CHAPTER I.

I was brought up and educated by my bachelor uncle. He was a reticent, moody man, and with his aged housekeeper and myself, led a solitary and unsocial life in the old rambling house which had been his father’s before him.

I was but a child of six years when destiny placed me under his charge, and with him I remained eleven years; a scared, repressed little thing, revelling in strange fancies in the spidery attic rooms, and looking down through the dusty cobwebbed windows upon the life and movement below, unconscious that I formed a part of that active humanity.

Thus I lived until I entered my seventeenth year. For the last two years my mind had been expanding and growing discontented with my lot. The moroseness of my uncle, the sullenness of his housekeeper, the gloom and dinginess of the bare rooms had grown insupportable to me. These alone I might have endured, but added to them were other sources of disquiet, not the least of which being hints from the housekeeper that it was time I began to do something for myself. Youth, pride, and ambition stirred within me, and I actively set about looking, for a situation.

I had not long to wait; in one of the weekly papers, of which my uncle took many, I one day discovered an advertisement, which to my morbid fancy seemed sent by fate especially to me.

A young lady was wanted to take charge of the education of a boy of eleven years. Upon reading this advertisement, I immediately sat down and wrote a letter, offering my services.

By return mail I received a note acknowledging the receipt of mine, and stating that as I was the only applicant and my testimonials satisfactory, I was accepted.

I informed my uncle of my good fortune. He received the news with a gruff approval, adding that he hoped I would do well, as I could expect no further pecuniary aid from him than would be sufficient to carry me there.

My emotions, as I packed my little trunk on that memorable Saturday, were of a mixed character; but pleasure predominated. Hope beckoned me on; and the sadness attendant on breaking loose from the unfriendly home in which I had lived so long was but transitory.

Monday morning saw me seated composedly in the rail-coach on the way to “Bristed Hall,” my destination. Towards nightfall we stopped at a station in a desolate, sparsely-inhabited district. My road diverging here, I hurried out, and the long train which connected me with my past life sped out of sight.

Drawing my veil closely to my face to hide a few falling tears, I looked around the desolate waiting-room, to see if any fellow-creature was expecting me. As I did so a heavy, thumping footstep sounded upon the platform, and a surly voice inquired:

“Are you Miss Reef?” accompanying the question by a slight pull at my shawl.

Turning, I beheld a deformed little man with long arms and a high back, awaiting my answer to his question. I summoned courage to ask:

“Were you sent for Miss Reef?”

“Yes,” he replied, “I am Mr. Bristed’s man. He told me to drive here and fetch home a Miss Reef if you are that person, miss!” touching his hat with an effort at politeness.

“I am,” I answered, and without further ado we proceeded to the carriage, which he had left waiting at the rear platform.

The evening air was chilly, for it was quite sunset. Drawing my shawl around me, I ensconced myself in a corner of the vehicle, and watched the fading landscape with stolid indifference to whatever might befall me.

We drove on thus for a good hour and a half, halting at length before a dark, massy object, the form of which my dozy eyes could not discern. However, it proved to be Bristed Hall.

I emerged from the carriage and passed up the steps to an open door which, at the pausing of our carriage wheels, had been set ajar. An old woman, the feminine counterpart of my sulky driver, stood in the dimly-lighted passage-way to receive me. She vouchsafed me but a grum welcome, but I felt already too desolate and weary to experience any further depression from her humor.

Bidding me follow her, and ordering the man to carry my luggage, she led me directly through the hall up the stairway to a chamber evidently prepared for my use. The apartment was prettily furnished, and its tidy appearance and the cheerful fire burning on the hearth quite roused my drooping spirits.

After assisting me to remove my bonnet and shawl, my conductress left me, returning ere long with a tray containing refreshments. These she set before me with silent hospitality; then bade me goodnight, saying she would call me in the morning at eight o’clock for breakfast.

My sleep that night was disturbed by dreams, which though vague filled me with terror.

I imagined that I was walking through a long corridor, opening into a sumptuous apartment, its interior partly concealed by rich folds of damask curtains. I lifted the heavy drapery and essayed to enter, but a cold hand grasped mine and prevented me. A woman’s figure, slight and youthful, with white face, great sad eyes, and long yellow hair, stood in the arched doorway and pressed me back with her clammy hand. I started up from my pillow in alarm to find myself alone; the pale moonbeams streaming through the looped curtains of the window and glancing upon my forehead, I thought, probably accounted for the cold hand of my dream. I slept, and dreamed again. The scene was changed: a field of stubble lay before me; through it I must make my way; the rough ground hurt my feet; I stumbled and fell; attempting to rise, I saw painted in clear relief against the horizon the same female figure.

Her pale, golden hair hung long and loose over her shoulders. As she caught my eye she lifted her finger as if in warning, and disappeared from sight.

CHAPTER II.

From these dreams I awakened in the morning perplexed, disturbed, and unrefreshed. After dressing, I was summoned to breakfast by the person who had received me the previous night. She led me down the stairway and through the hall into the breakfast room.

It was a long, narrow apartment, with wainscots and floor of polished oak. A bright fire blazed upon the hearth. A small round stand was set forth, upon which was placed my solitary repast. I seated myself and partook, with a relish, of the nice cakes, fragrant coffee, and sweet clover butter.

Having finished my meal, I arose and walked to one of the deep-set windows which lighted the apartment. Lifting the curtain, I looked out.

A grassy lawn overhung with trees; clear gravel paths and well-trimmed shrubbery; beyond, rocks relieved by a patch of blue sky; a thin line of light, neutral tinted, winding through the distant meadows, indicating a streamlet; these constituted the landscape.

Having spent a full quarter of an hour in abstractedly gazing at this scene, I was called to reality by the opening of the room door, and a strange voice repeating my name. The person presenting herself appeared to be an upper servant a tall, thin woman, with dark hair sprinkled with gray, and an amiable, weak face.

“If you have finished your breakfast, Miss, I will show you to Mr. Bristed’s room.”

I assured her it was completed, and, following her. I crossed the hall and entered a door at the left. A pleasant odor of flowers met my grateful senses. The room was spacious, wide and deep, and handsomely carpeted. The walls were ornamented with paintings and engravings.

An ample arm-chair, which the owner had evidently just vacated, and a table containing books and papers, gave a tone of both comfort and elegance to the room, which was decidedly congenial to my taste.

Two great glass doors, reflecting clearly the morning sunbeams, led into a conservatory from whence issued the fragrance I perceived on entering.

Among the flowers moved a tall, manly figure. As I entered, the gentleman came forward.

“Miss Reef, Mr. Bristed,” said my companion, by way of introduction.

So this was my employer. As he stood before me, I surveyed him; a well-formed gentleman, above the ordinary height, with pale complexion, set off by dark, penetrative eyes; a shapely head covered with long, heavy masses of straight dark hair. The impression his appearance conveyed to me was that of a person benevolent but apathetic; unhappy without the will or power to shake off his burden.

He bade me be seated. “You are young,” said he, reflectively. “May I ask your age?”

“Seventeen,” I replied.

“Very young,” he reiterated, thoughtfully shaking his head; “however, as you are here, if you wish to remain, Mary will introduce you to your pupil.”

“I certainly wish to remain,” said I, impatiently; “I have journeyed quite a distance for that purpose, and shall be happy to commence the instruction of my pupil immediately.”

“Very well,” said he. “Mary, take her to the nursery, and attend to any of her wants.”

The girl opened a door adjoining that which we had entered by; a narrow hall and a flight of stairs led us to the room indicated.

A little solitary figure, breathing upon the window-glass, and tracing thereon letters with long, thin fingers, was the first object that presented itself to my eye,

“Here is your governess, Herbert,” said Mary.

The little boy turned and surveyed me with his large, blue, mournful eyes. They sent a quiver through my frame from their strange resemblance to eyes I had seen but the night before in my dream.

He was apparently satisfied with his inspection, and his thin scarlet lips parted into a smile.

I called him to me. He came forward timidly.

Taking his small hand, I asked him a few questions about his studies. I found him intelligent, but grave beyond his years; very docile and obedient, and ere the end of the day we became excellent friends.

CHAPTER III.

I had lived six weeks at Bristed Hall, and, excepting on my first arrival, had not interchanged a word with its master. ’Tis true I would see him at times from the school-room window, walking through his park, or smoking upon the long piazza, but he might have been across the ocean for all the intercourse we had together.

It was early June; roses bloomed on every hedge. A season of dry weather had succeeded the showers of spring, the mornings were sparkling, the air delicious. I arose early one particularly sunny morn, that I might take a walk, before the studies of the day commenced, to a natural lake which I had discovered about a mile from the Hall.

Herbert begged to accompany me, and I, who loved at times the quiet of my own thoughts, reluctantly granted his request.

We strolled out of the inclosure, and were leisurely wending our way over the road, when our attention was attracted by the sound of wheels emerging from a cross path. A carriage rolled briskly in view. The little hand of my companion, which I held locked in mine, trembled violently.

“Oh, Miss Agnes, Miss Agnes!” he cried, pointing to the occupant of the carriage, “there is Uncle Richard.”

As it neared us, the driver reined in his horses, which snorted impatiently as he paused, and a musical voice called out:

“Hallo! you young varlet; where are you going so early in the morning?”

Herbert answered faintly, “I am going with Miss Reef to the lake.”

The gentleman at this reply waved his jewelled hand gracefully toward me. “Miss Reef, I am happy to make your acquaintance. So you are the young lady who has undertaken to be bored with my little nephew?”

“He is not a bore,” said I, smilingly, captivated by the grace and abandon of the traveller. And truly his handsome countenance might have captivated a girl more experienced in the world’s ways than myself. His was a gay, spirited face, complexion fair and rosy; full red lips, graced with a curling moustache; golden locks fit for an Adonis; sunny, dancing eyes, and a figure rather massive, but well formed. Such was the impression I received of this “Uncle Richard.”

