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FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE 
 
 OR, 
 
 IN LOVE WITH A HANDSOME SPENDTHRIFT 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 LAURA JEAN LIBBEY 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 !5 miss middletok's lover; or, parted on their dridal toot*," 
 
 Copyrighted, 1888, 
 
 BY 
 
 LAURA JEAN LIBBEY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE TRADE SUPPLIED BY 
 
 THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY 
 188S 
 
 130961 
 
Press of Wynkoop, Hallenbeck & Co.. 
 121 Fulton Street, New York. 
 
! y$ Ch 
 
 f ... 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE. 
 
 I. Coming Events Cast their Shadows Before .. i 
 
 II. General Hastings' Daughter 9 
 
 III. a I Warned You Against Him " 20 
 
 IV. A Fatal Wooing 28 
 
 V. u I Would Rather See My Daughter Dead 
 
 than Give Her to You " 36 
 
 VI. " You Must Learn to Forget Him" 42 
 
 VII. Reine Bows to the Inevitable -. 48 
 
 VIII. il Where is the Bride ? " 54 
 
 IX. The Detective on the Trail 60 
 
 X. The Heir of the Towers 65 
 
 XI. A Mystery . 70 
 
 XII. The Elopement 75 
 
 XIIIo Thorns in the Bridal Wreath 81 
 
 XIV, " She Chose Her Own Path, Now let Her 
 
 Follow It.. 86 
 
 XV. " I Wish to Heaven I had not Married You ".. 92 
 
 XVI. " Would it End in a Duel ? " 98 
 
 XVII. " Oh Cruel Love whose End is Scorn v 103 
 
 XVIII. " Great Heaven!— Is this Reine?" 113 
 
 XIX. A Noble Foe 119 
 
 XX. Out in the Darkness and the Storm 125 
 
 XXI. " You did not Wed a Saint when You Mar- 
 ried Me " 133 
 
 XXIL An Unexpected Encounter.... „ 139 
 
 XXIII. The Deserted Bride .„...„ 144 
 
 130961 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAGE. 
 
 XXIV. You are Wanted in Haste...... 150 
 
 XXV. Thrown on the Merciless World 156 
 
 XXVI. One Kind Editor 162 
 
 XXVII. I have Come Home to Die 169 
 
 XXVIII. Man is but Mortal 176 
 
 XXIX. A Storm on the Florida Coast 183 
 
 XXX. Life or Death...... 188 
 
 XXXI. Unhappy is the Bride that the Rain falls on. 195 
 
 XXXII. Mystery and Woe 200 
 
 XXXIII. The Wages of Sin is Death .. 206 
 
 Miss Laura Jean Libbey wishes to 
 notify her readers and the public that 
 she claims and has copyrighted but the 
 two novels entitled : 
 
 MISS MIDDLETOFS LOVER, 
 
 AND 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Both books contain her portrait. Neither 
 book is genuinely Laura Jean Libbey's 
 latest book unless it contains said por- 
 trait. 
 
A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 COMING EVENTS CAST THEIE SHADOWS BEFORE. 
 
 It was on the loth of September. Iam. particular 
 as to the date, for it marked the cruelest tragedy that 
 ever darkened a young girl's life. The night was 
 stormy and intensely dark, save for the vi rid flashes of 
 lightning that lit up the wild mountain scene with a 
 white, awful glare for an instant, at irtervals, then 
 died out, leaving the rugged slopes to the darkness 
 and the terrible storm. 
 
 The oldest inhabitant of Virginia neve: remembered 
 having witnessed such a storm before. 
 
 The little rivulets, leaping from crag ; ;o crag clown 
 the mountain gorges, were swollen into mighty cata- 
 racts, carrying death and destruction in oheir path as 
 they dashed on to the valley below — on this night 
 which was to be made so memorable. In a weather- 
 beaten abode situated about midway between the sum- 
 mit and the base of the mountain, and around the 
 comfortable fire that blazed fitfully, and spluttered in 
 the open fireplace, sat three persons :- -Abel Moore, 
 the old mail-carrier, who drove the mail-;tage between 
 Dover and Allendale; Dorothy, his wife; and Theressa, 
 their daughter. 
 
 As they sat there, listening to the fieive storm, and 
 the wind that howled like a demon through the moun- 
 tain gorge, the old clock on the three-cornered shelf 
 in the angle of the wall slowly struck nine. 
 
 Abel Moore sprung quickly to his feet. 
 
 1 
 
A FOKBIDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 ''It's time I was starting off, Dorothy," he said, 
 turning briskly to his wife. " Where's my heavy 
 
 coat ? " 
 
 " Don't go to-night, Abel/' pleaded his wife. 
 " Abide at home just this once/' and she came a step 
 nearer him, laying a detaining hand on his arm. " 1 
 have a strange premonition that something will happen 
 if you go. You know it was just such a night as this, 
 years ago, that you had that desperate encounter in 
 the mountain pass; you carried a large package of 
 money then, just as you will to-night." 
 
 " Didn't I come out victorious in that affair?" de- 
 manded Abel triumphantly. " When they stopped 
 my horses, didn't I cut down the whole crowd of them 
 with the stont old hickory cudgel I carried? Wasn't 
 there blood all about the place when morning came, 
 showing 1 had put in some pretty good work?" 
 
 "They vowed vengeance against you, Abel," an- 
 swered his wife solemnly, "and sooner or later it will 
 come." 
 
 " That was years ago, and nothing ever came of it — 
 or ever will," retorted Abel. " That's only a woman's 
 whim." 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't go, Abel," she persisted, 
 standing with clasped hands before him. "It 
 wouldn't hurt any of the village folk on the other 
 side of the mountain to wait a few hours longer for 
 their letters." 
 
 " Now there's no use in talking," he retorted, draw- 
 ing on his heavy boots and stamping them down, then 
 proceeding to button up his great coat. "I sha'n't 
 neglect my duty for a woman's whim, so there's the 
 end on it. I've carried the mail for twenty odd years 
 and never once neglected my duty, and I ain't going to 
 commence now. A public office is a public trust. It's 
 a man's duty, Dorothy, to be faithful." And with 
 these words he passed out of the house and into the 
 teeth of the terrible storm; a little later they heard 
 the sound of his horses' hoofs and the rumbling of the 
 heavy wheels as they turned slowly into the mountain 
 road. 
 
 " Somehow I don't feel just right about your father 
 
COMING EVENTS CAST THE IK SHADOWS BEEOKE. 3 
 
 going to-night, Theressa," said Mrs. Moore, throwing 
 more logs on the fire. " I hope to the Lord he will 
 come back to us safe." 
 
 " Father knows how to take care of himself, I 
 reckon/' replied the girl. "It's all nonsense to worry 
 so, mother; he's neither sugar nor salt, — he won't melt. 
 It's a bad night for the great reception they're having 
 up at Waldrori Towers," she went on, in the hope of 
 diverting her mother's mind; " but I suppose every- 
 one hereabouts who was lucky enough to be invited 
 will go, even though it rains pitchforks, to get a sight 
 of the bride; they say she's young and very fair, and a 
 stranger in these parts." 
 
 Theressa succeeded in her object of diverting her 
 mother's thoughts, for she answered quickly: 
 
 "You can depend upon it, the young girl is a 
 stranger or she would never have married the heir of 
 Waldron Towers. I wonder that he dared bring a 
 young wife there of all places in the world — where so 
 much has happened. Of course some one of the 
 neighbors will tell her all sooner or later, then there 
 will be a fine time of it." 
 
 " They say that the poor little thing is very fond of 
 him," said Theressa, " and that she clung to him all 
 the way going up the steep mountain pass, like a 
 frightened school-girl." 
 
 "Heaven pity her if she loves him," replied Dor- 
 othy. 
 
 "That would not be hard to do," said Theressa. 
 " He is young, handsome, and rich, and has just the 
 knack about him of winning women's hearts." 
 
 "I would rather see you dead than know you had 
 given your heart to such a man," said Dorothy Moore 
 with asperity, turning suddenly upon her daughter. 
 
 " Never fear, mother," replied the girl; "I would 
 as soon think of caring for Satan himself. I'd go a 
 mile out of my way any day rather than meet the 
 young master of Waldron Towers. I say with you, 
 mother, heaven pity the fair young bride he has 
 brought home." 
 
 " Carriage after carriage, heavily laden, have passed 
 
4 
 
 A FORBIDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 here since early morning. It almost seems as if all of 
 Virginia v. ere to be at Waldron Towers to-night." 
 
 " It's for no love of the master of the Towers they 
 come, but out of curiosity to see the young wife. Ah 
 wel^, as tlu old saying goes, Theressa — 
 
 " ' He tliac is false to one will never prove true to another.' 
 
 "The old housekeeper came down here, when she 
 he ircl that the master was coming back witli a bride, 
 and was to have a grand reception, and begged me to 
 go up with her and help decorate the place; but I said 
 no. I'd as soon think of stepping into a charnel house 
 as to step over that threshold. 
 
 "It would be a blessing if the race of Waldrons 
 v ould die out with the present heir of the Towers, 
 rut oh, child, I cannot think of him; *iy thoughts go 
 lack to your father. I wish he was safe at home; I 
 ( annot shake off the impression, somehow, of impend- 
 ing evil." 
 
 "You are only a little nervous to-night," said 
 Theressa, soothingly. 
 
 " It's enough to make anyone nervous," replied Mrs. 
 Moore; "see how the house rocks. I've always said 
 that some day one of these fierce winds would shake it 
 from its foundation, and we would go crashing down 
 the mountain side. I shall not rest easy until your 
 father returns; somehow I never felt Kke this before. 
 He's only about half way down the mountain, now. 
 Oh, Theressa, do listen to the mad storm ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, through the storm and the darkness, 
 the Allendale mail-stage was slowly making its way 
 toward the cross-roads, seven miles distant, to meet 
 the night express train. The steep serpentine road 
 was well-nigh washed out; but the horses had traversed 
 that route foe twenty years, and picked their way with 
 almost human intelligence. But at a sharp turn in the 
 road they stumbled, and, as the descent was almost per- 
 pendicular here, Abel concluded that the best plan 
 would be to lead the beasts, and, getting out of the 
 stage and grasping their bridles, with a few words of 
 encouragement, he proceeded forward with great 
 caution. 
 
COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 5 
 
 Suddenly his foot slipped upon a huge ;tone that 
 had become dislo Lged and rolled down into the path, 
 and the next instant, he lay groaning with pain from a 
 severely sprained ankle under the horses' iVet. They 
 stopped short, seeming instinctively to realize that there 
 was something amiss, and, there quite mot ionless they 
 stood in the midtt of the terrible storm an half hour 
 or more. Soon a 'ter a mountaineer toiling homeward 
 on foot, found Aiel, and insisted upon taking him 
 home. 
 
 " There is only o:ie way you can serve me, friend," 
 returned Abel; " help me reach the light down yonder. 
 It's the home of a neighbor. I shall do well enough, 
 there, and take my place on the stage, to meet the 
 express train; you can jus; about make it." 
 
 This was how it happened that the mountaineer — a 
 stranger almost in those parts, knowing few of the 
 people thereabouts — chanced tc take old Abel's place. 
 
 The stage-driver drew rein at hi? destination with a 
 sigh of relief, and at that instant the shriek of the 
 on-coming train sounded shrill and clear above the 
 wild roaring of the storm in the distance. Another 
 instant and it had rounded the curve of the moun- 
 tain and stood still. 
 
 The mail-bag was handed out, and he saw a Slight, 
 girlish figure alight from a rear coach; and as he 
 gazed, the train thundered on again. 
 
 She advanced with a quick, firm step toward him, 
 inquiring if that was the stage to Dover. 
 
 The old driver looked at the slender creature, w ho 
 was so heavily veiled, and all alone, in dismay. 
 
 '* To Dover?" he exclaimed, in astonishmerfc. 
 ""Why, no. This is the mail-stage which goes to 
 Allendale, just the opposite direction. No stage will 
 be along this way going to Dover until to-morrcw 
 afternoon." 
 
 Was it his imagination, or did he - really hear a lo w 
 cry issuing from the folds of the thick veil the young 
 stranger wore, and hear the words 
 
 " Oh, Heaven, have pity! have i lercy ! " 
 
 "Can I get a conveyance anywhere around hereto 
 
6 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 take me there? I must get there, if I have to walk 
 every step of the way/" 
 
 " There's no team but this within five good miles 
 of here/' he returned; "you couldn't get there/' 
 
 "I must! Oh, I must!" cried the sweet young 
 voice, distractedly. 
 
 Suddenly she tore olf one of the dark gloves from 
 her -little white hands, and drew from her finger a mas- 
 sive ring, set with a flashing diamond, and held it out 
 to the man. 
 
 " Take this, and drive me as far as Dover; it is 
 worth twenty times my fare. Oh, sir, for the love of 
 Heaven, do not refuse me! "she cried, wildly. "I 
 must get to Waldron Towers before day breaks. I 
 cannot tell you why; but if you only knew, you would 
 not refuse to help me." 
 
 In vain the old driver remonstrated, declaring "he 
 was sorry, but it couldn't be thought of. He must 
 take the mail on to Allendale." 
 
 In the agony of despair, the beautiful stranger 
 pleaded. 
 
 When he looked back to that night in after years — 
 trembling as he thought of that scene, and the tragedy 
 that followed on the heels of it— he remembered that 
 he very unwillingly allowed himself, against his better 
 judgment, to. become persuaded to take the young girl 
 to the gates of Waldron Towers. 
 
 And an hour from the time she had first made her 
 appearance, they were making their way through the 
 terrible storm toward Dover. 
 
 Once he thought he heard a cry issuing from the in- 
 terior of the coach. The reins almost fell from his 
 nerveless grasp, and his heart almost ceased to beat 
 He listened intently. The sound was not repeated. 
 
 "It must have been my fancy," he muttered. " No 
 doubt it was the wind, shrieking and howling, with 
 demon-like fury, down the mountain gorge, dying 
 away like a deep sob of one in bitter pain." 
 
 Again he assured himself "it was only the wind," as 
 he urged the poor horses up the steep, slippery pass by 
 applying the whip. 
 
 At last the turrets of Waldron Towers, ablaze with 
 
0OMIK6 EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. ? 
 
 lights, loomed up in the distance. A few moments 
 more, and the entrance gate was reached. The terri- 
 ble journey was ended. 
 
 As the driver assisted her to alight from the vehicle 
 the wind for an instant raised the heavy folds of the 
 veil she wore, from her face. A sharp exclamation of 
 dismay rose to her lips as she quickly drew it down to 
 its place. 
 
 In that one brief instant, the flickering light of the 
 gate lamps revealed to the man the most beautiful face 
 he had ever beheld; but over the lovely face lay a 
 death-white pallor. He caught a glimpse of two dark- 
 blue eyes and a halo of golden hair. In that face lay 
 the elements of a tragedy. 
 
 He watched the slender, muffled figure curiously as 
 she disappeared up the broad, gravelled path; then he 
 turned to his stage again with a thoughtful face. 
 
 "I would know that young woman anywhere 
 again," he muttered. "Ah, what a face! what beauti- 
 ful eyes! *" 
 
 Meanwhile, the young girl had crept up the marble 
 porch, close to the long French window, peering in, 
 through the lace-draped window, with wide, distended, 
 horror-stricken eyes. 
 
 The interior of the apartment into which she gazed 
 was ablaze with light, and thronged with guests. 
 
 In their midst stood a young man, with a debonair, 
 handsome face. A fair young girl in spotless white, 
 with pale blossoms on her breast and in her clustering 
 curls, clung to his arm. 
 
 AVith bated breath, the burning eyes of the figure 
 crouching outside in the terrible storm and darkness 
 rested upon them. She had pushed back the heavy 
 veil, and the sportive breeze tossed the pale-gold hair 
 wantonly about her lovely childish face. The wild 
 winds around her sung a requiem — the dash of the 
 down-pouring rain a dirge. 
 
 So young and gloriously fair, yet life had gone all 
 wrong with her. Her strange secret, and her pitiful 
 story, would startle the world on the morrow, as it had 
 never been startled before, steeped, as it is, in misery, 
 suffering, crime and sin. 
 
3 
 
 A FOKBIDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 There was a quick shuddering cry as she gazed on 
 the young man's handsome face. 
 
 " It is quite true/' she muttered. " The paragraph 
 in the paper spoke truly. It is he ! " 
 
 "Heaven forgive me," she gasped, faintly, as she 
 diew somel hing from the folds of her cloak Avith her 
 trembling i-ight hand. "Heaven forgive me! I am 
 driven to il ." 
 
 Che next moment there was a clear, ringing report 
 of a revoh er. The plate-glass window was shivered 
 int > a thousand fragments. The fatal bullet had sped 
 on its course. 
 
 Who this young girl was, who had attempted this 
 terrible deed, from whence she came, whether deserv- 
 ing our deepest scorn or our heartfelt pity — and what 
 claim she h id upon the young and handsome man we 
 have mentioned, the after pages of our story will 
 tell! 
 
 Be not ha^ty in your judgment of her. Eemember, 
 love makes or mars a woman's life. It brings with it 
 a blesjing — or a curse. 
 
 Yet, young hearts will still sigh for love, even 
 though thej weep tears of pity over our beautiful 
 heroin 3 ? s folly. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 GENERAL HASTINGS' DAUGHTER. 
 
 So:me months previous to the date mentioned in the 
 opening of our story, in an old-fashioned garden 
 scarcely a stone's throw from Waldron Towers, two 
 persons were standing in the June sunshine, which 
 touched with a glint of gold the features of the 
 woman, plain and comely, and that of her companion 
 a tall, commanding gentleman, with a fine, benevo- 
 lent face, and the military bearing of a soldier. 
 
 He had been a soldier, a general in the army, and 
 Virginia had never known a braver one. His name 
 was enrolled among those of the heroes of Harpers 
 Ferry, during that time so famous in our nation's 
 history. 
 
 Where flowers now bloomed, in the garden of Fair- 
 lawn Villa, and fountains tossed their white spray to 
 the sunshine, not many years since those same grounds 
 had blossomed with waving cotton, which greeted the 
 eye as far as it could reach, like a field of snow. It 
 had been one of the most prosperous plantations in all 
 Virginia. 
 
 General Hastings, the owner of Fairiawn, loved to 
 recall reminiscences of those eventful days. 
 
 On this particular June morning the general was 
 pacing the grounds to and fro, hurriedly, an unmis- 
 takable frown on his fine old face. Stopping abruptly, 
 he turned to his companion, saying thoughtfully, " So 
 the rumors that AValdron Towers is to be tenanted by 
 the young heir is true is it?— I had hoped it was mere 
 hearsay." 
 
 Mrs. Dent, the housekeeper of Fairiawn, courtesied. 
 ' ( It is quite true, sir," she responded; "at the village 
 
 9 
 
10 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 they tell me that Mr. Waldemar Waldron has been 
 domiciled at the Towers a fortnight or more, and that 
 lie has come to stay." 
 
 The frown of annoyance grew darker on the old 
 general's face. " Mr. Waldemar Waldron, the heir of 
 the Towers, must never be referred to in any way in 
 the presence of my daughter Keine," he said. "She 
 has never heard the story of the Waldrons, and I hope 
 she never will. She is impulsive, — girls of sixteen 
 usually are, — and would imagine it highly romantic; 
 especially when a young and handsome man is the 
 hero of it. There never was a man more hospitable 
 than myself — or inclined to be neighborly — but I 
 would sooner see the devil himself enter my door than 
 this Waldemar Waldron: understand, I am never at 
 home to him if he should take it upon himself to 
 call." : 
 
 Again the old housekeeper court esied in her old- 
 fashioned way, nodding approvingly. 
 
 General Hastings had spoken rapidly and energet- 
 ically, bringing his cane down heavily on the gravelled 
 walk by way of emphasis to his remark. 
 
 " I understand you, sir," she said. " I shall see that 
 your wishes are strictly carried out. I shall see that a 
 Waldron of Waldron Towers never crosses this thresh- 
 old if I can prevent it. I am inclined to think, though, 
 that he will not be likely to trouble us, for he has the 
 reputation hereabouts of being a sort of recluse." 
 
 " I never knew a Waldron but what was a villain 
 to the heart's core," declared the general hotly, "de- 
 pend upon it, this one is no exception. Evil parents 
 cannot bring forth righteous offspring; the race of 
 Waldrons for generations back has demonstrated this; 
 I repeat again, never let the name be mentioned in my 
 daughter Eeine's presence," and the old general's voice 
 sunk to a whisper as he espied at that moment Heine 
 herself advancing down the serpentine path, the skirt 
 of her blue velvet riding-habit thrown over her arm, 
 leading her prancing, black pony by the bridle. 
 
 The grand old soldier's eyes grew moist as he looked 
 at her. If there was one being on earth whom he 
 idolized, it was his dainty, beautiful, wilful young 
 
GENERAL HASTINGS' DAUGHTER. 11 
 
 daughter. She gave promise of magnificent woman- 
 hood; her slender girlish figure was admirably grace- 
 ful; every unstudied pose was statuesque. Her face, 
 bright with a beauty all its own, was crowned in fair 
 golden rings over her forehead, falling in a tumbled 
 mass of golden curls to her waist; her eyes were a 
 beautiful blue that deepened with every phase of 
 feeling, that flashed with scorn or gleamed with ten- 
 derness, or shone with pride. She was not without 
 fault, even as the fairest rose has the crudest thorns. 
 There was some little degree of temper in the bright, 
 proud eyes, just as there was something of indepen- 
 dence and hauteur in the curved lips. She was impe- 
 rious, quick tempered, proud; but was quick to forget 
 and forgive a wrong committed. It was not wonder- 
 ful that everyone loved the fair young heiress of Fair- 
 lawn; she was well worth loving. She was the very 
 light of the old general's eyes, his pride, his delight. 
 
 Her fair young mother had died in her infancy, 
 leaving the care of their child to the old soldier. He 
 was much puzzled to know what to do with her; then 
 came the happy thought of sending Reine to school 
 when she was old enough. 
 
 This plan had met with disaster: she refused to 
 go. And the old soldier, who had faced the enemy on 
 an hundred battle fields and led his followers on to 
 victory, looked helplessly at the mutinous little rebel. 
 
 "If she had been born a boy," he said, in consult- 
 ing with the housekeeper, "I should have known 
 what to do with her; but I do not understand, small 
 girls." 
 
 Mrs. Dent suggested a governess, and the general 
 hailed the idea eagerly, declaring it was certainly 
 stupid of him that he had not thought of that 
 before. 
 
 A long line of suffering governesses had tried their 
 best to cram knowledge into the little curly, golden 
 head of pretty Reine; but each in turn retired van- 
 quished from the field, leaving the spoiled little heiress 
 of Fairlawn the victor. She had caricatured them, 
 mimicked them, caressed them, defied them; did every- 
 thing in short but obey them. 
 
12 
 
 A FORBIDDEN" MARRIAGE. 
 
 i 
 
 At length, by dint of persuasion, where he should 
 have had but to command, the general had coaxed her 
 to go to boarding-school. 
 
 It so happened that the principal understood just 
 such natures as Reine's, and the result was, Reine 
 stayed at boarding-school, coming back to Fairlawn 
 only during the vacations of each year. 
 
 And the long yellow days of the present vacation 
 were but just commenced on this bright June morning 
 on which the second part of our story opens. 
 
 Reine was not alone as she came down the path, 
 leading her pony; a young man was walking beside 
 her, or rather endeavoring to keep pace with the girPs 
 flying footsteps as best he could. 
 
 The pretty young face, half hid by the dancing snowy 
 plumes of her hat and the tossing golden curls, was 
 turned from him in vexation and the keenest dis- 
 appointment; the saucy red lips were quivering 
 grievously. 
 
 Suddenly she stopped short in the path and faced 
 her companion, tearing the flowering lilac blooms 
 ruthlessly aside that dared to kiss the glowing roses in 
 her flushed, dimpled cheeks. 
 
 Two very blue and angry eyes met the young man's 
 grave, dark ones. 
 
 " You simply refuse to go because you have found 
 out that I have set my heart upon going," she de- 
 clared. "Now what possible reason can you have for 
 objecting to the lawn fete to be held in the grove back 
 of the old ruined Towers? Every one will be there." 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh's dark, grave face flushed a little 
 as he met the angry, defiant glance of the imperious 
 little beauty's flashing blue eyes. 
 
