad at first, and I -prayed for death to remove me from the life that was now only misery. - -“But kind friends and neighbors took charge of me. I was placed in -the care of a noble physician and skillful nurse. The days dragged on -in illness, wretchedness, and rebellion until I had been widowed six -weeks, then God sent me a child to love--a little dark-eyed daughter. - -“At first I was disappointed with my fate, I had so longed for a boy -to bear Richard’s name and to grow up in his image. But kind friends -soothed me, and I grew to dote on my lovely babe. But nothing was to be -left me to love, it seemed, for when baby, as I called her, not having -chosen a name yet, was only a month old, I woke up one night, missing -the little darling from my arms, and crying out in alarm. - -“Alas! she too was gone, and so was the nurse who slept on a cot in my -room. She had stolen baby, for what purpose I can not guess, and gone -away, and so carefully had she covered her flight, that after spending -every dollar of my little competency in the vain effort to trace her, -not a single clew was gained.” - -With a shaking voice she added: - -“I can not tell you why God made me live after all my tribulations. I -longed for death, but it did not come, and I dared not hurl myself out -of existence, having been raised by a Christian mother. So I lived, -though weary of life, and in the struggle for existence I became an -actress, having always possessed talents for the stage, and finding in -its arduous work relief from the pangs of memory. - -“This is, in brief, my story, and it will show you in part why Cinthia -Dawn is so dear to me. Although her beauty and sweetness are most -attractive, still it is not those alone that draw her to my heart. It -is because of her orphanage and sorrow, for Everard Dawn, from some -cause, does not give her a real fatherly love, and she is lonely at -heart beyond expression.” - -“Poor, poor Cinthia!” he breathed, with deep emotion. - -She dried her tearful eyes, and continued, with a searching glance at -his perturbed face: - -“Perhaps you would like to hear under what circumstances I first met -Cinthia?” - -He replied very readily: - -“Yes.” - -“It seemed like chance at first, but ever since I have thought that -Providence itself sent me to the poor girl’s aid in that hour. It was -in Washington, on the morning of your interrupted marriage, when she -was waiting for her father to come and take her home. I had been a -guest of the hotel the night before, and on removing to one nearer -the theater, I found I had left two handsome rings. I returned for -them, and met Cinthia just leaving her room to go upon the street, -a reckless, desperate girl, maddened by misery and humiliation, her -head filled with insane ideas of suicide, of going on the stage, of -anything to escape from herself and her despair. I drew her back, my -heart full of love and pity, and in an hour we changed from strangers -to loving friends. I put new hope in her heart, or at least courage to -bear the ills she could not cure, so that when her father came for her -she went with him readily to the new future he had planned by the aid -of a little fortune that had suddenly fallen to her from some distant -relative.” - -“You saved her from herself and from the keenest pangs of the sorrow -I had unwittingly brought upon her by my enforced renunciation of our -betrothal. God forever bless you, noble woman!” cried Arthur, crushing -her hand in his in the exuberance of his gratitude, and adding, warmly: -“You wondered why you could not die when bereaved of all that made life -worth living; but do you not see that Heaven spared you to be an angel -of mercy to this young girl?” - -He was tempted to confide his own story to her ears, that she might not -blame him so bitterly for Cinthia’s grief, but prudence intervened, -whispering that it were wiser to keep the cruel secret. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. “A COLD, GRAY LIFE.” - - -Arthur Varian and his mother were the closest and dearest friends, and -since his elopement, that had ended so unhappily, he had never kept a -secret from her, believing that she was his best adviser. - -So he had written to her frankly of all that had happened since he came -to Florida. - -He knew how sorry she would be that he had chanced upon Cinthia Dawn -again, but he knew also that the sorrow would be offset by the -knowledge that the young girl had overcome her unhappy love, and would -in all probability be won by Frederick Foster. - -He wrote of their pledge of friendship, their frequent meetings, her -apparent indifference to himself, and her preference for Fred’s society. - -Although the proud mother was pleased to know all these things, yet she -railed in secret at Cinthia’s indifference. - -“Fickle and unstable, like her father! Who could expect anything else -of such a parentage?” she thought, bitterly, the somber dark eyes -flashing with passion. - -On this dreary December day, at Idlewild, she was shut into her -luxurious _boudoir_, away from the rain and sleet of a most inclement -day, cradled in warmth and luxury, the air sweet with flowers, and -melodious with the songs of a large cage of canaries. A morning-robe of -purple brocade, bordered with rich fur, wrapped the queenly form from -the slightest breath of cold. - -But with all her luxury and grandeur she was not happy, this proud -woman, who turned her eyes from the beautiful room to gaze through -the richly curtained windows at the dreary day, as perhaps more in -consonance with her gray mood. - -Certainly there was much in the past to darken her life with an -ineffaceable shadow, and nothing in the future to throw any light on -the present. - -Once her life had been radiantly happy in the sunlight of wedded love, -but a terrible trial had come upon her which ended in divorce and a -desolated home. - -The passionate pride of a strong nature had helped her to bear it -before the eyes of the world. What she suffered in secret only Heaven -knew. - -In her pride she would have perished rather than unmask her secret -suffering. - - “Through many a clime ’twas mine to go, - With many a retrospection curst, - And all my solace is to know, - Whate’er betides I’ve known the worst. - What is that worst? Ah, do not ask, - In pity from the search forbear; - Smile on, nor venture to unmask - My heart and view the hell that’s there.” - -She tapped with restless fingers on the windowpane, muttering: - -“What a dismal, dreary day! I wish I had gone to Florida with Arthur -and Fred. There all is sunshine and beauty, while here in Virginia the -rain drips down the pane like tears, the winds howl like a banshee, and -the leafless vines tap against the walls like ghostly fingers. I hate -it all, I hate my life that is gray and cold like the day.” - -A sudden thought came to her like an inspiration: - -“I will join Arthur at Weir Lake. True, that girl is there; but what of -that? Her father is in California, they say, so he will not be there -to trouble my peace. Why should he trouble it anyway? He is nothing to -me, less than nothing. I hate him. I suppose that woman who was with -them abroad, that beautiful, blue-eyed actress, means to marry him in -the end. That is why she clings so close to the daughter. Time was when -he cared nothing for these vivacious blondes, and adored dark eyes as -if he saw heaven reflected in them. That is all past now. He knows the -devil that lurks in a woman wronged. Yes--yes, I will join Arthur. I -ought to see about the rebuilding of the old home myself.” - -She strained her eyes through the murky rain toward the gate at a man -who was striding along under an umbrella with a free, swinging gait too -fatally familiar to her memory. - -She pressed her hand to her throbbing heart. - -“It is _he_! He has come back to see that old woman, his sister! -How the old feelings stir in me at sight of him again. I wonder -if--if--there was the least truth in his words that I had wronged him. -His anger was most bitter and unforgiving. Yes--yes, I will leave here -to-morrow. I can not breathe the same air with him!” - -It was indeed Everard Dawn passing the gates of Idlewild without a -glance at the windows where those anguished dark eyes watched him so -eagerly between the blur of rain and mist. - -He was coming, as before, in storm and gloom, to his sister’s home. An -impulse of tenderness had moved him to turn aside on his way to his -daughter, to visit the lonely old woman. - -“It is well you came, for she is ill, and a week ago I hardly thought -she would live till your return,” grumbled Rachel Dane, as she admitted -him into the narrow hall. - -“You should have telegraphed me,” he answered. - -“She would not allow it. She said no one cared whether an old woman -like her lived or died.” - -“She is mistaken. I have neglected her in my selfishness, but I love -her dearly,” he said, huskily, adding: “And as for you, Rachel Dane, -the sight of you stirs up unpleasant memories, but I hope I see you -well?” - -“Well and hearty, sir, thanks to you for saving my life that night, -and to your sister for giving me a home afterward. But I have tried to -repay it by faithful service,” she added, as she ushered him into the -lonely sitting-room, and stirred the fire into a brighter blaze. - -“I thank you for that. She must have had a lonely life since I took my -daughter away,” he replied throwing himself in a chair, and stretching -his feet to the grateful warmth. - -“My daughter! My daughter!” thought Rachel Dane, grimly. “How he would -hate me if he knew the truth! And I should never dare to tell him! No, -no; I don’t care to be bundled out-of-doors in my old age, when I have -wound myself so closely around old Mrs. Flint that she is likely to -leave me her property when she dies.” - -She bustled about, watching him narrowly, thinking what a handsome man -he was still, in spite of his probable fifty years. - -Then she inquired if he would not have luncheon before he went up to -the sick-room. - -“No, I had a substantial breakfast on the train, and would like to see -my sister as soon as possible,” he replied. - -“Oh, then you may come upstairs at once. The sight of you will be good -for her old eyes.” - -He followed her up to the sick-room, that Rachel Dane had made as -cheerful and bright as possible, and there lay poor Mrs. Flint among -her pillows, wan and aged in the three years that had elapsed since -last they met, but with a light of joy in her dim eyes as they rested -again on his face. - -“My dear sister!” - -And he stooped and kissed her most affectionately. - -“How long you have been away--you and Cinthy!--and I have missed her -so, dear girl, though maybe I wasn’t none too good to her when she was -here, but I thought she ought to be brought up strict,” she murmured, -plaintively. - -“It was my fault. I told you to do it,” he answered, with a sigh; and -his eyes wandered around the room, noting vases of hot-house flowers -and plates of fruit, purple grapes, contrasted with the delicate green -of malagas, golden oranges, and crimson-cheeked apples. - -“You have kind neighbors,” he said. - -“Oh, yes; all the church people come to see me, and the -preacher--though Rachel there doesn’t care about him,” reproachfully. -“Mrs. Bowles, the housekeeper at Idlewild, comes often, too. She -brought me the fruit and flowers from up there. Her mistress sent -them--that grand Mrs. Varian, you know. I think it was kind in her -after the way you treated her son.” - -“Yes,” and he paled to the lips under his rich brown beard. “Well, and -so they are there still?” - -“She is. Arthur’s gone off somewhere, Mrs. Bowles said. I don’t know -where.” - -Mr. Dawn had no idea either. His daughter had not written him of her -meeting with Arthur. - -Presently he said, with a smile: - -“Rebecca, I have a bright idea. Hurry up and get strong enough to -travel, and I’ll take you and Rachel South with me on a visit to -Cinthia, if you would like it.” - -“Like it! Oh,” she cried, with sudden, pleasurable excitement, “indeed -I should, Everard. It will take the rheumatism out of my old bones, the -blessed sunshine of the warm South.” - -“Yes; all you need is a change. You are not so much sick as just -pining,” commented Rachel Dane. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. PUPPETS OF FATE. - - -No ordinary circumstance would have availed to keep Mrs. Varian -at Idlewild after she had discovered Everard Dawn’s return to the -neighborhood, but on the same day of her sudden determination to leave, -fate intervened to prevent her immediate flight. - -Her clever, skillful maid, the faithful attendant of many years, -without whom Mrs. Varian was as helpless as a child, was taken ill with -a serious cold and confined to her bed for several days. - -Her mistress was in despair, but even her imperious will was powerless -now against the inroads of illness. She had to abide the woman’s -recovery with patience, however much she chafed in secret against the -unwelcome delay. - -Mrs. Bowles cheerfully took on herself the duties of lady’s-maid in -addition to her housekeeping tasks, and called in a sick-nurse from the -neighborhood to attend to the invalid. In about three days she began -to convalesce, though it was five before she was able to assist Mrs. -Bowles with the necessary packing for the southward fight. - -In the meantime, Mrs. Flint was also improving fast, the pleasing -prospect of the journey southward having exerted on her mind a more -beneficial effect than all Doctor Savoy’s pills and potions. - -She dwelt with keen delight on the thought of seeing her niece again, -and disconcerted her brother by wondering if Cinthia had recovered -from her disappointment at losing Arthur Varian. - -“Oh, yes, yes; she was over all that long ago,” he replied, hastily, -anxious to dismiss the subject. - -But Mrs. Flint continued, feelingly: - -“Poor Cinthy! it was hard on her to have to give him up, he was such a -dear young man. And such a grand match, too, for a poor girl like her! -Oh, I never can forget the night she came home from Idlewild in the -grand carriage with Arthur, in his mother’s grand dress and cloak, and -told me she was engaged to him. It was all so sudden, it nearly took my -breath away. And what a beauty she looked! and how happy she was! Oh, -my! _Poor_ Cinthy!” - -She sighed deeply, but Everard Dawn made no comment, only looked out of -the window at the cold winter sunshine on the leaf-strewn garden-walks, -where a light snow of last night’s falling was fast melting away. - -Mrs. Flint continued, retrospectively: - -“She told me how sweet and kind Mrs. Varian was to her that night--not -proud and haughty as she had imagined she would be. She could see -plainly that she did not mind it a bit for Arthur to fall in love with -her, though she was a poor girl. And how bad that kind lady must have -felt when Arthur told her you would not let him have your daughter.” - -“It is all past and done now, Rebecca, and no use discussing it,” her -brother said, restlessly. - -“I know--but I have just been wondering whether you had changed your -mind yet, seeing as they are both single, and maybe anxious to make it -up with each other.” - -“I have not changed my mind,” he answered, watching the loosened -icicles drop crackling from the eaves, and wishing she would change the -subject. - -She went on sadly: - -“I would give anything to see poor Cinthy real happy again like she -was that night. I used to be too strict with the child, I know, and -I’ve repented it now. How happy she might have been if she’d had such -a mother as Mrs. Varian, who would have spoiled and petted her as -mothers do, and made her life so bright. I tell you, Everard, she is a -good woman in spite of her pride. Our minister says she is so good to -the poor, and, besides, she has given a thousand dollars to repair the -church. He told me he did not believe she was so proud and exclusive as -some people thought. He had called on her once, and she was very kind -and sweet in a way, but there was something rather sad in her manner, -or cynical, maybe, as if she had some trouble and was not resigned to -it.” - -Would she never get done talking on this (to her) most interesting -subject? - -Everard Dawn yawned impatiently, and answered thoughtlessly: - -“Yes, she was always like that, generous to a fault, noble at heart, -charming, but jealous, passionate, unreasonable.” - -“Why, Everard, did you know her some time?” she exclaimed. - -“I know a nun who did,” he answered curtly, getting up from his seat, -and adding: “Rebecca, it is about sunset, and I will take a walk and a -smoke before our early tea.” - -Donning great-coat and hat, he hurried out-of-doors, thinking: - -“If I had not got away from her chatter of Pauline Varian, I should -have screamed out aloud like a nervous woman, I verily believe.” - -He walked away in the dying glow of the rosy sunset toward the little -town, passing Idlewild, as he did daily, and watched by eyes of which -he little recked, for he was too proud to glance toward her windows. - -Every day, with an angry pain, she had seen him pass and she thanked -fate there would be but one day more of it, for the maid was well again -now, though why she should have watched him when she need not, no man -could have told, since the sex is rather obtuse on feminine caprices. - -Why need she follow him with such straining gaze, she, the proud, -wealthy Mrs. Varian, admired of men, envied of women, no less for her -charms than her gifts of fortune? She had everything life could give -but happiness. He--and she knew it--was but a poor lawyer, too careless -of fortune to woo her successfully, too weary of life to find pleasure -in it; not quite so blue-blooded as the Varians, either, yet not a man -to look down on, for nature at least had been lavish of brains and -beauty and stubborn pride, not to mention an unenviable capacity for -suffering stolidly borne. - -In her heart she believed him weak and unstable and scorned him -accordingly; but as for him, he understood her better than she did -herself, yet never relaxed his resentment over a cruel wrong, never -contemplated forgiveness, even if she should pray for it. - -Watching her carriage yesterday, as it dashed past the steps where he -had stood, he had recalled with grim pain some fitting words: - - “You walk the sunny side of fate, - The wise world smiles and calls you great, - The golden fruitage of success - Drops at your feet in plenteousness; - And you have blessings manifold, - Renown and power, and friends and gold, - They build a wall between us twain - That may not be thrown down again, - Alas! for I, the long time through, - Have loved you better than you knew.” - -It was no more pleasant for him than for her that they should meet -again, and he also was glad that to-morrow would be the last day of -it. His sister would be able to travel then, and they would start for -Florida. - -Since the maid’s sickness Mrs. Bowles had not come to see Mrs. Flint -any more. The occupants of the grand mansion and the lofty cottage did -not know they had each planned for a flitting the same day, by the same -train, and to the same destination. - -They could not have believed that the grim fates would have so mocked -them, but yet, when Mrs. Varian and her maid swept to their seats -in the train that Thursday, Everard Dawn and his party had already -arrived, and he had arranged the still weak invalid very comfortably -with the load of shawls and cushions carried by Rachel Dane. - -Mrs. Varian, ignoring the passengers with her usual queenly air, sunk -to her seat in blissful unconsciousness, and buried herself in her -novel. Not for two hours did she discover the identity of her traveling -companions, because at first she did not vouchsafe them even one -curious glance. - -Not so Everard Dawn, who had started in surprise and perturbation at -her first entrance. - -“The fates have made us traveling companions--not for the first time, -but I pray Heaven for the last!” was his grim thought. - -He was sitting some seats ahead, and he resolutely turned his back to -her, hoping not to disturb her peace by the disclosure of her identity, -and thinking it hardly possible they should be fellow-travelers long. -She was probably going to Richmond or Washington. - -There were but few passengers, and they were very quiet as the train -rushed on through the dull gray afternoon. Mrs. Flint, weary from the -getting ready for the journey, dozed fitfully among her cushions, and -Rachel Dane glued her face to the window-pane, and watched the flying -landscape. As for Everard Dawn, he looked neither to the right nor -left, but stared straight before him in a brown study. Mrs. Varian’s -maid amused herself by studying the passengers, and discovered that -some of them belonged to the town they had just left, though she did -not suppose her haughty mistress would take any interest in that fact. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. “THE WEIGHT OF CRUEL YEARS PILED INTO ONE LONG AGONY.” - - -Mrs. Varian read on and on until her eyes grew weary, then closing -them, she leaned back with a tired sigh, and fell to musing. - -Perhaps the musings were not pleasant, for presently she sighed deeply -again, and raising her head began to look around her in a listless way -at the passengers. - -She gave a violent start, and stared fixedly at the handsome head and -broad shoulders a few seats ahead. - -Could it be? Or was she dreaming? Surely those outlines were too -familiar for her to be mistaken. - -It was _he_! She saw him lean forward to answer the women in the next -seat. The outline of his handsome profile was clear for a moment. - -She fell back almost stunned, secretly railing at her ill fortune. - -Janetta, the maid, leaned forward from the back seat. - -“Do you wish anything, madame? You seem ill.” - -She whispered back: - -“Who are those people in front of us there?” - -“Some people from your own town, madame; a Mrs. Flint, her brother, and -her servant. The lady has been sick, and I heard the conductor telling -some one back there that they were going South for her health.” - -“Ah!” and Mrs. Varian shut her eyes and relapsed into pallor and -silence again. - -Janetta, good, faithful soul, watched her uneasily, feeling she was not -well. - -She was inwardly ill indeed--raging at the trick fate had played on her -this day. - -“To endure this thirty-six hours--the sight of him whenever I open my -eyes--it is impossible!” she said to herself, in a sort of blank terror. - -Janetta touched her gently, whispering: - -“You are very pale--I hope not ill.” - -She could fancy that she was ghastly to evoke this anxiety, so she -answered: - -“I do not feel quite my usual self. I am thinking of not going on -to-night any further than Charlottesville, and resuming our journey -to-morrow, if I am better.” - -“Perhaps that is the better plan,” the maid returned, respectfully, -though secretly rather disappointed at delaying the journey. - -But she was used to her mistress and her capricious notions. She had -simply to obey. - -So when they reached the university town a little further on, the -mistress and maid left the train, to the great relief of Everard Dawn, -who thought: - -“I was right. She is _en route_ for Washington. She will board the -Northern train at this point. But how lonely it seemed, just the two -women traveling together. I remember she used to be one of those -dependent women, always preferring a man’s escort. Arthur ought to be -with her now, poor Paulina!” - -Mrs. Flint exclaimed: - -“Was not that Mrs. Varian leaving the train?” - -“I believe so,” he replied, carelessly; and then the brief wait at the -station being over, the train rushed on into the deep gloom of twilight. - -It was scarcely a mile further on that, lying back with shut eyes -and confused thoughts that mostly centered around the lonely figure -of the woman just gone, he was roused by a terrible roar, a jumble -of horrible sound, movement, and stifled shrieks of fear and pain, -then consciousness gave way, and he lay still and death-like under -the _débris_ of a dreadful railway wreck--a collision caused by the -misplacing of a switch. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Varian revived out in the cold evening air, and she congratulated -herself on her lucky escape, as she and Janetta sought the nearest -hotel. - -They had supper, and went to their rooms, a luxurious connecting suite. - -Mrs. Varian was nervous and hysterically gay, laughing to herself at -the clever _coup_ by which she had outwitted fate. - -“I wonder if he saw me--if he guessed why I left the train--but perhaps -he was glad of it,” she thought. - -She walked restlessly up and down the room, chafing under a weight that -seemed to rest like a pall on her spirits--a weight of prescient gloom. - -“Mrs. Varian, you are nervous. You ought to take some drops and retire, -or you will not be fit to resume your journey in the morning,” the maid -remonstrated, when she had watched her restless movements some time in -silence. - -“You are right Janetta, and I will take your advice. I should like to -sleep, for my thoughts are not pleasant to-night,” the lady returned, -docilely. - -But sleep would not come to the heavy lids, for all she tried to -deceive Janetta by lying as still as a mouse, with her cheek in the -hollow of her little hand. - -Strange tears crept under the black-fringed lashes and dampened the -pillow. The maid caught a stifled sob. - -“Ah, madame, it is bad dreams you’re having!” she murmured, stroking -the dark head gently. - -“Yes, yes, bad dreams, Janetta.” - -“And no wonder, with the noise and confusion going on down-stairs, -tramping like horses the last ten minutes. I can’t imagine what all the -racket means, and if you don’t object, madame, I’ll go down and ask the -clerk to have the noise stopped, so you may sleep better.” - -“You may go.” - -When Janetta was gone, she sat up in bed, throwing her jeweled hands -wildly about crying: - -“How I deceived that kind, faithful creature! I have not slept a -moment. I have been too wretched. There is too great a weight on my -heart--the whole weight of cruel years piled into one wild agony -to-night! Oh, death were better than this pain!” - -Janetta was gone fully fifteen minutes before she returned, pale, and -tearfully excited, wringing her hands. - -“Oh, madame, you are still awake! Then thank God for the lucky -inspiration that came to you at Charlottesville to leave the train! -It was surely Heaven that prompted you, for else we might now both be -dead!” - -“Janetta!” wildly. - -“Oh, madame, the train was wrecked scarcely a mile further on, and -people were killed--some of them--others were wounded, and may die! -They are bringing them back here--that was the noise we heard--the -tramping of feet that woke you. Oh, I have shocked you, breaking this -so abruptly; but I did not think, I was so excited. Pardon me, dear -lady. Of course there were none of your friends, as all were strangers -to us.” - -“All strangers!” gasped Mrs. Varian in a hollow voice, with terror in -her eyes, as she clung to Janetta’s soothing hands. - -The excited maid ran on breathlessly: - -“Those people you noticed in front of us, madame--oh, it was dreadful! -The sick woman escaped unhurt, but the servant was badly injured, and -the man--Mr. Dawn they say his name is--was killed outright.