“Allow me to give you a seat in my brougham,” said he.

I thanked him, but refused.

“Bound on some romantic expedition,” he said, laughing; “I can see it in your beaming eyes. Well, I suppose I must continue my solitary drive; but don’t tarry long at the dismal lake; hasten back, as I shall want a companion to chat with in the empty Hall.”

I found Herbert unwilling to talk about his uncle, so I tried to dismiss the new comer from my thoughts, and engaged with my pupil in gathering wild flowers and grasses wherewith to form wreaths and bouquets to adorn our school-room. After rambling about for an hour, we turned homeward.

I felt quite excited upon reaching the Hall, and hurried to my room to smooth my hair preparatory to commencing the labors of the day. If I stood over my mirror longer than usual, remember I was young, and had a laudable desire to please. As I surveyed myself in the glass, I was guilty of a pleasurable cognizance of the figure and face reflected there. The walk and unexpected encounter had given an unwonted brilliancy and vivacity to my countenance. My cheeks glowed; my eyes sparkled; and from my chestnut curls depended wild flowers, and wreaths of Herbert’s twining; altogether a pleasing picture presented itself to view, which, without vanity, I was thankful to behold.

We had not been long at our lessons when a voice, gaily singing, approached the door, and without the ceremony of knocking, the gentleman whom we had passed in our morning ramble entered the room.

“I have been looking all over for you; why are you hiding yourself away up here?” said he, merrily. “Can you not take another pupil, Miss Reef?” at the same time drawing up his chair to the table at which Herbert and myself were seated.

“If he is as tractable as Herbert, I might venture,” I replied, assuming the gay, mocking tone of my questioner.

I soon saw that he was bent on remaining; so, taking from my desk a drawing-book and pencil, I placed them before him.

“There is your task; please not to interrupt me.” I was determined not to be beguiled from my duty by this gay cavalier. He permitted us to pursue our studies uninterruptedly till he had finished his drawing.

“There,” he exclaimed, placing it before me. “Will you not reward me for my industry?”

I looked at the sketch. It was bold and clear, shaded with a firm hand, spirited and original. I was truly surprised at the skill evinced.

After that day he visited our room often, calling in during the morning to exchange a pleasant word, or at the close of the school hours to loiter over our drawings and chat of books and music. His visits began to grow too pleasant to me. Some effort must be made on my side to render them less attractive.

One afternoon he entered as usual, and waited patiently till Herbert had recited his closing lesson. Then he arose, and taking a guitar from its case, commenced playing and singing a song in a most bewitching manner.

“Come, Miss Reef,” said he, when he had finished, “that beautiful hand is just made to glide over this instrument. Allow me to give you a lesson.”

Feeling that if I permitted him to encroach upon my position as governess I would be lost, I refused. I must give him to understand that I know my place and will not be trifled with, I thought; so I arose and rang the bell for Mary. She soon appeared, apparently surprised at seeing Mr. Richard Bristed so much at home in the school-room.

“Mary, sit down; I wish you to hem this handkerchief for Herbert,” said I.

She seated herself with my work-box before her, and commenced plying her needle industriously. The young gentleman looked on my arrangement with a lurking smile for a few moments, and then uttering a long, low whistle, arose from his chair and sauntered out. Passing me, he whispered:

“I will remember you for this, Miss Reef.” He did seem to remember it, as several days elapsed without his presenting himself.

Once I met him in the hall, and he merely bowed. If he had wished to arouse in me an interest in himself, he could not have pursued a better plan; for I grew restless and uneasy, regretting heartily that I had offended him.

CHAPTER IV.

After three days had passed thus, I concluded I would explain to him my motive. Accordingly, in the afternoon, when my hour of recreation came, I brushed my hair carefully, changed my dress, and descended to the piazza on which he generally lounged in the afternoon with a cigar.

As he was not there, I seated myself on a rustic chair to watch for him. I had not sat many minutes when I heard the wheels of a carriage on the gravel path; then the gay voice of Mr. Richard met my ear. I turned: he was seated in the vehicle with a valise beside him, and was apparently bound on a journey. As he caught sight of me, he raised his hat, bowed distantly, and drove off.

A dreary sense of loneliness crept over me. The setting sun filled the west with its golden splendor. Great yellow bars of sunlight streamed through the railing, and lit up the floor of the piazza. Sitting there I was bathed in its ruddy flood. Happy birds poured forth their evening song in the bushes near by; but I was miserable and alone. All nature seemed to rejoice, while I, her child, was desolate.

“You appear sad, miss,” said a voice close beside me. I looked up and beheld the elder Mr. Bristed. He had evidently observed my emotion, and his dark eye looked a reproof that his lips did not utter.

Presently, he seated himself near me, and asked a few questions as to the progress my pupil was making. Having satisfied him on those points, he inquired kindly if I was lonely or discontented.

“Oh, no,” I answered, heartily, hoping to place a barrier to any further inquiries on that point.

“But you have been weeping,” said he, in a subdued voice.

“Not because I am lonely,” said I, resolved to have the truth out; “but I fear I have wounded the feelings of your brother.”

“My brother!” he repeated. “Ah! you have become acquainted with him? He is bright and glittering like the sun; but be careful, my child, be careful! Young birds should avoid the glittering steel of the fowler. But youth will seek its own experience,” he remarked, with a deep sigh. “No friendly warning will teach the young to beware of danger. But consider me your friend, Miss Reef, and let me likewise be your monitor.”

Without waiting for my reply, he hastily left me and entered the house.

CHAPTER V.

Four weeks elapsed ere Richard’s return. During his absence Mr. Bristed showed his sympathy for my lonely situation by many little attentions; sending up to the school-room, now and then, choice fruit from his hot-house, or a bouquet of conservatory flowers, and, several times in the early evening, he sent for me to read aloud to him.

I found him to be a quiet, polished gentleman; and I grew to like him, and to look for his tokens of kindness after my daily labors with growing interest, and, if they came not, to feel disappointed and unhappy. He had travelled much and could talk well, and under the influence of a sympathetic listener, his countenance lit up with kindly emotion, and the sad lines of his face disappeared beneath a happy smile.

But in the glowing midsummer his truant brother returned, and my new-born interest vanished like snow before the harvest sun.

Again Mr. Richard exerted his varied powers to fascinate and amuse me. Again I listened, and struggled, as formerly, against his wiles, and finally bent a too willing ear to his soft words of praise and admiration. With secret pleasure I reveled in his ardent language, hugging to my heart the belief that I was loved.

How that summer sped by on its golden wings! Time passed on, as in some delicious opium dream! And when the short clays and long nights of the Christmas holidays set in, I found myself secretly engaged in marriage to Richard Bristed.

Of our plans and attachment his brother was not at present to be informed: this stern brother who shut himself up apart from his species, and who, Richard told me, was of too cold a nature to sympathize with love.

“He will dismiss you, Agnes, if he hears of it,” he said. “Wait till I have settled up my affairs, and then he can do his worst.”

I believed this statement; I forgot all my former good impressions of Mr. Bristed, and listened to the tales that were told me of how he had wronged Richard. I learned to regard him as a robber, a hypocrite whose statements could not be relied on; a false, dark, bad man. As for Richard, he seemed a king in comparison; a noble, magnanimous being, whom some kind fairy had bestowed upon me.

But that cold, relentless Fate, which comes to tear off the painted wrappings of life, revealing the bare and ugly reality beneath, was fast pursuing me.

At the close of a cold, snowy day, I had retired early to my room, and having locked the door that I might be free from interruption, sat down to look over the dainty articles of dress which I had been shyly accumulating for my approaching marriage.

It was but a scanty outfit, but to me it appeared munificent as that of a princess. I could never weary of looking at these beautiful garments; I placed them in one light, and then in another; I folded and unfolded them, and finally ended by trying them on, and admiring in the mirror their perfect adaptation to my face and figure. A long time must have passed in this way, when the hall clock struck the hour of midnight. Astonished at the lateness of the night, I threw down the laces and ribbons which I was combining into some airy article of dress, and was preparing to remove my bridal attire, when I was amazed to hear a key turning in the lock of my door. Fear and surprise nailed me to the floor. The door glided softly open and in stepped Mr. Richard Bristed! He seemed surprised to see me thus.

“What! up and dressed?” he exclaimed, in a loud whisper. “O my beauty! my wife! I have come to claim you to-night. You shall be mine. No power on earth shall withhold us now!”

“How strangely you talk, Richard,” said I. “You forget it is so late. We cannot go to church at this hour.”

“Ah, dearest, this is church! See, I have brought you this ring. We will stand up before God and our own hearts, and I will marry you here. We need no other witnesses than ourselves and this ring!”

Though my youthful heart was blinded by love and passion, I was not prepared for this. Excitement and the strangeness of the proposition overcame me, and I broke forth into sobs.

He endeavored to soothe me, urging his request with a pleading force which I could scarcely withstand.

“I am not prepared, Richard,” said I, drying my tears; “this is so sudden, so unlooked for, I must have time for thought.”

But thought only revealed a gaping abyss, from which I must fly.

He continued to urge his plea; but seeing I would not yield, his countenance changed. The sweet, seductive smile vanished. He grew white as the moonbeam, and, clenching his hand and setting his teeth, bent over me, whispering huskily:

“Agnes, I shall not step from this room to-night. I have the key. You have promised to be mine. You shall keep that promise. To-night you shall keep that promise!”

If he was pale, I became paler. A cold chill crept over me. But I took my resolution, unyielding as death, not to grant his request.