 " Your last remark, Miss Reine, is the best answer 
 1 can give you as to my objection in going — ' Every 
 one will be there/" he answered, calmly. "Many, 
 perhaps, whom it would be best for you not to meet 
 or know." 
 
 Reine Hastings turned away from him impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "That is a mere subterfuge," she retorted. "Let 
 me tell you why you do not care to go to the lawn fete. 
 
GENERAL HASTINGS' DAUGHTER. 
 
 13 
 
 It is because you are too old to enjoy such things. 
 Just that, and nothing else. Yet you should not wish 
 to restrain me from the pleasures of it." she went on, 
 with reckless bitterness. " I could Dot endure the 
 dull life that suits you so well. I want something dif- 
 ferent — something brighter." 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh stood quite still in the path. 
 ]STot a muscle of his calm face betrayed how deeply the 
 girl's words had hurt him. They were a revelation to 
 him — those words spoken in the spur of momentary 
 anger which laid bare her secret thoughts. Old! Did 
 nine-and-twenty seem so old to this bright, laughing 
 girl of sweet sixteen? The words chilled him to the 
 heart. 
 
 " You are unkind and unjust, Miss Eeine," returned 
 Bernard haughtily. "I would rather add to your 
 pleasures than diminish them. You ought to know 
 that-." 
 
 " Then let me persuade you to think better of it and 
 consent to take me," coaxed Eeine, giving him an irre- 
 sistible smile and a pleading glance. " You know I 
 cannot go alone. I am sure the gathering will be very 
 select.'*' 
 
 He shook his head resolutely. 
 
 " I know of one who will be there, whom I would 
 not care to have a sister of mine, if I had one, be* 
 brought in contract socially with; for that reason I 
 declined taking you." 
 
 ""Who is the person?" demanded Eeine, curiously.. 
 
 " He is a stranger here. I met him once, some- 
 time since," replied Bernard Chesleigh, a sudden fire 
 at some old recollection aroused creeping into his dark 
 eyes. 
 
 "Thank you for the very lucid explanation," said 
 Reine, ironically. " I know a great deal more about 
 him now than I did before." 
 
 " The less you know of him the better," said Ber- 
 nard, gravely. 
 
 Again the blue eyes flashed resentfully. 
 
 " What a cross uncivil bear he is," thought the girl 
 angrily: and, disdaining his proffered assistance, she- 
 placed her tiny foot on the block unaided, and. was. 
 
14 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 seated in the saddle, and off like the wind, in a single 
 instant. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh gazed after her in alarm. Was 
 the girl mad to give the animal free rein to dash head- 
 long down the road like that? 
 
 With a sigh he turned and walked slowly back to 
 the house. 
 
 When Eeine was quite out of sight of Eairlawn 
 Villa, and the tall figure that she knew was watching 
 gravely after her, she slackened her mad pace. 
 
 "To think that I must stay away from the lawn 
 fete for such a silly reason as that — some stranger will 
 be there whom Bernard Chesleigh don't like! It's per- 
 fectly absurd! " Then, girl-like, her thoughts turned 
 directly into the channel Bernard might have foreseen 
 that they would drift into, had he been wise. 
 
 "I wonder who the stranger is," she thought, 
 curiously: "and why I ought not to know him. I 
 should think any one whom Gertie Traverse invites to 
 her fete must be very nice indeed. I do not believe he 
 is such an ogre as Bernard Chesleigh would have him 
 appear. I will go to the — " 
 
 Her thoughts were brought to a sudden terminus; 
 the sky and earth seemed to clash together with one 
 mighty whirl. Eeine felt herself dashing headlong 
 through space — then chaotic darkness reigned. 
 
 When Eeine opened her eyes she found herself lying 
 upon the greensward; some one was bending over her, 
 laving her face with cooling water. She opened her 
 blue eyes in bewildered surprise, meeting the glance of 
 a young man, a stranger; quite the handsomest young 
 man Eeine had ever beheld, standing bareheaded 
 before her. 
 
 "You fell from your horse," he said, in answer to 
 her look of bewildered surprise. " I must confess 
 that I was the cause of the accident. I stepped out 
 from among the trees just as your horse turned a bend 
 in the road. You did not see me; you were looking in 
 just the opposite direction. Your horse took umbrage 
 at the sudden apparition, reared, and threw you. I 
 was fortunate enough to catch you in my arms and 
 save you from an ugly fall, but not fortunate enough 
 
GENERAL HASTINGS 5 DAUGHTER. 
 
 15 
 
 to prevent you from fainting. ~ But you are not hurt ? " 
 he said inquiringly. 
 
 " if o," answered Reine, blushing; "thanks to you. 
 But oh! " she exclaimed, with a little sharp breath, 
 •'•you have ruined your hat bringing water from the 
 brook in it for me." 
 
 The young man laughed. " What was the loss of 
 a hat to rendering you the slightest of services!'" he 
 answered. 
 
 Reine blushed more furiously than ever when he 
 told her so. She sprang to her feet.. 
 
 "I thank you for the service you have rendered me. 
 I suppose my pony has left me to make my way home 
 on foot the best I can," she said. 
 
 " I am pleased to inform you that you are agreeably 
 mistaken/' laughed her companion. " After throwing 
 you so mercilessly, the beast galloped a little way, 
 then stopped stock still in the road, looking back to 
 see how much mischief he had accomplished. After 
 attending to you, it was an easy matter to capture him. 
 I could scarcely refrain from administering to him a 
 sound thrashing. There he stands among the grass 
 yonder, tethered to a tree looking this way, the very 
 picture of injured innocence. 
 
 ••'Had you not better remain a few moments longer," 
 he added, " until you are fully recovered from the 
 shock? " 
 
 " Perhaps it would be best," said Reine, reseating 
 herself and leaning against the trunk of a chestnut 
 tree: for, in truth, her head did feel slightly dizzy yet: 
 and again her eyes fell upon the ruined white straw 
 hat, with its ruined, dripping band of blue ribbon, 
 and wandered ruefully back to the fair curling head of 
 its debonair owner. A rosy blush suffused her face as 
 she met his glance. 
 
 How handsome he looked in his light summer suit ! 
 how brown were his eyes! and how white the aristo- 
 cratic hands that toyed so negligently with the charm 
 on his watch-chain. 
 
 " I trust you will permit me to introduce myself : 
 I haven't a card about me: one never does have when 
 they're needed. I never thought of meeting any one 
 
10 
 
 A FORBIDDEN" MARRIAGE. 
 
 in the wilds of Southern Virginia. I am Waldemar 
 Waldron, and I have taken up my abode for the 
 present at Waldron Towers — a rakish old pile of ruins 
 to the right of us. If you live in this vicinity you're 
 probably better acquainted with them than I am/" 
 
 "I do live near here; that is, when I am home from 
 school, which is only about two months out of the 
 year; but I do not know much of Waldron Towers, 
 although I have always had the desire to sketch it." 
 
 " Come and sketch, by all means. I, the master of 
 the pile of ruins, give you carte blanche to explore 
 every portion of it, that is, if you are not a timid 
 young lady." 
 
 "What is there to fear about the place?" asked 
 Reine, smiling. 
 
 His eyes shifted uneasily beneath her glance, and 
 he laughed immoderately as he answered: 
 
 " The owls and all the uncanny attaches of a ruined, 
 moss overgrown abode." 
 
 " I am not very easily frightened," said Reine. 
 
 "Then- 1 presume I may expect you, portfolio in 
 hand, any bright morning?" he asked, questioningly 
 and curiously. 
 
 "I am not so sure about that," she answered, 
 thanking him all the same for the kind permission. 
 There was a stern papa at home, who would be likely 
 to decide what she might or might not accept. 
 
 "Am I not to know whom I have had the great 
 pleasure of meeting — so romantically — this sunlit 
 morning?" he asked, with a bow that was certainly 
 charming and wholly irresistible. 
 
 " I am Reine Hastings," she answered. " I live at 
 Fairlawn Villa; that white stone house with the 
 porches and pillars around it, on the brow of yonder 
 hill." 
 
 " Surely you couldn't be the daughter of General 
 Hastings! — the old millionaire," he was about to add; 
 but he checked the last three words on his lips just in 
 time, substituting the words — " of Fairlawn." 
 
 A laugh broke from the girl's red lips, the words 
 sounded so ludicrous to her, as he had expressed them. 
 
 "Why couldn't I be his daughter?" said Reine, 
 
GENERAL HASTINGS* daughter. 
 
 17 
 
 with a saucy twinkle in her eye, adding in the next 
 breath: " That's just who I am — General Hastings' 
 daughter/' 
 
 Again Waldemar Waldron suppressed the low, in- 
 credulous whistle of astonishment that sprang to the 
 lips under the fair moustache. 
 
 It was wonderful to see, after that announcement, 
 how his indifference gave place to the most intense 
 interest. 
 
 " Was it fate that threw the lovely young daughter 
 of the old millionaire in his path ? " he asked himself. 
 '•'Iam surprised/' he repeated at length, " living so 
 near Waldron Towers, you should know so little of 
 it." 
 
 " It is not so strange when you remember that, 
 although Fairlawn is my home. I spend very little 
 time here. I am doomed to remain at Vassar College 
 ten months out of the year: and it scarcely seems a 
 week from the time papa sends Bernard Chesleigh to 
 fetch me home until I am obliged to go back again." 
 
 " Bernard Chesleigh! " repeated the young man, a 
 strange gleam firing up his brown eyes. " He is a 
 friend of your family, then?" 
 
 "He is my father's law-partner, although papa is 
 almost twice as old as he is," answered Reine. " He 
 generally spends the summer months with us at Fair- 
 lawn. " 
 
 " I see," returned Waldemar Waldron, turning his 
 brilliant eyes keenly upon the girl's fair young face. 
 " there is an especial attraction for him at your home. 
 I can well understand why it should be so." 
 
 Seine did not in the least comprehend the drift of 
 what he meant. 
 
 " There is a great attraction for him at Fairlawn," 
 assented Reine, serenely. "We have one of the finest 
 law libraries in Virginia there, and Mr. Chesleigh is a 
 veritable bookworm. Do you know him?" she asked, 
 suddenly. "Almost everybody does." 
 
 "I met him once," returned Waldemar Waldron, 
 carelessly; but there was a bitterness in his voice that 
 did not quite escape Reine's wondering ears. "We 
 are hardly acquaintances, however." 
 2 
 
18 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Reine had risen to her feet, picking up her gloves 
 and riding- whip again. 
 
 " There is one request I should like to ask of you, 
 Mr. — Mr. Waldron," she said timidly, and with 
 another blush. 
 
 " Consider it granted beforehand," he replied, gal- 
 lantly. 
 
 " And that is," pursued Reine, "that you will not 
 mention how very unkindly my pony has behaved to 
 me to-day, lest it should get to papa's ears, and he 
 should forbid me to go out unattended." 
 
 " Consider your wish my law. I shall not mention 
 it," he replied. And the look which accompanied the 
 words made Reine's girlish heart flutter strangely. 
 
 How gracefully he assisted her to alight — placing 
 the gold-mounted whip in her little gauntleted hand 
 — expressing the hope very earnestly the while that 
 they would meet again. 
 
 They were destined to meet sooner than either of 
 them knew. 
 
 Long after the blue waving riding-habit and danc- 
 ing plume were out of sight, Waldemar Waldron stood 
 motionless where she had left him, leaning against a 
 gnarled chestnut tree. 
 
 He knew better than to ever venture to call at Fair- 
 lawn — for within those walls dwelt his merciless foe. 
 He turned white to the lips as the grave, stern face of 
 Bernard Chesleigh rose before his mental vision. In 
 the rustling of the leaves about him he could almost 
 fancy that he heard again the scathing rebuke Bernard 
 Chesleigh had hurled at him as lie pointed with com- 
 manding dignity to the door. 
 
 He recalled, as he stood there, the answer he had 
 made the yonng lawyer: 
 
 " It is your turn now to triumph over my downfall 
 and disgrace, Chesleigh — but for you I should never 
 have been found out; tut the time may come when I can 
 avenge myself. If it ever does — beware ! " 
 
 "Had that time come now?" Waldemar Waldron 
 asked himself. " Conld it be possible that the 
 haughty young lawyer had fallen in love with General 
 Hastings' pretty daughter? " It was not only possible, 
 
GENERAL HASTINGS* DAUGHTER. 
 
 10 
 
 but very probable. What else could be the attraction 
 at this dull place? Yet it was equally evident that 
 pretty Reine was certainly heart-whole and fancy-free, 
 for all that. He would see for himself how matters 
 stood before he laid any plans for the future. The 
 girl was certainly pretty as a picture — and heiress to a 
 cool million. What a temptation! 
 
 Waldron turned on his heel walking slowly down the 
 daisy bordered high road, with a strange smile on his 
 lips — yet the thoughts in his brain were far from 
 pleasant ones. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 "I WARNED YOU AGAINST HIM." 
 
 Reine Hastings was not one to brook a refusal, if 
 she had made up her mind on any subject; and she 
 certainly had set her heart upon going to the lawn fete 
 which was to be held in Waldron grove. 
 
 At first the general had sternly refused her, but he 
 was not proof against her pretty, coaxing blandish- 
 ments, and it ended the way she knew it would. 
 
 " Cease teasing me," cried the general. " Yes, you 
 can go; but mind, I put in the proviso, if you can get 
 Chesleigh to take you," he added, unwinding the two 
 soft, white arms that had twined themselves around 
 his neck. 
 
 " You are a darling papa," cried Reine, giving him 
 a kiss, and in another moment the triumphant young 
 beauty had sought Bernard Chesleigh in the library; 
 she knew she would find him there, buried deep in the 
 mysterious pages of some law book. 
 
 A low, silvery, triumphant laugh, that fell upon the 
 summer air like the chiming of a bell, startled him. 
 Reine was standing before him; her fair face was 
 flushed with excitement. 
 
 "1 am to go after all, Mr. Chesleigh," she said, 
 "and if you do not accompany me, I suppose I shall 
 have to set out alone. If you really do not wish to go, 
 I can accompany Gertie Traverse aud her escort," she 
 added, tossing back her golden curls impatiently. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh laid down his book. 
 
 "What if I should tell you that I have changed my 
 mind — that I do wish to go! I did object slightly at 
 first, but now I yield, and shall be most happy to offer 
 my escort," he said, smilingly and wistfully. 
 
 Reine looked at him incredulously with her merry 
 blue eyes. 
 
 20 
 
ee I WARNED YOU AGAIXST HIif. 
 
 21 
 
 " I thought when you once made L;p your mind yon 
 never changed it, Mr. Chesleigh; I must confess I am 
 just a little surprised/' she said, mischievously. 
 
 " Circumstances alter cases," he said, flushing 
 slightly. <( I want to show you, Miss Reine, that I do 
 enjoy lawn fetes still." 
 
 The girl looked at him wonderingly, scarcely credit- 
 ing her own senses. What! Grave Mr. Chesleigh like 
 dancing, mirth and frivolity? Oh, impossible! It 
 was quite droll to even imagine such a thing, and again 
 an amused laugh fell from her lips. 
 
 Reine flew hurriedly out of the library and up to her 
 own room, to don her hat and mantle. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh watched the airy, graceful figure 
 as she flitted away, with wistful, earnest eyes. 
 
 " She shall go," he ruminated. "It would be cruel 
 to deprive her of gayety and pleasure. But no harm 
 shall reach her, for I shall be there to take care of her." 
 _Like the general, against his better judgment, he 
 had given way to Reine's pleadings, and in all his after- 
 life he bitterly reproached himself for it. 
 
 By the time Bernard had replaced the book upon 
 the shelf Reine had reappeared. He understood noth- 
 ing of the details of dress. The effect he saw was 
 something marvellous. To him she was like a delicate, 
 dainty, fairy vision. He saw only her lovely face 
 flushed with excitement, and what seemed to him 
 clouds of lace, snowy white, draped in graceful folds 
 about the slender figure. A pink silk sash was girdled 
 about the small waist, and pink blush roses nestled 
 on her breast and were twined among the fluffy golden 
 curls. 
 
 Reine was in gay spirits as they started off. They 
 found a large party assembled. The grove was fairly 
 ringing with merry young voices and peals of laughter, 
 while the scene presented was an animated one. Col- 
 ored lanterns swung from the branches of the trees; 
 gorgeous tinted bunting, rivalling the hues of the rain- 
 bow, fluttered in the breeze. The grove seemed liter- 
 ally packed with lovely young girls and gallant cav- 
 aliers. 
 
 Reine was warmly welcomed, for she was a generai 
 favorite, as was also Bernard Chesleigh. 
 
2? 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Twice he had spoken to Reine, but she had not even 
 heard him. She was wondering curiously whether 
 Waldemar Waldron would be present. Surely Gertie 
 Traverse had had the grace to invite him, especially 
 us the lawn fete was to be held in his grove. 
 
 Ah! — Reine Hastings' heart gave a quick throb. 
 She had walked to the end of a shady path, and there 
 she saw him, the centre of an admiring group, looking 
 handsomer, if possible, than he had appeared the day 
 before. 
 
 He was talking to Gertie Traverse, Reine's dearest 
 friend and boon companion. How different he looked 
 from any young man Eeine had ever seen — more lively, 
 more animated, with gayer smiles. 
 
 She saw him start as he caught sight of her, and 
 her lovely, child-like face flushed with pleasure. 
 
 She stood quite still, expecting that he would come 
 up to her; but instead, he turned carelessly, noncha- 
 lantly away, giving her no opportunity to bow to him. 
 
 How was she to know that he would not have dared 
 presume upon her acquaintance while Bernard Ches- 
 leigh walked beside her? The girl's heart sank with 
 wounded pride and pique. In that one instantaneous 
 glance, Waldron had discovered, the secret that Ber- 
 nard Chesleigh had believed no one in the world knew, 
 and which was locked securely in his own breast — that 
 he loved the general's daughter. He had only sur- 
 mised that it might be so, before; but in that hasty 
 glance he had taken at Bernard Chesleigh's face the 
 surmise was reduced to a certainty. 
 
 A strange smile crept up to the lips beneath the fair 
 moustache. He saw a way to pay Bernard Chesleigh 
 back for that which had happened in the past with 
 double interest. 
 
 Bernard was standing by Heine's side, doing his 
 best to interest her; wondering why, amongst the gay 
 throng, she had suddenly seemed to lose all heart. 
 She was impatient, and answered him petulantly. 
 She longed for him to go away, so that the handsome 
 Waldemar Waldron might come up and talk to her. 
 
 It was quite a wonder among many of the young 
 ladies to see Bernard Chesleigh present, he was such a 
 
"I WARNED YOU AGAIXST HIM.'' 
 
 23 
 
 recluse,, and there were those who seized the opportu- 
 nity of becoming better acquainted with him; for he 
 was handsome, talented, and had more wealth at his 
 command than half a dozen of the wealthiest men of 
 Harpers Ferry put together. He was considered a 
 great jjarti. 
 
 Reine answered his questions so abruptly that per- 
 haps he quite understood her desire to be rid of him; 
 for when Gertie Traverse came up, laughingly, and led 
 him away, he did not demur. 
 
 An hour passed. Chesleigh kept his eyes carefully 
 upon Reine, from whatever part of the grove he hap- 
 pened to be in. He smiled gravely to himself. Any 
 forebodings that Reine and Waldemar Waldron might 
 take a fancy to each other were groundless, he 
 thought; they were not even attracted toward each 
 other; and a great sigh of relief trembled over his lips, 
 and, thrown otf his guard, he grew less watchful, and 
 wandered oli by himself to enjoy the quiet luxury of a 
 cigar. 
 
 Reine was surrounded by admirers, but, for all that, 
 the gay lawn fete seemed anything but enjoyable to 
 her. Something was wanting. At last she saw 
 Waldron coming toward her. Poor, petted, spoiled 
 beauty! she felt nothing but wonder that he had not 
 sought her sooner. Miss Traverse was with him; she 
 introduced him to Reine, then flitted away. 
 
 He held out his white hand with the charming grace 
 he had such perfect mastery of, and the dazzling 
 brown eyes that looked down into her own told her 
 more eloquently than any words could have done how 
 pleased he was to see her again. 
 
 "How little I dreamed, when I reluctantly promised 
 myself to come here to-day, what a pleasure was in 
 store for me. I have met you again,'" he said. "I 
 have tried to bear in mind your command of yesterday 
 — that no one was to know of your adventure — conse- 
 quently no one must know of our meeting. I longed 
 to come to you when I first saw you entering the 
 grounds; prudence forbade. Everyone must believe 
 us — strangers; that was yesterday's command. I 
 asked Miss Traverse to introduce us." 
 
24 
 
 A FORBIDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 Eeine breathed easier. Ah, that was why he had 
 avoided her. 
 
 " You were kind to be so considerate/' she faltered, 
 blushing rosily under the fire of his magnetic eyes. 
 
 How the moments flitted by as he stood there talk- 
 ing to her. Eeine never remembered time to have 
 passed so quickly before — or — so pleasantly. Mr. 
 Waldron was certainly a delightful companion. 
 
 "Did you come with a chaperone ?" he inquired at 
 length. 
 
 " Mr. Ohesleigh escorted me here/' she answered. 
 
 She could not define the expression that flitted over 
 his face, but it seemed very like annoyance. He mur- 
 mured some reply which she did not quite catch — she 
 would have been shocked had she but known that it 
 was a fierce imprecation he crushed back from his 
 moustached lips. 
 
 "I did not know but what your father brought you 
 here." he said, quietly. "I should like to meet Gen- 
 eral Hastings; I have heard so much of him." 
 
 "Have you?" said Rene, her face brightening 
 pleasedly. 
 
 "My father was in the same regiment with him," 
 returned Waldron, "and I have often heard him re- 
 count incidents of the general's bravery. He used to 
 say that the country needed such men, that he was 
 made a general after a brilliant action in which he had 
 shown great personal valor and had saved the troops 
 from a crushing disaster. There was not a man on the 
 field who would not have risked his life for the brave 
 commander who led them into the thickest of the 
 battle, himself in the foreground to the last. 
 
 " I shall remind papa that the son of an old comrade 
 is living so near us," said Reine, "and I am sure he 
 will be glad to welcome you to Faiiiawn for your 
 father's sake and — and for your own," she added, 
 coloring a little. 
 
 " Do not mention it, I beg of you," returned Wal- 
 dron, hastily; adding, with a note of sorrow in his 
 voice, "Our fathers were not the best of friends, Miss 
 Hastings. They disagreed over a trifling matter, and 
 never met again to become reconciled, my father going 
 
"i WARXED YOU AGAINST HLtf. 
 
 33 
 
 abroad. In the first heat of memory which might be 
 bitter, the general might forbid our acquaintance. 
 Ah, Miss Hastings, do not do anything that might dis- 
 turb that." 
 
 Eeine looked greatly embarrassed; she hardly knew 
 what answer to make to that direct appeal. 
 
 " I should like the general to meet me casually/' he 
 went on: "then I should have no fear of his disliking 
 me: I should endeavor in every possible way to wiu his 
 esteem/" 
 
 " He will be sure to like you," said Reine, so ear- 
 nestly, that this man of the world worldly could 
 scarcely refrain from laughing outright. 
 
 "Thank you for thinking so/' he said gallantly, 
 raising his straw hat with a very low bow, which did 
 not fail to make due impression upon his companion. 
 
 " Shall we walk down toward the river ? " he asked; 
 "it might be pleasant er than standing here." He 
 thought he had observed Chesleigh from a distance 
 coming in that direction. 
 
 Eeine readily consented. 
 
 "Do you know, Miss Hastings, I had quite made up 
 my mind to return to Xew York two days ago, and was 
 on the point of concluding my arrangements on the 
 day I saw you? " 
 
 Before she could reply he went on: " Xow I have 
 determined to tarry a little longer at the Towers. "' 
 
 " I am glad you are not going so very soon,' 5 she re- 
 plied, casting her eyes down, and twisting at the blue 
 turquoise ring she wore on her slim, white hand; she 
 was wondering if his meeting with her had anything to 
 do with changing his decision. 
 