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. CINTHIA’S BETROTHAL. - - -Arthur Varian was roused at midnight by the reception of a startling -telegram from his mother: - -“Everard Dawn fatally injured in a railway accident here. Come at once, -and bring Cinthia.” - -He staggered to a chair, groaning aloud! - -“So this is the sorrowful end!” - -Conquering an onrushing flood of painful emotion, he sought Frederick -Foster, and imparted the sad news. - -“Heavens, how shocking! And I had only a few hours ago written to ask -him for his daughter’s hand!” exclaimed the young man. - -“Then Cinthia has accepted you!” Arthur cried, with emotion. - -“Yes, only yesterday, and I intended to tell you to-morrow. Can you -wish me joy, old fellow?” inquired Fred Foster, anxiously, for his -cousin had made him acquainted with all his sad past story, and he felt -the keenest sympathy with his unhappiness. - -Arthur held out a cordial hand. - -“It is good news to me--under the circumstances. May you both be very -happy!” he exclaimed, generously. - -“Thank you, Arthur. I will do my part toward it,” returned the young -man, in a hopeful tone, adding: “We had better go at once to Lodge -Delight for Cinthia. I will go with you to Virginia, and no doubt -Madame Ray will give us the comfort of her company.” - -“I shall beg her to do so,” said Arthur. “I am sure she will not -refuse, for my mother would be perhaps but a poor consoler in the -hour of grief. Indeed, I am puzzled to know how she and Mr. Dawn ever -happened to be together at Charlottesville, for they have always -avoided each other. But the mystery can not be solved until we reach -her side.” - -Making the most hasty preparations possible for leaving, they set out -for Lodge Delight, having first sent a telegram to Mrs. Varian at -Charlottesville, assuring her that they would start at once. - -So expeditious were their movements, that before daylight the four were -on the train speeding to Virginia, Madame Ray having gladly acceded to -their request for her company. - -“Of course I would not permit Cinthia to go alone to so sad a scene as -her father’s death-bed, poor dear!” she said, with warm sympathy. - -Cinthia was shocked and grieved at the news of Everard Dawn’s accident -and impending death, but her grief lacked the depth of a filial -bereavement. Owing to her strong resentment at his own coldness, the -girl had never felt the sentiment of love for him. If Madame Ray had -died she would have been inconsolable, but in the case of her father -she felt quite differently. - -She was shocked and pained, but she would have felt almost as deeply -over any well-known friend who had met with such an accident. His death -would not mean any serious affliction to her. Indeed, when the first -shock was over, she remembered that perhaps now she would never have to -leave dear Madame Ray for another home. True, in a moment of madness -and resentment at Arthur’s coldness, she had rashly consented to marry -his cousin, but she was not at all certain that she would keep her -promise. - -She had told him frankly that she admired and esteemed him, but had no -love to give. If he was willing to wait, to give her time to cultivate -a warmer feeling, she would try her best to learn, and on these terms -he based their betrothal. To Cinthia herself it seemed as if she must -surely grow fond of him in time, he was so handsome, so splendid, so -devoted. She argued to herself that in time her love for Arthur must -surely be overcome by her contempt for his weakness and cowardice that -had brought sorrow into both their lives. - -Yet, as she watched his pale and sorrowful face while the train sped -on its way, she felt a rush of painful tenderness flooding her heart, -while she wondered why he was taking so much to heart the trouble that -had fallen on herself. Everard Dawn was nothing to him--nothing except -a man he had cause to dislike, because he had prevented his marriage -to his daughter--yet his pallor, his sadness, his preoccupation were -effects that might have been produced by the death of a near relative. - -Cinthia, drooping in her seat, with a thick veil drawn over her pallid -face, could not keep her eyes from her old lover, could not repress the -rush of tenderness that made her heart ache. - -She would have liked--she, the promised bride of Frederick Foster--to -have thrown her arms about Arthur Varian’s neck, pressed her pale cheek -to his, and whispered in the passion of her womanly love: - -“Why are you so pale, so sad, my best beloved? Is it for me? Has -Frederick told you that I have promised to marry him, and are you -grieved? Perhaps the old love is not dead yet in your heart, perhaps it -cries for me in the dead of night as my heart for you. Oh, is it too -late to go back, to thrust aside everything but the imperious demands -of our love, and be happy yet?” - -A sudden wild thought yet came to her and made her heart leap: - -“Only let me find my father yet alive, and he shall explain the mystery -of his opposition to my marriage with Arthur. She, too, is there, -Arthur’s mother, who for the sake of her hatred of my father and mother -was willing to wreck our happiness forever. Who knows but that when -both are dead, both my mother and father, her cruel revenge may be -satiated so that she may be willing to let love have its way.” - -It would have startled Frederick Foster, who hovered near her with -eager attentions, to find how little part he had in her thoughts and -dreams, for a faint trembling hope had come to her heart that perhaps -the death of her father might have some effect on her relations with -Arthur, might possibly restore them to happiness. - -Arthur, meanwhile, knowing the futility of all hope in Cinthia’s -direction, gave himself up to unrestrained melancholy, in which blended -considerable curiosity as to how it happened that his mother and Mr. -Dawn had been together at Charlottesville. - -Everard Dawn, who had an aversion to letter-writing, corresponded but -infrequently with his daughter, hence had left her in ignorance of the -date of his return from California. - -Mrs. Varian, on the other hand, had not apprised her son of her -suddenly decided upon journey to Florida. - -So he could only nurse his wonder and melancholy together while looking -back in a painful retrospection over the tangled web of what had been -and what might have been, those “saddest of all sad words.” - -There was a silent prayer in his heart, too, that Everard Dawn might -survive till he reached his bedside, so that some last words might -be said between them, some news be told, and perhaps some death-bed -revelations be made to Cinthia. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. AN OBSTINATE WOMAN. - - -Janetta, the indiscreet maid, would never forget the night when she -blurted out the news of the railway wreck to her ailing mistress and -sent her into that long, deathly swoon. - -Mrs. Varian was not in the habit of fainting, and it gave Janetta a -terrible scare, especially when the usual simple remedies failed to -revive the unconscious lady. - -Pale as a marble figure, her pallor heightened by the loosened tresses -of raven hair and the inky lashes lying heavily against her cheek, she -lay among the pillows, and though Janetta tried frantically first one -thing and then another, no breath stirred the pulseless bosom of her -mistress. - -She ran down-stairs for a doctor, but every medico in the neighborhood -had been summoned to the relief of the victims of the wreck. She could -get no assistance for an hour, except that of terrified women. - -Among them they succeeded in rousing her momentarily to a consciousness -of the situation; but almost as soon as her dark eyes opened, she -closed them again, murmuring mournfully: - -“Let me die.” - -And the remembrance of her trouble sent her immediately off into -another spell almost as long as the first one. - -The frightened and sympathetic women helped Janetta with all their -skill and knowledge, until in about half an hour they saw Mrs. Varian’s -breast heave faintly and her eyelids flutter. - -“She’s coming to again, thank the Lord!” sobbed Janetta. “Now one of -you women step in the next room and ask that doctor in there trying to -bring a dead man to life to come in here and help us, and if he won’t -come, to send me word how to stop her from going off again as soon as -she opens her eyes and remembers.” - -The house-maid went, and the housekeeper said: - -“The man looked dead to me, but that doctor thought it might be -temporary unconsciousness, and won’t leave off trying to save him -till he’s sure. But, la! his leg was broke, and there’s a cut on the -head--concussion of the brain, maybe, so the doctor said. It’s a pity -for the poor man. He was a beauty of a fellow.” - -“Wonder who he was?” observed another, while Mrs. Varian’s breathing -grew more pronounced, and her dark eyes opened eagerly, as the -housekeeper replied: - -“His sister was with him--an old lady that didn’t get hurt at all, -though her servant did. She said his name was Dawn.” - -There was a faint, strangled gasp from the bed, and at that moment the -physician entered the room. - -“Oh, doctor, that poor man! did he ever come to?” eagerly inquired one -of the women. - -He answered in his quiet, professional tone: - -“Yes; he recovered consciousness ten minutes ago; but I almost fear I -had as well have let him go without disturbing his peace. He is more -than likely fatally injured.” - -Then he turned his attention to the patient, almost starting in alarm -at the preternaturally solemn look of the great, wide open dark eyes. - -But if he had but known it, his first words had been more potent than -medicine in aiding her recovery. - -“You have received a great shock, and I must immediately quiet your -nerves,” he said, as his cool, steady fingers touched her pulse. - -“Bend lower. I must speak to you,” she murmured, faintly. - -He stooped down, and she whispered: - -“Send away all but my maid.” - -He looked around, and repeated: - -“It is better for all these kind friends to withdraw now, as my patient -will need absolute quiet. Her maid, of course, will remain.” - -They all stole away very quietly, and he began to prepare a soothing -potion for his strangely beautiful patient. - -He was startled when she murmured: - -“Doctor, you may give me something to strengthen me, but I will not -take an opiate.” - -“But, my dear lady--” he began, only to be interrupted by a feeble but -resolute voice: - -“No buts, my dear doctor, for my maid here can tell you that no one -ever disputes my will. I must be strengthened, I tell you, for in a few -minutes I shall go into the next room to visit your fatally injured -patient. He is an old--friend--of mine, and I shall get you to send a -telegram for me summoning his relations to his death-bed.” - -“His sister is here,” he replied, pressing to her lips the -strengthening draught she demanded. - -She swallowed it, sighed and replied: - -“There are others, sir--a daughter for one, and--but, Janetta, bring -pencil and paper, and copy what I dictate.” - -With wonderful strength and self-command for one recovering from such a -seizure, she dictated the message that Arthur received the same night. - -“Doctor, can you have this sent at once?” she inquired. - -He replied dubiously: - -“I will do so as soon as possible, but the telegraph line is very busy. -There are seven victims.” - -“Poor souls!