A chasm seemed to yawn before me. The loneliness and friendlessness of my position were presented to my mind with terrific reality. A deadly swoon-like feeling ensued. To yield in this might seal my fate. I paced the floor rapidly, praying for help.

Help came suddenly. As I passed the door of my wardrobe, I remembered that the same key unlocked this and the door of my apartment. I drew it forth, and in the twinkling of an eye I was free.

The cool air from the outside passage, and the prospect of liberty, cooled my excited nerves, and revived me for the work I had to accomplish.

“Richard,” said I, my hand upon the latch, “you or I must leave.”

He made no reply, but violently rising from his chair, grasped something that lay near him, and tearing it to atoms, rushed by me without word or look, and reaching the stairs, hastened out of sight.

Mechanically I sat down, and with sad, straining eyes surveyed the wreck before me. My bridal wreath was shivered into fragments; its white petals, like fruit blossoms caught in an untimely blast, sprinkled the floor; my laces were in shreds like the riven mast of some shipwrecked vessel.

Of course there was no sleep for me that night. When worn out with thinking and weeping, I drew a large easy chair up to the door and sat there as guard, listening, with the hope which moment after moment grew fainter, that he would return and whisper in my willing ear a sweet demand for pardon, some word in extenuation for his unseemly conduct; but he came not.

Toward daybreak, I was aroused from the lethargy into which I had fallen from sheer exhaustion by the sound of excited voices and hurried movements in the room below. As these subsided and the gray morning broke, I was startled by the sound of a horse’s hoofs on the graveled walk.

A fearful foreboding possessed me; what could it mean? Somebody was riding away; who was it? Through the gate and down the avenue I heard the galloping steed.

I dragged my nerveless limbs to the window and peered forth. Clear against the horizon, now streaked with pale crimson rays of dawn, rising in bold relief I beheld the receding figure of Richard Bristed.

He was leaving me without word or sign. My head reeled; I grasped the window casement to steady myself, and sank insensible upon the floor.

CHAPTER VI.

I must have remained in this condition some hours, for the sun was high in the heavens when I opened my eyes and became conscious. Where was I? Not in my own room, surely; the fragrance of exotics did not penetrate my lattice; the simple honeysuckle that twined around my window breathed forth a different perfume from this. My heart gave one glad leap. Oh, it is all a dream! I thought; Richard’s galloping down the road, and all the past night’s misery is a dream! With this reflection a happy tranquillity was stealing over me, when I heard a well-known voice exclaim:

“Look, Mary, attend her; she has opened her eyes, thank God.”

It was Mr. Bristed’s voice, and as he spoke Mary approached me, and bending over, bathed my head with scented water. “Hope you feel better, Miss,” said she.

“Have I been ill, Mary? Where am I?”

“In master’s library.”

Surely it was so. I was lying upon a divan near the conservatory. Alas, I was not dreaming! I sat up and looked drearily around, and as I did so Mr. Bristed drew near with a beautiful lily in his hand, which he offered to me. He inquired kindly after my health and looked pleased when I told him I felt quite strong. Indeed I did feel strong for the moment, and arose determined to leave the room.

“Sit still where are you going?” he asked anxiously.

“Going to the school-room going to see Herbert,” I replied.

“Herbert,” said he, and his countenance darkened; “you cannot see Herbert, he is ill.”

Not see Herbert, and he ill? What could be the matter? He was well but yesterday.

Mr. Bristed’s strange manner, coupled with Richard’s absence and the fearful events of the night, seemed likely to turn my brain.

He saw my startled look of inquiry, and said, “Be quiet awhile; I have something of importance which I will communicate to you by-and-by, when you are composed.”

“Mary,” he ordered, “ring the bell for breakfast to be sent hither; meanwhile, Miss Reef, while awaiting our coffee, if you will walk with me in the conservatory I will take pleasure in showing you my tropical curiosities.”

I followed him languidly with wandering thoughts. Gradually, however, I grew interested and listened with increased attention to his animated description of the homes and haunts of the wonders by which he was surrounded. He had visited many climes, and gathered each strange flower and plant he had seen in its native clime. He became eloquent and genial as he described the strange habits and peculiarities of his floral companions, which he seemed to regard as a species of humanity; to him they were not inanimate existences creations but objects endowed with soul and sensation.

While we were thus conversing, Mary announced that breakfast was ready, and I reluctantly accompanied him to the library. He almost compelled me to eat, selecting for me dainty morsels to tempt my appetite.

Mr. Bristed evidently labored under some mental disquiet, which he evinced by undue efforts at cheerfulness.

Breakfast being removed I sought to withdraw from the room, but he requested me to remain, and dismissing Mary, seated himself in an easy chair next the ottoman on which I rested, and warming his hands over the fire, his eyes bent upon the blaze, said, with an abruptness that was natural to him:

“I am not accustomed to concern myself about strangers, Miss Reef, but in you I have felt a peculiar interest since the day we first met. You will remember I warned you then that you were too young for the responsibility which I foresaw awaited you. I feared at that time that Richard, on seeing so bright a flower, would endeavor to snatch it from its stem. My fears have been realized; you see I am acquainted with what has taken place, and now the hour has come when you and I must part.”

“Oh no,” cried I gaspingly, “not yet, not yet.”

“Miss Reef,” he demanded solemnly, “why will you delay? I understand what you would say; you desire to see Richard again, but that can never be; you have looked your last upon him in this life. I know his magnetic influence over you; once again under that influence you are lost!”

I did not like what he said. He overstepped the bounds of courtesy, I thought. The warning which Richard had given me against him revived in force and I recoiled from him, saying:

“Sir, your brother is my friend; I can listen to nothing in his disfavor.”

He sighed, “Ah, Agnes, you are but a child. The sun just rising above yonder horizon must soon be darkened; I see the gathering cloud and would warn you of the approaching storm. Why will you turn from me when I desire to help you?”

His musical voice was so sympathetic that it moved me deeply; but I shook my head and answered passionately, “I cannot trust you. You wrong him, and would compel me to wrong him too.”

“My child,” said he sadly, “I had hoped to have saved you from further anguish, but perhaps it is best that you should know all. Come with me.”

He opened the door and led me to a room on the opposite side of the hall. I knew it to be the room where Herbert slept.

“Let us go in,” he whispered.

We entered softly: the apartment was darkened, but a dainty crib which occupied the centre of the floor could be dimly seen. As we stepped in, his nurse, who was bending over the cot, moved with hushed footsteps away to give us room.

There he lay, my dear, sick lamb! I was so glad to be permitted to see him. But the result of no ordinary sickness met my eye.

Great purple rings had settled around his closed eyelids, his lips were blue, his sweet mouth partly opened, he seemed to breathe with difficulty. I could not speak. Mr. Bristed turned down the coverlet from the little shoulders.

“Look, Miss Reef,” said he hoarsely, his voice quivering with agitation, pointing to some hideous marks on the little sufferer’s throat “those are his finger marks.”

I sickened. What crime was this that he hinted at so strangely? But the insinuation was too incredible. The thought that he was working on my credulity exasperated me.

“If you want me to leave your house, Mr. Bristed, command me and I will go, but you cannot force me to believe this horrid inference.”

He must have felt the disdain with which I spurned him, for he turned upon his heel and left the room.

I then spoke to Herbert. At the sound of my voice he moved, and I seated myself by his side. Quietness seemed desirable, and I was not inclined to break it. Now and then I moistened his lips with a little wine and water. Seeing that I still sat by the crib, the nurse lay down upon a settee and fell asleep.

Hours thus passed. The days were short and twilight came on rapidly. Sitting there in the gathering gloom, I began to hum inadvertently a little song which Herbert loved me to sing to him. Hearing my voice chant his favorite ditty, the poor little creature stirred in his crib, and his pale lips parted into a smile. Presently, in broken tones he asked, “Is that Miss Reef?”

“Yes, Herbert, darling, I have come to sing to you,” said I, mastering my emotions and chirruping more loudly his beloved song.

The effect seemed truly magical he endeavored to raise up his little body. “Oh sing it again,” he cried.

“Would you like to sit upon my knee?”

He nodded assent, and I made an effort to lift him up, but he was weak and heavy, and I not sufficiently strong to sustain him. As he fell back, my eyes caught sight again of those fearful marks. Some power outside of myself forced me to ask, “Herbert, what ails your throat; has any one hurt you?”

At the question, a tremor fearful to witness passed through his frame, and looking at me with an expression of preternatural intelligence, he whispered, “He tried to choke me.”

Stunned with horror at this again repeated assertion, I sank down and buried my face in my hands. I could think but one thought, and that was a wish that I were dead!

CHAPTER VII.

But my nature would not permit me at such a crisis to remain passive long. I must arouse myself and act. Calling the nurse to take my place, I went to seek Mr. Bristed. I found him, as usual, in his library.

“Sir,” said I, “I am calm now; will you not explain to me this frightful mystery? I will listen and thank you.”

He placed a chair for me to be seated, and taking my hand, said gently:

“Miss Reef Agnes, you are too weak to hear this that you seek to know.”

“No, no,” I exclaimed, vehemently; “I am not weak; I must know all.”

He arose and paced the floor hurriedly for a few moments; then muttering, “It is best I will tell her,” he said:

“You have been surprised, no doubt, Agnes, at the frankness with which I have expressed my opinion of Richard’s character let me inform you that he and I are not brothers. He is a half-brother, the offspring of my father’s second marriage; though indeed I doubt if he have a right to even that relationship. I have heard dark hints thrown out that my father had been deceived, and that this child who claimed to be his son should look in a lower quarter for his father. Richard’s mother was not a woman of high moral principle, and he partakes of her nature. My father provided for him well, but as I was the elder son the bulk of his large property became mine by inheritance; but Richard has always made the Hall his home when in England indeed, he has a legal right during his lifetime to the use of the room he occupies. He has not, however, often availed himself of this right since I have had his son Herbert under my protection.”