 It was so beautiful far down in the deep green 
 glades: the sunlight danced bright and golden through 
 the thick foliage: the ground beneath their feet was a 
 carpet of wild-flowers, bluebells, pale strawberry blos- 
 soms, and purple fox-gloves. Overhead, where the 
 thick branches met, the birds were singing as though 
 love and hope were dawning for them. 
 
 It is not very difficult for a young and handsome 
 man, of the world worldly, to make himself extremely 
 fascinating to a young and inexperienced girl of six- 
 
26 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 teen. Waldemar Waldron, although but four-and- 
 twenty, was well skilled in the ways of winning femi- 
 nine hearts. Young girls were always interested in 
 him for the sake of his fair, handsome face. The 
 moments sped like a golden dream to Keine. 
 
 He had a fund of poetic lore at his tongue's end; he 
 knew how to imbue the lines with a tender cadence, 
 that made the girl's heart thrill with ecstatic pleasure. 
 Under the guise of poetry, he could put into eloquent 
 language words that he could hardly have repeated to 
 her otherwise. 
 
 She had been talking to Waldemar Waldron quite 
 half an hour before Bernard Chesleigh missed her and 
 discovered her whereabouts. He came swiftly toward 
 her, alarm on his face. To him, seeing Keine stand- 
 ing there was like seeing a beautiful bird in the most 
 deadly peril. 
 
 It was like a cold, chill shock to Reine when she saw 
 Bernard Chesleigh advancing through the trees. Why 
 couldn't he stay away? Why must he interrupt so 
 charming a tete-a-tete? She was enjoying herself s© 
 well. She could scarcely conceal her pique and an- 
 noyance. 
 
 At the sound of the swift, approaching footsteps, 
 Waldemar Waldron turned nonchalantly around; but 
 when he saw who the intruder was, his face paled. 
 Yet a flash of defiance leaped into his eyes as the gaze 
 of the two young men met, and held each other for 
 one brief instant. 
 
 "Mr. Chesleigh/' said Reine, flushing and smiling, 
 "allow me to present you to — " 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh held up his white hand with a 
 quick gesture. 
 
 " I will spare you that trouble by saying that we 
 have met before," he said, sternly. " Will you take 
 my arm, Miss Reine?" he said, ignoring Heine's com- 
 panion completely. "The refreshments are being 
 served." 
 
 Waldemar Waldron raised his straw hat, and with a 
 smile and a bow, for which Bernard Chesleigh could 
 have annihilated him, he walked away, and there was 
 nothing else to do but walk back beside Bernard to the 
 
"I "WARNED YOU AGATXST HIM." 
 
 21 
 
 merry throng gathered around the white cloth which 
 was being laid; but she was too bitterly angry to take 
 the arm proffered her. 
 
 "Why were you so uncivil to the young gentleman 
 who just left us, Mr. Chesleigh? " she cried, resent- 
 fully. "Indeed, you treated him most shamefully." 
 
 " I deny that young man's right to the honorable 
 title of gentleman," replied Bernard, warmly. " Oh, 
 Heine," he cried, " I warn you against him. Do not 
 trust him. If I saw you engulfed in a cloud of con- 
 suming flame, or about to fall in a horrible pit, I 
 should spring forward to save you. If I saw you 
 stretching out your white hands toward a sharp sword 
 that would wound you, I should warn you. Yet none 
 of these things are as dangerous as the danger that 
 lurks in the smile of the man from whom you have 
 just parted/''' 
 
 " I do not believe it," cried Eeine hotly. "Mr. 
 Waldron is one of the most perfect gentlemen whom I 
 have ever met." 
 
 "It is not to be supposed that you could discrimi- 
 nate between a gentleman and a rascal," replied Ches- 
 leigh gravely, quietly. "You have never been brought 
 in contact with wickedness, or the people steeped in 
 it. I thank Heaven it is a sealed book to you, Reine. 
 Take my word for it, that man is not a person for you 
 to know." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A FATAL WOOING. 
 
 Reine Hastings flashed her companion a glance of 
 withering scorn. How cruel of him to traduce the 
 handsome stranger behind his back. It was unmanly. 
 Girl-like, the more Bernard said against him, the more 
 of a hero cruelly slandered Waldemar Waldron became 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " If I answer you we shall quarrel, Mr. Chesleigh," 
 she said, and he was bewildered by what he saw in her 
 face. A terrible fear came to him that chilled his 
 heart. Had his warning to beautiful, impulsive Reine 
 been given too late? 
 
 The fete wound up with a merry half hour of danc- 
 ing under the light of the gleaming swinging lamps, 
 and the silvery light of the golden stars. 
 
 As soon as the band struck up the strains of a waltz, 
 to Bernard Chesleigh's dismay, AYaldemar Waldron 
 crossed over to where Reine was sitting, and the next 
 moment they were whirling aw 7 ay together amid the 
 gay throng. 
 
 "I wish this waltz would never end, Miss Hast- 
 ings," he whispered. " This is the happiest hour of 
 my life. Would that the future could be like this; " 
 and he was quite satisfied with the impression he had 
 made when he saw the girPs cheeks flush, the blue 
 eyes droop beneath his ardent, eloquent glance, and 
 felt the little hand tremble in his clasp. 
 
 At that moment both glanced up and. caught sight 
 of Bernard Chesleigh's white, set face. 
 
 " Mr. Chesleigh, your escort, does not appear to like 
 me/' he said. " He appears angry because you have 
 been so kind as to dance with me. Has he any right to 
 direct your actions?" he asked, with eager intentness. 
 
 28 
 
A FATAL WOOING. 
 
 20 
 
 "Any right!" echoed Reine. "No. Why should 
 he?" 
 
 The answer so unhesitatingly given relieved Walde- 
 mar Waldron's mind wonderfully. He saw that Ber- 
 nard Chesleigh loved Heine; but she was utterly un- 
 conscious of it. She gave him only formal friendship 
 in return. 
 
 He had no chance of saying good night to Reine — 
 Bernard Chesleigh was too watchful for that — but he 
 promised himself that he should see Reine soon again. 
 Although he haunted the shaded road where she 
 would be likely to ride, and the green, flower-strewn 
 glades where she might walk, a week passed and he 
 had not caught so much as a glimpse of General Hast- 
 ings daughter. 
 
 Had he made less of an impression upon her than he 
 had imagined? He had been so certain of meeting 
 her; or was she kept in close surveillance under the 
 watchful eyes of a stern papa? 
 
 Waldemar Waldron was determined to find out. 
 
 He dared not call openly at Fairlawn and ask for 
 Miss Reine, but he laid his plans to lay siege to the 
 girl's heart in a most adroit manner. He wrote the 
 most charming of notes, and by bribing one of the 
 maids, succeeded in having it conveyed to Reine in 
 an odorous bouquet. 
 
 How deliciously romantic! How Heine's heart 
 throbbed as she read the ardent missive that told how 
 he had watched and waited for her in vain. Would 
 she permit him to call upon her at Fairlawn? He 
 would be so pleased to meet her again. If she would 
 write him just a single line to let him know that she 
 was well, he would be so grateful. She could place it 
 in the hollow of the old oak tree that stood at the 
 right angle of the park that skirted Fairlawn. 
 
 The very romance connected with the novel idea 
 captivated Reine's girlish fancy. 
 
 The next day Waldemar Waldron received his an- 
 swer, but she did not tell him that the general had 
 forbidden her to drive or walk beyond the grounds of 
 Fairlawn without the escort of the stolid old footman, 
 and that in her anger she had declared she would not 
 
30 
 
 A FOBBIDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 go at all if she was to be followed by a lackey. The 
 general had given as a reason that the country about 
 was infested by tramps. She never dreamed that the 
 true reason was Bernard Chesleigh had told the general 
 that, as they had feared, the heir of Waldron Towers 
 had been at the fete, and how infatuated he had ap- 
 peared to be with Reine. 
 
 General Hastings listened in silence. 
 
 "She may have espoused the young man's cause 
 when you warned her against him, Chesleigh/' he said. 
 " Young girls have a penchant for being on the con- 
 trary side. Ten to one she'll never think of him 
 again. Still, it would be as well to nip such an affair 
 in the bud. She shall not go out without an attend- 
 ant; so she'll not be likely to meet this gay Lothario 
 again." 
 
 But love laughs at the stern decree of wise parents 
 as well as locksmiths, as we have seen; and the pink- 
 tinted note that found its way to Reine, hidden among 
 the flowers, was followed by many more such missives, 
 which found their way back and forth through the 
 agency of the hollow oak tree. 
 
 Wooing by letter has a charm about it peculiarly its 
 own, so much more can be said by the pen than the 
 lips can utter; and then young girls have the habit of 
 reading and rereading them till they know every ten- 
 derly expressed thought by heart. 
 
 They were Reine's first love-letters, for they grew to 
 be that; and the enforced separation which she was 
 obliged to submit to only increased the flame in her 
 rebellious little heart. And when Waldemar pleaded 
 that he must see her soon and gain her consent to ask- 
 ing her -father a very important question, her own 
 heart acceded eagerly. 
 
 "Let me see you, Reine, if but for a few brief 
 moments, at the old oak tree, to-night," he wrote. 
 "I will be there at seven sharp." 
 
 It could not be so very wrong to grant him a few 
 short moments, Reine told herself. A meeting at the 
 old trysting-place, seen through the warm haze of a 
 young girl's fancy, was delightfully romantic. Reine 
 went. She could stay but a few moments, however, 
 
a fatal woorara. 
 
 31 
 
 for her father had sent her a message after tea that he 
 wanted to see her in the library that evening, at eight. 
 
 How handsome TTaldemar Waldron looked as he 
 advanced eagerly in the moonlight to meet her. He 
 had quite made up his mind to win her. Heine's 
 fresh, young beauty charmed him. He loved her 
 quite as much as he was capable of loving. He had 
 vowed to wrest her from Bernard Chesleigh, his mortal 
 foe. And last, but by no means the least, she was 
 heiress to a million. What man would wish a fairer 
 prize? 
 
 He knew there would be a battle to fight before he 
 gained Eeine Hastings for his bride. He had sown 
 more wild oats than were usually allotted to young 
 men, and he had reaped the whirlwind for a harvest. 
 He knew that he would never have been received as a 
 guest at Fairlawn by the old general. Bernard Ches- 
 leigh knew enough about him to interfere with that. 
 So no other way of winning fair Eeine was left him 
 save through the adorable letters he knew so well how 
 to write. e ~ All was fair in love and war/* 
 
 " You can give me only a few brief moments, 
 Eeine?" he said, reproachfully. ''-'How shall I tell 
 you all I have to say, in so short a time? The words I 
 would utter would fill volumes. '' 
 
 He clasped the little white hand, bending his hand- 
 some head over it, and the beautiful story, so old and 
 sweet, that young girls love to listen to so well — the 
 story that had been so charmingly told in a score or 
 more of letters, in an hundred different ways — was 
 breathed again in eloquent, passionate words. 
 
 She looked up at him with startled eyes, crimson 
 flushes coming and going on her dimpled face. But 
 she loved him. The artless, girlish replies to his 
 letters had told him that long ago. 
 
 Her golden head drooped. She tried to speak, but 
 her lovely lips trembled with all a young girl's coy 
 bashfulness. 
 
 " You do care for me, Eeine," he whispered. " Look 
 up and tell me so. Tell me that, and nothing shall 
 ever part us. You will be mine in life, mine in 
 death, mine through eternity. Say that you love me, 
 
A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Reine, and will be my bride, and to-morrow I will 
 come and ask your father for this dear little hand. 
 He may censure our wooing, yet it could not have 
 been tenderer, sweeter. He may hold out against us 
 at first, but when he finds out how well we love each 
 other, he will yield in the end." 
 
 She did not shrink from his caresses, for Reine Hast- 
 ings, the general's lovely daughter, had learned to love 
 Waldemar Waldron with all her heart. She sat with 
 him under the trees, listening to his words of love, so 
 unutterably happy, and the answer she made him must 
 have pleased him, for his eyes blazed with triumph. 
 
 Yes, she had promised to' be his bride. 
 
 " They may try to part us, Reine," he said, "they 
 may calumniate me, and try to vilify me in your eyes; 
 but you will be true to me through good or evil report 
 — true to me, if we lose the whole world beside," he 
 went on, anxiously and eagerly. 
 
 "Why should any one wish to part us?" asked 
 Reine. 
 
 " I will tell you, my darling," he answered, with an 
 
 Hastings' heiress, rich in this world's goods, while I 
 am comparatively poor. They will say I am no match 
 for you — that you are expected to marry brilliantly." 
 
 Reine laughed, thinking how little weight money 
 would have with her father in considering her hap- 
 piness. Why, he had never denied his motherless 
 daughter anything that she had really set her mind on 
 in all her bright young life. He would not do so now. 
 
 "We shall have trouble, Reine," he said. "Iam 
 sure we will have trouble in gaining your father's con- 
 sent. But with you on my side — if you stand by me 
 firmly — he will not hold out against us long. I will 
 come to Fairlawn to-morrow morning, Reine, and see 
 
 The great bell in an adjacent belfry rang out the 
 hour of eight in measured strokes, and the lovers 
 parted hastily. 
 
 He to go slowly back to Waldron Towers, trium- 
 phant over his prospects of the future; she to hurry 
 back to the house to keep her appointment with her 
 
 sorrow. 
 
 " You are General 
 
 him." 
 
A FATAL WOOING. 
 
 33 
 
 father in the library, her throbbing heart in a whirl, 
 the glamor of love's beautiful dream enfolding her. 
 
 General Hastings was pacing up and down the room 
 when she entered. She went up to him swiftly, clasp- 
 ing her arms about him, hiding the tell-tale, blushing 
 face in his breast. 
 
 Should she tell him of her love for Waldemar Wal- 
 dron ere she left him, and plead with him to receive 
 her handsome young lover kindly on the morrow? 
 She would wait and see first why he had sent for her. 
 
 " You wanted me, papa, dear," she said, " yet you 
 seem in no hurry to tell me what you want of me." 
 
 The general smiled. How impetuous his beautiful 
 darling was. He seated himself in his favorite arm- 
 chair, and drew her down to a hassock at his knee, 
 where he could have a full view of her face. How 
 blue her eyes were, and how crimson the laughing lips. 
 
 " I have sent for you to talk over your future with 
 you, my Reine," he said, stroking her curling, golden 
 hair. " That has happened to-day which may change 
 my plans for you entirely. I have discovered that 
 some one loves my darling very much." 
 
 Reine sprang to her feet, breathless with excite- 
 ment: the deep blushes glowing and burning her dim- 
 pled cheeks, her breast heaving. * 
 
 Had Waldemar been to her father already, and 
 wished to surprise her? She looked anxiously into his 
 face. 
 
 Where was the stern anger her lover had pictured to 
 her — the opposition? 
 
 He was smiling down into her face, and there was a 
 merry twinkle in his fond eyes, as though he were well 
 pleased. 
 
 " I have discovered that some one loves my Reine 
 very much," repeated the general, "and wishes to wed 
 my daughter if she will look with favor upon his suit. 
 Although it has been kept very slyly from me, as the 
 young man supposed; yet old eyes are keen. I dis- 
 covered his love for my Reine some little time since." 
 
 " Oh, papa, how in the world did you find it out so 
 cleverly?" faltered Reine, half sobbing, half laughing 
 in delightful girlish confusion. "We thought — -I 
 3 
 
n 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 thought — you might be angry if you knew, and I was 
 almost afraid to tell you, yet I really never meant to 
 keep it a secret from you, papa." 
 
 " I discovered his love for you, my dear, some weeks 
 ago," said the general, "and although I watched you 
 closely, I could never feel quite certain that you cared 
 for him. He is a noble young man, my child — the 
 one I should have chosen for you above all others. I 
 can die content, knowing that you will have such a 
 protector. To tell you the truth, my dear, this is the 
 very thing I have wished for all along. I was too well 
 versed in the contrary ways of girls' hearts, though, 
 to even suggest such a thing to you. Then you do 
 love him, my dear?" questioned the general, ear- 
 nestly. " I must hear it from your own lips before I 
 give him his answer." 
 
 " Yes, I love him, papa," sobbed Heine. "I love 
 him with all my heart. Life would be nothing to me 
 without his love. Oh, I care for him so much, papa — 
 more than all the world — except you." 
 
 The old general looked at his daughter in wonder. 
 He had always thought of her as a dream iug child, 
 knowing as little of life, or love, as the brilliant but- 
 terflies that flitted among the roses. He was amazed 
 to discover the mighty, passionate love that beat in 
 her breast. 
 
 He raised her quickly in his arms, kissing solemnly 
 her smiling, tearful face. 
 
 " The one prayer of my life is granted, Heine. You 
 love the man whom it has been my secret wish to see 
 your husband, and he loves you. You both have my 
 hearty consent and my blessing. 
 
 6 ( He is in the next room, my darling, waiting with 
 all a young lover's impatience to learn from me what 
 your answer is. I will bid him come in," said the 
 general, rising hastily. 
 
 Reine's heart gave a great, fluttering throb; her 
 lover beneath the very same roof with her, in the very 
 next room, and so soon to be with her — oh, joy, joy! 
 She sank down in her father's great arm-chair, cover- 
 ing her flushed, happy face with her hands, trembling 
 
A FATAL WOOING. 
 
 35 
 
 with excitement. Ah, how cruel of Waldemar to jest 
 with her so. 
 
 She caught her breath, with a little suppressed cry 
 of joy, when she heard the library door open. Her 
 lovely head drooped lower; she could not raise her eyes 
 to her lovers face, while her father stood watching 
 them. 
 
 "My dear boy," cried the general, heartily, "'my 
 child has confessed to me that she returns your love. 
 In giving her to you, the one wish of my heart is 
 brought about — take her and be happy. Yon both 
 have my blessing." 
 
 The general led him over to where his daughter sat. 
 He knelt at her feet: then Eeine shyly raised her 
 blushing face from her trembling hands. 
 
 The next instant a piercing scream rang through the 
 room — a cry that chilled and froze the hearts of those 
 who heard it. Eeine staggered back — a look of horror 
 on her white face — a gasp of agony, pitiful to hear in 
 her young voice. 
 
 "Oh, papa! papa! there has been some horrible 
 mistake," she gasped. "I — oh, it is not Mr. Ches- 
 leigh whom I love. I — oh, it is some one else!" 
 
 The shock was so great that it would have killed a 
 weaker man than Bernard Chesleigh — he loved her so. 
 She sprang to her fathers side like a wounded bird, 
 and knelt at his feet. 
 
 "Forgive me, papa,' 7 she said: "I cannot be Mr. 
 Chesleiglrs bride. To-morrow you will know why." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 "I WOULD EATHEE SEE MY DAUGHTEE DEAD THAN 
 GIVE HEE TO YOU." 
 
 Geneeal Hastings and Bernard Chesleigh had lis- 
 tened in amazement to Heine's incoherent words with- 
 out comprehending their import in the least; neither 
 of them sought to detain her as she fled desperately 
 from the room. 
 
 "I am literally astounded!" gasped the general. 
 '■ The little witch confessed to me that she loved you, 
 Chesleigh, scarcely five minutes since. I confess the 
 ways of women are a mystery to me; I do not under- 
 stand the sex — my own daughter included. I suppose 
 they all have the trick of refusing a man in order to 
 be coaxed and pleaded with; depend upon that." 
 
 " Do you really take that view of the case, Gen- 
 eral? " asked the young man, brightening up. 
 
 '■' Of course," declared the general, heartily. "You 
 know its all stuff and nonsense about her caring for 
 any one else. She has never had a lover in her life — 
 excepting yourself. The sly puss as much as told you 
 to see her to-morrow about the matter; and if you are 
 a courageous, dauntless wooer, my word for it, you will 
 win in the end." 
 
 " I hope so, sir," responded Chesleigh, fervently. 
 
 The entrance of one of the servants interrupted fur- 
 ther conversation, and Bernard slowly quitted the li- 
 brary. 
 
 Reine did not appear at the breakfast table the next 
 morning; she sent word by the housekeeper, Mrs. 
 Dent, that she had a severe headache and could not 
 come down. 
 
 Bernard Cheslei^h's face paled. "Was it because she 
 would not meet him, after what had passed the pre- 
 
 36 
 
"I WOULD RATHER SEE MY DAUGHTER DEAD." 37 
 
 vious evening in the library? The general's broad 
 smile and twinkling eyes reassured him, however, and 
 helped to re-establish his composure. 
 
 " She is only trying your patience, my dear boy," he 
 said, confidently. " Eemember, *'a faint heart never 
 won fair lady/ " 
 
 Bernard sent up a beautiful bouquet of fragrant 
 roses that he had gathered in the garden himself for 
 Keine, with sincere regrets that she was indisposed, 
 and begging if she were better that she would grant 
 him but a few short moments before the luncheon 
 hour. 
 
 " Tell him I can't see him, Mrs. Dent/' said Eeine, 
 piteously; and the housekeeper was startled at the 
 white face the young girl turned toward her. She 
 noticed, too, how carelessly the fragrant rosebuds were 
 tossed upon the marble table, to wither away quite 
 unheeded. 
 
 " Hadn't you better lie down and rest .awhile, Miss 
 Eeine?" said the housekeeper, persuasively. ''Your 
 two cheeks are like fire, and your eyes unnaturally 
 bright." 
 
 Eeine did not even appear to hear her; she was 
 standing at the window, watching the main road so 
 intently, her little hands clasped tightly over her 
 heart. 
 
 At last her weary vigil was rewarded; she saw her 
 lover hastily approaching. He saw the lovely face 
 pressed, flushed and eager, against the window pane: 
 and raising his hat with a reassuring smile, he passed 
 out of her sight. The next moment the resounding 
 peal of the front door bell rang through the house. 
 
 A moment more and the library door opened and 
 closed again, and she knew that her lover was ushered 
 into her father's presence. 
 
 Oh, how her heart beat ! She would have given the 
 world to have known what was passing between them. 
 How slowly the moments dragged themselves by. 
 
 " Would her father call her down? " she wondered. 
 
 With trembling hands she re-arranged the w r hite 
 lace at her dainty throat, and the wood violets that 
 nestled on her breast, for the twentieth time; but no 
 summons came for her. 
 
A FORBIDDEN" MARRIAGE. 
 
 She could hear the indistinct hum of voices in the 
 library, and she knew by that that Waldemar was still 
 with her father. 
 
 You and I will go back a little, reader, and witness 
 the meeting between General Hastings and his daugh- 
 ter's suitor. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron had walked boldly up the mar- 
 ble steps, and rang the bell with a firm touch. 
 
 "Take this to General Hastings," he said to the 
 servant who answered the summons, producing his 
 card. " Tell him I wish to see him on a very partic- 
 ular errand, and I trust he will courteously grant me a 
 few moments' time." 
 
 The general read the name engraved upon the bit of 
 pasteboard in astonishment. 
 
 "What can Waldemar Waldron want of me?" he 
 wondered, impatiently. 
 
 He received the young man coldly, indicating a seat, 
 and after a few brief words of formal greeting, the 
 general inquired what Mr. Waldron's business was 
 with him. 
 
 It all came out then, and words are weak to describe 
 the generaFs intense anger and dismay. 
 
 " I have told you everything now, sir," said Walde- 
 mar Waldron, calmly, "and I come to you to sue for 
 the dear hand of your daughter, Seine." 
 
 He had made his plea, and waited for the answer. 
 He had expected anger, but he was wholly unprepared 
 for the terrible burst of passion to which the old law- 
 yer gave way. N"o hurricane could have been fiercer. 
 The storm burst, and he began in a voice of such with- 
 ering scorn and bitter contempt that the young man 
 looked in wonder and alarm at the general, who shook 
 with such furious rage, and whose face was fairly livid. 
 There was little to be hoped from Heine's father, and 
 there was nothing for it but to sit there quietly while 
 the tempest he had evoked raged on. 
 
 "You a6k for my daughter — you! " he cried — "a 
 New York roue and villain of the deepest dye! I 
 know all about you. Why, man, you are mad to think 
 I would give you my lovely young daughter! " 
 
 "It is a very common madness, sir," responded 
 
"I WOULD BATHER SEE MY DAUGHTER DEAD/' 3'J 
 
 Waldemar Waldron, striving to keep back his anger at 
 the bitter epithets the exasperated old millionaire 
 hurled at him. " I love your daughter, and I ask you 
 to give her to me." 
 