--this must go at once at any cost. Do you hear, doctor? -Send it at once if it costs a little fortune! They are so far away, his -friends--and what if they come--too late!” her proud voice breaking. - -“I will do my best--and as for you, madame, I advise you to rest -quietly in your bed all night, or I will not answer for the -consequences to your outraged nerves.” - -“I tell you, sir, I will get up and go to that dying man at whatever -cost to myself.” - -“What an imperious woman!” he thought, and answered aloud: - -“At least lie here until I send off the telegram and bring you news of -my patient.” - -“Tell me first, is there any immediate prospect of his death?” -shudderingly. - -“None that I could see. There is a fracture of the left leg and a -cut on his head. Unless there are internal injuries, he might stand -a chance, a bare chance, for recovery, but that long syncope was so -alarming that I have scarcely any hope of saving him.” - -“I will rest here till you return, doctor, then I must go to him. I -tell you no one shall prevent me. I knew him long ago. My duty is by -his side now.” - -He saw by her frantic obstinacy that there was more beneath the surface -than her words revealed. To oppose her would be quite useless. - -So he said, assentingly: - -“It shall be as you wish, and perhaps his sister will be glad of your -help. She is a feeble old woman, sadly shaken by the shock. But at -least lie quiet till my return, perfectly quiet, please.” - -“I will,” she replied, reluctantly enough; and when he was gone, she -turned toward Janetta, saying: - -“This wounded man, Mr. Dawn, was a dear friend of my youth, and for -the sake of past days, we must help his sister to nurse him till his -daughter comes--or till he dies,” shudderingly again. - -Janetta replied with secret amazement: - -“I will do my best, madame, and I have been counted a skillful nurse, -but I think you are quite too ill to leave your room--at least till -to-morrow.” - -“I am stronger than you think. My will-power will help me through,” -replied the obstinate lady; and then she asked Janetta to dim the light -and throw a gauze handkerchief over her face. - -Janetta obeyed, then lay down on a sofa to watch and wait for the -doctor’s return. She pretended to be asleep, thinking that this would -suit her mistress best. - -Soon she heard low, stifled sobs from beneath the tiny handkerchief, -and guessed that an hysterical mood had followed on Mrs. Varian’s -startling illness and agitation. - -It was remarkable for Mrs. Varian--the proud, the cold, the imperious -woman--but Janetta knew it was best to take no notice and attempt no -soothing. The icy crust of years was broken up at last, and tears must -have their way. They were the greatest panacea for hidden grief. But -the alert maid said to herself: - -“Such grief is not for an old friend simply. Doubtless he was once her -lover. Then estrangement followed and broke their vows. I remember now -that she became ill on the train at the sight of him, and abruptly -changed her mind, getting off here to spend the night. Well, the Lord’s -hand was in it, for we might have been killed had we stayed on the -train,” she concluded, without stopping to ask herself why she and Mrs. -Varian should have been of so much more value to the world than others -that He should have taken special care to save their lives. - -It touched her deeply to hear that stifled sobbing, and she longed to -speak some comforting words; but she knew it was not best, but lay -still till the passion exhausted itself and Mrs. Varian was passive -once more awaiting the doctor’s return. - -It was an hour before he returned, and said: - -“I have succeeded in sending off the telegram, and I find Mr. Dawn in a -comatose state from which nothing perhaps can rouse him till to-morrow. -It would be quite useless your going to him.” - -“Yet, doctor, I must look upon his face to-night!” And she raised -herself in bed, throwing out beseeching hands. - -“I will wait then in the corridor for you and your maid,” he replied, -withdrawing. - -Janetta quickly attired her mistress in a comfortable robe, and -gathered her dark, streaming tresses into a loose knot. Giving her the -support of her arm, she led her out to the old doctor, who quickly came -forward to meet them. - -“I have just sent the sister--old Mrs. Flint--to bed, as she will not -be needed now,” he said, leading Mrs. Varian into his patient’s room. - -She needed his arm, for she trembled like a leaf in a gale. All her -pride was trampled in the dust by the love of old days that rushed over -her like a storm, laying waste all the barriers that anger and scorn -had raised between her heart and the man lying there so deathly white -and still, as if hovering Death had already claimed him for his victim. - -Doctor Deane drew forward a large arm-chair to the side of the bed, -placed Mrs. Varian in it, and abruptly withdrew, beckoning Janetta to -follow. - -“You may wait outside the door while I go in to see another patient. I -think the lady would prefer to be alone for a time,” he said; for he -also had his suspicions of something uncommon in the past of his two -strange patients. - -He was right. Mrs. Varian was glad at last to be alone with Everard -Dawn. - -She gazed with despairing eyes at his bandaged head, silent, pallid -lips and closed blue eyes. - -She bent her haughty head and pressed her fevered lips on the cold -white hand that lay outside the cover, murmuring passionate words: - -“Oh, Everard, it is Pauline! Do you not know it is Pauline? Oh, do not -die without one word to me, one word of love and pity--you who used -to love me so! Is all the old love dead? Oh, you wronged me bitterly, -Everard, but I can not hate you any longer. The old love rises in me -like an ice-bound stream released by the sunlight, and drowns me in its -overflow. Oh, Everard, my loved and lost!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. BEYOND FORGIVENESS. - - -Janetta, close against the door outside, caught low, passionate murmurs -from within in her mistress’s voice, and guessed that she was pouring -out her heart’s wild grief in the insensate ears of the unconscious -man. It was pitiful, and tears overflowed Janetta’s eyes. - -For some time the low murmuring continued, then all grew still as death. - -She waited awhile, then fearful that the lady had fainted again, opened -the door and went softly in. - -Everard Dawn lay still and silent, just faintly breathing, as before, -and Mrs. Varian’s dark head was bent down, resting upon the patient’s -hand. - -She motioned Janetta to her side, saying, gently: - -“You may share my vigil, Janetta, and because I know this seems strange -to you, I will confide in you. We loved each other very dearly once, -this man and I, but a wicked woman came between us and wrecked my -happiness. I tried to hate him, but now that he is dying, the old love -rises in me again, and my heart is breaking.” - -That was all; but she knew she was sure of the other woman’s sympathy. - -Janetta might marvel at the utter breaking down of the proudest woman -she had ever known, but she would love her better for her constancy and -her womanly tenderness. - -So they kept their lonely vigils by the sufferer, who for twenty-four -hours gave no sign of knowing aught, until they began to fear that he -would pass into the other world without a sign or token to those left -on earth. - -Mrs. Flint had been told that an old friend of her brother would help -to nurse him; but when she saw that it was Mrs. Varian, she was filled -with secret wonder that found expression in the words: - -“He never told me that he knew you, madame; but I do not see how he -could have forgotten one like you.” - -Mrs. Varian smiled with transient bitterness, but made no reply to -the frank compliment, only showing her appreciation of it by simple, -unaffected kindness to the grieving sister. - -The night and the day wore away, and in the early dusk of the December -eve Everard Dawn suddenly opened his eyes with full consciousness in -them, and met the eager glance of large, dark, sorrowful orbs. - -“Oh, Everard, it is I--_Paulina_! Do you know me?” she murmured, -prayerfully. - -In a broken whisper, he answered: - -“I know you.” - -Then his eyes closed again, and with a stifled sob, Mrs. Varian sent -Janetta to tell the doctor. - -He hastened to his side, delighted to find that his patient had -rallied; but he whispered to the anxious watcher: - -“I do not dare bid you hope anything from this. The case is most -uncertain.” - -She bowed her head in silence; but from that moment not a movement of -the invalid passed unwatched. - -He had recovered his consciousness, but the doctor saw in him as yet no -certain chance of recovery. He was very still and quiet, speaking only -when addressed, and lying always with half-closed eyes that seemed to -notice nothing. At times they opened wider and followed Mrs. Varian’s -movements about the room, but he did not permit her to surprise that -scrutiny. - -She was tender, but very timid, scarcely daring to offer the least -attention, lest it be repulsed. There rang in her memory always some -words he had uttered long ago: - -“Paulina, you have put upon me an unmerited disgrace and a cruel wrong. -I will never forgive you as long as I live!” - -Again, in the garden at Idlewild, three years ago, he had said to her -most bitterly: - -“Do not think I have come to forgive you!” - -She had never forgotten the bitterness of those words. They dazed her, -too, for in her own opinion she had been the only wronged one, he the -transgressor. - -He was going out of life now, and she read in his silence that he would -keep his word, that for the grievance he cherished he would not grant -forgiveness. - -Neither would he plead with her for pardon for the wrong that he had -done. - -It was a cruel position for both, and she felt that he only endured her -presence for cold pity’s sake, while secretly wishing her away. - -“God help me. I can not bear to leave him!” she thought, despairingly. - -The next morning the travelers from Florida arrived. - -Cinthia and her aunt had a most affecting meeting, though it was the -elder woman who broke down and forced the other to tears. - -“Oh, Cinthy, you never loved him as I did! You never knew him at his -best--before sorrow came to him and spoiled his nature,” she sobbed. - -Cinthia could only weep. - -“It is not my fault that I was lacking in sympathy. I was never told of -his troubles.” - -“He did not wish for you to know, dear, lest your young life should be -saddened more than it was already.” - -“Dear aunt, I am very sorry for him, and grieved to see you looking so -pale and thin. Tell me how all this came about,” pleaded Cinthia. And -while they are exchanging confidences, we will return to Arthur and his -mother. - -She had gone to her room to receive him alone, and he clasped her -tenderly in his arms. - -“Poor mother!” he sighed, with deep compassion, and then they sat down -and talked awhile together. - -“I have one pleasant piece of news for you. Cinthia and Fred are -engaged,” he said. - -“I am glad of it--under the circumstances,” she replied, exactly as he -had replied to Frederick’s announcement of the betrothal. - -She mused silently a moment, then added: - -“It will be good news for her father. He can die easier.” - -“You are sure that he must die, dear mother?” - -“You will not doubt it when you see him, Arthur; and the physician does -not hold out any hope, though he thinks that the end may be lingering.” - -She spoke with the steady calmness of despair, and her son looked at -her with uneasy eyes, wondering how she felt, how she was bearing it. - -Perhaps she read his thoughts, for she said quickly: - -“Go to him as soon as you can, dear. Perhaps it may give him some -pleasure to see you by him now. Be kind and tender--for the sake of old -days.” - -“And you, mother?” - -“I have done what I could--for duty’s sake.” - -“Only for that?” he wondered, but dared not ask, and soon left her to -seek Mr. Dawn. - -Between the two there was a touching greeting--a strange one for two -men who could only be supposed to harbor resentment against each other. - -Arthur was not ashamed to shed tears when he saw that helpless form and -pallid face with the bandaged head. His voice trembled while he talked, -and Mr. Dawn’s replies were low and gentle. - -“I have kept very quiet. I have saved my strength till you and Cinthia -came. I felt I would have much to bear then,” he said feebly. - -Arthur answered, hopefully: - -“I have good news for you. Cinthia has promised to marry my cousin -Frederick Foster. Perhaps she might bear to know our secret now.” - -“Perhaps so,” he replied, with a heavy sigh; and just then the door -opened softly again, admitting Mrs. Flint with his daughter and Madame -Ray. - -Arthur drew aside and returned to his mother, who was still alone, -having sent Janetta to help with the wounded woman just across the -hall--Rachel Dane. - -Mrs. Varian clung to her son, whispering wildly: - -“Tell me what brought her here, that beautiful Madame Ray? Is she aught -to him?” - -“His daughter’s friend--nothing more, dear mother.” - -“Are you sure--quite sure? For Frederick hinted once that Cinthia -wished them to marry. And she is so charming--perhaps he loves her, -Arthur?” jealously. - -“No, mother, they are nothing but friends. Her heart is in the grave. -Come, let me tell you her sad, touching story.” - -He drew her to a seat, and went over the sad details Madame Ray had -given him in Florida, drawing bright tears from his mother’s eyes. - -Then some one knocked on the door. It was Doctor Deane. - -“I have been with my patient, Mr. Dawn,” he said, “and the coming of -his daughter has greatly excited him, causing an improvement for the -time, though how long it may last I can not say. It seems as if there -is something on his mind that he wishes to communicate before he dies, -and he begs you and your son to join him at once with the others.