“His son Herbert?” I repeated, mechanically.

“Yes, poor child, his son; though the boy has always been taught to call him uncle. Neither Richard nor myself desire the relationship to be known, and it is only in hope of serving you that I reveal it.”

“Richard married?” I said, falteringly.

“Ah, Agnes, there are many women whom he should never have seen, as he could not marry them,” said he, with the slow determination of a man resolved on uttering a repulsive truth. Herbert’s mother was a beautiful but penniless orphan of good family, who visited this house some years since in the capacity of companion to our great-aunt.

“During that visit I became enamoured with her, and we were secretly engaged in marriage. It was before the death of my father, and I was not my own master; but I loved her truly, and meant well by her, only desiring her to wait till I should be free to please myself. But Richard stepped in between me and my happiness. He stole this girl’s heart from me; gained her love as he has endeavored to obtain yours, by flattery and dissimulation you see I am not wily and smooth enough to please women but also he destroyed her peace under promise of marriage; leaving her soon after and going abroad without acquainting her with his purpose.

“I was temporarily from home when this occurred. On returning in the course of a month, Richard fled, as I have stated; but I was ignorant then of the cause, and it was not till in the agony of shame she came to me for help with her secret, that I became aware of his perfidy.

“I need not tell you that I gave her all the aid in my power; her child Herbert was born and secretly cared for. When he was about two years old, the great-aunt of whom I have spoken died, leaving a large proportion of her property to Alice, of whose misfortune she had never dreamed.

“Wealth came to the unfortunate girl too late. The shock she had received from Richard’s deceit had preyed upon her health, and she was failing rapidly, when he, hearing of her good fortune, returned home.

“With his specious address he might have regained his old ascendancy over her had I not interfered. You know well, Agnes, his peculiar gift of fascination. I believe he could by some unexplainable psychological process make any great wrong appear right to a woman. But I induced her to bequeath her wealth to Herbert, and secure it, for a time at least, beyond Richard’s control and he owes me a grudge for it.

“Herbert, she left under my care, unless, of his own free will, he chose to reside with Richard, who in that case was to become his guardian; and in the event of Herbert’s death before reaching his majority, the whole property was to revert to Richard Bristed. You see she loved him still. Unjust but womanlike, her love was stronger than her judgment.

“Well,” said he, after eyeing me thoughtfully, “you listen as if you did not rightly comprehend what I have been saying!”

I was indeed stunned by his communication. Could it be, I thought, with suppressed fear, that the shadowy figure which had haunted my bed-chamber and had visited me in dreams was the same wronged Alice? Had she arisen from her grave beneath the granite of the church-yard to warn me? Or are the dead jealous of their rights? Do they cling to their earthly love? I queried. But when he spoke I shook off these thoughts that were rising like mist to obscure my judgment, and answered, “I am. I am listening; proceed.”

“Agnes, through your influence Richard has hoped to obtain possession of Herbert and control over his fortune. He has thought to entrap you as he did Alice, and through his power over you has calculated to carry out the project of his prolific brain.”

Till this moment I had listened silently to his strange recital, but I could not brook this insinuation. The story, to my mind, did not appear clear. How could Richard expect to obtain, through my agency, possession of a son whom he had never acknowledged? Tis true I remembered him to have said that he feared I would miss my pupil very much. He had asked playfully what would Herbert do without me, but he had not suggested taking the child away with us, and therefore Mr. Bristed’s charge appeared to my mind unfounded, and I told him so.

“Ah, my child!” he replied, “you know not the devising power of this man. He has an agent here in this place, in the shape of old Crisp, the hunchback. It has been his plan, under promise of marriage, to decoy you from this house; he would probably have left his child to Crisp’s good agency, with orders to join you. Herbert loves you, and would have gone willingly in your company, but alone with Richard he would not have moved one step. Once out of my reach in some distant city, he would have had the reins in his own hand. It was by an unexpected, but I hope fortunate chance, that I overheard a conversation to this effect between him and the deformed servant. I could not ascertain the day set for this adventure, but I surmised that it was at no remote date, and I have kept alert. You have avoided me, Miss Reef, and I have been obliged to watch your movements distantly. Not from suspicion of you, for I know you to be pure and honorable, but because you are under my protection, and because” he hesitated I wondered what was coming next. I had a presentiment that he was about to make an avowal which I ought to shun, but before I could evade him he turned suddenly toward me, his face white with emotion, and continued “I love you, Agnes, though it is no time now to speak of my passion, and have watched over you as a father, a brother, a lover would watch.”

This announcement affected me more than I care to confess, considering I did not return his love, but it was the allusion to his sheltering care that moved me.

“Yes, I have watched over you; orphan that you are, you need some guardian care. I knew by your frequent journeys to the village, by your cloistering in your own apartment, and more than all, by your speaking countenance, that you were preparing for some great event in your life.

“Last night I could not sleep; I laid my head upon my pillow, but finding it impossible to close my eyes I arose and dressed. Sitting by my window I thought I heard a commotion in your room. I listened until my surmises grew into certainty. The hour was midnight, and your door, which at that season is usually closed like a cloister-gate, swung on its hinges.

“This alarmed me; I unlocked my door and looked out. Soon a hasty step retreating from your chamber met my ear. Descending the stairs, this untimely visitor entered the room where Herbert lay sleeping. A strange suspicion came over me. Can the intruder be Richard? I thought. If so, what was he doing at that hour of the night? I seized a lighted candle and rushed to the boy’s apartment, and there I found Richard, maddened, and beside himself with liquor and frenzy. I was just in time to save Herbert’s life from his insane fury.

“I know not what had occurred between you and him, Agnes, but this I know, he had failed in some diabolical plot he had contemplated. Chance or a friendly Providence had thwarted his purpose. I had him in my power, and compelled him to leave the house, not to return until you have been removed where he will never find you.

“I cannot leave my beautiful bird, my pet dove, where the charms of this wily serpent may ensnare her.”

He ceased. My eyes were dry, my heart turned to stone. I arose, and mechanically moved toward the door.

“Where are you going, Agnes? Tell me of your plans; regard me as your friend, I beg.”

“Take me away take me away,” I cried hysterically; “I must go! Oh, oh, oh!” I should have fallen, but he caught me in his arms.

CHAPTER VIII.

On reviving came the dread feeling that I must go. Go whither? I had no home. I could not return to my uncle who had cast me adrift. The inquisitive glance of his grim housekeeper would annihilate me. But go I must, and that speedily.

With weary head and aching heart I commenced packing my little wardrobe. My bridal attire I hastily covered from sight that it might remain until time and mildew should obliterate it. My dream of love was past. I felt that my youth and beauty were buried in that crushed pile of broken flowers, pale silk, and dishevelled lace.

I had concluded my work, and was tying my bonnet-strings, when a knock at the door announced Mr. Bristed. He appeared surprised at seeing me arranged for my journey.

“So soon, Agnes?” said he. “You are not yet able to leave.”

But as I expressed very emphatically my ability and determination to start immediately, he saw expostulation would be useless.

“Well,” said he, “let me hear where you contemplate going.”

I told him I should take the railway or coach to some point, I cared not where; any distant city or village from whence I could advertise for another situation. I was too hopeless then to care whither I went.

“And do you think I would permit you to leave me thus at random, going, you know not where, without any preconceived plans? Oh my poor, poor child, to be thrown thus upon the world!”

He walked the floor several times, apparently in great agitation; then, suddenly pausing, said abruptly, almost violently, “It must not be! Agnes, don’t go,” lowering his voice, and placing his hand gently on my shoulder; “stay with me become my wife. I love you and will cherish you. No rude blast that my arm can shield you from shall assail you. My life has been one of gloom, you can render it one of sunshine. Stay, dear one, oh, stay!” and in his transport he seized my hands.

“What do you mean, Mr. Bristed?” said I, recoiling from him. “Surely, you must forget yourself and the circumstances which have so recently occurred; you have accused me of loving your brother, how, then, can I transfer my affections to you? Oh, you are cruel, cruel!”

“Forgive me,” said he, penitently; “I will do anything for you, Agnes take you away, if you wish; only let me go with you and see that you are properly cared for.”

I shook my head.

“Richard may seek to find you; you may fall again into his evil hands if you insist on going thus alone.”

“Mr. Bristed,” said I, “thus far I have acted as you directed. I will depart at your solicitation; but further than this, I must be free. If Richard seeks me out, and I can aid him, I will do so. Degraded and fallen though he be, my love will not shrink from him. I will help him to rise.”

“You are a noble woman, Agnes,” he said with a sad smile, “God protect you!” and he left me.

As he went out, I heard him order the carriage. The serving-man came for my luggage, and I summoned courage to pay a farewell visit to Herbert.

The poor little invalid became very much excited at seeing me, and clung so tightly about my neck that it was with effort I could leave. I did not then inform him of my intended departure, and with an aching heart and forced smile I parted from the dear sufferer.

I met Mary in the hall; she told me Mr. Bristed had ordered her to accompany me on my journey.

I did not want her company, my mind craved solitude; I would not have her. I sought her master, and told him so. “At a time like this I must be alone,” said I, excitedly; “I want no spy upon my actions. I will go wherever you wish me to go, but let me proceed alone.”

“Well,” said he, musingly, “I desire but to serve you. Go to the town of M., present this letter according to its directions. You refuse my further aid, but if ever you need a friend, send for me; otherwise, I will never trouble you.”

I answered that I would do as he requested, and with a heavy heart entered his carriage, which was waiting to drive me to the railway station.

CHAPTER IX.

I will pass over my journey, and the lonely, miserable days which succeeded my arrival in M. I made fruitless effort to obtain service, and waited and watched for an application in my dreary lodgings until my small hoard of wages was nigh exhausted.