 "And I refuse!" roared the general. " I would 
 rather see her dead and buried than wedded to you — 
 yes, dead! with her blue eyes closed, and her little 
 white hands crossed over her pure breast. You 
 were a dastard to creep into her innocent heart 
 through letters smuggled to her without my knowl- 
 edge and consent. I understand you. You dared not 
 boldly present yourself here as my daughter's wooer ; 
 and your motive, too, in laying siege to her heart is 
 clear to me. Love! Bah! such a man as you are has 
 forgotten the meaning of pure, innocent love years 
 ago. You had an eye to my poor child's prospective 
 wealth."- 
 
 "I am poor, compared to what your daughter is 
 worth, I admit; but it is not her money I want, sir, it 
 is herself. I can work for my wife," replied Walde- 
 mar Waldron, haughtily. 
 
 "You work! — You!" cried the general, scornfully. 
 "Not while money can be made by any other means. 
 Now listen to me, young man, and heed well my 
 words," cried the old millionaire, his anger increasing 
 with every word: " If my daughter were to marry you, 
 I would cut her off without a shilling. She should 
 never have one cent of my money, not even if she were 
 starving! Do you hear — starving! I tell you, you 
 would wed a penniless girl — for penniless she would 
 be, for all of me, until the day she died; this I swear 
 to you, and men of my race never break an oath. Let 
 us end this, Mr. Waldemar Waldron. I refuse you 
 my daughter. Never dare to see her or write to her 
 again. Let this be the winding up of this so-called 
 love affair." 
 
 Waldemar Waldron looked fixedly at the enraged 
 general. 
 
 " Have you thought what parting us might mean 
 for your daughter as well as myself? Kemember she 
 loves me — to whom she has plighted her troth — loves 
 me with all her tender heart," 
 
40 
 
 A FORBIDDBK MARRIAGE. 
 
 " Do not dare to stand there and tell me that! " cried 
 the general, clutching at his cravat as if to tear it otf 
 to give himself more room to breathe. " Do not dare 
 to say it — you madden me!" 
 
 " But she does — indeed she does, sir/' persisted the 
 young man. " Send for her here and now,, and she 
 will tell you that she loves me — " 
 
 " I will not believe it/' exclaimed the old man, 
 bluntly. " Your face may have fascinated her, but 
 she could not love you; after you have been separated 
 from her six months she will have forgotten all about 
 you. You have broken the heart of many a trusting 
 young girl, but you shall never break my Eeine's. Go, 
 now, Mr. Waldron; please consider this very unpleas- 
 ant interview at an end." 
 
 " I will go, sir/' said Waldemar Waldron, "but the 
 time may come when you will perhaps recall me. 
 Fathers have done more than that before now to save 
 a beloved daughter's heart from breaking." 
 
 "Better die of a broken heart than live as your 
 wife," said the general, sternly: but his face whitened 
 under the young man's words. 
 
 The general pointed to the door. 
 
 "Leave my house," he said, passionately, "and if 
 you are wise you will leave the neighborhood. I know 
 that about you which would make your stay in this 
 neighborhood disagreeably unsafe. I will give you 
 twenty-four hours to leave it. If I find you are still 
 here at the expiration of that time, I will telegraph on 
 to New York, and ask if Waldemar Waldron is wanted 
 there. One broken-hearted girl would find an answer 
 to that." 
 
 "As you will it," returned Waldemar Waldron, with 
 defiant haughtiness. "It seems useless for me to 
 attempt to refute the charges you insist upon bringing 
 against me. I leave your house and the neighborhood. 
 It has little enough attractions for me now. But, if 
 at any time you should ever want to recall me, I leave 
 you my address. I am going West, to Cincinnati. A 
 line to my bankers there will reach me at any time." 
 
 He placed another card upon the table, bearing the 
 
"I WOULD EATHEE SEE MY DAUGHTEE DEAD." 41 
 
 address of a Western banking firm. His own name 
 was written beneath it. 
 
 " I shall have no use for it," said the general, sweep- 
 ing it into his waste-basket. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron lifted his hat, and with a mock- 
 ing smile on his fair, handsome face, turned on his 
 heel and quitted the house. 
 
 He glanced eagerly up to Reine's window as he 
 passed out of the grounds, but he did not see Reine. 
 
 She was pacing restlessly up and down in her room, 
 and had not heard the hall door open and close with a 
 bang on the retreating form of her chagrined, van- 
 quished lover. 
 
 He had been gone some time ere she noticed that the 
 hum of voices had ceased in the library. She listened 
 intently for more than half an hoar. All was still as 
 death below. She could bear the suspense no longer; 
 and, blushing and hesitating with girlish confusion 
 and expectancy, she glided down to the corridor below 
 and timidly entered the library. 
 
 The general sat there alone before his desk, his 
 gray head bent heavily on his hands. 
 
 His daughter stole timidly up to him. 
 "Papa," she cried out, nervously, "where is my 
 lover? What have you done with him? " 
 
 Ah, how should he answer her? 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "YOU MUST LEARN TO FORGET HIM. 
 
 General Hastings raised his head slowly and 
 looked with emotion too great for words at the beauti- 
 ful young daughter who knelt at his feet. He had 
 faced the foe on the battle-field, boldly charging for- 
 ward, with shot and shell falling like hail around him, 
 and had felt no fear ; but his heart failed him at 
 the ordeal he must pass through now. He nerved 
 himself for it, however. 
 
 "Where is he, papa? " repeated Keine. " My lover 
 was here to ask you to give me to him. Tell me what 
 answer you made him? " 
 
 Her intense, pitiful eagerness overcame the coy, 
 girlish bashfulness that was her usual wont, as she 
 looked up into his face. 
 
 The general's answer must be spoken sooner or later. 
 He took the little, white, trembling hands in his own 
 strong ones. 
 
 " I sent him away, Reine," he answered, steadily. 
 "He will never come back again — never. You must 
 learn to forget him, my child. Would to God that 
 you knew that man as he is: a profligate and a villain. 
 It was your wealth he wanted, Reine, not yourself. 
 And I have told him that which will cause him to look 
 elsewhere for a wealthy bride. He will cross your path 
 nevermore. You must learn to forget him." 
 
 Reine Hastings rose slowly to her feet, facing her 
 father with a white, awful face. He could scarcely 
 recognize in the passionate, angry girl that stood 
 before him his loving, tender Reine, the child of his 
 heart, the daughter of his old age. 
 
 « You have sent him away — parted two hearts tha^ 
 42 
 
"YOU MUST LEAEN TO FOEGET HIM." 4o 
 
 Heaven intended for each other : I could sooner 'die 
 than give him up ! Oh, papa! papa! let him come 
 back to me ! " 
 
 The words ended in a wail of anguish that wrung 
 the old man's heart to the very core. 
 
 "It can never be, my Eeine," said her father, ten- 
 derly. " I know best, dear. The time will come 
 when you will thank me for saving you from your own 
 folly. You are infatuated with the villain. This is 
 not love, such as will come to you when you are older 
 and wiser." 
 
 "Is it not real love when I would die for him? — 
 when I would welcome death rather than live through 
 the weary days without him? It is not your wealth he 
 wants; you misjudge him cruelly. Eecall him and 
 give me to him, and you will see that we can get along 
 without help from you. Oh, papa! you must!" 
 
 "Would you give me up for this man if you knew 
 that I should cast you off forevermore from my heart 
 and home for making such a choice?" he asked, 
 huskily. 
 
 His lovely young daughter crept up to him and 
 knelt down at his feet. 
 
 "My mother gave up everything for you," she said. 
 
 A sudden idea came to the general. 
 
 " We will compromise matters," he suid, slowly. 
 " If your lover is really in earnest in his wooing he 
 will come to me again to urge his suit; he will not be 
 satisfied with ' No 5 for an answer, and when he comes 
 I may reconsider my decision." 
 
 It was pitiful to see the joy that broke over Berne's 
 face, and to see how she threw her white arms around 
 his neck and thanked him with smiles and tears. She 
 would send a note to Waldemar that very night, and 
 on the morrow he would be sure to call on her father 
 again; then all would be well. In a moment she was 
 his own imperious, wilful Eeine again, smiling and 
 blushing by turns. 
 
 " I am sorry for what occurred in the library last 
 night," she whispered, softly; "but, oh, papa! I 
 thought it was Waldemar whom you meant all along. 
 I never dreamed that Mr. Chesleigh cared for me; he 
 
44 
 
 A FORBIDDEN" MARRIAGE. 
 
 is so old and grave, you know. You must tell him 
 just how matters are." 
 
 "Heaven help poor Chesleigh! He loves you with 
 a true and noble love, Reine. Some day you may be 
 better able to judge between solid gold and glittering 
 tinsel." 
 
 She kissed him, and ran lightly up to her own room, 
 and sitting down to her writing-desk, penned a hasty 
 note to her lover, telling him of her interview with her 
 father, and of the promise he had made at the close 
 of it. 
 
 This she hurriedly sealed, and throwing a lace scarf 
 over her golden curls, took it herself to the old oak 
 tree, wiiere Waldemar would be sure to come in search 
 of a line from her-, or with a heart-broken note, telling 
 her all that had passed between the general and him- 
 self. 
 
 How the sun shone on the ivy-covered walls and on 
 the bright-haed flowers as she sped along! No one 
 saw her as she approached the old trysting-place. 
 
 She was about to place her letter in the usual 
 receptacle when she observed with joy that a letter was 
 already there for her, from Waldemar. 
 
 She drew it forth with trembling hands and hur- 
 riedly broke the seal. There were but a few brief 
 lines, and read as follows: 
 
 " My Dear Reine: All is over between us, it seems, as you 
 are probably aware by this time from the old gent. I came 
 and saw; but, instead of conquering — was vanquished. I am 
 off in a deuce of a hurry, having barely time to scribble these 
 few lines to you. Keep your heart warm toward me. More 
 anon. 
 
 " Yours in the greatest of haste, 
 
 " Waldemar Waldron." 
 
 Slowly the girl read it through — once — twice — the 
 letters fairly burning themselves upon her dazed brain; 
 then it slipped from her nerveless fingers and fluttered 
 down unheeded among the blue harebells at her feet. 
 
 Gone! and without as much as a word for her! 
 Gone! Left her in darkness and in gloom, to die of a 
 broken heart. Was it true? Had he gone away? 
 Had he taken her father at his word and left her for- 
 ever? 
 
" YOU MUST LEARN TO FORGET HIM. 
 
 45 
 
 fe Waldemar! " she whispered. 
 
 The very winds among the trees seemed to mock 
 her, and murmur in their fitful rustling that he had 
 gone. 
 
 She leaned back heavily against the old oak tree for 
 an hour or more. She did not cry out, or utter any 
 moan, bat stood there like a marble statue. She could 
 almost feel the beating heart in her bosom slowly part- 
 ing in twain. 
 
 It was a wonder that the careless tone of the note 
 did not jar upon her keen sensibilities; but it did not. 
 
 At that very moment, in the library, General Hast- 
 ings was recounting all that had transpired to Bernard 
 Chesleigh. It was like a death warrant to the young 
 man, but he bore the terrible shock bravely. 
 
 Eeine, whom he had worshipped so blindly, loved 
 another, and that other, Waldemar Waldron. It was 
 a severe blow to him. Had it been a noble and honor- 
 able man to whom Seine had given the love of her ten- 
 der young heart he could have borne it better. 
 
 " Tell her, General, to forgive my presumption that 
 she could ever love one as old and grave as myself. 
 A sedate man of twenty-nine must seem a very 
 patriarch to a gay, fun-loving girl of sixteen. She 
 shall never be grieved by hearing more of this subject 
 from me." 
 
 He turned and walked slowly out into the grounds 
 that skirted the villa, attempting to find momentary 
 solace in his companionable cigar. 
 
 The general looked after him thoughtfully. 
 
 "He is one of nature's true noblemen," ne sighed. 
 " Would to Heaven that Eeine had given her heart 
 into the keeping of such a man." 
 
 Then a hopeful smile crept about his bearded lips. 
 
 When Eeine had learned to forget Waldron, and had 
 time to realize her folly, she might look more kindty 
 upon Bernard Chesleigh, and, appreciating him, learn 
 to care for him. That was the future the fond old 
 father mapped out for her. 
 
 In turning a bend in the path, Bernard Chesleigh 
 had come face to face with Eeine. He started back in 
 confusion. The girl scarcely stirred. The dead white- 
 
46 
 
 A FORBIDDEX MARRIAGE. 
 
 ness of her face startled and alarmed him. She hardly 
 appeared to note his presence. 
 
 " Heine," he said, kindly, advancing toward her, 
 " your father told me all. Forget the words I have 
 spoken; look upon me hereafter as a kind and loving 
 brother, one who would lay down his life for yon, ask- 
 ing no reward but that you may ever be happy. " 
 
 He stopped abruptly, for at that moment his eyes 
 fell upon the slip of paper that lay at her feet, and, 
 before he was scarcely aware of what he was doing, his 
 glance had traversed quickly over those few lines. 
 Then he held the key to the girl's death-white face, 
 and the great purple shadows that lay in her eyes that 
 gazed past him into vacancy. She knew that her lover 
 had gone, and her heart was breaking. 
 
 How his heart bled for her — beautiful, gay little 
 Reine, whose life he would have made so happy; every 
 heart pang that she endured hurt him cruelly, too. 
 
 He put away his own great sorrow and sought in vain 
 to comfort her. 
 
 " It is warm for you here, Reine," he said. " Come 
 with me into the house." 
 
 He drew her hand within his arm and led her unre - 
 sistingly down the sunlit path. A party of young- 
 people «en joying a canter through the glade had come 
 to call for Reine to accompany them. She saw them 
 dismounting at the entrance gate: 
 
 She clung to Bernard with hot, trembling hands. 
 
 " Send them away! " she cried, piteously. " I can- 
 not see them! I could not hear their laughter and 
 jests! I could not endure it." 
 
 He led her round by a new path, and they entered 
 the house unobserved. 
 
 Reine crept up to her own room, and threw herself, 
 face downward, on the white couch; and her wild sob- 
 bing reached the general as he sat in the library below. 
 
 His heart ached for her, but he comforted himself 
 with the thought, the fiercer the storm of grief raged 
 the quicker it would wear itself out. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh would have left Fairlawn Villa 
 that day, but the general urged him so earnestly to 
 stay that he allowed himself to be persuaded, especially 
 when by remaining he was near Reine. 
 
" YOU MUST LEAK** TO FOItGET HIM?" 47 
 
 Day after day Eeine hurried to the old trysting-place, 
 watching eagerly for a letter from Waldemar Waldron, 
 but she never found one there. He seemed to have 
 passed out of her life completely, and day after day, as 
 she crept weeping back to the house, she drooped "and 
 faded, falling into a dull apathy of despair. 
 
 The summer sunshine was a mockery to her; the 
 singing birds were cruel; the flowers had lost their 
 beauty for her. 
 
 In vain Kerne's wondering companions sought to 
 rouse and cheer her, asking themselves what had come 
 over beautiful, wilful Eeine Hastings, who had always 
 been the merriest girl among them. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh was more than kind to her. His 
 devotion would have touched any other heart save 
 Eeine's. The old general trembled in keenest alarm 
 as he watched her from day to day, and the words 
 Waldemar Waldron uttered came back to him: 
 
 " Many a father has recalled a lover to save his 
 daughter's life." Would the prophecy prove true ? 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 EEIKE BOWS TO THE INEVITABLE. 
 
 A deep gloom had fallen over Fairlawn Villa. The 
 old corridors and spacious rooms no longer rang with 
 gay songs trilled in a merry young voice that gladdened 
 the hearts of those who heard it. 
 
 Reine went about quietly enough now. She never 
 complained, but the gaze of the reproachful eyes that 
 met the general's hurt him more than any words could 
 have done. 
 
 Once he attempted to talk with her upon the subject, 
 but she turned from him with piteous entreaty. 
 
 " Remember it was you who parted us, papa/' she 
 sobbed. " Do not refer to it." 
 
 Day by day, as he watched her, he could not help 
 but note how she drooped; he could not help but see 
 that she was suffering a living death. Matters could 
 not go on in this way much longer. 
 
 Must he, to save Reine's life, give her to a man who 
 would make that life a curse to her? 
 
 The general proposed a trip to Europe, or a season 
 at Long Branch. The gayety was at its height there, 
 and it might arouse her. She shook her golden head, 
 refusing to leave Fairlawn. 
 
 They were at a loss to know what to do with her. 
 She never complained. The name of the lover from 
 whom she had been parted never once crossed her lips. 
 She was only a spoiled, wilful child; her life seemed to 
 have passed into her love, and, now that love was 
 taken from her, her life went with it. 
 
 The hope from day to day that Waldemar Waldron 
 would come back to her settled into dull despair. 
 
 The summer days came and went; the flowers died 
 under the chill breath of autumn; the song birds had 
 
 48 
 
EEIXE BOWS TO THE INEVITABLE. 
 
 49 
 
 long since sought their sunny southern home among 
 the orange groves. Six months had passed, and at the 
 end of that time an event happened which changed the 
 whole current of Seine's life. The general had been 
 stricken with a malady which threatened to prove 
 fatal. Eeine rarely left his bedside. She was the 
 most faithful of nurses. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh, too. was in constant attendance 
 upon the sufferer. 
 
 It was at her father's bedside that Eeine first noticed 
 how attached the general was to him. 
 
 It was at the close of the third day of the general's 
 sickness that he called his daughter to him. 
 
 " I am afraid that it will be all over with me soon. 
 Eeine.'' he said, slowly: " but the thought of death is 
 not so hard for me to bear as the knowledge that you 
 will be left all alone in the world; that is the bitterest 
 drop in my cup of sorrow. 
 
 " Do not weep so. my Eeine.*'' he went on. weakly. 
 
 "We must all bow sooner or later to the inevitable. 
 
 " Ah. Eeine,. my child.'' he continued, thoughtfully, 
 "how great a joy and comfort it would have been to 
 me had it pleased Heaven that you could have loved 
 Bernard Chesleigh. As you did not. I never attempted 
 to urge it upon you: but. oh, my Eeine. if the thought 
 had been mine that you would be forever shielded from 
 the world's pitiless storms- — by his strong arms — I 
 could have died content. He has loved you so long 
 and so well. Ah. Eeine. he loves you so fondly yet.'' 
 
 The slender figure., kneeling beside the general's 
 couch, shook with emotion. The little hands that 
 clasped his feverish one. trembled. 
 
 Eeine." he said, slowly, " if in the future Bernard 
 Chesleigh should ask the same question of you that he 
 asked once before, do you think you could answer him 
 differently?'' 
 
 Only Heaven knew the bitter struggle that lasted 
 for one brief moment in the girl's heart. After all, 
 what did it matter what became of her life: love was 
 over for her forevermore. If Bernard Chesleigh loved 
 her still, and it would please her father, why hold out 
 against them longer? 
 4 
 
50 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 " Would you really wish me to give him a different 
 answer, papa? " she asked, faintly, great tears starting 
 to her blue eyes, and falling unheeded. 
 
 He answered "Yes" so fervently that it startled 
 her. 
 
 " Then it may as well be as you wish, papa," she 
 said, wearily. 
 
 She was standing listlessly by the lace-draped win- 
 dow half an hour later, in the dusky glow of the twi- 
 light, when hurried footsteps startled her. They were 
 Bernard Chesleiglr's. 
 
 He crossed over to where she stood, his grave, hand- 
 some face radiant with emotion. 
 
 " The general has told me, my little Heine," he 
 said, huskily, and I can scarcely credit it. I must 
 hear it from your own lips. This great happiness he 
 promises me seems too bright to be real. Is it true, 
 Heine, my little darling, that you will indeed be my 
 wife?" 
 
 "I will be your wife if you want me, Mr. Ches- 
 leigh," she said, simply. 
 
 "Want you, Reine!" he repeated. "I want you 
 with all my heart. Words fail me in expressing how 
 much I want you. My great happiness overpowers me. 
 I cannot utter all that is in my heart. I will make 
 you a true and loving husband, Reine. Your will 
 shall be my law. I will surround you with everything 
 love can suggest or money procure. I will devote my 
 life to you. You shall never regret the choice you 
 have made." 
 
 He attempted to draw her toward him, but she 
 shrank from his embrace, and he was too true a gentle- 
 man to repeat the caress when he saw that it was dis- 
 tasteful to her. 
 
 She had promised to be his wife, and he must be 
 content with that for the present. He would do his 
 best to win her love in the golden future. He was 
 grateful that Heaven had rewarded his great patience 
 and devotion by giving him Reine at last. 
 
 The news of Reine's engagement to Bernard Ches- 
 leigh was received with great satisfaction by all who 
 knew them, 
 
RELSE BOWS TO THE INEVITABLE. 
 
 51 
 
 The old servants at Fairlawn were delighted, and 
 declared that affairs were now as they ought to be, and 
 should have been from the very first. The wedding 
 was set for Christmas evening. 
 
 Thus matters stood when the crisis of the general's 
 disease came, and from the moment Bernard Chesleigh 
 broke the joyful news to him there was a marked 
 change in the general's condition, and to the surprise 
 of the whole household — even the medical experts 
 themselves — he seemed to take a new lease of life, 
 and in less than a fortnight was considered out of 
 danger, and commenced to regain health and strength 
 rapidly. 
 
 " I shall be able to give you away on your bridal eve, 
 my dear/' he said, joyously, to Eeine one day. "I do 
 not look upon it as losing a daughter, but rather as 
 the gaining of a son of whom I may well feel proud."'' 
 
 Heine's lovely face paled. Did they really mean to 
 hold her to that engagement, made in accordance with 
 her father's wish; and when he believed himself dying, 
 and that she would be alone in the world? 
 
 Now that her father had recovered, could she beg of 
 Bernard Chesleigh to give her back her plighted troth? 
 
 The general was so much wrapped up in the ap- 
 proaching marriage, and had set his mind so eagerly 
 upon it, that she hadn't the heart to thwart him. 
 
 The preparations went on on a magnificent scale. 
 
 " It makes me young again to fix up for a wedding,'-' 
 the general declared. 
 
 And then he must make the most of that one occa- 
 sion, for he had but the one daughter to marry off. 
 
 Reine took little interest in the wonderful boxes of 
 finery that came for her. She was marrying to please 
 her father, not for love's sweet sake. 
 
 " La me ! " whispered one of her maids, confiden- 
 tially in the servants' hall one day. " You ought to 
 see how little Miss Eeine is interested in her wedding 
 clothes. When 1 took out her lovely white silk dress, 
 all a-sparkle with sown pearls, and the beautiful veil, 
 she looked at them for just one minute, and then said: 
 'No doubt they will do very nicely, Meta; put them 
 away out of my sight until they're wanted.' " 
 
53 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 "Mr. Chesleigh is such a fine gentleman," assented 
 the housekeeper, " it's ten thousand pities she cares so 
 little for him. That's always the way it is — girls who 
 don't care about them get husbands who fairly adore 
 them." 
 
 "It's my opinion," declared the maid, "that she 
 cared altogether too much for that handsome coxcomb 
 that was here last summer. Folks had better be olf 
 with the old love before they are on with the new; if 
 they don't it will brew trouble." 
 
 And with these prophetic words she whisked out of 
 the room. 
 
 Reine was in her own room, a pretty little pink and 
 white affair in the western wing, with her friend, Ger- 
 tie Traverse, who was in raptures over a magnificent 
 necklace of diamonds which Bernard had just sent up 
 to Reine. 
 
 "Oh! they're perfectly lovely!" gasped Gertie, 
 gazing at the sparkling treasures with wistful, longing 
 eyes. "What a lucky girl yon are, Reine, to have 
 such a liberal lover. I almost envy you — upon my 
 word I do." 
 
 " Envy me — the most miserable creature the smil- 
 ing earth holds! Oh! if Gertie only knew," she 
 thought, repressing a tremulous sigh. 
 
 " Do you know, Reine," her friend went on, with all 
 a young girl's thoughtlessness, " I quite fancied, last 
 summer, that you rather liked our handsome blonde 
 neighbor, Mr. Waldron, of Waldron Towers. By the 
 way, I wonder what took him olf so suddenly." 
 