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. HER SIDE OF THE STORY. - - -Everard Dawn’s haggard eyes marked the entrance of the doctor and the -Varians, and he said feebly: - -“Are you all here, Cinthia, Arthur, his mother, my sister, and my kind -friend, Madame Ray?” - -“They are all here,” Doctor Deane replied; and Everard Dawn continued: - -“I should like Mr. Foster to be present, too--and Mrs. Varian’s maid. -She may need her ministrations in a trying scene. You, too, doctor, -I would like to have stay if you can bear the disclosure of family -secrets.” - -The old doctor answered, genially: - -“I have no wish to pry into family secrets, but it is best that I -should stay, that I may render assistance should you overtax your -feeble powers.” - -They brought Frederick Foster and Janetta, and there were eight of them -forming a curious, anxious group about the bed. - -Across the hall, gasping for breath, and tossing restlessly from side -to side in the pain of internal injuries, was a woman who would have -taken as great an interest as any in the novel scene transpiring so -close to her; but no one gave her a single thought, no one supposed -that the humble servant, Rachel Dane, could have taken any interest in -the event, much less have thrown a light on the dark mystery that had -saddened several hopeful lives. Everything had been so closely guarded -that little of it had come to her knowledge. Janetta had told her that -Mr. Dawn’s daughter and her friends had come, that was all. - -The suffering woman had a lively interest to see Cinthia, whom she had -nursed as a little child, and of whom her aunt had talked so much, but -she knew that her curiosity must bide the proper time. - -A house-maid had come in just now, and said: - -“Janetta, you are wanted in Mr. Dawn’s room. I will stay here until you -come back.” - -Janetta went as bidden, and stationed herself at the back of the -arm-chair where her mistress was sitting, close to the bed. - -Then Everard Dawn exclaimed, clearly: - -“Paulina!” - -Mrs. Varian gave a convulsive start and looked fearfully at the speaker. - -His blue eyes met hers full with a commanding expression, as he -continued: - -“Paulina, in meeting my daughter here on my dying bed she has demanded -to know the details of the feud as she believes it, that shadowed so -darkly the last three years of her young life. Once I would have died -to shield her from such sorrow, but now she declares that certainty of -sorrow is better than the pangs of suspense. She demands the truth. It -is our bitter duty to yield to her desires.” - -A hushed murmur of surprise went around the group, and Cinthia buried -her face on Madame Ray’s bosom. - -She had indeed pleaded with her father for the truth, and he had -promised to gratify her wish, though she wondered why he added: - -“There was indeed a terrible reason why you could not marry Arthur, my -dear child, and it would have killed you at first to know it, but now -that you love another man, and are engaged to marry him, you will not -mind so much.” - -They had startled her strangely, those words, and she hung tremblingly -on every sentence that fell now from her father’s lips, and before she -hid her pallid face she had seen Arthur draw his chair close to his -mother’s side--the mother he loved so dearly still, though she had -parted him so cruelly from his beautiful betrothed. - -Again Everard Dawn breathed through pallid, pain-drawn lips: - -“All I ask of you, Paulina, is that you shall tell your side of our -marriage and divorce. I will follow with my version of the story.” - -The listeners could scarcely express outcries of surprise. - -Everard Dawn had revealed to them all in one brief sentence a totally -unsuspected fact. - -Mrs. Varian, the wealthy, beautiful, haughty woman, was his divorced -wife. - -Cinthia trembled with surprise, and clung closer to her loving friend, -who thought quickly. - -“My suspicions and forebodings are about to be verified. Alas, poor -Cinthia!” - -Arthur Varian drew his arm about his mother, whispering to her of -courage in this trying hour, begging her to gratify the sick man’s -request. - -Everard Dawn waited a moment, then added: - -“You may make the story as short as you please, only let it come from -your own lips.” - -Mrs. Varian lifted her head with something of her old haughty pride, -and looked at Cinthia where she drooped against her friend’s breast, -but her voice was slightly tremulous as she began: - -“When I first met your father, Cinthia, he was a rising young lawyer -employed by my father to attend to some complicated business matters. -Our acquaintance ripened into love, and he became a suitor for my hand -against my father’s wishes. But as my lover’s only fault was poverty -and we were rich, I soon persuaded papa to withdraw his objections. So -we were married.” - -She paused and sighed, and every one heard Everard Dawn re-echo that -sigh heavily. - -“Go on, dear,” whispered Arthur, encouragingly, with an anxious look at -Cinthia. - -“We were very happy, for my husband seemed a model of manly -perfection,” continued Mrs. Varian. “We lived in Florida with my dear -father, who made Everard the manager of all his investments, thus -insuring him independence of my fortune, for he was very proud and -impatient of being thought a fortune-hunter. Arthur was born when I -had been married one year, and until he was four years old I was the -happiest woman on earth.” - -Everard Dawn gave her a sudden bright look that she did not perceive, -as if grateful for those words. - -Again sighing, she continued: - -“Then a dark shadow fell over Love’s Retreat--the shadow of a beautiful -young girl, the daughter of a former client of my husband. She arrived -suddenly at our home one day, bearing a letter from her father who -had recently died. In it he commended the girl--Gladys Lowe--to the -guardianship of my husband, begging that he would keep her at his -home till she married. To be brief, her father’s property dwindled to -nothing when it came to be settled up, leaving her penniless on our -hands--a charge I would most generously have undertaken but for the -predilection Miss Lowe immediately manifested for my husband, driving -me wild with her kittenish coquetries, for she was very charming, -with abundant tawny locks and effective hazel eyes, that were always -fixed on Everard with a passion she could not disguise. The Varians -are charged with being jealous people, and I do not deny it; I feared -she would win my husband with her blandishments, and I imperiously -demanded of him that he send Miss Lowe away.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. A MORTAL WOUND. - - -Every one in the room was listening with suppressed excitement to Mrs. -Varian’s story, every eye was fixed on her mortally pale face, so -deathlike in its pallor save for the great Oriental dark eyes burning -like coals of fire. - -Cinthia had grown ghastly, too, as she rested in the clasp of Madame -Ray’s arm, taking no heed of her handsome betrothed on the other side, -hovering near to console her in the terrible revelation soon coming. - -The lady paused, drew her breath in sharply, like one in pain, and -resumed: - -“I could not bring my husband to believe in the sincerity of my -objections to his ward. He first laughed at my jealousy, then upbraided -me with my injustice to a homeless orphan girl. He could not send her -away penniless into the world, for he had been under obligations to her -father, in whose office he had gained his first law practice. He begged -me to have patience and charity toward Miss Lowe until her superior -attractions should win her a husband. Heaven knows I was never lacking -in Christian charity toward any unfortunate person, but Gladys Lowe -was not a good girl. A flirt to her fingertips, and totally without -principle or conscience, she discovered my jealousy and played on -it cleverly, augmenting it by cunning schemes that my husband never -suspected, and that I, in my bitter pride and jealousy, never betrayed -to him. So matters went on for a year, and in that interval of time I -several times surprised my husband in compromising situations with his -ward. By my father’s advice, I ordered her to leave my house, and there -was a stormy scene. - -“Miss Lowe threw shame to the winds. She refused to go, and taunted -me with having won my husband from me. I threatened to sue him for -divorce, naming her as co-respondent. She retorted that it was what -they both wished, in order that he might obtain his freedom to marry -her. Without a word to my husband--for we had long been estranged -through our differences over her--I left my home, taking my little -son, and accompanied by my father, who fully sympathized with my -grievances and despised the authors of my unhappiness. I then carried -out my threat of suing my husband for divorce, implicating Miss Lowe. -To cut the story short, my husband fought against the divorce; but his -shameless ward helped it on by every art in her power, never denying -the charges against her; and it was soon granted, giving me the custody -of our son and the liberty to resume my maiden name. Mr. Dawn removed -from Florida to Georgia, where Miss Lowe followed him, and within a -few months he married her, thus proving his falsity to me.” - -Her story was ended, and she leaned her head back against Arthur’s -shoulder, closing her eyes to shut out the sight of the surprised and -pitying faces to whom she had just confessed the story of her life’s -humiliation. - -“Bravely done, dear mother!” whispered Arthur, with a gentle kiss on -her cold cheek. - -“It is my turn now,” said Everard Dawn, with a heavy sigh, and Doctor -Deane rejoined: - -“I can not permit you to talk very long, my dear patient.” - -“It will not be necessary, sir, for Mrs. Varian has saved me the -trouble of a long explanation. What she has related is perfectly true -on the face of it, but behind the tragedy of our divorce lie the actual -facts of the terrible mistakes of a jealous woman and a heedless man -too secure of his great happiness to guard it close enough.” - -A great thrill ran through the listeners, as he continued: - -“I hold myself to blame that I was impatient of my wife’s jealousy, -and laughed at her fears that Miss Lowe was trying to win my heart. I -pitied my ward for her orphanage and poverty, and I was too generous -to believe that she was aught but a joyous-hearted girl whose little -kittenish coquetries amounted to nothing. I was simply blind, besides -being inordinately proud and passionately resentful of my wife’s unjust -suspicions. I loved her to idolatry, and her lack of faith angered me. -I carried everything with too high a hand, perhaps, but I did not dream -to what lengths the affair was going.” - -Doctor Deane interposed gently: - -“You are exhausting your strength by too long a discourse.” - -“Doctor, what difference can it make to a dying man whether his little -stock of strength is exhausted sooner or later?” wearily. - -“Go on then; but be brief.” - -“I found out too late,” continued Everard Dawn, “that Miss Lowe was -different from what I thought. She had indeed conceived a mad love -for me that had driven her to desperate lengths to win me. It is true -that she followed me to Georgia, true that I married her, but only -because of her passionate pleadings and assertions that through my -wife’s jealousy her character had been ruined. I gave her the shelter -of my name, but, God forgive me, I hated her as long as she lived, and -could not help rejoicing when she was dead. I obtained a position as a -commercial traveler, so that I could spend most of my time away from -her side, so her victory was a poor one after all, for she had wrecked -two lives without gaining any happiness for herself. As for the rest, I -affirm now on my death-bed and on my hopes of heaven, that Gladys Lowe -and I were as innocent of wrong-doing before my divorce as the purest -angel. She was wicked enough to make my wife believe it, through her -jealousy so easily imposed on, but she was not guilty, so help me -Heaven!” - -He paused, and there rose a stifled cry of bitter anguish. It came -from Cinthia’s ghastly lips as the cruel truth began to dawn on her -bewildered brain. - -Everard Dawn looked at her pityingly, and said: - -“Ah, Cinthia, you understand it all now. She was your mother. Perhaps -you will not blame me now that I failed in love to you, that I forgot -my duty to you in resentment at what you represented--the wicked love -of a woman who wrecked my life in parting me from all that made it -dear.” - -A low moan came from her blanched lips and Arthur Varian left his -mother’s side and approached her with leaden-weighted feet and a look -as of death’s agony in his fixed blue eyes. He took her hand, and said, -hollowly: - -“Cinthia, you understand it all now, but you will not mind it, I know, -because Fred is going to make you very happy, my dear little _sister_.” - -No one in that room ever forgot the white agony of Cinthia Dawn’s face -as she sprung to her feet, with outstretched arms, quivering all over -as if a bullet had pierced her heart, pushing Arthur away as if his -hand had given the mortal wound. - -“Oh, God, let me die!” she shrieked, in her despair, and sunk senseless -in Madame Ray’s arms. - - - - -CHAPTER XL. A LATE REPENTANCE. - - -Doctor Deane feared that all that excitement must hurt his patient very -much, so he cleared the room as soon as possible, letting no one stay -but Mrs. Flint and himself. - -She, poor old lady, was terribly shocked at hearing the full story of -her brother’s life, having only known a few hazy details before. - -But she pulled herself together the best she could, and hung tenderly -over the bedside, chafing her brother’s cold hands, and murmuring: - -“Poor Everard! how cruelly you have been wronged, and how sad your life -has been! If I had known all the truth, I could never have blamed you -for neglecting Cinthy, though it is a pity, for a sweeter girl never -lived, I am sure. She can not have inherited her disposition from her -wicked mother.” - -He looked at her kindly, but he was too exhausted by all he had endured -to answer, but lay, pale and gasping, among the pillows, while the -doctor busied