I had been in the city a fortnight, broken in spirit and dejected by want of success, when I happened to bethink me of the letter Mr. Bristed had given me.

I took it from its undisturbed nook in my trunk, and having read the superscription, set about to find the party to whom it was addressed. The direction led me to a large manufacturing establishment.

The gentleman to whom it was written appeared to be a foreigner. Having presented the epistle to him, he perused it hastily, then taking my hand with great eagerness, he exclaimed:

“O Mees! I am greatly honored. Mons. Bristeed is my very good friend; I well acquaint with him in Paris. I congratulate you on having one so grand a gentleman for your acquaintance. He tell me you look for a school.”

“Yes, sir,” said I, glad to find my tastes had been studied; “I do desire a school.”

“I will assist with pleasure, Mees. Be seated; in a few moments I will accompany you.”

I sat down, wondering whither the gay, loquacious gentleman would lead me.

He soon rejoined me, hat in hand.

“Will you accept my escort, Mees; the place is near by,” said he, reading the note. “N B , street. Will you walk, or shall I call a cab?”

“I will walk,” I answered, scarcely knowing what reply was expected. As we turned the corner of the street I ventured to ask:

“Is it to some school you are guiding me?”

“Ah, Mees,” said he, rubbing his hands together and laughing, “it is some great secret. Mons. Bristeed would surprise you. Have a leetle patience, and all will be divulged.”

We walked rapidly for a space and then paused before a handsome building.

Entering the courtyard, we rang the silver bell. A servant answered our summons and invited us in. Seated in the drawing-room, I heard the buzz of many voices.

“Is it an academy?” I whispered to Monsieur Pilot, my conductor. He smiled encouragingly.

“This is a young ladies’ seminary, Mees.”

Before I could question further, the room door opened, and a lady of tall, imposing figure entered.

Monsieur Pilot commenced a vehement conversation with her in French. She responded in the same tongue. The dialogue ended, he turned to me and said:

“Mees Reef, permit me to introduce you to Madame Fontenelle.”

Madame smiled very graciously upon me, and then recommenced the gesticulation and babble of the two. At length she appeared satisfied with the understanding at which they arrived. I was growing uneasy at their prolonged volubility, when Monsieur Pilot pirouetted up to me, and said:

“Mees Reef, I beg to congratulate you. Madame consents to transfer this mansion into your hands, She accepts our recommendation and that of your own intelligent countenance. Mons. Bristeed was not mistaken in the impression you would make. I wish you joy in having become the proprietress of this splendid institution.”

“How,” I cried in astonishment; “I proprietor? I do not understand. Please explain.”

Madame looked blandly on; my remarks were evidently unintelligible to her.

“It is a very onerous and responsible position, Mademoiselle” shrugging her shoulders “I should not like to advise you. Do you comprehend the extent of the undertaking? I should not be willing to trust my pupils in timid hands.”

Her remarks stung me, and gave, I presume, the favorable turn to my destiny, for I felt the power to undertake a task which I would before have shrunk from.

“I will do my duty in all cases to the best of my ability, madame!” was my brief reply.

“Ah, you do not comprehend, Madame,” said Monsieur Pilot, coming briskly to the rescue. “This is a surprise to Mees Reef. My very good friend Monsieur Bristeed has not apprised the young lady of his bounty. I have his commission to purchase for her this establishment, which he is aware you desire to dispose of, Madame. His recommendation of the young lady is surely sufficient.”

“The whole establishment?” I asked, with an effort at composure.

“Yes,” replied Madame. “I am obliged to start for the West Indies, and must dispose of all. The present instructors are thoroughly competent for their various positions; they merely need a supervisor. You appear young, but I presume experience has fitted you for the office.”

“Eminently so, eminently,” answered Monsieur Pilot promptly, as if he had been guardian of my reputation for years. “We will consider the arrangements as complete, my clear Madame. I will call tomorrow and close the transaction. Bon jour, Madame.”

And with rapid strides he hurried me away.

CHAPTER X.

The school became mine. By vigilance and perseverance, I not only retained the pupils Madame had transmitted to my care, but added many thereto.

Monsieur Pilot, lively and friendly, visited me frequently. I liked the little Frenchman; his gaiety served to divert my mind from reflections on the past, which like spectres would sometimes stalk grimly before me when unoccupied, I sought the quiet of my own chamber.

With my increasing success, my pupils’ interest fully occupied every moment of my time. Meantime, not a line or word reached me from Bristed Hall. Upon my installment as proprietor of Madame’s seminary, I had written to Mr. Bristed, thanking him for his kindness, and informing him that I should take measures to repay the expenditures he had incurred in my behalf, by placing quarterly in the hands of Monsieur Pilot a sum such as I could spare from my income, by means of which I hoped in time to repay my external indebtedness.

The only reply I received to this letter was a peremptory refusal, sent through Monsieur Pilot, to accept any return.

I had been more than a year in my new home. Constant employment had developed my mind, and I flattered myself on having acquired a wisdom and sedateness such as ten years of quiet experience could not have given me. But of this I was lamentably mistaken.

Of my silly yielding to circumstances which follow, the reader must not judge too harshly. I was still but an immature woman, not yet twenty; the glamour of youth still hung over me. I craved human love, and took the first that presented itself, just as any other ardent, imaginative girl in my place would have done.

One night late in autumn, when the sharp winds were already giving signals of the coming winter, of leafless trees and frozen ground, feeling the usual sadness which accompanies this season of the year, I walked out upon the piazza in front of the house, looking down upon the street. I thought the keen air would put my blood in more active circulation, and thus dispel from my mind the brown and yellow fancies that filled it as the dying leaves of October strewed the ground.

My pupils had all retired to their rooms, and relieved of my charge, my thoughts were free to recreate. I walked quickly back and forth, drawing in long draughts of the invigorating air, and reviewing the morning’s duties. While thus engaged, my attention was arrested by the appearance of a tall man on the opposite side of the street, standing still and watching me. As he caught my startled gaze he lifted his hat and bowed, and before I had time to reflect on his strange proceedings, had crossed the street and was standing on the pavement below.

“Agnes!”

My God, he called me by name! My blood became like ice. Shaking from head to foot I covered my eyes with my hands, and would have run in, but the whistling wind brought the cry again:

“Agnes! Let me speak with you.”

Quick as the words were uttered the dark figure mounted the stone steps, only the little iron railing of the balcony dividing us.

I knew then who it was.

“Will you open the door, or shall I?” said a voice which I remembered too well.

I saw no alternative, without disturbing the neighborhood and betraying myself; so, like a criminal, I stepped softly to the hall and unlocked the door. He came in with a light, free step, and seated himself upon a couch with the ease of an old friend and accomplished gentleman. It was Richard Bristed!

I will not detail what passed at this interview. But I fell again under his fascination; his magnetic presence lulled my faculties, and, alas, I must relate that this nocturnal intrusion was followed quickly by others!

He assumed his old ascendancy over me. The past became like an unpleasant dream in my mind, dimly remembered, but never distinctly recalled.

Occasionally, however, a sharp doubt obtruded itself, and roused me for an instant. One evening I ventured to ask:

“Richard, why are your visits so brief, and made only in the night?”

“Why?” he repeated, as if startled by the suddenness of the question, then adding carelessly: “Because you always have that deuced old fellow, Monsieur Pilot, running here. I am not very jealous, yet it would torment me to meet one who dares raise his thoughts to my Agnes. He wants to marry you. Do dismiss him!”

This conjecture proved true, and I was obliged to give a cold rebuff to the man who had befriended me. It is possible Richard Bristed did not care to be recognized by his brother’s agent, but I did not think of this at that time.

CHAPTER XI.

After this affair happened Richard visited me more openly, and my pupils, when by chance they met him, were charmed with the stranger. He was only known as “Mr. Richard.” “Call me that, Agnes, I hate the name of Bristed. Introduce me to your friends as Mr. Richard,” he said, and I had done so.

About this time he explained satisfactorily, to my credulous mind, the cause of his sudden retreat from Bristed Hall, and gave me reason to believe that the statements his brother had made concerning him were untrue and evil in design.

“My brother, as you have surely discovered, Agnes, is a cold, proud man, and as I was not his equal in wealth or position he selected an heiress, both old and disagreeable, whom he designed me to marry. Your youth and beauty he intended to appropriate to himself. I feared if I made him acquainted with my purpose to unite myself to you he would frustrate all my wishes, and when I discovered that he knew of my plans, I determined to forestall him by making you my wife that very night. I intended to have gone through the form of marriage, which the next day could have been legalized, for I feared the influence of his wealth and position upon your unsophisticated mind.

“However, you refused to trust me, and I left your room maddened by anger and the fear of losing you.

“I met my brother in the hall-way; he said Herbert was ill, and I accused him of trying to injure the boy that he might defraud me. Sharp words passed between us. I left him, and in blind haste mounted my horse, thinking I would ride over to N., a distance of some twenty miles, to get the clergyman of the parish, an intimate friend of mine, to drive with me to the Hall and perform the important ceremony.

“The ride I accomplished in a few hours, but I found my friend absent from home. The excitement and disappointment, added to the severe cold to which I was exposed, broke me down, and I was taken suddenly ill. When I recovered, I returned to Bristed Hall only to find my priceless bird flown, and no clue to be had to her whereabouts.

“As to the tale about Herbert, that is all a ruse; he is not my son, and only distantly connected with either of us. He is heir to a considerable estate, and Mr. Bristed is managing so that upon Herbert’s decease (and poor child, he cannot live long) the inheritance will fall to his lot.”

Such was his version of the story, and as I loved him I believed it willingly.

CHAPTER XII.