 Reine tried to speak, but her voice died away in a 
 gasp. 
 
 "When I missed him, I sent over to know if he 
 were ill; and the answer the servant brought back 
 was, that he was called away hurriedly; that he might 
 be back the following week, or perhaps he might 
 remain away long months — his movements were pretty 
 uncertain. Rather uncivil of Mr. Waldron to treat us 
 with such scant courtesy as to leave without even say- 
 ing good-by," laughed Gertie. 
 
 "Did they tell you where he had gone ?" inquired 
 Reine, with painful interest. 
 
KEIXE BOWS TO THE INEVITABLE. 
 
 53 
 
 Gertie shook her curls back, and said: 
 
 " No. The thought occurred to me, however, that 
 perhaps he went off to get married. In fact, I am very 
 much inclined to think he has wedded long since." 
 
 The glittering diamonds, Bernard's gift, fell from 
 her lap to the floor unheeded. 
 
 "Why should you think he is married, Gertie?" 
 she asked, faintly. " Tell me why you think that." 
 
 "It is only a surmise of mine," smiled Gertie, 
 pleased at her companion's apparent interest in her 
 gossip. " Why, when one of my friends was in New 
 York lately, who should he see entering one of the 
 large dry goods stores but Mr. Waldemar Waldron, 
 with a young and beautiful lady leaning on his arm. 
 He purchased her an elegant plush dolman. Now, 
 that certainly looks as if he was married, doesn't it ? " 
 
 Reine Hastings rose to her feet with a suppressed 
 cry. She took one step forward, then, without a word 
 of warning, sank down in a dead faint at Gertie's feet. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WHERE IS THE BRIDE? 
 
 Gertie Traverse did not call one of the maids 
 when Reine sank in a dead faint at her feet, but set 
 about restoring her by laving her face freely with 
 water which was close at hand. 
 
 At last she was rewarded by seeing Reine open wide 
 her blue, dazed eyes. 
 
 " Are you ill, dear?" she inquired, anxiously. 
 " Or perhaps the room is too warm for you. I did not 
 know you were subject to swooning away like this. 
 You frightened me." 
 
 It never once occurred to Gertie that the subject 
 under discussion between them had anything to do 
 with her friend's sudden indisposition. 
 
 For long hours after Reine Hastings found herself 
 alone she sat with her hands closely locked together in 
 her lap, gazing steadily into the glaring flames of the 
 sea-coal fire. 
 
 Was it true that the lover whose loss she had 
 mourned so keenly had found consolation with another 
 love whom he had made his bride? How the thought 
 tortured her! 
 
 It mattered little enough then what became of her. 
 Life was all over for her long since. 
 
 Gertie had gathered up the fallen jewels. Placing 
 them in their casket upon the table, Reine pushed 
 them from her with trembling hands. She would 
 have thought more of one simple flower given her by 
 Waldemar Waldron than of all the precious jewels the 
 man whom she was so soon to marry could have 
 bestowed upon her. 
 
 It mattered little enough to Reine Hastings how 
 rapidly or slowly the weeks rolled on now. Her love 
 and her faith had received a cruel blow. 
 
 54 
 
WHERE IS THE BRIDE ? 
 
 55 
 
 Because Eeine no longer mentioned Waldemar Wal 
 dron's name both the general and Bernard Chesleigh 
 confidently hoped that she had learned to forget 
 him. Neither of them was versed in the ways of 
 woman's love or woman's pride, 
 
 At last the eventful day of Kernels life dawned amid 
 the pealing of the Christmas bells. It was her wed- 
 ding-day, yet Eeine opened her eyes to the morning 
 light with a shudder and a sob of pain. 
 
 The golden sunlight blinded the eyes that were 
 swollen with weeping, and the chiming of the joy-bells 
 made her heart flutter with pain. 
 
 Fairlawn was thronged with guests who were to wit- 
 ness the ceremony on this eventful Christmas evening. 
 Many had come from afar and were making the most 
 of the festive occasion. 
 
 All day Eeine kept her room, with Mrs. Dent, the 
 housekeeper, for a maid and companion. Even the 
 bridemaids, who were just dying to catch a glimpse of 
 her, were rigorously excluded from her boudoir; yet 
 nothing was thought of this, as it has been the custom 
 of many a bride from time immemorial. 
 
 66 She wants to come forth at the proper time such a 
 vision of loveliness as will startle us," laughed Gertie 
 Traverse, twining a fresh cluster of pale rosebuds in 
 her curly locks. " I have seen Seine's diamonds, 
 girls," she pursued, breathlessly, "and I warn you to 
 prepare yourselves to see something just grand. Just 
 think of it! A whole necklace that encircles her neck 
 twice, of superb solitaire diamonds, every one of 'em 
 larger than these earrings in my ears. And her dress 
 is perfectly lovely. You never saw such a veil. 
 And as for slippers, why, dear me! they are cuteness 
 itself — white satin, embroidered in pearls. Eeine will 
 look as beautiful as a poet's dream." 
 
 All the young girls were more than longing to catch 
 a glimpse of all this finery, and could scarcely wait in 
 patience for the hour to arrive when Eeine should 
 make her appearance. 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Dent was putting the last 
 touches to Eeine's toilet. Was there ever a fairer 
 little bride? If it were not too old a subject, I would 
 
56 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 describe how lovely she looked in the shimmering, 
 gleaming satin robe, and the cloud-like veil that 
 enveloped her, with its crown of snowy orange blos- 
 soms resting on her golden hair. 
 
 There was a feverish glow on her cheeks, and a 
 strange brightness in her eyes, and the little hands 
 that grasped the bridal bouquet were burning hot 
 through the dainty white kid gloves as Mrs. Dent 
 touched them. 
 
 She grew strangely restless as the evening wore on. 
 The ceremony was to be performed exactly at eight; it 
 wanted a quarter to that time now, as Eeine stood 
 dressed and ready. 
 
 Within the hour she was to be Bernard Chesleiglrs 
 wife. How strange it seemed to her! The very 
 thought seemed to make her grow faint and dizzy. 
 She walked oyer to the long French window and threw 
 up the sash. Although it was Christmas night, the 
 wind that fanned her heated cheek was balmy. 
 
 Mrs. Dent called to her anxiously: 
 
 " Reine, my dear, you must not stand at an open 
 window/' she said. " You will take your death of 
 cold; or, if you insist upon standing there, do let me 
 throw your fur wrap about you? " 
 
 Eeine shook her head, dreamily. 
 
 "Do not disturb me, Mrs. Dent," she replied; "let 
 me have my own thoughts. Bernard will not come for 
 me for fifteen minutes yet. I will spend ten of them 
 in my own way." 
 
 She drew the velvet curtain about her, and Mrs. 
 Dent walked into an inner apartment, leaving the 
 youthful bride to her own reveries. 
 
 Reine gazed wistfully down into the ground. Ah, if 
 she might rest for a few brief moments on the old 
 bench beneath the fir-trees yonder, where the ceaseless 
 murmur of voices would not reach her. Mechanically 
 she stepped out upon the moonlit balcony, gathering 
 up her white train and veil in one little gloved hand. 
 
 A private stairway led from the balcony down into 
 the grounds, and Reine gained the shadows of the fir- 
 trees unobserved, sinking down wearily upon the 
 bench. 
 
WHERE IS THE BRIDE ? 
 
 5? 
 
 The snow had been carefully brushed from the 
 grounds and from the rustic seats, yet had it been 
 lying deep about her, she would not have felt its 
 chill, so feverish was the fire that burned in her 
 veins. 
 
 What was it stealing so softly and cautiously toward 
 her among the dense shadows of the pines and moan- 
 ing fir-trees? Once she almost fancied she heard a 
 cautious, stealthy footstep, but it must have been only 
 fancy, or the bare rustling branches of the trees above 
 her head, as the night-wind sighed among them. 
 
 She turned her blue eyes in the direction of AValdron 
 Towers — standing like a sentinel on the brow of a 
 distant hill — its ivy-covered turrets plainly discernible 
 in the bright white moonlight. 
 
 Yet Eeine would not think of its owner — no, she 
 would not give one thought to him — for she was to be 
 another's bride in a few short fleeting moments. 
 
 Time seemed to fly swift-winged by her, and it flew 
 by with equal rapidity to the inmates of the spacious 
 villa. 
 
 The bronze clock on the marble pedestal, in the al- 
 cove of the corridor, was almost on the stroke of eight 
 as Bernard Ohesleigh, followed by the general, hastened 
 toward Heine's boudoir, surrounded by a group of 
 merry bridemaids. How tall, handsome, and noble 
 he looked! — a man any woman might have given her 
 love to, and been proud of him. 
 
 Many a wistful, girlish glance followed the manly 
 figure as he hurried down the corridor. 
 
 Gently he tapped at the boudoir door. Mrs. Dent 
 opened it, standing back as she saw the handsome bride- 
 groom standing flushed and expectant there, and the 
 general following closely behind him. 
 
 " Is Eeine quite ready?" he asked, pausing bash- 
 fully upon the threshold, and gazing past her, eagerly, 
 around the pretty pink and gold jewel case of a room. 
 " It will be quite eight by the time we reach the recep- 
 tion room. I fear the guests are becoming impatient 
 already," he said, smilingly. 
 
 "Dear me," cried Mrs. Dent, gathering up the 
 fragrant bouquet Eeine had laid down, " how time 
 
58 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 flies! I did not dream it was so near time for the 
 ceremony." 
 
 She disappeared quickly within the lace-draped inner 
 apartment. 
 
 "Dear me!" she ejaculated in affright, noting the 
 wind olowing against the hanging velvet curtain. " If 
 that child isn't standing at the open window yet; he- 
 cause I happened to forget her." 
 
 "Seine! Seine!" she cried. "Here is Mr. Ches- 
 leigh waiting for you. It's time for you to go down 
 now. The clock is chiming eight, and the musicians 
 are striking up the wedding march." 
 
 By this time she had reached the window and drew 
 back the heavy crimson hangings. 
 
 But no white-robed form was there. The window 
 still stood open, and the night wind blew into her 
 white, startled face. 
 
 "Seine!" she cried in alarm, glancing about the 
 room, then ' out onto the balcony. No Seine was 
 there. 
 
 A cold horror fell upon her as she stood quite still in 
 the young bride's deserted boudoir — a cold, awful 
 terror that made her heart beat wildly. She looked 
 carefully around the pretty white chamber. Perhaps 
 roguish Seine was up to some girlish prank to frighten 
 her. 
 
 "Seine!" she called again, in a weak, unsteady 
 voice, waiting breathlessly for an answer. None 
 came. 
 
 The tapping of the ivy against the casement was 
 the only sound that broke the awful silence. 
 
 " Merciful Heaven ! " she cried. "Am I dreaming 
 or am I mad? Where is she gone? " 
 
 There was no sign of disarray. The fur wrap, which 
 she would not have about her, lay on the arm-chair 
 where she had tossed it. The light from the silver 
 lamp fell upon the jewel case and the diamond neck- 
 lace which reposed upon its velvet cushion. 
 
 She walked back to the boudoir where the handsome 
 bridegroom and the young bride's father awaited her, 
 with unsteady steps and an ashen face. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh started back, and the eager smile 
 
WHERE IS THE BRIDE ? 
 
 59 
 
 faded from his face; he had expected to see her lead- 
 ing by the hand his bonnie, beautiful bride. 
 
 She hurried past him and went up to the general, 
 laying her shaking hand on his arm. 
 
 " General Hastings," she whispered, hoarsely. " I 
 am frightened. Fifteen minutes ago I left your 
 daughter standing by yonder window, dressed, and 
 ready for the ceremony, all save the diamonds and her 
 bonquet. Xow, the room is empty. She is not there. 
 The window is open, but she is not on the balcony." 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh stood quite still and motionless. 
 But the general pushed past him toward his daughter's 
 room, followed by the frightened housekeeper. There 
 was a terrible fear in his heart that he could not — dare 
 not — shape into words. 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 THE DETECTIVE 0^ THE TRAIL. 
 
 With a white face, the general gazed breathlessly 
 around the pretty room. No, she was not there. 
 Loving voices called her, loving eyes searched for her 
 — all in vain. Reine was not there. 
 
 " Chesleigh," cried the old general, " she is not here. 
 Lock the door, to keep every one out, for they must 
 not know. You and I will search the grounds for 
 her." # 
 
 Their eyes met. Then both turned away, sick with 
 a terrible foreboding. They sprang through the open 
 window, and went out into the grounds together, one 
 taking the circuitous path that encircled the ground 
 to the right; the other took the path to the left. 
 
 Not a servant was summoned. Merriment was at 
 its height in the grand parlors and spacious drawing- 
 rooms. No one must know. The time for the cere- 
 mony to begin was quite due. The minister stood in 
 waiting, yet no one thought of hurrying the bridal 
 pair that were soon to stand beneath the floral bell. 
 
 The moments dragged slowly by. Ten minutes 
 passed — fifteen — then another ten. 
 
 There were no signs of the bridal party, and the 
 minister, to appease the eager, expectant guests, sent 
 up to see if the bride and groom would be ready 
 shortly. 
 
 The bevy of bridemaids stood in the corridor. 
 
 The door had been locked since the general and 
 Bernard Chesleigh had passed into Heine's boudoir, 
 they said, and no amount of tapping on the door 
 brought so much as a word in response; and instead of 
 laughing voices from within, not so much as a sound 
 could be heard. It was indeed strange. Gertie Trav- 
 
 60 
 
The detective ox the trail. CI 
 
 erse had called Reine twice; but at length it was Mrs. 
 Dent, the housekeeper, who had answered, begging 
 her to tell the minister and guests below not to be im- 
 patient if a little more time for preparation was being 
 given the bride. 
 
 So the mirth went on below, while the two white- 
 faced men searched the grounds about the villa. 
 
 Carefully they searched every inch of the spacious 
 park, meeting at last, beneath the identical tir tree 
 beneath which Reine had sat. 
 
 The anxious old housekeeper, with eyes swollen with 
 weeping, had followed them. 
 
 The general and the white-faced bridegroom looked 
 into each others eyes for a moment, and their terrible 
 fear found vent in words as the whole sense of their 
 calamity rushed over them. 
 
 " She has fled from me rather than marry me, 
 general/'' he said, hoarsely. " I might have foreseen 
 this. She never loved me. When the last moment 
 came she chose to face the cold, pitiless world rather 
 than link her life with mine. Reine ! " he cried, sink- 
 ing down on the -self -same bench and covering his face 
 with his trembling hands — oh, little Reine ! — if you 
 had but told me, and spared me this! " 
 
 He was mad with wounded love, outraged honor, 
 with sorrow and despair; yet he loved her too well to 
 utter one word against her who had betrayed him so 
 cruelly. 
 
 The general held up his hands with a passionate 
 gesture. 
 
 " I will not believe that my Reine fled from you/' he 
 cried. "Something tells me we are misjudging her. 
 Mrs. Dent tells us she was dressed and ready in her 
 bridal robes fifteen minutes before the ceremony was 
 to have been performed. If she had not intended to 
 have wedded you, why need she have taken the pains 
 of dressing? She would have fled in ordinary clothes 
 hours before. 
 
 f< She has not even taken her wraps with her, Mrs. 
 Dent says," he went on, excitedly. "No, no, Ches- 
 leigh, as sure as you and I stand here, she intended 
 wedding you to-night." 
 
G2 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 "Have you any suspicion of foul play?" asked 
 Bernard Chesleigh, hoarsely — any thought that she 
 has been spirited away— abducted? " And as he spoke 
 his eyes rested upon the ivy-covered walls of Waldron 
 Towers, looming up darkly before him on a far off hill. 
 
 The greatest consternation prevailed when the an- 
 nouncement was made to the shocked guests that no 
 marriage would take place; that the bride, robed in 
 her bridal dress, had suddenly disappeared. 
 
 They did not know which to pity most, the white- 
 haired old father or the handsome, pallid bridegroom, 
 as the words fell from the minister's lips, and when he 
 gravely voiced the father's grave fears, " that foul play 
 had been done, if she had not wandered unconsciously 
 away under temporary mental excitement." 
 
 Scouting parties were made up instantly; alarms 
 were sent out; couriers scoured the country in all 
 directions; telegrams were sent to all the near stations 
 detailing the case. Was little Keine in peril? Who 
 could stop to rest while her fate was clouded in 
 such dark and terrible mystery! 
 
 Noiselessly the guests had taken .their departure, 
 and a gloom that was not destined to be lessened for 
 many a long and weary day settled over Fairlawn 
 Villi. 
 
 As the gray dawn broke over the hills and vales of 
 Virginia the searching parties came in one by one 
 without tidings. If the snow-clad earth had opened 
 and swallowed her, Keine Hastings could not have van- 
 ished more completely from their sight, leaving no 
 trace, no clew, behind her. 
 
 The whole country about was aroused and joined in 
 the search, headed by Bernard Chesleigh and the 
 white-haired old general. 
 
 They could neither rest or sleep until some trace, 
 some tidings of Reine could be found. A day passed: 
 another night; and yet another day was born. But no 
 trace of the missing bride could be found. 
 
 Servants went about Fairlawn Villa with noiseless 
 footsteps and spoke in whispers. It almost seemed as 
 if the general's lovely young daughter lay dead within 
 
THE DETECTIVE OX THE TRAIL. 
 
 63 
 
 those walls, the sorrowing for her was so bitter and so 
 terrible. 
 
 What Bernard Chesleigh suffered no one will ever 
 know. Lines of care and grief furrowed his grave, 
 handsome face. 
 
 At the end of the third day an idea had occurred to 
 him. He wondered greatly that he had not put it into 
 execution long before. 
 
 He sent to Washington, asking that the cleverest 
 and most successful detective that money could pro- 
 cure should be sent to him without delay. 
 
 The story had been printed in the journals of the 
 gieat capital, and had aroused public sympathy ana 
 public interest. 
 
 The chief of the great detective bureau responded at 
 once by sending on one of his most expert attaches— 
 a man young as far as years went, but with a very old 
 and fertile brain. 
 
 It was the chief's experience that the old detectives 
 generally adopted the same methods for unearthing 
 mysteries — travelling in the old, beaten rut. Young 
 brains were quick and more ingenious. 
 
 He put the case in the hands of Donald Gray, who 
 had never lost a case; his success was almost phenom- 
 enal. He would unearth the whereabouts of the miss- 
 ing young bride if any one could. He would soon 
 track her down to the doom that had fallen upon her. 
 
 Mr. Gray was studying up the case from the printed 
 account in the Washington paper all the way on the 
 train, and was quite familiar with the details when the 
 train slackened, before the little depot half a mile from 
 Fairlawn Villa. 
 
 There was nothing about the beardless young man's 
 appearance to attract a second glance from a casual 
 observer, and no one noticed him as he alighted from 
 the car and stood for a moment on the platform look- 
 ing about him. 
 
 At length he approached a gentleman who had just 
 alighted from a spirited bay horse. 
 
 "Can you tell me, sir/ 7 he asked, "if the road to 
 the right yonder leads to the village and on to the 
 suburbs? " 
 
64 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 The gentleman started so suddenly forward that the 
 cigar he held in his white fingers fell to the ground. 
 He frowned and answered impatiently: 
 
 " it leads through the village, and as far to the right 
 as Fairlawn Villa, then it branches westward to, and 
 beyond Waldron Towers." 
 
 A sudden thought came to the young detective — 
 that perhaps the gentleman before him was Bernard 
 Chesleigh — the bridegroom from whom General Hast- 
 ings' lovely young daughter had fled upon her wed- 
 ding-night. 
 
 If it was, he did not blame her — for there ivas some- 
 thing in his face that he did not quite like. 
 
 He was dressed in the height of fashion; the seal 
 overcoat he wore set off his figure to the best advan- 
 tage. It was thrown open, revealing a magnificent 
 diamond stud that gleamed like a star of fire on his 
 immaculate shirt front. 
 
 He was faultless in appearance, yet the unerring 
 detective did not quite like his looks, and the feeling 
 of dislike grew upon him each moment the stranger 
 stood before him. 
 
 He made a bold move. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, touching his hat, 
 "may I inquire if you are Mr. Chesleigh?" 
 
 "Why do you ask?" retorted the young man, 
 sharply. 
 
 " Simply from curiosity. I was wondering if you 
 were the hero of the romance I read of which occurred 
 hereabouts. Again I beg pardon, if my question was 
 impertinent." 
 
 His companion laughed harshly, jeeringly, and a 
 malignant light flashed into his slumbrous eyes. 
 
 He took a cigar from his pocket and proceeded to 
 light it, striking the match on the sole of his polished 
 boot before he deigned a reply. 
 
 " Mistaking me for the discarded bridegroom! 
 That's decidedly rich!" he said, with another laugh. 
 " No, young man, I am not Bernard Chesleigh — I am 
 Waldemar Waldron, of Waldron Towers, which lies in 
 the dense coppice wood about a mile from here." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE HEIR Of THE TOWERS. 
 
 The detective made his way at once to Fairlawn 
 Villa. He was immediately shown to the library, 
 where Bernard Chesleigh sat with his face buried in 
 his hands. 
 
 He placed a chair for his visitor very courteously, 
 although inwardly he was greatly disappointed that so 
 young a man had been sent to him to undertake such 
 a difficult and highly important case; he would have 
 chosen an older man of more experience. 
 
 Donald Gray listened very attentively to every mi- 
 nute detail concerning Reine's past. 
 
 *'Ah! there is an old lover in the case," he rumi- 
 nated, as they told him of the suitor whom the general 
 had sent away long months before, and who had never 
 visited the village since. 
 
 What the detective's thoughts were — if he had any— 
 when they told him the name of the lover who had 
 been so summarily dismissed, his face never betrayed. 
 
 In the writing-desk in Reine's boudoir Mr. Gray 
 found a packet of letters tied with a violet ribbon. 
 These he took possession of to peruse and study out at 
 his leisure. They were Waldemar Waldron's letters to 
 Heine. 
 
 " There shall be no lack of money in aiding you to 
 work out the solution of this mystery, Mr. Gray," the 
 general said to him. " I am a man of means. Restore 
 my darling daughter to me, and I will make you a rich 
 man for life." 
 
 "I will do my best, sir/' returned the young detec- 
 tive, earnestly. 
 
 And he did do his best. In less than a week's time 
 he was thoroughly acquainted with every inch of the 
 
CO 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 country for miles about Fairlawn Villa, and had been 
 careful to cultivate the acquaintance of most of the 
 people. 
 
 By his direction it was given out that he was a rela- 
 tive of Mrs. Dent, the housekeeper, and was paying 
 her a short visit at Fairlawn Villa. No one would 
 have dreamed that the beardless, boyish young fellow, 
 so bashful in appearance, was in reality one of the 
 keenest and shrewdest detectives on the Washington 
 force. 
 
 A week had passed since he had come to Fairlawn, 
 and, for the first time in his life, he was completely 
 baffled. The mystery which shrouded in deepest gloom 
 the mysterious disappearance of beautiful Eeine on 
 her wedding night was as impenetrable as ever. 
 
 Each ingenious device for getting on the trail had 
 turned out an ignominious failure. 
 
 One idea fixed itself firmly in the detective's mind, 
 however. If Miss Hastings had contemplated flight 
 or suicide — if it came to the worst — she would not 
 have been likely to robe herself in her bridal dress and 
 linger there until within a few short moments of the 
 time for the ceremony to begin. 
 
 He had taken her picture from the album and car- 
 ried it about in his pocket, studying the lovely, laugh- 
 ing face so well that he knew every feature by heart. 
 
 There was something peculiar about the saucy, 
 smiling mouth and deep, pansy-blue eyes, and about 
 the whole contour of the lovely, dimpled face, framed 
 in its sheen of golden curls, that told him he would 
 recognize the original instantly on sight if he ever 
 beheld her. 
 
 The failure which met his every effort to trace Keine 
 was a bitter blow to the young detective. He knew 
 his reputation was at stake — for it was a great honor 
 to be selected for so great a case; and last, but by no 
 means least, he knew if success crowned his efforts he 
 would receive as handsome an amount as the most 
 experienced man on the force could have commanded. 
 Ability could not be justly measured by age or experi- 
 ence. He spent most of the time out of doors — daily, 
 hourly hoping, Micawber like, that something would 
 turn up that might give him some kind of a clew. 
 