himself with restoratives. - -“All this excitement has been very bad for him, and he must have quiet -and sleep the rest of the day,” he said uneasily, before he went out to -see after his other patients. - -They had carried Cinthia to her own room, where Madame Ray hung over -her with tearful devotion excluding every one else, even her anxious -betrothed, who hung about in most disconsolate fashion. - -Janetta returned to her watch by Rachel Dane, and Arthur accompanied -his mother to her own apartments, mastering his own agitation in his -tenderness for her trouble. - -“You will lie down and rest, dear mother, or you will be ill after this -fatiguing ordeal,” he pleaded. - -She was pacing restlessly up and down the floor, a picture of nervous -suffering painful to gaze upon. Pausing in the center of the room, her -white, jeweled fingers locked together as if in pain, she looked at him -with burning eyes, crying wildly: - -“Oh, Arthur, how can I rest, how can I sleep? _He_ is dying, and I--I -am full of doubt and terror! Awakened conscience daunts me. Have I -wronged him or not? Is he innocent, or is he guilty?” - -“Mother you heard him swear to his innocence by all his hopes of -heaven!” - -“He swore to it before, Arthur, on the day when I sued him for divorce. -He came to me swearing his innocence, pleading for mercy. I turned from -him in anger, refusing to believe him, scorning all his prayers.” - -“How could you be so hard, mother?” - -“I was mad with wounded love and jealousy. I had let that fiendish girl -destroy, with cunning arts, all my faith in him. Besides, my father -was against him. He feared he had married me for my wealth alone.” - -“Poor mother, how you were tortured! No wonder you made such a fatal -mistake.” - -“Arthur, Arthur,” her voice rang out wildly, “you believe that it was a -mistake?” - -He came up to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and looked at her -earnestly, tenderly. - -“Mother, must I tell you frankly what I believe, what I have believed -in my soul ever since my first interview with my father, that day in -Washington?” - -“Yes; speak the whole truth, though it crushes me!” sighed the unhappy -woman; and he answered: - -“I do not mean to be cruel to you, dear mother, I pity you, and I -understand your terrible provocation for all you did, but I believe in -my father’s innocence and his perfect nobility. He told me his full -story in Washington, and I have believed in him, loved him, revered him -ever since, and his death will be a blow to me only second to your own.” - -“Then, Arthur, I am a miserable sinner. I have wrecked his life!” -contritely. - -“Then you must acknowledge your fault, and beg his forgiveness.” - -“He has sworn that he will never forgive me as long as I live. Oh, my -heart, what a cruel wretch I have been to him! And I loved him so! I do -not merit his forgiveness.” - -“But he shall grant it, mother. I will add my prayers to yours.” - -“Oh, Arthur, shall we go to him now, my poor, wronged love?” weeping. - -“Not now, dear mother, because he is exhausted, and needs rest. We must -wait.” - -“Oh, if he could know my shame and repentance! And how I have loved him -always in spite of myself! Might it not comfort him, Arthur?” - -“I will find out when he can see you, and tell you himself, mother, if -you will be very patient, and let him rest awhile first, mother.” - -“I will wait as long as you wish me, Arthur, my poor boy, for I need -your forgiveness, too. I have wronged you also, depriving you these -long and weary years of a father’s love. Besides, there was all your -bitter trouble over Cinthia. But thank Heaven, it is all over now, that -sorrow.” - -“Yes, it is all over now,” he said, calmly, but with white lips. - -And then he went away to his father’s room, where Mrs. Flint was -sitting alone, wishing he were not so restless, fearing it was a bad -sign. - -Arthur bent over him caressingly, and whispered: - -“My poor mother, after years of sorrow, divided between doubt and -anger, is at last convinced of your innocence, and her poor heart -is breaking with remorse for her sin and love that she could never -conquer.” - -He saw a strange gleam in the deep blue eyes, and the pale lips -twitched with emotion. - -He continued, almost pleadingly: - -“Her pride is humbled in the dust, and her dearest wish is to express -her penitence and pray for forgiveness. Her sin was great, but, dear -father, you have a noble heart. Is it shut against her forever?” - -What a light came over the pallid face, what strange new fire to the -dim eyes, what deep emotion quivered in the voice that answered: - -“When your mother first entered into my heart Arthur, she locked the -door and threw away the key forever. How could I bar her out after -lifelong possession?” - -“Oh, father, what a constant heart! Yet she fears that you can never -forgive her.” - -“In the passion of wounded love and anger, I swore that I would not, -Arthur; but that was long ago, and in the face of death, how puerile -these worldy resentments seem! Then, too, I believed she had wearied -of me, believed me a fortune-hunter. Her wealth and her pride raised a -wall between us. I could not dream that lips like hers could ever stoop -to that word ‘forgive.’” - -“Would you like to hear her say it now, my father?” - -“No, Arthur, for it is needless. If she could come to me with another -word--the dear word love--it would pay for all. How sweet to die with -her hand in mine, her lips on my brow!” - -Ah, what a love was here!--so patient under cruel wrong, so faithful, -so forgiving! Arthur’s nature bowed in reverence to its holiness. - -“She will come when you wish,” he said gently. - -“Let it be now, Arthur.” - -“But Doctor Deane said----” began his sister, uneasily. - -“I can not permit any one to dictate in this. Every moment of suspense -counts against my life,” the patient answered, firmly, and Arthur went. - -It was but a little while before he returned with a drooping figure on -his arm. - -Mrs. Flint safely withdrew to a window, with her back to the bed. - -Arthur led his mother to the bedside, and placed her in a chair. Then -he took her cold and trembling hand, and placed it in that of his -father. - -She thrilled with a passion of joy at the feeble pressure, and bent -forward, pressing her quivering lips to his pale brow, whispering in a -tempest of restrained emotion: - -“Oh, Everard, I wronged you--but I never ceased to love you!” - -And there was deep silence and rare happiness--even though the -shadow of death hovered over the room. And presently she whispered, -entreatingly: - -“Oh, Everard, do not die and leave me now! I can not let you go again! -I will nurse you and tend you so faithfully that surely Heaven will -give you back to me! And some day, when I have somewhat atoned by -penitence and devotion, perhaps you will let me be your wife again.” - -“Ah, Paulina, if it might be _now_, for the doctor does not hold out -any hope of life. But at least I should die happy, knowing you were -mine again.” - -“You shall have your wish!” cried Arthur, hastening from the room. - -Then Everard Dawn called his sister to make friends with Paulina. - -“I should like for you to love each other when I am gone,” he said -gently. - -“Oh, brother, we can not let you go now, when happiness has come to you -again! I am praying for you every moment!” cried the kind old lady, -clasping hands with the beautiful woman whom she would be proud to call -sister. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. “THE GREED OF GOLD.” - - -Meanwhile, Janetta, watching by the bedside of Rachel Dane, did not -like the looks of her patient. - -The woman had been very bad from the first, her body covered with -bruises, and complaining of severe inward pains that indicated internal -injuries. - -All that medical skill could do, combined with careful nursing, had -been lavished on the sufferer; but it was quite evident that her days -were numbered. - -To-day she was restless and querulous, sliding down in bed, and picking -at the covers in an ominous way. - -“Where is my mistress?” she inquired, presently: adding in a fretful -tone; “she has entirely neglected me to-day.” - -Janetta soothingly made excuses for Mrs. Flint, saying that her niece -had arrived that morning, and they had been together in the room of Mr. -Dawn, who was not expected to live long. - -“I should like to see Miss Dawn,” Rachel Dane muttered, curiously. - -“That would be impossible, for the young lady was quite prostrated by -the excitement in her father’s room, and was carried to bed just now, -with the doctor in attendance,” replied Janetta. - -Rachel Dane kept silence quite a little while, then she sharply ordered -Janetta to go away and send Mrs. Flint. - -The maid obeyed, only too glad to get away from the grewsome company of -the dying woman. - -Mrs. Flint came at once, wan and weary from excitement, but full of -kindly sympathy. - -“Rachel, I am sorry to see that you are not so well to-day,” she said. - -“So you can see it? Well, I felt it myself; that’s why I wanted you. I -knew you would tell me the truth. Am I going to die?” querulously. - -Mrs. Flint had been by many a death-bed, and she saw the signs here, so -she answered, frankly: - -“Rachel, I don’t want to frighten you, but it’s time you should make -your peace with God.” - -The poor wretch shuddered and moaned: - -“Are you sure? Did the doctor say so, ma’am?” - -“He has never had any hope of your recovery, Rachel, and you are -failing fast to-day. You will soon be done with this world; but, alas! -you are not ready for the next one.” - -She did not want to frighten the parting soul but she was sorrowful -over the life going out into eternal darkness. - -Rachel Dane shuddered, and cried: - -“I always meant to get ready when the time came but it caught me -unprepared. I’m only fifty odd years old, and I hoped to live to -ninety. Oh, tell me what to do! help me, pray for me!” - -“I’ve prayed for you, Rachel Dane, ever since you made your home under -my roof, and I’m glad your heart is softened at last. Try to love God -and believe in His goodness. Say after me: ‘Lord, forgive a dying -sinner, and save me, for Christ’s sake! Amen.’” - -The dying creature clutched at the bed-clothes, and mumbled the words -in pitiful earnest, after which Mrs. Flint knelt by the bed, and -herself offered up a fervent prayer. - -“Oh, I’ve been bad and wicked all my life, hating God because I was -poor! I don’t know how to get His favor now,” sighed the dying sinner; -and Mrs. Flint answered, soothingly: - -“If you have done anything wicked that you can undo, now is the time to -repent and get God’s forgiveness.” - -She saw a look of alarm come into the fading eyes, and Rachel plucked -wildly at the counterpane, muttering: - -“I did a cruel wrong twenty years ago. I stole the baby daughter of a -heart-broken young widow.” - -“Good heavens! how dreadful! Tell me all about it quickly, and perhaps -something may yet be done to right the wrong,” cried Mrs. Flint, in -dismay. - -But at that moment they were interrupted by the opening of the door, -and Madame Ray glided in, murmuring in her sweet, soft voice: - -“They told me you were watching by a very sick woman, and as Cinthia is -asleep, I thought I might be of some assistance to you.” - -She had never heard the name of Rachel Dane, and she came and stood by -the bed, looking down, with pity and sympathy, at the poor soul. - -Rachel Dane turned her heavy eyes upward to the lovely face, and then -uttered a cry of deadly fear: - -“My God! it is Mrs. Ray, come to haunt me in my dying hour!” - -“Rachel Dane, where is my child, my baby daughter?” cried the other, -wildly; and, shaking with excitement, she added: “Do not die, -miserable wretch, till you reveal the truth.” - -Mrs. Flint stared in wonder, and exclaimed: - -“The poor woman was just confessing to me that she had stolen a young -widow’s child twenty years ago. Go on with your story, Rachel.” - -She pushed the agitated lady into a chair as she spoke, and waited with -eager curiosity and sympathy for the next words. - -Rachel looked fearfully at the woman she had wronged, and muttered: - -“Do not look so wretched, lady, for all is well with your daughter, and -she shall be restored to your arms.” - -“Thank God--thank God!” cried the mother, with a rush of glad tears. - -“So it was Madame Ray’s child that you stole, Rachel? But why did you -do such a wicked thing?” cried her mistress. - -“Oh, Mrs. Flint, it was for the greed of gold, that has always cursed -my life--the longing for gold and pleasure! A beautiful woman came to -me, and said: ‘I have been married two years, and I have no child. My -husband will never love me till I give him an heir. I would like a -little girl because his first wife had a boy, and I hate it. Find me a -pretty baby, and help me to impose it on him as my own when he returns -from his long journey, and you shall live with me, and I will make you -rich.’ Wretch that I was, I stole Mrs. Ray’s sweet baby, and helped the -other woman to fool her husband. She paid me well; but growing weary -of my extortions after two years, she and her husband stole away North, -where I could never trace them, till one night I saw him on the train -and followed him, only to find that his wife had died years before.” - -“But my child, my darling, where is she?” sobbed the eager mother. - -“Where is the child?” echoed Mrs. Flint, suspiciously, and Rachel Dane -answered, gladly: - -“Oh, how glad I am to restore her safe to her mother’s arms! She is -here with you, Mrs. Flint--the girl called Cinthia Dawn, but no kin of -yours, for she is the baby I stole for Mrs. Dawn, the unloved wife--the -child of Mrs. Richard Ray, and may Heaven forgive my sin!” - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. IN THE SUNSHINE. - - - “He laughed a laugh of merry scorn; - He turned and kissed her where she stood; - ‘If you are not the heiress born, - And I,’ said he, ‘the next in blood-- - - “‘If you are not the heiress born, - And I,’ said he, ‘the lawful heir, - We two will wed to-morrow morn, - And you shall still be Lady Clare!’” - -When Arthur Varian Dawn left his father’s room so hastily that day, it -was with the firm determination to see his parents married again before -the set of sun, if it could possibly be accomplished without injury to -his father’s poor hold on life. - -He had a brief talk with Doctor Deane, who agreed with him that the -consummation of so joyful an event ought to do good to the patient, -giving him new hold on life, if such a thing were possible in his -precarious state. - -“I do not wish to deceive you,” he said, with professional frankness. -“The case is serious. I am not frightened at the scalp-wound, because -it is doing nicely, and the compound fracture of the leg, below the -knee, might get well in six weeks if the patient will lie in bed all -that time; but there are symptoms of internal injuries that make me -uneasy. If I am mistaken about that, he may pull through.” - -“God grant it!” cried Arthur, fervently. - -“And as you say,” continued the doctor, “whether he lives or dies, it -will be a comfort to him to marry his divorced wife over again, so I -will go with you to get the license and the preacher.” - -So, together with Frederick Foster, they went to arrange the -necessary details, and in their absence there occurred that scene by -the death-bed of Rachel Dane that was to make such a change in the -destinies of Arthur and Cinthia, the sorely tried lovers. - -When they returned, several hours later, with the minister, Mrs. Flint -was informed of what was about to occur, and begged her new-found -nephew to let her have the services of the man of God first for a dying -sinner. - -“Poor Rachel Dane is going fast, and she is afraid to die, poor soul! -We must try to hold a light for her feet, as she goes groping down into -the dark valley,” she said, pitifully. - -“Has her life been so wicked?” he asked, wonderingly; and the old lady -answered: - -“She has lived without God, and her sins are many. She made a most -interesting confession awhile ago, and I would like for you to go and -hear it, dear nephew, from Madame Ray, while the minister is engaged -with Rachel.” - -Mrs. Flint spoke with such a glad and cheerful smile, that he was quite -puzzled. - -He was sorry for the dying woman, but not much interested in her sins -and confessions. His thoughts were hovering around Cinthia. - -She had been carried unconscious from Mr. Dawn’s room, and only revived -to go into such hysterical spasms that they almost feared for her life. -It was thought best to quiet her by strong opiates, and she had been -sleeping heavily now for hours. - -Poor Cinthia! They had thought the truth would not shock her now, -because she was betrothed to another; but they had been terribly -mistaken. The hopeless love that had tortured her heart with secret -pain threatened to end in death or madness, now that they had told her -that Arthur was her brother. - -With an aching heart, the young man turned his steps to her door to ask -Madame Ray how the hapless girl fared. - -Meanwhile, the lady had hurried from Rachel’s death-bed back to -Cinthia’s room. - -Kneeling down, she pressed joyful kisses on the sleeping face, so pale -and woeful even in slumber, so that it was easy to guess at last the -guarded secret of that young heart--the love that had never strayed -from its object through long and hopeless years. - -Softly, tenderly the happy mother drew aside the soft folds of lace -and lines, and laid bare the beautiful white bosom of her daughter, -searching until she found, just above the heart a remembered -birthmark--a tiny crimson cross. - -“The birthmark of the Rays! Oh, how well I remember this! Oh, my -darling, my own, you are indeed my lost treasure! No wonder that I have -always loved you so! It was the mother-heart that claimed you!” she -cried, gladly, longing for Cinthia to awake and learn the happy truth -that she was her own daughter, and not at all related to Arthur, whom -she might marry when she would, only for the rash promise given to Fred -Foster in a moment of reckless pride. - -“Poor fellow! This will be sad news for him; but I believe that he will -be generous to dear Cinthia,” she concluded; and sat down to watch the -sleeper with the glad eyes of love. - -It was awhile later that she heard a timid rap at the door, and -found Arthur waiting outside, with a grave, sad face, though he said -cheerfully: - -“I have come to invite you and Cinthia to a wedding.” - -“A wedding?” - -In a few words he told her of the reconciliation between his father and -mother, and the impending marriage. - -She congratulated him warmly, and said, meaningly: - -“I will be glad to be present at the ceremony, but my daughter is -asleep.” - -Arthur started wildly, and echoed: - -“Your daughter!” - -“Yes, Arthur;” and she drew him gently into the room. “Come and look at -her, how pale and ill she lies, almost stricken to death by the thought -that she was your sister. Oh, I have such happy news for you both, -Arthur!” - -“She is stirring, she is waking!” he exclaimed, eagerly; and indeed at -that moment the girl opened wide her large dark eyes, with a dazed look. - -Madame Ray, all joyful excitement, covered her daughter’s face with -kisses, exclaiming: - -“Oh, Cinthia, oh, Arthur, such joyful news! I have found out that you -are my lost daughter, my darling! You know, Arthur, you always declared -we resembled each other. Well, the nurse stole her from me to sell her -to your father’s second wife; for she deceived her husband, the wicked -woman; she never had a child of her own. That dying woman in yonder, -Rachel Dane, has confessed everything. You and Cinthia are not brother -and sister at all, but lovers as in past days. Kiss her, Arthur, if you -wish, and be happy again.” - -He bent down to obey, but drew back again, with a cry of grief: - -“I can not! She is promised to my cousin.” - -“He will give her back her freedom when he learns the truth, for he has -a noble nature,” cried Madame Ray; and the event proved that she was -right. - -Fred Foster’s heart was very sad already, for Cinthia’s grief had shown -him, but awhile ago, that he could never hope to win her heart; so, -when he heard the wonderful news, and saw the new joy on Cinthia’s -lovely face, he said, generously: - -“Cinthia, I have long known of your past love affair with Arthur, and -since things have fallen out so happily for you, I will restore you the -troth-plight so lately given, and trust to time to heal my heart-wound. -To-morrow is Christmas you know, and I shall present you as a precious -gift to Arthur.” - -Oh, how thankful they were for his generosity, and how glad that -another love cured his heart in a year, though they were touched when -they saw that she resembled Cinthia in her type--dark eyes and golden -hair. It showed them plainly how deep had been his love. - -Cinthia was well again almost in a minute, in her new joy, and anxious -to witness the second marriage ceremony between Arthur’s parents; so -presently the same group of the morning gathered in the room, and the -grave minister who had just closed the eyes of Rachel Dane, after -teaching her soul to find rest in God, joined the hands of Everard Dawn -and his Paulina for the journey of life, while he solemnly invoked -God’s blessing on them all. - -Everard Dawn could not die now. Life had grown too sweet again. Events -proved that the physician’s fear of internal injuries was unfounded. He -began to convalesce slowly but surely under his wife’s love and care, -looking forward to happy years together in the golden future. - -Rachel Dane was buried at Charlottesville, and as she had no known -relatives anywhere, Mrs. Flint was the chief mourner at the funeral, -and she took care to have a neat stone raised above the grave. - -In a few days the party at the hotel separated, Everard Dawn’s wife and -son remaining with him to aid in the tedious convalescence, and Madame -Ray returning to Florida with her daughter, taking the ailing Mrs. -Flint as their guest. - -“I am real down sorry to lose you as a niece, Cinthy,” sighed the old -lady, who was greatly softened now by the hurrying events. - -“Do not grieve over that, dear aunt, for I will restore the kinship -in the spring, and in the meantime you have gained me as a nephew!” -laughed Arthur, who was handsome as a picture in his new happiness. - -“That is true; and I am real down proud of my new nephew, and his -mother, too!” cried the old lady. - -Arthur’s mother had taken the first opportunity to make her peace with -Cinthia. - -“Dearest, I was cruel to you once, but I am a changed woman now, and I -love you dearly since I know that you never belonged to that woman I -hated so. Can you forgive me--if not for my own sake, because you will -be Arthur’s wife!” - -Cinthia, understanding everything now, gladly accorded forgiveness and -sympathy that soon ripened into love. - -In the spring, when Mr. Dawn was well and strong again, his son was -married to Cinthia at her mother’s home--Lodge Delight. It was a grand -wedding, and Cinthia the fairest bride ever seen. They remained with -Madame Ray until Love’s Retreat was rebuilt, then made their home with -his parents, while Mrs. Flint remained ever afterward with Cinthia’s -mother, who would not permit her return to Virginia. - -“We are two lonely old widows. Let us be company for each other,” she -said, with pensive cheerfulness. - -One thing that transpired touched Cinthia very much, and showed her the -tenderness of Arthur’s love. - -Madame Ray said to Mr. Dawn, while he still lay on his bed of -suffering: - -“That fortune Cinthia has been enjoying as your daughter, Mr. Dawn, -must be restored to you now, as she never had any legal right to it.” - -Mr. Dawn looked embarrassed for a moment, then frankly explained: - -“On the day that Arthur found out that Cinthia was supposedly his -sister, he insisted on making over to her use enough of his private -fortune to insure her the luxuries of life in lieu of happiness.” - -“And it will now form part of her marriage settlement,” added Arthur. - -Tears sprung to Cinthia’s eyes as she murmured: - -“Oh, how noble and generous you have been all these years while I -thought you so weak and cowardly, and tried in vain to hate you! But -all the while----” - -Arthur drew her to his heart, and finished the sentence for her, very -low and tenderly: - ---“All the while--I loved you better than you knew.” - -THE END. - - * * * * * - -$20,000 REWARD DEAD or ALIVE! - -[Illustration] - -Read about it in the great book, “JESSE JAMES, MY FATHER,” written by -his son, Jesse James, Jr., the ONLY true account of the life of the -famous outlaw. - -Read how this bandit kept an army of detectives, sheriffs and United -States marshals scouring the country and was shot in the back by a -traitorous pal. - -Read about the fatality attached to the name of Jesse James, how the -officers of the law tried to visit the sins of the father on the head -of the son. - -Read about the persecution and the harrowing anguish of Jesse James’ -family in the graphic words of his son and heir. - -Read these FACTS. Everybody should know them. There is nothing to -pervert the young, there is nothing to repel the old. - -Look at the reproductions of the ONLY pictures of Jesse James, his -Mother and his Son in existence, except those owned by his family. - -Price 25 cents, post paid - - * * * * * - -TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION - -THE MOST MARVELOUS AND EXTRAORDINARY BOOK EVER WRITTEN - -The Man They Could Not Hang - -ABSOLUTELY TRUE - -The astounding history of John Lee. Three times placed upon the -scaffold and the trap sprung! Yet today he walks the streets a free -man!!! Illustrated from photographs. Do not fail to read this, the most -remarkable book of the century. For sale everywhere or sent postpaid -upon receipt of 15 cents. - - THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK CO. - Cleveland, Ohio. U. S. A. - - * * * * * - -TO THE READER. - -Only in the ADVENTURE SERIES can you get the absolutely true and -authentic history of the lives and exploits of the - - JAMES BOYS, - YOUNGER BROTHERS, - HARRY TRACY, - THE DALTON GANG, - RUBE BURROW, - -and the other Notorious Outlaws of the Far West. - - * * * * * - -We are the authorized and exclusive publishers for Jesse James’ only -son, - -JESSE JAMES, JR., - -and are the publishers of his great book, - -Jesse James, My Father - -which is for sale everywhere. Buy it where you bought this book, and -read the inside history of the life of Jesse James. - - * * * * * - -Kellar’s Wizard’s Manual - -_Secrets of Magic, Black Art, Ventriloquism and Hypnotism Fully -Explained and Illustrated._ - -In this advertisement we mention but a few of the many wonders that -every person can perform after reading the Wizard’s Manual. It actually -contains more information than all other such books combined. - -_Every Secret is unfolded so clearly that even children can learn._ - -SECRETS REVEALED. - - How to Hypnotize. - Ventriloquism. - How to Eat Fire. - How to Bring a Dead Bird to Life. - How to Change Cards and Money. - How to Change a Card in a Box. - The Card in the Egg. - The Obedient Watch. - The Multiplying Mirror. - How to Make the Pass. - How to Make a Piece of Money Sink Through a Table. - How to Cut a Man’s Head Off. - How to Eat Knives and Forks. - How to Cook an Omelet in a Hat. - How to Tear a Handkerchief in Pieces and Make it Whole again. - The Phantom at Command. - How to Put a Ring Through One’s Cheek. - How to Cut Your Arm Off Without Hurt or Danger. - How to Draw a Card Through Your Nose. - How to Turn Water Into Wine. - How to Break a Gentleman’s Watch. - The Magic Twelve. - The Mystical Dial. - How to Make a Lady Fall Backwards. - How to Make a Lady Sleep. - How to do all kinds of Card Tricks. - How to Do All The Latest Coin Tricks. - How to Do Hundreds of other Marvelous Feats of Legerdemain. - -For Sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent to any address postpaid -upon receipt of 25 cents. Stamps accepted. - - The Arthur Westbrook Company - Cleveland, Ohio. U. S. A. - - * * * * * - -THE MASTER CRIMINAL - -THE LIFE STORY OF CHARLES PEACE - -[Illustration] - -Profusely Illustrated - -This is the most remarkable book which has appeared during the present -generation. It gives the absolutely true history of that arch criminal, -the burglar and murderer, Charles Peace, who for many years masqueraded -in England under many different personalities, but always as that of a -respectable gentleman. He was without doubt the most depraved monster -who ever preyed upon society. He was bad-mad or mad-bad, and from other -points of view when Justice finally caught and executed him upon the -scaffold the world was well rid of him. - -He started his career when he was eleven years old and during the -different periods when he was outside of prison, masquerading always -as a respectable business man, he changed his personality when the -darkness of night fell and carried out the boldest robberies and the -most daring criminal schemes ever perpetrated by any one man in the -history of the world. - -No other criminal who ever lived could compare in cunning and daring -with Charles Peace, the Master Criminal. Read about it in this great -book which is for sale everywhere. If you are unable to secure it from -your newsdealer it will be sent to you postpaid by the publishers upon -receipt of 20c. - - THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK CO., - Cleveland, Ohio. U. S. A. - - * * * * * - -New Line of Twenty-five Cent Hand Books. - - SIXTH AND SEVENTH BOOK OF MOSES. - EIGHT HUNDRED RECEIPTS. - EGYPTIAN SECRETS. - CLAIRVOYANCY. - HOW TO WIN AT DRAW POKER. - ASTROLOGY. - STANDARD LETTER WRITER. - TRICKS WITH CARDS. - KELLAR’S WIZARD’S MANUAL. - NAPOLEON’S ORACULUM AND BOOK OF FATE. - HOW TO PLAY CHECKERS AND CHESS. - POW WOWS OR LONG LOST FRIEND. - GYPSY DREAM BOOK AND FORTUNE TELLER. - PALMISTRY. - HYPNOTISM AND HOW TO USE IT. - -For sale everywhere or sent postpaid upon receipt of 25 cents. Stamps -accepted. - - The Arthur Westbrook Company - Cleveland, O., U. S. A. - - * * * * * - -Truth Stranger Than Fiction - -THE MOST MARVELOUS AND EXTRAORDINARY BOOK EVER WRITTEN - -[Illustration] - -The Man They Could Not Hang - -ABSOLUTELY TRUE - -The astounding history of John Lee. Three times placed upon the -scaffold and the trap sprung! Yet today he walks the streets a free -man!!! Illustrated from photographs. Do not fail to read this, the most -remarkable book of the century. For sale everywhere, or sent postpaid -upon receipt of 15 cents. - - The Arthur Westbrook Company - CLEVELAND, U.S.A. - - * * * * * - -THE OLD THREE WITCHES - -Dream Book - -Is the original, world renowned book of fate, that for a hundred years -has held intelligent people spellbound. Its correct interpretation of -dreams has amazed those who have been fortunate enough to possess a -copy which they might consult. - -NAPOLEON’S ORACULUM - -which it contains, is an absolutely true copy of that strange and weird -document found within a secret cabinet of Napoleon Bonaparte. - -The fact that dozens of worthless and unreliable imitations have been -placed upon the market demonstrates it to be a fact that The Old Three -Witches Dream Book stands today, as always, the original, only reliable -dream book published. - -IT IS FOR SALE BY ALL NEWSDEALERS - -or will be sent to any address, Postpaid, upon receipt of 10 cents in -stamps, by - - The Arthur Westbrook Company - Cleveland, Ohio, U. S. A. - - * * * * * - -$20,000 REWARD DEAD or ALIVE!! - -[Illustration] - -Read about it in the great book “JESSE JAMES, MY FATHER,” written by -his son, Jesse James, Jr., the ONLY true account of the life of the -famous outlaw. - -Read how this bandit kept an army of detectives, sheriffs and United -States marshals scouring the country and was shot in the back by a -traitorous pal. - -Read about the fatality attached to the name of Jesse James, how the -officers of the law tried to visit the sins of the father on the head -of the son. - -Read about the persecution and the harrowing anguish of Jesse James’ -family in the graphic words of his son and heir. - -Read these FACTS. Everybody should know them. There is nothing to -pervert the young, there is nothing to repel the old. - -Look at the reproductions of the ONLY pictures of Jesse James, his -Mother and his Son in existence except these owned by his family. - -Price 25 cents, post paid - - THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK CO., - Cleveland, Ohio. U.S.A. - - * * * * * - -THE HART SERIES - -Laura Jean Libbey, Miss Caroline Hart, Mrs. E. Burke Collins, Mrs. -Alex. McVeigh Miller, Charlotte M. Braeme, Barbara Howard, Lucy Randall -Comfort, Mary E. Bryan, Marie Corelli - -Was there ever a galaxy of names representing such authors offered -to the public before? Masters all of writing stories that arouse the -emotions, in sentiment, passion and love, their books excel any that -have ever been written. - -NOW READY - - 1--Kidnapped at the Altar, Laura Jean Libbey. - 2--Gladiola’s Two Lovers, Laura Jean Libbey. - 3--Lil, the Dancing Girl, Caroline Hart. - 5--The Woman Who Came Between, Caroline Hart. - 6--Aleta’s Terrible Secret, Laura Jean Libbey. - 7--For Love or Honor, Caroline Hart. - 8--The Romance of Enola, Laura Jean Libbey. - 9--A Handsome Engineer’s Flirtation, Laura J. Libbey. - 10--A Little Princess, Caroline Hart. - 11--Was She Sweetheart or Wife, Laura Jean Libbey. - 12--Nameless Bess, Caroline Hart. - 13--Della’s Handsome Lover, Laura Jean Libbey. - 14--That Awful Scar, Caroline Hart. - 15--Flora Garland’s Courtship, Laura Jean Libbey. - 16--Love’s Rugged Path, Caroline Hart. - 17--My Sweetheart Idabell, Laura Jean Libbey. - 18--Married at Sight, Caroline Hart. - 19--Pretty Madcap Dorothy, Laura Jean Libbey. - 20--Her Right to Love, Caroline Hart. - 21--The Loan of a Lover, Laura Jean Libbey. - 22--The Game of Love, Caroline Hart. - 23--A Fatal Elopement, Laura Jean Libbey. - 24--Vendetta, Marie Corelli. - 25--The Girl He Forsook, Laura Jean Libbey. - 26--Redeemed by Love, Caroline Hart. - 28--A Wasted Love, Caroline Hart. - 29--A Dangerous Flirtation, Laura Jean Libbey. - 30--A Haunted Life, Caroline Hart. - 31--Garnetta, the Silver King’s Daughter, L. J. Libbey. - 32--A Romance of Two Worlds, Marie Corelli. - 34--Her Ransom, Charles Garvice. - 36--A Hidden Terror, Caroline Hart. - 37--Flora Temple, Laura Jean Libbey. - 38--Claribel’s Love Story, Charlotte M. Braeme. - 39--Pretty Rose Hall, Laura Jean Libbey. - 40--The Mystery of Suicide Place, Mrs. Alex. Miller. - 41--Cora, the Pet of the Regiment, Laura Jean Libbey. - 42--The Vengeance of Love, Caroline Hart. - 43--Jolly Sally Pendleton, Laura Jean Libbey. - 44--A Bitter Reckoning, Mrs. E. Burke Collins. - 45--Kathleen’s Diamonds, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - 46--Angela’s Lover, Caroline Hart. - 47--Lancaster’s Choice, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - 48--The Madness of Love, Caroline Hart. - 49--Little Sweetheart, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - 50--A Working Girl’s Honor, Caroline Hart. - 51--The Mystery of Colde Fell, Charlotte M. Braeme. - 52--The Rival Heiresses, Caroline Hart. - 53--Little Nobody, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - 54--Her Husband’s Ghost, Mary E. Bryan. - 55--Sold for Gold, Mrs. E. Burke Collins. - 56--Her Husband’s Secret, Lucy Randall Comfort. - 57--A Passionate Love, Barbara Howard. - 58--From Want to Wealth, Caroline Hart. - 59--Loved You Better Than You Knew, Mrs. A. Miller. - 60--Irene’s Vow, Charlotte M. Braeme. - 61--She Loved Not Wisely, Caroline Hart. - 62--Molly’s Treachery, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - 63--Was It Wrong? Barbara Howard. - 64--The Midnight Marriage, Mrs. Sumner Hayden. - 65--Ailsa, Wenona Gilman. - 66--Her Dark Inheritance, Mrs. E. Burke Collins. - 67--Viola’s Vanity, Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. - 68--The Ghost of the Hurricane Hills, Mary E. Bryan. - 69--A Woman Wronged, Caroline Hart. - 70--Was She His Lawful Wife? Barbara Howard. - 71--Val, the Tomboy, Wenona Gilman. - 72--The Richmond Secret, Mrs. E. Burke Collins. - 73--Edna’s Vow, Charlotte M. Stanley. - 74--Hearts of Fire, Caroline Hart. - 75--St. Elmo, Augusta J. Evans. - 76--Nobody’s Wife, Caroline Hart. - 77--Ishmael, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. - 78--Self-Raised, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. - 79--Pretty Little Rosebud, Barbara Howard. - 80--Inez, Augusta J. Evans. - 81--The Girl Wife, Mrs. Sumner Hayden. - 82--Dora Thorne, Charlotte M. Braeme. - 83--Followed by Fate, Lucy Randall Comfort. - 84--India, or the Pearl of Pearl River, Southworth. - 85--Mad Kingsley’s Heir, Mrs. E. Burke Collins. - 86--The Missing Bride, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. - 87--Wicked Sir Dare, Charles Garvice. - 88--Daintie’s Cruel Rivals, Mrs. Alex. McV. Miller. - 89--Lillian’s Vow, Caroline Hart. - 90--Miss Estcourt, Charles Garvice. - 91--Beulah, Augusta J. Evans. - 92--Daphane’s Fate, Mrs. E. Burke Collins. - 93--Wormwood, Marie Corelli. - 94--Nellie, Charles Garvice. - 95--His Legal Wife, Mary E. Bryan. - 96--Macaria, Augusta J. Evans. - 97--Lost and Found, Charlotte M. Stanley. - 98--The Curse of Clifton, Mrs. Southworth. - 99--That Strange Girl, Charles Garvice. - 100--The Lovers at Storm Castle, Mrs. M. A. Collins. - 101--Margerie’s Mistake, Lucy Randall Comfort. - 102--The Curse of Pocahontas, Wenona Gilman. - 103--My Love Kitty, Charles Garvice. - 104--His Fairy Queen, Elizabeth Stiles. - 105--From Worse than Death, Caroline Hart. - 106--Audrey Fane’s Love, Mrs. E. Burke Collins. - 107--Thorns and Orange Blossoms, Charlotte Braeme. - 108--Ethel Dreeme, Frank Corey. - 109--Three Girls, Mary E. Bryan. - 110--A Strange Marriage, Caroline Hart. - 111--Violet, Charles Garvice. - 112--The Ghost of the Power, Mrs. Sumner Hayden. - 113--Baptized with a Curse, Edith Stewart Drewry. - 114--A Tragic Blunder, Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. - 115--The Secret of Her Life, Edward Jenkins. - 116--My Guardian, Ada Cambridge. - 117--A Last Love, Georges Ohnet. - 118--His Angel, Henry Herman. - 119--Pretty Miss Bellew, Theo. Gift. - 120--Blind Love, Wilkie Collins. - 121--A Life’s Mistake, Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. - 122--Won By Waiting, Edna Lyall. - 123--Passion’s Slave, King. - 124--Under Currents, Duchess. - 125--False Vow, Braeme. - 126--The Belle of Lynne, Braeme. - 127--Lord Lynne’s Choice, Braeme. - 128--Blossom and Fruit, Braeme. - 129--Weaker Than a Woman, Braeme. - 130--Tempest and Sunshine, Mary J. Holmes. - 131--Lady Muriel’s Secret, Braeme. - 132--A Mad Love, Braeme. - -The Hart Series books are for sale everywhere, or they will be sent by -mail, postage paid, for 30 cents a copy, by the publisher; 4 copies for -$1.00. Postage stamps taken the same as money. - -THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK COMPANY, Cleveland, Ohio, U. S. A. - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Punctuation has been made consistent. - -Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in -the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have -been corrected. - -The following changes were made: - -p. 31: his changed to her (over her niece’s) - -p. 48: illegible word assumed to be called (she called, hoarsely:) - -p. 53: illegible word assumed to be Arthur (dear Arthur, I) - -p. 62: illegible word assumed to be the (find the nearest) - -p. 87: illegible word assumed to be jilts (me--jilts me) - -p. 91: Miss Cinthia changed to Mrs. Flint (Then Mrs. Flint and) - -p. 100: illegible word assumed to be love (rock of love.) - -p. 136: illegible word assumed to be on (live on till) - -p. 150: illegible word assumed to be cried (hour!” cried Cinthia,) - -p. 180: your changed to her (for her father) - -p. 185: illegible word assumed to be rested (they rested again) - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVED YOU BETTER THAN YOU -KNEW *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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