In his gay society the winter passed quickly. With the opening spring he departed on business, as he said. I felt his loss, but as it was a busy time with me it did not affect me as it otherwise would have done. Many changes were being made in my seminary. I was obliged to employ workmen to add new dormitories to the great house, for pupils were crowding in from every point.

The reputation of the school was growing; I was immersed in business. Some months elapsed; I ceased to hear from Richard, almost to think of him, amid the activity of the spring term.

“Circumstances,” some say, “are the Devil,” and I almost believe that saying. While employed I was happy, my mind well balanced and energetic; but unfortunately for me, summer vacation drew near. It came finally; a sultry sun, parched earth, and scorched verdure made life in the city undesirable. My pupils fled to the country and to their homes until the fall session, and I was left alone. Even my servants were absent, all save one.

Shut up in the empty mansion alone with my own thoughts, I was growing morbidly lonesome.

It was at this unpropitious moment that Richard Bristed returned.

CHAPTER XIII.

He arranged quiet strolls to the country little excursions here and there with himself as my sole companion and many sweet happy days of unsullied pleasure I passed in his society.

One sultry morning, to my delight, he came in an open carriage, saying that the atmosphere was so heated he would drive me out of town to a charming little village with which he was familiar.

The prospect of such a jaunt was to me indeed agreeable; and as he liked to see me in becoming dress, I arrayed myself in white, placed a fillet of pale blue ribbon round my hair and a bouquet of blue forget-me-nots in the bosom of my dress, and thus adorned set forth, sitting by Richard’s side.

I was as happy as a young queen; all the black suspicions which had darkened my horizon were absorbed in the fierce heat of that summer morning. His beauty, his fascinating smile, his lively conversation, filled me with rapture.

Arrived at the village, we stopped at a small but pretty tavern and alighted. While I entered the dwelling Richard drove his horses under shelter. He soon joined me, looking much disconcerted.

“Agnes, my darling, what shall we do? We cannot ride back to-night; the carriage is out of order, and I fear the horse is injured by the heat and rapid driving.”

“O Richard, I must return home to-night!” I answered decidedly.

“Well, I will see what can be done, but we will rest awhile and take some refreshments.”

A delightful half hour passed while we were regaling ourselves with country fare and looking at the strange place from the window of the little inn. Then Richard proposed that we should walk out while waiting for repairs to our vehicle. Together we strolled through the quiet lanes and open commons till we came upon a pretty, unpretending church, half hidden in ivy and creeping vines. The door stood open. “Come,” said he, “let us go in.” I followed him in. To my surprise I discovered a clergyman in his robes at the altar. Richard whispered in my ear some words which I could not understand and their import I could only guess at, but his tender manner brought the hot blood to my face.

“Agnes,” he continued, speaking with quiet determination; “you must be mine; everything is in readiness. We cannot return to-night; Fate ordains it!”

It did appear to me that Fate, as he said, ordained the events which followed that country drive. All the love and sentiment of my nature was aroused; but reason told my intoxicated senses that I must not act without forethought, so I shook my head to his passionate urgency and endeavored to withdraw. But my companion pressed me gently back into an open pew, and hastened past me up the aisle.

A rapid conversation then took place between himself and the clergyman, who, after casting his eyes in my direction, went to his desk and took up his prayer-book.

Richard returned with quick steps to where I was sitting.

“Come,” said he, smiling; “he is waiting.”

Startled and trembling, I made no answer save an effort to reach the door.

“For heaven’s sake, Agnes, do not make a scene! Recover your usual good sense. Do you not see that it is best?” whispered Richard, with earnestness almost fierce.

And so hurried, flushed and doubting, overcome with heat and excitement, I permitted myself to be led to the altar.

The ceremony soon ended. As the clerk shut his book and we turned to depart, I could not realize that this abrupt, informal marriage was a reality. As I passed down the aisle, a white, fluttering, impalpable, and yet clearly-defined form arose from one of the empty seats, and unobstructed by carved wood or heavy upholstery, passed out through frame and plaster! The slight figure, the golden hair, I remembered too well it was that of the ghost of Bristed Hall!

I clenched Richard’s arm so that he muttered an oath, and said sharply, “My God, Agnes, what are you doing?”

“Did you not see that figure? It passed straight through the wall,” I whispered in affright.

“Move on none of your d d nonsense, Agnes,” said Richard, scowling; then hastily adding, “Excuse me, love, you confuse me. My happiness makes me forget myself.”

My mind surged with conflicting emotions. I felt a secret joy in the knowledge that I was united to the man I loved. This romantic, half run-away match pleased the romance of my nature, and yet I was unable to resist the feeling that I had done wrong. A strange foreboding of evil intruded upon my joy.

Richard that evening was gay almost to wildness. “O Agnes! Agnes! we have outwitted them, the fools! They thought they had conquered me, but you are mine, and I have won!”

He talked so disconnectedly, I thought he had taken too much wine. Indeed, to this he owned.

“I could drink flask after flask of it, I am so happy!” he exclaimed.

We were happy that night and drove home in the cool of the morning.

It was arranged that our marriage should for the present be kept private, as Richard thought if it were known it might disorganize my school.

CHAPTER XIV.

We had been wedded but two weeks when one morning Richard asked me to show him my deed of the property.

“How strange,” said he, as he looked it over. “Do you know, Agnes, before I wedded you I might have married many a woman of wealth, but I would not unite myself with a lady who would not honor me by giving me sole control of all her possessions.”

“Well, Richard,” answered I, laughing, “you can control mine if you like. It matters little to me who holds the deed, so long as my dominion over the young ladies is not invaded.”

“That is what I expected of your, loving nature, Agnes, and yet I suppose you would hesitate to convey your property to me.”

“No; why should I?” I exclaimed. “I will go with you to an attorney this moment, if you desire it.”

“Well, come, we shall see; get your bonnet,” said he gaily.

I tied on my bonnet, and accompanied him down the street into a little dingy office in a narrow thoroughfare.

At the door, laying his hand upon my shoulder, he said jokingly:

“Agnes, go back, I was only trying you; I wanted to see if you meant what you said.”

“Of course I meant it, and I will not go back till it is done.”

“Well, well, you must have your own way, I see!” and with a gay, exulting smile he led me into the office.

I signed the paper giving to him the house and lands, and was glad when it was done, for I felt that it might atone for any suspicion or doubt of his goodness which had crossed my mind, for he had made me very happy since our marriage.

I returned to my school and its duties. In the interval between the recitations, I had time to reflect. I had acted impulsively, and perhaps unfairly. What right had I to give away a property given to me for an especial purpose?

Had I done right? That was the question which annoyed me the question which constantly thrust itself before me during the live-long day. My sleep that night was disturbed. The form of the elder Mr. Bristed appeared in my dreams. He seemed to reproach me by his looks, and when I endeavored to speak to him, vanished from my sight.

Richard had left me after my signing the paper. He told me he was obliged to leave town on business, and I had no one to council with. My own thoughts startled me; I became nervous, and finally quite ill.

CHAPTER XV.

At length, after two days of unrest and self-condemnation, I quieted myself with the assurance that I would go to the Hall and see Mr. Bristed; then also I could see dear Herbert, to whom my heart went often out with longing. His name was never mentioned between Richard and myself. I avoided the subject; a dread which I could not overcome forbade me to speak of it. But now a strange, irrepressible desire to see the child filled my mind.

Yielding to this intense feeling, I arranged my affairs, and taking a coach, set off early in the morning for the train which would convey me to Bristed Hall. To my astonishment I met Richard at the depot. Overwhelmed with surprise at the encounter, and ashamed to confess my intended journey, I made some petty excuse for being there, and returned home again. Richard handed me into the cab, but excused himself from accompanying me as he had a friend awaiting him.

That day, after luncheon, taking me aside he informed me that a noble lord had placed in his charge a lad who was partially idiotic and sole heir to an immense estate; that it was necessary he should have at his disposal a room in the upper part of the building in which he could keep him from observation, as it had been discovered the sight of strangers increased the boy’s malady, and perfect seclusion would be the only means of restoring him to reason.

I immediately directed a servant to put in order one of the rooms in a remote portion of the dwelling; this was done, and towards dusk Richard, who had left the house, returned in a handsome coach with the poor, helpless, deranged boy. From the window I saw them alight. A slight, tall figure, wrapped in a cloak, descended from the coach. This undoubtedly was the afflicted youth. He walked so feebly I should have hastened to his assistance, but Richard’s command that I should not permit him to see strange faces withheld me.

However, I stood in the partly opened door, hoping I should be called. As the muffled figure passed me on the way up the staircase I vainly sought to catch a glimpse of the youth’s face, but he turned neither to the right nor left.

Richard, however, saw me and shook his head, indicating with an angry, peremptory gesture, that I should withdraw.

For days I felt a strange curiosity about this youth, but as Richard gave my inquisitiveness no food, and conducted his attentions to his charge in an orderly, business-like manner, I dismissed the subject from my mind.

CHAPTER XVI.

Nothing new transpired the remainder of those autumn days. November was now close upon us. About this time I remarked a sudden falling off of my hitherto prosperous school. Determined to know the cause, I inquired of one of my assistants, in whom I confided, if she was aware of the cause of this decline. She hesitated to reply to my question, but when pressed for her opinion she informed me that my pupils were dissatisfied with my relations with Mr. Richard, and also with his conduct respecting the youth who had been imprisoned on the upper floor. They asserted they had heard groans proceeding from the room he occupied, and feared to remain in a house where mystery and secrecy were rife.

I was astonished and alarmed at this information. You, reader, will be surprised to learn that I was at that time more ignorant of events that transpired around me than my own pupils. But I was not of a suspicious nature, and happy in my new life of love, the few weeks that had elapsed since my marriage passed as in a delicious dream.