THE HEIR OF THE TOWERS. 
 
 67 
 
 He had haunted the groves and glens surrounding 
 Waklron Towers, and on one of these rambles he had 
 come face to face with its handsome, fair-haired 
 owner. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron eyed the young stranger cu- 
 riously, a brilliant idea occurring to him the while. 
 Why not sound this youth who was Stopping at Fair- 
 lawn Villa, and learn from him what the inmates were 
 about, and what they thought and talked about con 
 cerning the disappearance of the general's daughter. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron possessed the unusual quality of 
 making himself agreeably fascinating to men as well 
 a? to women when he chose. 
 
 He greeted the young stranger cordially enough, 
 and as the days passed on it was no unusual thing for 
 Donald Gray to find himself in Waldroirs company. 
 He smiled at the ingenious way in which his new-found 
 friend plied him with questions, in roundabout ways 
 which were certainly unique. His replies were wary 
 enough. He always managed to arouse Waldemars 
 curiosity from day to day. and leave him when appar- 
 ently on the point of making some disclosure. 
 
 A laugh, that was not pleasant to hear, fell from 
 Waldroirs lips when the sufferings of Bernard Ches- 
 leigh were portrayed to him and he seemed to triumph 
 in the other's misery. 
 
 But he spoke never a word, and his brows darkened 
 as he listened to the manner in which the old general 
 met the terrible blow that had fallen upon him. He 
 had said: 
 
 '•If ill has befallen my darling, let the perpetrators 
 of it beware, for they shall be hounded down, and a 
 vengeance worthv of the mighty sorrow of an outraged 
 and suffering father dealt out to them, just so surely 
 as yonder sun shines. 
 
 "But if my child has deserted me of her own free 
 will — ah, well, I cannot curse her — my dead wife's 
 daughter. — but I shall never forgive her. She shall 
 never again cross my threshold. I will never again 
 look upon her fair, false face, so help me God! and 
 not a penny of my money shall be hers. I would 
 sooner leave it to the paupers of the almshouse. " 
 
m 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron frowned still more darkly. 
 
 a The general's daughter is his legal and only heir," 
 he said, slowly. "Let him fume and fret as much as 
 he will, she will get it at last, every dollar of it — that 
 is, if she is alive/' he added, quickly. 
 
 "Long and almost endless litigation, together with 
 the fat fees of lawyers, would dwindle the old million- 
 aire's wealth down to a very small sum, I should 
 • fancy," retorted young Gray, carelessly; "and es- 
 pecially if he carries out the plan in regard to Bernard 
 Chesleigh that he intends,'' he added, ''his daughter 
 would fare badly." 
 
 "What plan?" inquired Waldron eagerly. "What 
 is it he proposes to do?" 
 
 "I haven't time to tell you about it now," replied 
 the young detective, apologetically. "The fact is, I 
 must leave you in order to reach Fairlawn Villa in 
 time for tea; they don't like to keep things standing 
 over to oblige 'only the housekeeper's nephew.'" 
 
 Waldemar Waldron stopped and studied a moment. 
 He must know the general's plan. 
 
 " Suppose you come and take tea with me at Waldron 
 Towers," he said, waxing hospitable, "and you shall 
 tell me afterward, over our wine and cigars." 
 
 This was the very opening the delighted detective 
 nad been longing for — a visit within the walls of 
 Waldron Towers. 
 
 Only that day Waldron had been humming the 
 words of an old song that would have put him on his 
 guard had he remembered them now. 
 
 "I'll no say men are villains a' 
 
 The real, harden'd, wicked, 
 Wha hae nae check but human law, 
 
 Are to a few restricked: 
 But, och! mankind are unco weak, 
 
 And little to be trusted; 
 If self the wavering balance shake, 
 
 It's rarely right adjusted! 
 
 Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 
 Their fate we shouldna censure, 
 
 For still the important end of life 
 They equally may answer; 
 
THE HEIR OE THE TOWERS, 
 
 A man may hae an honest heart. 
 
 Though poortith hourly stare him 
 A man may tak a neibor s part. 
 . Yet hae na cash to spare him. 
 
 Aye free aff han' your story tell, 
 
 "When wi 3 a bosom crony: 
 But still keep something to yoursel 
 
 Te scarcely tell to ony: 
 Conceal yoursel. as weel's ye can 
 
 Frae critical dissection; 
 But keek through every other man, 
 
 Wi' sharpened, sly inspection,"' 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron led his companion silently 
 through the deep green coppice wood until they 
 reached the high stone wall that closed in the spacious 
 grounds of Waldron Towers. 
 
 He swung open the massive gate, and together they 
 entered the house. 
 
 The old butler who admitted them stared in amaze- 
 ment at the unusual sight of a visitor accompanying 
 his young master. 
 
 "Let us have tea at once in my rooms, Mason," he 
 said to the servant. "The accommodations here are 
 such as do not warrant guests," laughed Waldron. 
 "The dining-room here is a luxury of the past. 
 There are scarcely half a dozen inhabitable rooms 
 about the place," he added, turning to his companion. 
 
 "I wonder you can content yourself stopping here," 
 commented Donald Gray. "I should imagine you 
 were a young gentleman who enjoyed gayety and 
 plenty of life." 
 
 "So I do," asserted Waldron. "This place was 
 left to me by the death of a relative two years ago, 
 yet I did not trouble myself to look after it until last 
 summer. I took a run down here from Washington 
 then, and have paid visits off and on since." 
 
 By this time they had readied the western wing, in 
 which were situated Waldron's suite of rooms, as he 
 called it, and were soon doing justice to a hearty sup- 
 per. 
 
 "Now then," said Waldron, as they sat over their 
 wine, "what was the plan you were speaking of in 
 reference to Chesleigh? You said the old general was 
 about to put a new scheme into execution." 
 
 70 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 71 
 
 " I do not know that I ought to disclose affairs 
 which were never destined for my ears to hear/' ob- 
 jected the detective, modestly. 
 
 Waldron was about to retort, but at that instant a 
 strange sound echoed distinctly through the high 
 vaulted rooms — a sound which brought the swift color 
 iuto Waldemar Waldroirs face, and a glance of uneasi- 
 ness into his eyes. 
 
 " These old shutters creaking to and fro on their 
 hinges make unearthly noises/' he said, rising in- 
 stantly and closing the door. 
 
 " I did not hear them," observed young Gray, inno- 
 cently. 
 
 The master of the Towers looked, as he felt, wonder- 
 fully relieved at those words. 
 
 The detective had heard the unusual sound, how- 
 ever, and, quick as thought, had decided upon a plan 
 of procedure. He must investigate it, if he had to ex- 
 plore the old Towers from top to bottom. Nothing 
 must stand in his way. 
 
 An experienced detective is always prepared for 
 such an emergency, and, quick as thought, when the 
 master of the Towers turned toward the door to close 
 it, he succeeded in dropping a few grains of a sleeping 
 potion in his host's untasted wine. 
 
 The effect was — as he knew it would be — while he 
 was explaining to Waldemar Waldron that it was the 
 intention of General Hastings to make a will, leaving 
 every dollar he possessed to Bernard Chesleigh, his 
 host's eyes closed wearily : the fair Saxon head sank 
 back among the velvet cushions of his arm-chair, and 
 his deep breathing told Donald Gray the way was safe 
 now from all intrusion to make the long-wished-for 
 investigation of the Towers. 
 
 He must make the most of every moment, too, for 
 the effects of the potion would not hold the young 
 heirs senses in thraldom scarcely the hour out. 
 
 Snatching up a lighted taper, he hurriedly crossed 
 the room and stepped out into the corridor. 
 
 If by chance he met one of the servants, he well 
 knew his ready wit would stand him in good need. 
 For half an hour or more the detective patiently inves- 
 
72 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 tigated every nook and corner of the uncanny old 
 ruins, finding, as a reward, little more than dust and 
 emptiness. 
 
 " What occasioned the strange sound he had heard ? " 
 he asked himself, impatiently, as he traversed, one 
 after the other, the subterranean passages. 
 
 Surely his senses had not been playing him false ? 
 
 He was almost tempted to return to Waldron's apart- 
 ments, and set this experiment down as another 
 ignominious failure — when once again the same 
 strange sound was repeated — this time with a startling 
 clearness there was no mistaking, directly over his 
 head. 
 
 He stood quite still for a moment to locate the 
 exact place on the floor above, and as he raised his 
 taper he saw — what had quite escaped his' observation 
 before, shrewd as he was — a narrow door, so like in 
 color to the panels of the wall as to be hardly notice- 
 able to those unaware of its existence there. 
 
 In an instant the young detective flung it open, and 
 advanced carefully and cautiously up the narrow car- 
 peted stairway which it revealed. 
 
 It was certainly evident, as he paused and looked 
 about him, when he reached the topmost stair, that he 
 had not been upon this floor and through this particu- 
 lar corridor before. 
 
 He pushed open the first door he reached, and found 
 himself in a room tastefully furnished. 
 
 This, in all probability, was one of the inhabitable 
 apartments the heir of the Towers had casually referred 
 to. He pushed his search still further — drawing back 
 the velvet hangings, which were closely drawn before 
 the arched doorway of an inner apartment. 
 
 He stood quite still and motionless, gazing upon the 
 scene from within which met his view. 
 
 Like the outer apartments, this room was also taste- 
 fully furnished. A silver-shaded lamp stood on a mar- 
 ble centre-table,, casting a subdued, mellow light over 
 'the bright-hued velvet carpet — the easy lounging 
 chairs, cottage piano, and general bric-a-brac. 
 
 A bouquet of wild flowers, pansies and mignonette, 
 
A MYSTEKY. 
 
 73 
 
 filled a vase on the dresser, and a bouquet of the same 
 flowers adorned either side of the velvet-draped mantel. 
 
 It was evidently a room such as a lady would use — a 
 lady of taste and refinement. And in the centre of the 
 room, seated on a low rocker — her face half revealed by 
 the silver lamp and half concealed by its shade of 
 crimson crystal, — sat a young and lovely girl, running 
 her white, shapely fingers over the strings of a guitar, 
 accompanying the music, now and then, by a few notes 
 of a singularly sweet and bell-like compass. 
 
 This was the sound that had reached the young de- 
 tective as he sat in Waldemar Waldron's apartments 
 below. 
 
 The detective's heart gave a great throb of exulta- 
 tion and triumph. Had success crowned his valiant 
 efforts at last ? 
 
 One rapid, eager glance, as the face was turned more 
 fully toward him in the soft glow of the lamp, — then 
 his hopes fell with the keenest disappointment, as .it 
 flashed over him that the young girl before him was 
 not General Hastings' daughter. 
 
 Long and earnestly he scrutinized every feature of 
 her face. It bore not the slightest resemblance to the 
 smiling, dimpled face of the lovely little blonde whose 
 photograph reposed at that moment in his breast 
 pocket. Not one feature resembled the pictured face 
 of the general's missing daughter. 
 
 He had stumbled upon a hidden romance ; but it 
 mattered little to him since it was not the one in which 
 he was interested. 
 
 With a keen sense of disappointment, he turned and 
 retraced his steps to the apartment in which Waldron 
 still sat. He had scarcely regained his seat ere the 
 young heir opened his eyes with a start. 
 
 " Did I fall asleep ?" he asked, in the utmost aston- 
 ishment. " How long have we been sitting here ? I 
 must have dozed off a minute or two since, just as you 
 were relating your very interesting story concerning 
 General Hastings' plans. I certainly beg your pardon 
 for being such an inattentive listener. I was quite in- 
 terested, however, I assure you." 
 
 " It is my turn, I should say, to beg pardon for en- 
 
71 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 croaching so long upon your hospitality. It is time I 
 was taking my leave/' 
 
 There was nothing more to be learned from the 
 housekeepers nephew, Waldemar Waldron told him- 
 self. Therefore he did not press him, any further than 
 common courtesy required, to prolong his stay. And 
 it was with a feeling of relief that he saw the heavy 
 iron gate shut to with a bang after his retreating form. 
 
 " Can it possibly be true the old idiot intends will- 
 ing every dollar of his property to that infernal Ches- 
 leigh ?" he cried, grinding his fair moustache between 
 his white teeth in impotent rage. "It. must not — it 
 shall not be. I must put a stop to that, too, at all 
 hazards/' 
 
 He walked slowly back to the Towers, meditating 
 upon a strange problem that was in his mind. 
 
 "By George, I must put it into execution to-mor- 
 row," he mused. " I am standing upon thin ice, with 
 the plank of safety slipping beneath my feet. 
 
 "Yes," he decided, "to-morrow this part of the 
 country will witness one of the greatest sensations that 
 it has known for long years. Excitement will w r ax hot, 
 and I shall stand quietly by and witness it all." 
 
 Meanwhile, a new and startling thought had oc- 
 curred to the young detective. - He had retraced his 
 steps hurriedly back to Waldron Towers, touching the 
 huge brass knocker with a firm, determined hand that 
 sent a weird, resounding peal through the house. 
 
 We will leave Waldemar Waldron to mature his 
 plans, which were to bear such strange fruit on the 
 morrow, and the young detective to carry out the start- 
 ling design which had caused him to retrace his steps 
 toward the Towers; and you shall learn, dear reader — 
 in the following chapter — the fate that had befallen 
 beautiful Heine, the general's lovely young daughter. 
 
CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 THE ELOPEMEXT. 
 
 We must now return to the general's daughter, as 
 she stepped out into the moonlit grounds on her bridal 
 eve., sinking down upon the rustic bench in the shadow 
 of the fir trees. 
 
 Fifteen minutes more, and she would be Bernard 
 Chesleigh's wedded wife — she whose every thought was 
 with the lover who had been banished from her side. 
 
 After to-night it would be a sin to give one thought 
 to another. 
 
 " Waldemar, oh, my love!" sighed the girl, holding 
 out her beautiful white arms, " I am bidding you a 
 silent, eternal farewell forever. " 
 
 The shadow among the trees advanced quickly for- 
 ward, stopping suddenly before her, and, raising her 
 startled glance, Eeine beheld — Waldemar Waldron. 
 
 She did not cry out or faint. The shock of sudden 
 joy was too much for that. A sharp gasp parted the 
 crimson lips. The light that shone in the blue, up- 
 lifted eyes was pitiful to see. She held out her tender 
 hands, and he, rushing forward, clasped her to his 
 heart. 
 
 "Reine," he cried, hoarsely, thrusting the beautiful 
 bridal veil back from her face, " have I come too late? 
 Have they wedded you to my rival? " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Not yet, Waldemar," she whispered, shudderingly. 
 "Not until eight to-night. It wants a quarter to that 
 time now. Do not remind me of it. Let me have a 
 few brief, fleeting moments of happiness. Life will be 
 so cold and dark for me after we part." 
 
 " You do not love him, Heine, my darling," he said. 
 "Why should vou sacrifice yourself? You must not — 
 
 75 
 
76 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 you shall not! Why did you consent to anything like 
 this? " he asked. " I thought you would be true to 
 me, Reine," he added, reproachfully. 
 
 " I thought you had forgotten me, and I longed to 
 die, Waldemar," she said, faintly: and in broken sobs 
 she related to him the story Gertie Traverse had told 
 her of the beautiful lady whom he was seen in com- 
 pany with, and the fear that had come over her that 
 he had found some one else to love. 
 
 "After I heard about that, I grew desperate, Wal- 
 demar," she said. "Then I let them have their own 
 way." 
 
 " The lady in whose company they saw me in New 
 York was my cousin," he explained, glibly, "a true 
 and noble young lady who has heard me speak of you a 
 hundred times, and who takes the warmest interest in 
 our love affair, Reine." 
 
 A triumphant smile wreathed the lips the fair mous- 
 tache covered, as he saw how implicitly she trusted 
 and believed him. He had had no intention whatever 
 of resigning the richest prize Dame Fortune had ever 
 placed within his reach when he went away. 
 
 He had laid his plans adroitly. To throw the old 
 general off his guard he had gone away. His absence 
 would have another advantage. Beautiful Reine, 
 whose heart he had so completely won, would be 
 brought to a realization of what his absence cost her, 
 and what life without him would be like; and the plan 
 he had in view could be more easily accomplished. 
 
 Ah! he had guessed rightly. The sorrow of his 
 absence had told upon her greatly. She had hungered 
 and thirsted so for his love! Now that he was with her 
 again, no wonder that she forgot all the world — every- 
 thing save him. * 
 
 The moments flew on unheeded. 
 
 He clasped the lovely form clad in her bridal robes 
 still closer to his heart, kissing the quivering lips, and 
 kissing the tears from her lovely blue eyes, telling her 
 in eloquent, passionate words that it would be death to 
 them to part from each other — that he could not do it. 
 He could never give her up to another and live. 
 
 She clung to him with piteous sobs. His caresses 
 
THE ELOPEMEXT, 
 
 n 
 
 were like strong wine to her and dazed her senses' her 
 heart beat with happiness; the whole world seemed 
 changed to hei\ 
 
 Let the gavety go on within the walls of Fairlawn — 
 he had quite another plan for the bride-elect, 
 
 Married she should be that night, but not to Ber- 
 nard Chesleigh. He himself should be the bride- 
 groom, and, once married — the mischief really done — ■ 
 there would be no help for it but for the old general 
 to forgive his lovely daughter and make the most of 
 his new son-in-law. 
 
 He never for one moment believed that the fond old 
 father would disinherit his child and refuse her par* 
 don. 
 
 He broke his plans to her gradually; he did not 
 startle her: he was too wary for that. Gently he 
 painted to her in glowing, eloquent words, such as 
 yonng girls love to hear, how happy their future would 
 be if she would but consent to wed him instead of the 
 lover who had been selected for her by others. 
 
 She must decide quickly — the moments were fleeing' 
 swift-winged by them. ^VTas it Yes or Xo? 
 
 •"'Ok, YValdemar. think," she cried, piteously, 
 "they are waiting for me in there! I have given my 
 word that I would marry Mr. Chesleigh. and how dare 
 I break it? My heart pleads for love and you, but 
 duty points another way." 
 
 He gave a little sigh, thinking to himself that he , 
 had all the weary way of persuasion to go over again. 
 
 He pretended to look broken-hearted: then spoke of 
 bidding her farewell forever — telling her that he would 
 go abroad, and do his best to die there, and that he 
 was mad to ever dream that she could care for one as 
 poor as he was, now that a wealthier suitor was at 
 hand: that he would go quietly away where she should 
 never see him more. He could not blame her for 
 choosing wealth to a poor man's love. 
 
 He knew how the words would touch her tender 
 heart. She broke down utterly, crying out that he 
 was her love, and she would sacrifice the whole world 
 for him. 
 
 It was a sad, pitiful story: tike fair, passionate girl, 
 
78 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 so weak, yet so strong; so fond of him, yet so anxious 
 to do right. 
 
 Little by little — long before she knew it herself — 
 he saw that she was giving way. 
 
 She forgot the guests gathered beneath her roof; 
 forgot her white-haired, proud old father; forgot the 
 handsome bridegroom who would be waiting for her at 
 the altar; forgot the terrible disgrace she would bring 
 upon those who loved her so well; forgot everything 
 else save that with her whole heart she loved the man 
 who was pleading with her to turn from all else and 
 fly with him — to love aud happiness. 
 
 He showed her the* marriage license he had brought 
 with him. He had been so sure of her, and her love 
 for him, that every preparation had been made. A 
 coupe stood in waiting at the fork of the roads, which 
 should bear them to a little village a few miles distant, 
 where a minister was in readiness to make them one. 
 
 He promised her that, if she liked, they would both 
 return to Fairlawn on the morrow, and sue for pardon 
 from the general on their bended knees; and he would 
 not refuse to grant it. 
 
 kShe would not be the first daughter, by any means, 
 who had fled from. a man she could not love, and 
 wedded the man she did love. Brides, and even bride- 
 grooms, had turned from a loveless marriage at the 
 very altar. 
 
 " But what if papa should not forgive us? " breathed 
 Reine, faintly. 
 
 " Then I can take care of you, my darling. We 
 would be comparatively poor, but we can be happy 
 even in poverty if Ave love each other. There would 
 be no happiness for either of us — apart. Your father 
 can keep his money, dear; we shall do very well with- 
 out it," said he, who knew no other god save money. 
 
 "But Mr. Chesleigh," sighed Reine—" ah, Walde- 
 mar, he would never forgive me for the injury you 
 would have me do him." 
 
 He took her little ice cold hands in his. 
 
 " Ask yourself which is the greatest injury, Reine," 
 he said, " to promise at the altar to love a man when 
 you know you cannot, or to turn away before you have 
 
THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 79 
 
 steeped your lips in a wilful and cruel perjury? It 
 would be a sin to marry without love's sweet benedic- 
 tion." 
 
 He bewildered her with his love and his pleadiugs. 
 What wonder is it that he convinced her of the truth 
 of his persuasive argument? 
 
 They had been walking up and down the beech 
 groves. He had taken olf his overcoat and wrapped it 
 about her, and adroitly he led her to the spot where 
 his coupe stood in waiting. 
 
 He lifted her in his arms, placing her upon the 
 cushioned seat, his strong will overpowering hers. 
 
 Half shrinking, and wholly irresolute, the general's 
 lovely young daughter clung to him when he sprang 
 to the seat beside her. The carriage door closed with 
 a sharp, metallic click, and in another instant they 
 were whirling through the solemn stillness of that 
 Christmas night. 
 
 Weeping as though her girlish heart would break, 
 yet smiling through her tears, Reine Hastings turned 
 from her home and from those who would, have laid 
 down their lives to save her, and went on to her doom, 
 trusting her young life and her future happiness to 
 one of the most worthless of men. 
 
 She thought of the father she was leaving, and of 
 Bernard Chesleigh, whose patient devotion to her had 
 all been in vain: yet. clinging with tender hands to 
 the strong arm that held her. she put the past from 
 her, and turned her young face bravely toward the 
 future. 
 
 "After all, to choose love was best,'' she told her- 
 self. And now that she had seen Waldemar again, 
 death would have been easier to bear than to part with 
 him. 
 
 So the carriage rolled rapidly away, bearing the gen- 
 erals lovely daughter farther each moment from those 
 whose love would have shielded her, had they but 
 known of her deadly peril. 
 
 Many a sun would rise and set, many a season bloom 
 and fade, ere the father who loved her so well, or the 
 noble lover who would have laid down his very life for 
 her, would behold her again. 
 
80 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 She was going to the most pitiful fate that could 
 have befallen her; yet young girls will still be dazzled 
 by the glitter of tinsel, mistaking it for pure gold, 
 even though they read and weep over the sad expe- 
 rience of Reine, the general's beautiful, impulsive 
 daughter. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THORNS IN THE BRIDAL WREATH. 
 
 The carriage stopped at length before an isolated 
 stone church; the parsonage was close by it; and here, 
 as expeditiously as possible, Waldemar Waldron made 
 the general's heiress his wife. 
 
 " You are mine now, darling/' he said, as he placed 
 her again in the carriage. "Nothing on earth can 
 ever part us." 
 
 Reine shivered and clung to him, listening with all 
 a young girl's trustfulness to the glowing pictures her 
 young husband painted of their glorious future. 
 
 " We will go to Waldron Towers for the present," 
 he said, " and pass the honeymoon there. Your 
 father will come around all right in a fortnight, I'll 
 warrant. Then, perhaps, we can make some kind of 
 arrangement about going abroad." 
 
 The lovely, timid, golden-haired young creature, in 
 shimmering satin robe and a bridal veil crowned with 
 orange blossoms, clinging to their master's arm, cre- 
 ated the greatest consternation among the old servants 
 at Waldron Towers. 
 
 " The idea of bringing a bride there, where there 
 wasn't a decent room in the whole house!" they said 
 to one another. "Why, it was an unheard-of pro- 
 ceeding. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron strode down the long winding 
 corridor among them, with lowering brow. 
 
 " If there is no room ready for occupancy, see that 
 one is put in readiness at the earliest possible mo- 
 ment," he said, harshly. "It is past midnight 
 already. The lady is tired out." 
 