But now I was thoroughly aroused and ready to return to duty. I thanked the teacher for her information and then dismissed her, as I wished to be alone.

When left to the quiet of my own thoughts I reflected how best to proceed in the matter. Richard was not at home, I could not question him, and he had the key of his ward’s room with him.

I finally concluded I would go to the door of this private room and listen if I could detect any unusual noise from within.

With trepidation I ascended the back staircase leading to the secluded apartment.

Near the door I paused against the alcove of the great window that lighted the hall, and looked out. The sky was dull and leaden; a scanty snow was falling, and the wind, blowing furiously, drove it hither and yon. I stood for some moments looking out upon the gloomy prospect so in accordance with my state of mind. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of Richard crossing the street. I started when I saw him and was about to retreat, when a thought arrested me. Why should I hurry away? Was I afraid of Richard? Was he not the proper person to consult in my dilemma? I would let him know that I desired to enter the room!

So thinking, I approached the door and tried it. It was locked, but at the sound of the turning knob a sad, dreary moan arose from within a cry of mingled fear and weakness. The sound of that moaning voice seemed familiar to my ear. What could it mean?

As I stood thus in suspense, listening for further development of the mystery, I heard a step close beside me. I turned, and discovered Richard. His fair, handsome face scowled at me fiendishly; his countenance seemed transformed; his eyes gleamed like those of a panther.

“What are you doing here?” said he, laying a heavy hand upon me and speaking through his set teeth. “Go down stairs!” and he pushed me from him violently.

I suppose his physical power and angry mood awed me, for I forgot my determination to solve the mystery forgot my own rights, and hurried precipitately down the stairs.

CHAPTER XVII.

With my mind filled with dreadful forebodings, I reached my own private chamber, entered it, and bolted the door, that I might consider, undisturbed, the best course of action to pursue under these fearful suspicions that haunted me. Hour after hour passed as I sat thus absorbed in thought which seemed to turn my very hair gray from its intensity.

I heard Richard descend the stairs and go out into the street. Not long; after this the door-bell rang violently and the servant knocked at my door to say that a gentleman in the drawing-room wished to see me. Smoothing my hair and arranging my toilet, I obeyed the summons, but started back on discovering the stranger to be no other than Mr. Bristed. He pressed my hands and said:

“Agnes, can I converse with you in private here a few moments?”

My first surprise over, I answered, “Come with me; we will not be disturbed here.” Withdrawing to a small room adjoining, he drew forward an ottoman and seating himself beside me, said:

“Agnes, Herbert is missing; can you tell me where I can find him?”

“Herbert missing!” said I with a shudder.

“Yes,” said he, “I have heard, Agnes, that a gentleman visits you whom I surmise to be my brother, and, if so, I thought perhaps you would know through him of Herbert’s place of hiding.”

“Has Herbert left you?” said I. “Tell me what do you mean, Mr. Bristed?”

“Yes,” said he; “some few weeks since, I left the Hall to visit an old friend. I expected to be absent a fortnight. While I was gone Herbert disappeared, the servants knew not how nor where. At first, hoping to discover that he had strayed off of his own accord and would soon be found, they searched the country in every direction, but in vain. They were at last obliged to send me word of his disappearance. You can imagine my sensations on arriving at the Hall and finding the dear child’s room vacant. I made inquiries in every quarter, sent couriers out in all parts of the neighboring country, but no trace of him could be found.

“I at length thought of you, that you might have seen or heard of my brother. He is the one person likely to be concerned in the singular disappearance of Herbert.”

I trembled from head to foot. What could I say? Evidently he was not aware of my marriage with his brother. How should I act? Richard might come in at any moment and discover himself. I recollected him to have incidentally mentioned that the following day he had an engagement at the race-course with a friend; I therefore said hurriedly:

“Mr. Bristed, I have seen Richard recently, but tonight can tell you nothing further. If you will call to-morrow morning at eleven, I will tell you all I know.”

He seized my hand, exclaiming, “Tell me to-night, Agnes, and set my mind at ease.”

My head seemed on fire I groaned audibly.

“I can tell you nothing of a certainty. It is all surmise, and my brain is distracted to-night. Give me till to-morrow.”

“I will, Agnes; I feel that I can confide in you.”

“Now go,” I replied. “My position is such that your presence here will only destroy the purpose of your visit.”

He clasped my hand in his and left me.

The next morning before leaving for the racecourse, while adjusting his neck-tie, Richard said:

“I fear we shall lose our imbecile pupil up-stairs, Ag. I brought a doctor in to see him last night, and he says he cannot live long.”

I could not see his face, for he looked persistently away.

“If he is ill, I must see him, Richard,” I managed to reply.

“Oh, no!” said he; “I thought you were foolishly scared to hear him groan yesterday, but if he does not get better I will send him home to his friends.” This he said carelessly, as he walked out of the room humming a lively air.

How coolly he talks about the lad! thought I, half ashamed of my suspicions. Perhaps I have wronged him. I have been too impetuous in my surmises.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The time drew near for his brother’s arrival. He was prompt to the hour.

“Well, Agnes,” said he, “I have passed a sleepless night. I hope you will relieve my mind of its anxiety.”

“Mr. Bristed,” said I, covering my eyes with my hand, for I could not endure his eager gaze, “I must first tell you I am married to your brother Richard.”

“Married to Richard!” he exclaimed, starting up violently agitated; and seizing my shoulder with nervous gripe he set me off from him at arm’s length “You married to Richard! why, Agnes, that cannot be; has he not a wife now living in France? But be calm, child,” said he, “be calm,” patting me gently on the head; “perhaps I am misinformed; we will talk of this hereafter. Now about Herbert. Tell me what you know.”

This question recalled me. I then informed him of the idiotic pupil who had been received in the house about a fortnight since, and how my suspicions as to his identity had been aroused the day previous.

He could scarcely wait till I had finished my account. “Come, quick! come! show me the way to the room!”

I led him up the stairs in the direction of the suspected chamber. As we neared the door a low moan could be heard distinctly.

“O my God, it is Herbert!” he exclaimed. “Quick, where is the key?”

“I have no key you must pry the lock open.” No sooner said than done he burst open the door and entered. I followed. Alas! our surmises proved too true! There upon the couch lay the wasted form of poor Herbert.

As he recognized us his wan face lighted up with an angelic smile, and he endeavored to raise himself at our coming, but he was too weak, and his head sank nerveless back upon the pillow.

Silently and hushed, as in the chamber of death, we stepped to his bedside. He held out his thin hand to his uncle, who clasped it between his own, and, kneeling by his couch, bowed his head and sobbed aloud. His first moments of bitter grief subsiding, he said to me, “Send for some wine.” Then, stroking the child’s fair forehead, he groaned, “O Herbert, Herbert, have I found you at last, sick and alone!”

Herbert attempted to reply, but his voice was weak and faint; we could not distinguish his words. A servant brought the wine, and I moistened his colorless lips with it. How I felt, it is useless to describe. Words would fail to express my terror.

The rich, warm juice of the grape and the application of stimulants seemed to restore him to life. His first effort on recovering was to call me by name. I answered by bending over him and bathing his pale forehead. At this he smiled, pleased and happy.

“Now, Herbert, my poor boy,” said Mr. Bristed, “if it will not fatigue you too much to talk, tell us how you came here. Who brought you? Why did you leave Bristed Hall?”

“Uncle Richard brought me,” said he, heaving a melancholy sigh. “He came after you had gone, uncle, and told me that Agnes Reef was sick and going to die, and wanted to see me and you, and that if you were home you would let me go, because you loved her; and I thought so too. He gave me this ring which Agnes sent so I would know it was her.” And, saying this, he held up a thin, transparent hand, and there, indeed, upon it gleamed one of my rings, so loose that the wasted fingers could scarce retain it.

“My ring! So Richard gave you that,” said I, with scorn I could not conceal, even in the sick chamber.

“Yes,” he murmured, “and he told me he would bring me straight back before uncle got home, and he brought me here into this room, but Agnes was not here. I could not find her. Then he locked the door and would not let me out, and I have been hungry and cold. And when I cried, he would kick me, and that made me sick, I think. Do take me home, uncle, before he comes, and I will never go away again!”

CHAPTER XIX.

During this recital Mr. Bristed and I exchanged glances of horror. We could not speak. When it was finished, he said:

“Agnes, order the coach. I must take him away from this place.”

I felt that the boy was too feeble to move, but I dared not suggest it. I too wanted him removed from the baneful influences of the house. We proposed to carry him down on the pallet, and thus convey him to the carriage. One hour or more elapsed before everything was in readiness. While we were moving him Richard appeared, unannounced. A wild, unearthly scream from Herbert first gave notice of his arrival.

“O uncle! Miss Reef! save me! He will beat me to death!”

His uncle endeavored to calm him with his assurance of protection, and, turning to Richard, in a voice husky with emotion said:

“Look, this, is your work! If there is a God ruling the universe, your punishment, though tardy, must be sure.”

“I see nothing strange about it,” said Richard, with an assumption of indifference which made his handsome face look to me at that moment like that of a Judas. “If he is my child, as you say, why should he not be here? Who has a better right to him than I? The little imp professes to dislike me, but that is some of your teaching, and I will soon cure him of it.”

“You cannot have him, Richard. He must go with me.”

“I know my rights, and I will use them,” he replied, excitedly. “Move that boy at your peril;” and he clapped his hand upon his silver-mounted pocket-pistol. He had evidently been drinking. His day at the race-course had maddened him. He was in a dangerous mood to oppose. This Mr. Bristed evidently saw, as I did, for he beckoned me to go out for assistance. As I was moving toward the door for that purpose, Richard’s eye lit upon me.

“Ah, ha!” shouted he, coming toward me. “So you are the one who has been prying into my affairs. It is you I must thank for this interference. Out of this room directly! Get you gone!”