 How gruffly her handsome Waldemar addressed the 
 servants! And she noticed, too, how they shrank 
 6 81 
 
82 
 
 A EORBTDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 from their young master; and they certainly looked at 
 her with something very like profoundest pity gleam- 
 ing in their eyes. How lonely and cheerless the place 
 looked on this eventful Christmas night! 
 
 " Bring us a warm supper/' commanded Waldron; 
 "and that, too, as soon as it can be got. A long ride 
 on a cold night sharpens one's appetite/' he said, turn- 
 ing with a smile to Reine. 
 
 He saw how pale and frightened she looked, and he 
 crossed over quickly to her side, taking her little, cold, 
 trembling hands in his. 
 
 " This is cold comfort for you, my love," he said, 
 bending over her with his irresistible smile. "They 
 cannot get over the startling surprise of seeing a young 
 and lovely girl in my bachelor abode. You have quite 
 paralyzed them." 
 
 His smile more than compensated Reine for the dis- 
 comfort she was experiencing. All the gloom was for- 
 gotten as she looked into Waldemar's face. 
 
 " That supper is a long time in coming," he said, 
 impatiently, at last, rising from his seat and starting 
 toward the bell-cord. 
 
 Before he had time to give it the violent jerk he had 
 intended, the door suddenly opened, and a servant, 
 with a tray of smoking viands, entered. 
 
 " You've forgotten the principal thing," said Wald- 
 ron, glancing critically over the contents of the tray. 
 
 The old servitor started back, looking at his young 
 master earnestly. 
 
 " I didn't know, sir, as it would be advisable to 
 bring it on before the lady. Leastwise, I thought you 
 mightn't like to — " 
 
 Waldemar Waldron interrupted him with a waive of 
 his white hand. 
 
 " Bring it on at once," he commanded. " You know 
 I never dine without it." 
 
 The servant bowed and withdrew, entering a moment 
 later with a decanter of brandy, which he set down 
 before his young master. 
 
 " Do you drink liquor, Waldemar? " asked the young 
 bride, when they found themselves alone, her blue 
 eyes opening wide in surprise and wonder. 
 
THORNS IX THE BRIDAL WREATH. 
 
 S3 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "Does it seem strange to you? I should have sup- 
 posed you were accustomed to seeing your father and 
 Chesleigh indulging in exhilarating beverages at Fair- 
 lawn/' 
 
 "They both abhor it/' said lieine, solemnly. " We 
 never have anything of the kind, not even at parties. 
 I am like papa. I don't approve of \i, Waldemar." 
 
 He laughed and tossed off a brimming goblet, drain- 
 ing it to the dregs, with a charming little compliment 
 to his lovely young bride, ending by the laughing re- 
 joinder, as he still saw how serious she looked : 
 
 "If you are so averse to it, my dear, you shouldn't 
 have chosen a husband addicted to it." 
 
 Eeine was so grieved and sorry that she quite lost 
 her appetite for the broiled partridge, the dainty muffins 
 and poached eggs lying so temptingly before her: even 
 the cocoa grew cold untasted — as she watched her 
 young husband raise a second and a third tiny goblet 
 to his fair, moustached lips and drain its contents at a 
 single draught. 
 
 She watched him as his eyes brightened and his 
 cheeks flushed, while the white hand that toyed with 
 his snowy napkin grew less steady. 
 
 " I have married General Hastings' heiress. Yes, 
 heir to a whole million, and I am only celebrating the 
 glorious event," he told himself, as he watched Reine's 
 anxious face with amused eyes. 
 
 Yes, he felt lordly — quite a millionaire already. It 
 was only a matter of time when he should be enjoying 
 the old gentleman's golden wealth, for he would not 
 hold out against his pretty daughter and her young 
 husband very long. 
 
 If the young bride had not been so completely 
 blinded by love she could not have forgiven so easily 
 the odor of the kiss that was laid upon her red lips as 
 they rose from the luncheon table. 
 
 A week slipped away. And the truth may as well 
 be told plainly — as it would certainly become very 
 apparent in subsequent events — in that w T eek "Waldemar 
 AValdron began to weary of domestic bliss. 
 
84 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 He had been a model young husband during that 
 time. 
 
 He was so handsome, so gay, with such devotion in 
 every look and word, that the poor child thought her- 
 self in Paradise. All that she wanted to make her the 
 happiest of human beings was her father's forgiveness. 
 
 The next day she had written a very long letter to 
 the general, confessing what she had done, but now 
 that she was married, praying him to pardon her, and 
 not refuse to love her as of yore. 
 
 She wrote also to Bernard Chesleigh, begging him 
 to forgive the injury she had done him. It was 
 hardly legible, it was so blotted with tears. 
 
 She gave them to Waldemar to have them delivered. 
 
 Poor child! The hours she had passed over them 
 was time lost. 
 
 When Waldemar Waldron found himself alone, he 
 broke the seals without the least particle of compunc- 
 tion, and perused their contents at his leisure. 
 
 When he finished them he tossed them into the 
 glowing coals of the grate. It would never do to 
 deliver such letters as these. She had written to her 
 father how happy she was with the love she had chosen 
 — that her bliss had but one drawback, which she 
 hoped time would mend. Her dear young husband 
 liked brandy a little, but she meant to do her best to 
 break him of the terrible habit. 
 
 He ground his teeth with the most intense anger 
 when his eyes fell upon that. 
 
 "The little fool!" he muttered. " If the general 
 were to find out that — my besetting sin — it would 
 ruin our prospects. He might not advance me a 
 dollar." 
 
 It was then that he had tossed them into the fire. 
 
 He had meant to wait a little to see how the general 
 would take Seine's flight before he divulged their mar- 
 riage and her whereabouts. 
 
 " His anger must have a day or so to cool," he 
 thought. 
 
 The next day he received a telegram, demanding his 
 immediate presence in New York. He decided to 
 take Peine with him. 
 
THORNS IJST THE BRIDAL WREATH. 85 
 
 "A week or so of anxiety wouldn't hurt the gen- 
 eral/' he concluded, " and it would make him all the 
 more anxious to pardon and receive his lovely daughter. " 
 
 When they returned to the Towers a few days later, 
 the whole country was in such an uproarious commo- 
 tion over Reine's mysterious disappearance that he 
 grew frightened, and questioned the advisability of 
 revealing the existing state of affairs until the great 
 excitement waned a little. He was totally unprepared 
 for the manner in which the general took the matter; 
 and, to admit the truth, he rather feared that the old 
 soldier, in a fit of rage, might shoot him down on the 
 spot when he stood before him acknowledging that he 
 had dared to .brave the old gentleman's warning and 
 anger by marrying his daughter. 
 
 No; at all hazards her whereabouts must not be 
 revealed just now; yet, when he heard that the irate 
 old millionaire was on the point of signing over every 
 dollar of his worldly possessions to Bernard Chesleigh, 
 he saw something must be done at once to prevent it. 
 
 He had had all the lordly sensations of imagining 
 himself a millionaire; he could not endure the thought 
 that by any freak of fate it should be wrenched from 
 his grasp. He had married an heiress, and he must 
 look out that he was not cheated out of his just dues. 
 
 He could make life very charming and agreeable to 
 a wife who would soon inherit a million of money, but 
 he was no sort of husband for a poor, dependent girl, 
 thofigh she loved him to distraction, and was as lovely 
 as an houri or a poet's dream. 
 
 He was used to being idolized by lovely women; but 
 beauty and wealth he had never found together; so he 
 passed them by gayly enough, until he came across 
 General Hastings' daughter. Surely fate did not 
 mean to laugh at him so tantalizingly as to turn his 
 golden prize to dead sea fruit on his lips! 
 
 Angels have fallen ere her time by pride. 
 
 That sole alloy of her most lovely mould. 
 
 The evil spirit of a bitter mood 
 
 And a revengeful heart had power upon him 
 
 That very hour, when passion, turn'd to wrath, 
 
 Made his whole soul a chaos — in that hour 
 
 The tempter found him. Bulwer Lytto]S". 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 66 SHE CHOSE HER OWN PATH, NOW LET HER FOLLOW 
 
 Reine pondered long and earnestly as to why she 
 received no reply to the loving letter she had written 
 to her father the day following her wedding. Was his 
 heart turned against her? Could he not find pardon 
 for what she had done, that he so completely ignored 
 it? 
 
 While in New York, Waldemar had secured a maid 
 for her, who had accompanied them back to the Tow- 
 ers. During their absence a suite of rooms in the 
 western wing had been handsomely re-furnished for 
 her. 
 
 She might have been very happy in her new life — 
 it was so romantically new and novel to her — if she 
 could but have seen her father, or have received one 
 kind line from him. 
 
 She lived on, from day to day, scarcely a mile dis- 
 tant from Fairlawn, little dreaming of the great ex- 
 citement her disappearance had evoked, and that her 
 fate was wrapped in the profoundest mystery, while 
 her father was almost distracted over the matter. 
 
 The events that transpired in the outer world never 
 penetrated the walls of the isolated Towers. 
 
 Many a time Waldemar Waldron almost cursed him- 
 self for not making his marriage known the very hour 
 in which it was solemnized. 
 
 There was another and a strong reason why it should 
 have been noised about that he had won the heiress 
 of Fairlawn ; he was in debt, and his creditors were 
 pressing him hard for money, and he had not the least 
 notion of where the money was to come from, unless the 
 general helped him out of his scrape, for Reine's sake. 
 
 86 
 
"SHE CHOSE HER OWX PATH. 
 
 sr 
 
 The news that the general intended to sign over his 
 entire fortune .to Bernard Chesleigh brought him to a 
 sense of immediate action. Long after the disguised 
 young detective left him he sat pondering the matter 
 over. 
 
 It was just as well, perhaps, that he was so preoccu- 
 pied; he did not hear the footsteps that crept stealthilv 
 past his door, as Donald Gray, who had gained an 
 entrance by means of the front door key which lie had 
 quietly abstracted upon leaving, pursued his way back 
 to the suite of rooms in the western wing of the Tow- 
 ers. 
 
 Again the young detective paused at the same door, 
 opening it noiselessly as before, and found himself 
 once more in the presence of the dark-haired young 
 woman seated in the low rocker. 
 
 It was his purpose to question her as to who she was, 
 and what she was doing there. 
 
 If he were to breathe his suspicions to her — show 
 her Waldemar Waldron's letters, couched in the ten- 
 derest words love could frame, to another— she might 
 through wounded love, rage or jealousy, unite her 
 efforts with him to probe the deep mystery surround- 
 ing the disappearance of General Hastings' daughter — 
 that is, if the master of the Towers had anything to 
 do with it. 
 
 While he was ruminating the matter over in his own 
 mind, a little white hand suddenly thrust the velvet 
 curtains aside from an inner apartment, and, to the 
 detective's ' intense amazement and intense joy, the 
 original of the portrait that rested in his breast pocket 
 — General Hastings' lovely young daughter, in the 
 flesh, surety — stood revealed to his astonished gaze. 
 
 " Honora," she said, addressing her companion, 
 "you may as well brush out my hair now. I shall not 
 sit up and wait for my husband to-night. Waldemar's 
 hours are so irregular of late that he might not come 
 in until midnight: so I may as well retire at once/' 
 
 By this the detective judged them rightly to be mis- 
 tress and maid. He had also made a startling dis- 
 covery. Waldemar Waldron had married the general's 
 daughter. 
 
88 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 " Ah, my lady, you have been crying again/' said 
 the girl, bending pitifully over the slender form buried 
 in the cushions of the blue plush arm-chair. " Brides 
 should smile, not weep. There's time enough for that 
 in after years." 
 
 "I know it," replied Heine, thoughtfully. "I 
 would have no cause for one heart pang if papa would 
 only answer my letters, and say that he forgives me 
 for eloping with Waldemar on my bridal eve. I 
 have written him again," she continued, drawing a 
 dainty, cream-tinted envelope from her pocket, "beg- 
 ging him to pardon Waldemar and me. We are so 
 happy together." 
 
 "I hope he will, my lady," said Honora, earnestly. 
 "It's a pitiful thing to be estranged from one's family 
 on account of marriage. Husbands are so fickle now- 
 adays, a girl never knows when she has to fall back on 
 those at home for support again. There, there, now," 
 she continued, "I knew in my blunt way I'd be sure to 
 say something to offend you, I don't mean anything 
 amiss, though, Mrs/ Waldron. Your husband will 
 never prove fickle and false to you. He perfectly 
 adores you." 
 
 Keine looked up and smiled through her tears. 
 
 "Yes, Waldemar is fond of me," said Reine, 
 thoughtfully, as though persistently assuring herself 
 of the fact. 
 
 " Do not forget to remind me to-morrow morning 'to 
 give this letter to my husband to mail to papa," she 
 said, rising and placing the cream -tinted missive on 
 the marble table. 
 
 "I shall not need you anymore to-night, Honora. 
 You may as well retire." 
 
 With these words she passed out of sight behind the 
 sweeping folds of heavy velvet that shut out the 
 interior of the inner apartment from view. 
 
 Imagining herself quite alone, the maid picked up 
 the envelope, glancing curiously at the superscription. 
 
 "General Hastings, Fairlawn," she muttered, under 
 her breath. "Why, I have often heard and read of 
 him. I want to know if she really belongs to that 
 great family. Well, her husband's as much of a scamp 
 
"SHE CHOSE HER OWX PATH.'"" 
 
 S9 
 
 as lier father is a gentleman. Only married a fort- 
 night, and making eves at respectable maids every 
 time his bride's back is turned. If it wasn't for re- 
 vealing his meanness before her, Fd tell him just what 
 I thought of him in a few sharp, stinging words. It 
 makes'm}- Scotch blood boil to see such a pretty, 
 trusting young wife made such a fool of as he's 
 making of her. I shall always believe, after this, the 
 stories of the ill-starred results of runaway marriages. 
 She'd better have died than eloped with Waldemar 
 AValdron."'* 
 
 She laid the letter down on the table again, took up 
 a silver lamp, and the next moment had left the room. 
 
 It was but the work of an instant for the young 
 detective to glide from his place of concealment, and 
 secure the coveted letter, in Eeine's own handwriting, 
 addressed to the general. 
 
 Xo wonder the young detective's heart throbbed 
 exultantly as he neared Fairlawn. His fame and suc- 
 cess were assured things now: he had worked up 
 successfully the great case of the day, that was agitat- 
 ing the public mind. He had solved the great mystery 
 concerning the general's lovely young daughter, and 
 had traced her whereabouts. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh was sitting alone in the library 
 when Gray entered unannounced. The moment their 
 eyes met the young lawyer knew he had ^news for 
 him. 
 
 "You have found her?'' he asked, interrogatively, 
 motioning Donald Gray to a seat opposite him. " Tell 
 me all," ne said? hoarsely, his handsome, noble face 
 paling and flushing by turns. " I can bear anything 
 but suspense.'* 
 
 "I have found the general's daughter, sir," said the 
 detective. "I have been in her presence. " 
 
 '•'Where is she?'* gasped Bernard Chesleigh, in the 
 greatest excitement. ••'Tell me quickly — is she alive 
 and well?" 
 
 '•'She is alive and well, sir/'* responded the detective: 
 f, 'and is at this moment an inmate of Waldron Towers 
 —the wedded wife of its master, Waldemar TValdron. 
 
90 
 
 A FORBIDDEH MARRIAGE. 
 
 It was with him she eloped on the night she was to 
 have been wedded to you, sir." 
 
 " That has been my secret fear from the first," 
 groaned Chesleigh. (< Poor, little, tender Eeine that 
 villain's wife ! No more cruel fate could have been 
 meted out to her. Better had you found her lying 
 cold in death in her coffin. Poor girl ! she has sought 
 death in life. I wonder how the general wi.ll bear this; 
 she was the darling of his heart — his pride. This will 
 be a sad blow to him." 
 
 There was no need to wonder how the news should 
 be broken to the old soldier, for, glancing up suddenly, 
 they saw him standing before them in the doorway like 
 a marble statue. He had heard all that had passed be- 
 tween them, but neither a groan nor a sigh escaped his 
 ashen lips. 
 
 Married, was she ! and to the man he detested ! 
 She had defied him, and fled with the lover whom he 
 had sent away. Standing there, he remembered the 
 vow he had made to Waldemar Waldron— If my 
 daughter marries you, not one dollar of my money 
 shall she have. I'll leave it first to the paupers in the 
 almshouse." 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh rose suddenly to his feet, advanc- 
 ing anxiously toward the general; but the old soldier 
 waived him away. 
 
 " Leave me alone," he said, hoarsely. "It is the 
 greatest kindness you can do me, to leave me by myself 
 to fight out this fierce battle." 
 
 Not a muscle of his face moved as the detective laid 
 the letter, in his darling's well-known, delicate chirog- 
 raphy, before him; nor did his face soften when he had 
 read that piteous appeal for forgiveness to the very 
 end. 
 
 " She defied me, and chose that villain ! " he said, 
 harshly, as he locked the letter carefully out of sight 
 in his private desk. He had loved her well, but never 
 could he overlook this. In the future — he had no 
 daughter. 
 
 By noon the next day the romantic story of Reine 
 Hastings' marriage was flashed broadcast over the wires. 
 It created a profound sensation. Women, of course, 
 
"SHE CHOSE HER OWX PATH." 
 
 91 
 
 took sides with the lovely young bride who had fled 
 with the lover she loved best. They said, too, that the 
 old millionaire would be sure to forgive her. But those 
 who knew the stern old general well, answered, "that 
 not even in the hour of death would he pardon her. v 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 es I WISH TO HEAVEN I HAD NOT MARRIED YOU." 
 
 Waldemar Waldron was amazed when he heard 
 the next morning how cleverly the young detective had 
 gained an entrance into the Towers, and had discov- 
 ered the object of his search there. Still, he com- 
 forted himself with the fact that it saved him the 
 trouble of breaking the intelligence in person to the 
 irate old general. 
 
 All that day he confidently expected a summons 
 from General Hastings, bidding him bring his wife at 
 once to Fairlawn; but no such summons came. A 
 second and a third day passed; still Reine's father 
 maintained the most rigid silence toward them. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron was more disturbed by this line 
 of action than he cared to own. His funds were run- 
 ning low. He should certainly be stranded unless the 
 old gentleman came to his rescue without delay. 
 
 Reine was seated in her room that afternoon, when 
 he entered hastily and unexpectedly. 
 
 " Have'you heard from your father yet, Reine?" he 
 asked, anxiously. 
 
 Her fair face flushed with pleasure to see how ear- 
 nestly he desired a reconciliation with her dear father. 
 Ah, how kind of heart her handsome Waldemar was! 
 
 "No, dear/' she answered, crossing over to the 
 divan upon which he had flung himself, and twining 
 her white arms round his neck in a caressing, pretty 
 fashion. 
 
 " Hadn't you better write again ?" he interrogated, 
 impatiently. 
 
 A lovely smile dimpled the crimson mouth; she was 
 so pleased. She opened her writing-desk at once and 
 began another letter to the father who had so idolized 
 her in the past. 
 
 92 
 
"I WISH I HAD XOT MARRIED YOU." 93 
 
 Waldemar watched the white hand gliding swiftly 
 over the page, and the lovely golden head bent over it; 
 but it was not of her beauty he was thinking just 
 then. 
 
 He was wondering in what words he should broach 
 the subject of money to her, when she gave him the 
 very opportunity he desired. 
 
 " Shall I tell papa we are going on a bridal tour, 
 and if he wants to see me — and you, too, dear — that 
 he must send for us at once ? " 
 
 A deep sigh broke from his lips, and he covered his 
 face with his hands. 
 
 "I fear we shall have to postpone it, my darling," 
 he said; and then he told the same old story that is on 
 the generality of 'men's tongues' end: that he had en- 
 dorsed a note for a man, and now he had it to pay, and 
 if he could not raise the amount ruin stared him in 
 the face. It was always a man's supposed friend who 
 beat him. 
 
 Poor Keine's lovely face grew white as a lily leaf 
 with fear. 
 
 " Oh, Waldemar, you are so kind-hearted; of course, 
 you couldn't refuse* your friend. But, oh_, what a pre- 
 dicament it leaves you in ! " 
 
 Suddenly her lovely face brightened. 
 
 " Don't let it worry you, Waldemar, dear," she cried, 
 with a dazzling smile. " I know where we can get the 
 money. 1 will write to papa for it. He will send us 
 double the amount." 
 
 "Perhaps it would he the correct thing to give the 
 old gent a pretty strong hint as to how we are situated," 
 he answered, trying hard to subdue the ring of triumph 
 in his voice; "but be sure to add that I am working- 
 hard," he went on, crossing his white hands indolently 
 on his lap, " and that we are wonderfully happy." 
 
 After she had written it, he took the letter in his 
 hands, scanning it eagerly, pretending to admire the 
 delicately curved chirography, but in reality to see if 
 she had put it strong enough about the money. He 
 was satisfied on that point, and the letter was sent to 
 Fairlawn. 
 
94 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Eeine never doubted but that her father would re- 
 spond at once with a generous check. 
 
 She wrote so pleadingly, so earnestly, that the stern 
 old general laid down the letter, completely unnerved 
 by the reading of it. 
 
 " I shall not send it; certainly not," he said to Ber- 
 nard Chesleigh. " I foresaw all this when that scoun- 
 drel asked me for my child. I knew he only wanted 
 her money. Scarcely married a fortnight, and calling 
 upon me for assistance. But not a farthing of my 
 money shall go to the spendthrift who stole my daugh- 
 ter from me. I have sworn it, and a soldier never 
 breaks a vow. I shall write and tell her I am sorry 
 for her, but I cannot and will not send her a dollar. I 
 shall tell her plainly that all such applications to me 
 will meet with a prompt and decided refusal." 
 
 In vain Bernard Chesleigh attempted to use his in- 
 fluence with him in Reine's behalf; the old gentleman 
 kept his words, adding, as a postscript, that it would 
 be well for Waldemar Waldron if he never crossed his 
 path. 
 
 Eeine and her husband were at luncheon when the 
 general's letter was brought them. 
 
 " Open the letter at once, Reine," said Waldemar, 
 eagerty, pushing his food away untasted. " Let us see 
 how large a check he has sent us." 
 
 He could scarcely restrain his intense impatience 
 until the envelope was torn open and the letter ex- 
 tracted. 
 
 Lo! — no check was visible! In the greatest dismay, 
 Reine read aloud the few stern, terse lines her father 
 had penned. 
 
 She had scarcely finished ere it was dashed from her 
 hand, and Waldemar Waldron was crushing it beneath 
 his heel, with a face so pale with passionate rage it 
 was frightful to behold. 
 
 " So that's the stand the stupid old fool intends to 
 take, is it?" he cried. " Who dreamed that he would 
 stick to his miserable vow when once we were mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 In vain his young bride tried to stem the torrent of 
 
•I WISH I HAD XOT MARRIED YOU." 
 
 95 
 
 the wild imprecations that he hurled upon the head of 
 the offending general. 
 
 w Waldemar! " she cried, in horror, " remember you 
 are speaking of the father whom I love." 
 
 But she might as well have attempted to stay the 
 mighty current of lava of a burning volcano. 
 
 " Waldemar! 93 she sobbed, kneeling at his feet and 
 raising her little white hands in terror, " I pray you to 
 hush if you lore me! Oh, my love! my love! you are 
 breaking my heart! Do not make me regret the sac- 
 rifices I have made for your dear sake." 
 
 He turned on her like a flash. 
 
 " Sacrifices! 93 he sneered. " I wish to Heaven I had 
 been two hours later on that accursed Christmas night ! 
 I see you are destined to be a millstone around my neck." 
 
 The girl rose from her knees with the dazed light of 
 a stricken fawn shining in her lovely, tearful blue eyes. 
 
 "Waldemar," she said, and she wondered at the 
 strange, hollow sound of her own voice, '''tell me, do 
 you love me less because my father refuses to send us 
 money?" 
 
 " I certainly do not love you the better for it." he 
 returned, harshly, caring little in his reckless rage how 
 the cruel words hurt her. 
 
 At that moment her old fathers words came back to 
 her: 
 
 ''•'He wants your fortune, my child, not you. Such 
 a man is incapable of the beautiful sentiment, love. 
 Money is Jiis god." 
 
 She was only sixteen — little more than a dreaming 
 child — yet she was beginning to dimly realize that 
 there were indeed bitter drops in love's alluring cup 
 that she had imagined would be always so sweet. 
 