I should have obeyed, but a sound from Herbert’s bed arrested me a sound that awed me more than the angry voice of Richard! I hurried to the bedside. Mr. Bristed was there before me. I looked at the sinking boy. A stronger hand than his father’s grasped him now. That hand was Death’s!

No need now to remove the little sufferer from his couch to the carriage in waiting. He would be borne soon by the white-robed angels from the reach of us all!

Even Richard, whose cruel grasp he had eluded, seemed awed as the little spirit burst from its tenement, and a transcendent smile settled on the thin, waxen face, and the white hands folded themselves across the breast with an air of unutterable peace.

CHAPTER XX.

Early the next morning Mr. Bristed accompanied the lifeless body of little Herbert to Bristed Hall. He begged me to go with him, but I refused his solicitations. I had other duties before me, which I must perform. I should have been glad to have rid myself from every one, but that could not be. Richard did not return, and I was alone; the days dragged heavily away. I felt that I stood on the brink of a yawning chasm from which I could turn neither to the right nor the left. The thought of remaining with Richard was abhorrent, and the prospect of leaving him and commencing life anew was also a dreadful alternative.

What shall I do? I reflected, as I went my weary way through the classes. Richard solved that question for me when he returned after an absence of three days.

My pupils had just retired when a message came that he had returned and desired to see me in the library. With a heavy heart I went to meet him. He was not alone. A tall, passionate-looking woman, with dark hair and restless eyes, sat beside him. She was richly appareled, and gazed at me with a haughty stare as I entered.

Richard nodded to me a bare recognition and said, “I have sent for you, as I wish you to inform your pupils that they must leave in the morning. I have other uses for this building.”

At this cool announcement I staggered. Good God! would he undo me? What plan had he now in view? “Remove my pupils!” I exclaimed.

“Yes; do I not speak clearly? And as you have been plotting and scheming for some time against me, I would advise you to leave, also. Bristed Hall,” said he sneeringly, “is likely to prove an agreeable shelter to you.”

“I leave!” said I, now fairly awake to the danger. “What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean,” he replied with diabolical blandness, “that this lady is my wife, and will from this time take charge of this establishment.”

“Richard Bristed, you cannot, dare not make that assertion! I am your wife, though I acknowledge it with shame and sorrow. He has misled you, madam,” said I, turning to the lady. “You are mistaken if you suppose I shall abandon my rights.”

“Ha, ha!” he laughed, “she knows all about you. You cannot enlighten her, so you had better hasten and pack your trunks.”

“I shall not leave, sir; I shall defend my position here. I am a woman, and you shall not sully my fair name,” said I, maddened by his manner. “Your brother will help me the law will aid me. Here I remain!”

“You will?” said he; “we will see. This house is mine,” and he drew out his pistol with which to frighten me.

“Richard,” said I, hoping to restore him to calmness, “put up that pistol. You cannot, dare not use it.”

“Dare not!” he exclaimed, coming up to me, his hot breath smelling of wine; “I will show you if I dare not!”

I was alarmed as he suddenly cocked the weapon. What might he not do in his drunken excitement?

“She is a coward, Dick,” said the lady. “Don’t trouble yourself about her,” and then turning to me and stamping her foot, “How dare you say you are his wife!” she exclaimed. “Go out from here!”

I shook from head to foot, but did not leave.

“Come, Dick, give me the pistol,” said the lady; “You don’t know what you might do with it.”

“Don’t meddle with me,” said he, as she attempted to wrest it from his grasp. “Why does that girl stand glowering at me?”

“O Richard,” I sobbed, “my heart is ready to burst! Don’t act so; remember Herbert!”

“Remember Herbert!” he muttered; “I do remember him. You killed him with your pranks, and now you would accuse me. Go, leave my house, or I will compel you.”

I believe he would have fired upon me at that moment, but the lady sprang forward and caught his arm. A slight struggle ensued, then followed a sharp report, and the pistol fell to the ground; a fearful shriek rent the air, and Richard fell heavily to the floor, covered with blood. I rushed to help him. He raised his glassy eyes to mine, and faintly murmuring “My God! I am lost!” expired.

CHAPTER XXI.

The shock was too much for me. I was seized with fearful dizziness. The objects in the room became black before my eyes, and I fell to the floor beside the bleeding corpse, insensible.

Convulsions, I was afterwards told, followed this swoon. A raging fever attacked me, and for weeks my life was despaired of. At length the crisis passed; my youthful constitution conquered the disease, and I was again restored to the world in which I had experienced so much joy and so much misery.

One morning the delicious feeling of returning consciousness revived me. Where was I? The room looked familiar, yet strange. Surely I had seen that silken coverlet before! The carved footboard of the bed on which I was lying was not new to my sight. My weak brain was busy with conjectures, when a woman approached, carrying a glass and spoon. It was Mary, the housekeeper of Bristed Hall.

“Why, Mary, are you here?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes, Miss, but you must not talk. Take these drops. I am heartily glad you are better, Miss.”

A sense of rest and peace stole over me, followed by a few hours of natural sleep.

On opening my eyes from this refreshing slumber, I found Mary still sitting near me.

“Mary,” said I, “you must tell me where I am; everything here looks so natural, and yet as if I were in a dream.”

“You are not dreaming, Miss. You are in your own chamber in Bristed Hall.”

Bristed Hall! A warm gush of gratitude pervaded my being. So I was not friendless! I was cared for.

“Where is Mr. Bristed?” I asked after a pause.

“We have persuaded him to drive out, miss, as the doctor said you were out of danger. Anxiety for you and grief for Herbert’s death have quite taken his strength away.”

“I must get up, Mary. You must help me to dress.”

“Oh no, miss!” she replied; “you are not strong enough yet.”

“I am quite strong. Besides, it will revive me; I am weary of the bed, and need a change.”

She acquiesced in my wish, dressed me neatly, and smoothed my hair.

“Now, take me down,” I requested. “I wish to surprise Mr. Bristed.”

Of course she remonstrated, said I would bring on the fever again, and all that; but as I persisted in my determination, she led me down the stairs. The fresh air invigorated me; I felt every minute increased power. At my request, she took me to Mr. Bristed’s conservatory. The bright flowers, the singing birds in their ornamented cages, and the adjoining study with its well-filled shelves, all reminded me of the past. Tears came to my eyes as I recalled the bitter changes I had seen since leaving that sunny home!

CHAPTER XXII.

I had not been long in the conservatory when I heard the wheels of a carriage. Mr. Bristed had returned. He ascended the steps: I heard his voice in the hall. His first words were an inquiry after my welfare. He was told that I was better. Passing through his apartments, he entered the study. I could see him plainly from the windows of the conservatory. He looked, I thought, thin and sad; his hair had become sprinkled with gray since the time when I resided in his mansion. Turning to Mary, who was waiting there for me, he said: “I feel faint; bring me a cup of tea.”

Mary left the room on her mission, and I stole from my hiding place.

“Mr. Bristed,” whispered I, coming softly up behind his chair.

He started. “Whose voice is that? Agnes, where are you?”

“Here, sir,” I answered, as I touched him lightly.

He turned toward me, his face flushed with pleasure, his eyes expectant.

“You, Agnes you, verily? How came you here? I thought you were ill off your pillow. What pleasant trick is this you have been playing me?” Then taking both my hands in his and surveying me, his eyes the while beaming with soft pleasure, he said:

“Oh, I am so happy that you are better. But you are wrong to come here; you will make yourself ill again.”

I told him how I had awakened, and of my glad surprise in finding myself in my old chamber again, and how I had insisted on coming down to thank him for his kindness in bringing me hither.

“Don’t thank me, Agnes; for you I could do anything. This place shall always be your home. Some day, Agnes, you may learn to appreciate the worth of a heart that truly loves you.”

I fell upon my knees before him. “O Mr. Bristed, I do appreciate!” I cried. “I do know that you love me. Let me live for you. Let me by a life of devotion atone for the mistakes of the past!”

He lifted me up, and folded me to his breast.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A few weeks of balmy spring air and soft sunshine completely restored me to health.

One day when strolling in company with Mr. Bristed through a path blooming with early hyacinths and crocuses, I ventured to ask him about my school.

“It is entirely broken up, Agnes. After the fearful tragedy that transpired within its walls, your pupils scattered like dust in the wind. I arrived the next morning after the death of Richard, unconscious of what had occurred in my absence, but intending to take you home with me. I found you, as I then thought, on your death-bed. I settled with your separate teachers, and closed the school. With the French woman who claimed to be Richard’s wife, and with whom he had probably gone through the form of marriage, as with you, I made an arrangement satisfactory to her to sell the property and give her an equivalent for its value.”

“But what motive,” I asked hesitatingly, “could Richard have had for his course?”

“Motive? The same that had actuated him through life. With you, Agnes, he would have lived probably as he did with others, until his versatile heart demanded a change. Then, with your little estate in his hands and Herbert’s property in his power, he would have deserted you for some new beauty.

“But let the grave cover his mistakes and evils. I believe that a good God will not punish him too severely for propensities which he inherited.”

Once more I yielded to the charms of companionship and love. Severe trials had proved Mr. Bristed’s worth, and when he again asked me to make the remnant of his life happy by my care and love to become his wife, and share his home, and reign queen of his heart I consented. When the June roses blossomed, we were married. The balmy air and opening buds spoke of a new life. They typified my new life, truly. The glitter and gloss which had deceived me in youth would never beguile me more. I had learned that it was not the external man, but the internal that was worthy of love.

The shadowy form of Alice never troubled me again, I believe reparation can be made beyond the tomb, and that in some far-off world the new-born spirit of Richard atones to Alice and Herbert for the wrong he did them in this.