 " Waldemar," she said, beating back the agony that 
 was almost overpowering her, "'tell me the truth. If 
 I had been a penniless girl instead of the prospective 
 heiress of Fairlawn, would you have married me? " 
 
 He might have spared that trusting, bleeding heart 
 in his answer; but he did not. 
 
 " A man with my tastes, and with no means to 
 gratify them, would be worse than a fool to throw 
 himself away on a pretty pauper when there are so 
 
A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 many women with plenty of money to be had. I 
 thought, of course, that I was marrying an heiress, 
 and a pretty mess I have made of it, it seems — curse 
 the luck." 
 
 " Then the love you have lavished upon me was only 
 a pretence. Ah, Heaven, Waldemar, could you, my 
 idol, be so base?" 
 
 " Have done with this silly nonsense about love" he 
 cried, impatiently. " Two weeks of it has sickened 
 me almost to death of the very word." 
 
 She staggered back, leaning heavily against a marble 
 Flora, her own face quite as pale and cold as the life- 
 less statue, sobbing out that " the heart in her bosom 
 was breaking." 
 
 He saw a strong shudder run through the girlish 
 figure; he saw her raise her white arms as though in 
 prayer. The golden lashes drooped piteously, the 
 uplifted, appealing white arms fell helplessly to her 
 side, and she dropped, face downward, upon the floor 
 at his feet. She uttered no cry, spoke no word, but 
 fell in the silence and stillness of death. 
 
 He had not meant to go so far — to reveal to her what 
 he was — a desperate fortune-hunter; but the keen dis- 
 appointment of finding no check, and awakening to 
 the truth that he would get nothing from the general, 
 enraged him beyond the pale of reason. 
 
 He looked down upon her for an instant. The gold- 
 en hair, the still, white face, and the blue merino 
 robe she wore all seemed one confused mass to hifti. 
 
 He raised her in his arms — striding hurriedly toward 
 her own apartment — and laid her down — poor, crushed, 
 bruised flower — laid her down with a muttered curse at 
 the folly of marrying in haste. 
 
 He never kissed her, or took, with gentle hands, the 
 tangled golden hair from her white face, but, ringing 
 the bell sharply for Honora, her maid, he turned on his 
 heel, and without one backward glance at the white 
 face on the pillow, hastened from the v )m. 
 
 Oli, woman wronged can cherish hate, 
 More deep and dark than manhood may, 
 
 But when the mockery of fate 
 Hath left revenge its chosen way — 
 
! I WISH I HAD 3"0T CARRIED YOU." 
 
 9 
 
 Still lingers something of the spell 
 Which bound her to the lover's bosom — 
 
 Still midst the vengeful hies of hell 
 Some flowers of old affection blossom. 
 
 John Gr. Whittier. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 WOULD IT END IN A DUEL? 
 
 Waldemar Waldron's romantic marriage with the 
 general's pretty daughter was the principal theme for 
 comment the whole country round. It was discussed 
 in the drawing-room by the ladies, in the lobbies of 
 the theatres by gentlemen; but nowhere was it dis- 
 cussed with more surprise than at the club which 
 Waldron frequented. 
 
 The excitement was all the more intense because 
 Bernard Chesleigh was a member of the same club; 
 and more than one predicted when they did meet there 
 would be a terrible reckoning between them. A duel, 
 or something equally terrible, would be the outgrowth 
 of this affair, even though the old couplet did say that 
 "all was fair in love or war." 
 
 There was general surprise that the general's 
 daughter should have chosen Waldron, instead of 
 Bernard Chesleigh, so noble, so courteous, and honor- 
 able. Still, there was no accounting for the tastes of 
 young girls. They were really not expected to dis- 
 criminate between gold and dross. 
 
 The gentlemen — even his warmest friends — were 
 too courteous to mention the matter in Bernard Ches- 
 leigh's presence. 
 
 Waldron had taken good care to keep out of the way 
 of his companions; but on the afternoon he had had 
 his first quarrel with Eeine, absorbed in his own 
 thoughts, he turned recklessly toward his old haunts, 
 and soon found himself in the very midst of a curious 
 throng. 
 
 He was a capital story-teller, gay, debonair, and on 
 the whole, was something of a favorite with a certain 
 few of his companions, and for the while he was the 
 hero of the hour. 
 
 98 
 
WOULD IT EOT IX A DUEL ? 
 
 00 
 
 He was just in the humor for drowning dull care 
 and forgetting the unpleasantness which he had just 
 passed through. Toasts were drank, and soon the 
 bridegroom of a fortnight was in that mood which 
 often overtakes a man who has lingered too long over 
 the sparkling wine-cup — his wit was as keen as his 
 tongue was loose. 
 
 He boasted openly and llippantly of his lucky mar- 
 riage with the prettiest and richest girl in Virginia, 
 and what a gay life he intended to have of it ere long, 
 when the old governor relented. 
 
 " What if he still remains obdurate? 13 laughed a gay 
 young captain of the Light Guards. "What will you 
 do in that case? " 
 
 Put my wife on the stage,*'' he declared, with a 
 rude laugh. u She's got a face like a Juno and a form 
 like a Hebe. She could make a fortune for both of 
 us. and — " 
 
 He never finished the sentence. Quick as a flash of 
 lightning, some one who had just entered the open 
 door, pausing a moment on the threshold, and who 
 had heard that last remark, sprang to AValdemar 
 Waldroms side, and hurled him back from the ban- 
 queting board with his strong right hand. 
 
 It was Bernard Chesleigh. 
 
 " Hush! " he cried, sternly. "Not one word more! 
 Xot one, I say ! " 
 
 Only Heaven knew how strong was the feeling 
 within Bernard Chesleiglrs heart to fell the scoundrel 
 to the ground who dared breathe Kerne's pure name 
 thus, and crush his very life out of his miserable, 
 worthless body, but he controlled himself by a super- 
 human effort, and beat back the bitter anger that 
 surged in his breast. 
 
 Besides, he could see that his companion was in no 
 fit condition to defend himself. 
 
 Quick as thought Bernard Chesleigh had forced 
 Waldron into an adjacent ante-room. There they 
 were quite alone, and there they stood facing each 
 other in utter silence — these two who had such cause 
 for hating each other so bitterly. 
 
 It was Bernard Chesleigh who broke the terrible, 
 
100 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MAREIAGE. 
 
 oppressive silence. The blood was boiling in his veins, 
 yet he spoke steadily, calmly, as his stern gaze fell 
 upon the rival who had won Eeine from him at the 
 very altar. 
 
 Waldron attempted to speak, but the other held up 
 his hand with a quick gesture. 
 
 " Not one word will I hear," exclaimed Bernard, 
 white to the lips — " not one word that you can offer in 
 extenuation of the words that fell from your lips in 
 reference to — Eeine." 
 
 "Well!" exclaimed the other coolly — by this time 
 regaining his insolent composure, — " as the husband 
 of the lady in question, I demand to know by what 
 right you shall dictate in what terms I use her name." 
 
 "As her friend, and her father's friend, I cannot 
 stand by and hear her name mentioned lightly — even 
 by you, who should have all respect for it." 
 
 "How could my wife's old lover prevent me from 
 speaking of her as I will?" sneered Waldron, — "to 
 attempt to interfere would be to bring about that 
 which you should wish to avoid; her name being ban- 
 died about all the more. 
 
 "You interfered in my affairs once before, Ches- 
 leigh, and I vowed that I would be even with you, and 
 I natter myself I have paid off that old score with 
 interest." 
 
 The remark made Bernard Chesleigh fairly tremble 
 with rage; his pride was stung to the quick, but he 
 dared not give way to the passion that was struggling 
 in his heart for mastery. 
 
 It was well for Waldemar Waldron, perhaps, that lie 
 turned at that moment on his heel and left the club- 
 house by a private entrance — left Bernard Chesleigh 
 standing there like a man turned to marble. 
 
 As Waldemar Waldron walked homeward through 
 the sunlit streets, his head held high, his fair hand- 
 some face gay in its triumph over the humiliation of 
 Heine's old lover, people turned to look after the hero 
 of the day — young girls with admiring eyes, men with 
 something very like envy. If his heart could have 
 been read, not one of those who passed him by would 
 have changed places with him. 
 
WOULD IT EKD IK A DUEL ? 
 
 101 
 
 It was in no enviable mood that he returned to 
 Reine. She was sitting by the window, her beautiful 
 golden head bent dejectedly on her hand. She was 
 just beginning to realize that life was not the golden 
 dream that she had pictured it. 
 
 She rose mechanically as he entered and advanced 
 toward him, an open letter in her white hand. 
 
 "It is from papa, Waldemar," she said, timidly. 
 " He says he has boxed up all my belongings and sent 
 them to me. Here is a list of the articles. He says 
 that in future a rigid silence shall be maintained 
 between us, and that he will never forgive me." 
 
 Reine's diamonds — her father's and also Bernard 
 Chesleigh's magnificent gift to her — headed the list. 
 
 Her superb wardrobe, her books, bric-a-brac and 
 pictures, even her pony and phaeton, were to be sent 
 her — all she had ever possessed at Fairlawn — together 
 with a check her poor dead mother had placed to her 
 credit when Reine was a small child. 
 
 It had accumulated with gathering interest to the 
 snug little sum of eight thousand dollars now. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron's eyes brightened as he read — 
 eight thousand dollars. Ah, it was certainly a god- 
 send to him. 
 
 "How much are your diamonds worth, love?" he 
 said, passing one arm caressingly around the slender 
 waist, and assuming the old lover-like fondness. 
 
 " They are worth at least ten thousand," said Reine. 
 " There is a pair of beautiful solitaire earrings, 
 diamond studded bracelets, and a superb necklace of 
 small, white stones." 
 
 There was the stylish turnout and the pictures. 
 That meant a thousand more in cash. No wonder 
 Waldemar Waldron, whose god was glittering gold, 
 was highly elated at the gold mine that was to be laid 
 at his feet. 
 
 Ah ! what a glorious life they would have of it while 
 the money lasted. That afternoon, just as the sun 
 was setting, Reine received the heavy-loaded boxes her 
 father had sent her from Fairlawn. A trusted servant 
 was sent on before with the cases of diamonds and the 
 check her mother had left her. Who had dreamed, in 
 
102 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 that distant past, that the clay would come when poor 
 Heine would need it so sadly. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron set himself to work at once to 
 regain the love and esteem in Heine's heart that he had 
 shaken so fatally. She was so young and so trusting, 
 and loved him so, and was so pleased to look on the 
 bright side of life, that the task he set for himself was 
 not difficult to accomplish. 
 
 He took her in his arms, praying her to forgive the 
 hasty words he had uttered that morning, telling her 
 that she ought to have known he never meant them. 
 
 The upshot of the whole matter was, that they made 
 up their differences with love's forgiving kisses, and 
 again poor Reine was in Paradise; Waldemar was so 
 kind and affectionate to her. 
 
 It was like beginning their honeymoon over again; 
 and after all, she had heard that the course of true 
 love did not run smooth at all times, and that the mak- 
 ing up between lovers was all the sweeter for the little 
 rift in the lute of domestic felicity. 
 
 That evening Waldemar took Heine to the opera. 
 They were the cynosure of all eyes. Many of W aide- 
 mar's companions of the club were there; arid as they 
 looked at the exquisitely lovely face of the little blonde 
 bride, more than one of them thought of the remark 
 her handsome, dissipated young husband had made — 
 of putting her on the stage; while she, poor little soul, 
 sat beside him, never dreaming why he turned so 
 shamefacedly away from them and riveted his eyes so 
 fixedly on the beauties behind the foot-lights. 
 
 Heine's meteoric happiness lasted just the few hours 
 she sat beside Waldemar Waldron in the crowded thea- 
 tre. 
 
 On the morrow a strange and unlooked-for event was 
 to happen. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "OH., CRUEL LOVE, WHOSE EXD IS SCORK! 99 
 
 Whek Bernard Chesleigh returned to Fairlawn he 
 refrained from mentioning to the general the episode 
 that had taken place at the club that afternoon. 
 
 For long hours he sat by the glowing embers of the 
 library grate buried in his own thoughts. 
 
 Now that his meeting with Waldemar Waldron was 
 over and past, he wondered how he had so far con- 
 trolled his bitter anger against the man who had won 
 Reine from him in so cowardly and dastardly a man- 
 ner, as to refrain from challenging him to a duel on 
 sight. 
 
 He had realized that a blow struck at Waldemar 
 Waldron would pierce Heine's heart first. 
 
 What a pitiful trial it must have been to Reine to 
 have greeted him in the plight in which he had re- 
 turned home to her. With all her love, how her pure 
 soul must have shrunk from him. 
 
 Had he no respect for his young bride, that he dared 
 return to his old vices before he had been wedded a 
 fortnight? How Bernard's blood boiled with indigna- 
 tion as he thought of poor Reine's humiliation! 
 
 "I could not endure remaining here and witnessing 
 all that I should be compelled to see," he ruminated. 
 "I must leave Fairlawn and this vicinity — at once." 
 
 It was a sorrowful parting between General Hastings 
 and Bernard Chesleigh, yet the general did not press 
 him to remain. He well knew the true reason that 
 actuated his immediate departure for New York 
 city. 
 
 He was young, wealthy and energetic; he would be 
 sure to hold his own in the great metropolis, if any 
 one could, 
 
 103 
 
104 
 
 A FOKBIDDEK MAREIAGE. 
 
 Without even mentioning the name so dear to him, 
 Bernard Chesleigh turned away, little caring whether 
 he ever saw the hills and vales of old Virginia again or 
 not. He was equally indifferent as to what became of 
 him. 
 
 Some men would have sought to drown sorrow in 
 dissipation. He was of the class that turned to hard 
 work as a panacea for all human ills. 
 
 He had scarcely been in New York a week, when, 
 glancing over the personals in a moment of leisure one 
 morning he read, in extreme astonishment and dismay, 
 that Mr. Waldemar Waldron and wife — nee Miss Hast- 
 ings, daughter of General Hastings, of Virginia — had 
 taken up their residence at No. — Madison Avenue, 
 and that they intended to make New York city their 
 future home. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh laid down the paper with a 
 disturbed face. He had exiled himself from home and 
 friends in order that he might be spared meeting them; 
 but now here they were in New York city. Of course, 
 if they went into society, he could not help meeting 
 them sooner or later. How unkind of fate to have 
 brought them here. 
 
 He was not a block of marble nor an icicle in human 
 form, such as we often read of in the pages of very 
 prosy books. He was simply a man, who had loved 
 with all the fulness and passionate strength of his 
 noble nature, and it was no light matter to look for- 
 ward to meeting the woman he loved as the wife of his 
 rival. 
 
 When Waldemar Waldron received Eeine's belong- 
 ings from Fairlawn he turned every available article 
 into cash, and proposed to Eeine that they should leave 
 Waldron Towers at once for New York city. 
 
 " We shall see plenty of life there," he said, enthusi- 
 astically. The metropolis is always gay in winter." 
 
 He well knew that the name of General Hastings 
 was well known in New York, and that his daughter 
 would be received into the best and most exclusive 
 society. 
 
 They took up their residence on one of the most 
 fashionable avenues; and there Waldemar Waldron 
 
OH, CRUEL LOVE, WHOSE EXD IS SCORN !" 105 
 
 commenced in earnest the life suited to his taste — a 
 gay life and a merry one as long as the cash lasted. 
 
 Reine had not the faintest notion of where the money 
 came from to furnish all the luxury they were enjoy- 
 ing. She quite imagined that her young husband 
 must have some sort of an income. It never occurred 
 to her that it was the money realized from her check 
 and the sale of her diamonds, that furnished all this. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron was quite right in his surmise. 
 The elite society of JSFew York opened its arms to Gen- 
 eral Hastings' daughter and her handsome young hus- 
 band. 
 
 But with this new life came quite a change for the 
 pretty young; bride. At first Waldemar began simply 
 to neglect her. At last he spent whole nights, and 
 sometimes days at a time, away from her. 
 
 He considered it quite a 'fine lark to insinuate, 
 wherever it was not known otherwise, that he was 
 single — free to woo and win any fair maid who might 
 please his fancy. 
 
 "It could do no harm to Reine, carrying out this 
 little joke," he told himself, complacently. 
 
 He liked to see young girls' eyes brighten at his ap- 
 proach — to know that their hearts beat quicker at the 
 sound of his voice; and that their blushes were for 
 him. Of course, all this would be at an end if they were 
 to find out he was married; so, why inform them of the 
 fact when the information was not called for? 
 
 When they had no visitors at home, or had no invi- 
 tations out, Waldemar Waldron spent his time as he 
 liked. Perhaps it was quite as well that Reine did not 
 know how he spent the hours that she found so sad 
 and lonely. 
 
 Three months had passed; and those months had 
 made a sad change in Reine. She was thinner and 
 paler. The lovely blue eyes looked as though showers 
 of hot tears had dimmed their lustre. The fair, 
 rounded cheek had lost its delicate contour; and if one 
 came upon her suddenly, they might have seen tears 
 on the lovely, drooping lashes. 
 
 But she was so loyal to her handsome, debonair hus- 
 band ; she would not even own to herself that she was 
 
106 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 disappointed in her marriage. She was so young and 
 loving. She longed for kind words and caresses. She 
 longed for such expressions of fondness as Waldeniar 
 had shown her before she had married him. 
 
 It almost seemed to her that the whole world knew 
 that her husband did not care for her, and that she 
 was a neglected, desolate bride. 
 
 Many a night the lovely golden head was laid on a 
 pillow wet with passionate tears, while the lines of 
 the poet's words often recurred to her in the lonely 
 watches of the dreary night: 
 
 " Oh, cruel love, to change her tone! 
 Oh, cruel love, whose end is scorn ! 
 Is this my fate to be left alone, 
 To live forgotten, and die forlorn? 
 Oh, the night is dreary; I alone awake; 
 My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love — 
 My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, 
 And I am all a-weary of my life ! 
 Yet, all a-weary, would that I could sleep, 
 But deep — deep — never to waken more!" 
 
 It was a sad thing for one so young to be so lonely, 
 and to be so utterly neglected. Once or twice she had 
 timidly gone to Waldemar, with tears in her lovely 
 eyes, to plead with him to show a little more consider- 
 ation toward her. 
 
 He caught up his hat and gloves, looking at the 
 tear-stained, grieved face with an impatient frown. 
 
 " If there is anything I do detest, it is a crying 
 woman," he observed, angrily. " Do not repeat this 
 scene again, Eeine. I really cannot endure it. I shall 
 not return home until 1 feel quite certain you are over 
 this weeping scene." 
 
 He strode out of the room, and again the wretched 
 girl- wife fell face downward on the velvet carpet. 
 There, long afterward, the servants found her, uncon- 
 scious still. 
 
 In vain they chafed the little white hands and blue- 
 veined temples. The fluttering breath grew fainter 
 and fainter. Kindly hands unfastened the amber 
 satin dress she wore, and took from the twining golden 
 Curls the pale roses that clustered among them, laying 
 
" OH, CRUEL LOVE, WHOSE EXD IS SCORN ! " 107 
 
 her on the lace-draped couch, and a physician was 
 quickly summoned. 
 
 When he heard the moans and bitter sighs that 
 quivered on the pale lips of the miserable young bride, 
 he knew perfectly well it was not a case for drugs. 
 
 "Who could minister to a mind diseased?" He 
 left her a quieting compound, and recommended that 
 her husband should be sent for. 
 
 In vain messengers were sent here and there for him. 
 Waldemar Waldron was not to be found. That even- 
 ing, while strangers gathered around Heine's pillow — 
 who had summoned the physician again, for she was 
 growing rapidly worse — at the self-same moment the 
 physician was gravely counting the strokes of Heine's 
 pulse, solemnly shaking his head, while those around 
 her were weeping silently — at that moment Waldemar 
 Waldron was seated at the head of a banquet table, 
 odorous with the breath of roses, making a speech of 
 welcome to the gay, piquant opera singer whose dash- 
 ing beauty had taken New York by storm, and in 
 whose honor he had given this elegant supper. 
 
 It was three days ere the notion occurred to him 
 that it was about time to return home to Heine. 
 
 He quite expected a storm of reproaches and tears as 
 he entered his wife's pretty blue-and-gold morning- 
 room. The slender, girlish form he expected to see 
 was not there. He ran lightly up the stairs to her 
 boudoir. She was seated, in a white cashmere wrapper, 
 before the fire, gazing thoughtfully at the pictures the 
 glowing coals made. 
 
 She was looking wofully thin and pale and dull. 
 She greeted him gravely, answering his questions when 
 he spoke to her, in clear, steady tones. 
 
 He would not believe that she had been ill. 
 
 " It was quite an ingenious little story to greet him 
 with," he declared, " but she could not make him 
 believe it." 
 
 He never did credit it — not until the doctor sent in 
 his little bill, days after. 
 
 "I had intended taking you to a grand concert to- 
 night, * he said. " I secured the tickets already." 
 
108 
 
 A FORBIDDEN" MARRIAGE. 
 
 " We cannot go, Waldemar, because I am so ill/' 
 she said plaintively. 
 
 "If you choose to stay at home, that will not alter 
 my intention/' he said, brusquely. "I shall go all 
 the same." 
 
 And, without a word of compassion or pity for her 
 illness, he left the house again — left her alone in her 
 pitiful despair. Only the angels knew what she suf- 
 fered in the hours that followed, while her husband 
 was thoroughly enjoying the lights and music at the 
 grand concert, amusing himself by scanning the pretti- 
 est faces in the audience. 
 
 Ah! ruder words will soon rush in 
 To spread the breach tha.t words begin, 
 And eyes forget the gentle ray 
 They wore in courtship's smiling day, 
 And voices lose the tone that shed 
 A tenderness round all they said, 
 Till fast declining, one by one, 
 The sweetnesses of love are gone; 
 And hearts so lately mingled seem 
 Like broken clouds, or like the stream 
 That smiling left the mountain's brow 
 
 As though its waters ne'er could sever, 
 Yet, e'er it reach the plain below, 
 Breaks into floods that part forever. 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 There was one lady whom Waldron had introduced 
 to Reine to whom she had taken a decided dislike, 
 much to her husband's annoyance. 
 
 " Mrs. Smith wants to be fast friends with you/' he 
 declared, with a frown one day, — " what's the reason 
 you don't like her ? " 
 
 " I do not know, Waldemar," she returned, slowly, 
 "there is something about her — not quite — congenial." 
 
 The frown deepened on his face. 
 
 "She is not an educated lady," she went on; "her 
 manners are quite vulgar, and — she paints her face." 
 
 Her husband laughed long and loud at that. 
 
 " I do not like her lady friends whom she brings 
 here with her, any more than I like herself — they actu- 
 ally seem to have lived in a different world from me, — 
 I do not understand them." 
 
"OH, CRUEL LOVE, "WHOSE EKD IS SCORN"!" 109 
 
 Again Waldron laughed loud and long, although 
 Reine could not see anything particularly amusing in 
 what she had said. 
 
 " I have invited Mrs. Smith to accompany us to the 
 opera/' he said; "see that you treat her well — she 
 don't like your cold way — mind, she's not to be 
 slighted." 
 
 " It would not be agreeable to me to have her accom- 
 pany us, Waldemar," said Reine ; " you ought certainly 
 to have consulted me before asking her." 
 
 " Nonsense/' he declared. " She's the rage of New 
 York — there's not a man but — " he stopped short, 
 and looked a little embarrassed, Reine thought — " but/' 
 he added, after stopping to cough slightly, " but 
 would be delighted to have her in their box — with his 
 wife." 
 
 Reine sighed, telling herself silently that the pres- 
 ence of Mrs. Smith would spoil her pleasure of hearing 
 "Norma." 
 
 "I invited her here to dine with us," he explained, 
 " thinking that would please you." 
 
 Mrs. Smith arrived late, and when she had thrown 
 off her wraps, Reine looked at her in amazement, — her 
 style of costume was a little peculiar. Mrs. Smith evi- 
 dently observed it. She said, nonchalantly, 
 
 " I came prepared to go to the opera, — we must go 
 early, my dear Sirs. Waldron. It is to be a gala night; 
 there will be quite a crush of all the upper crust of 
 New York — all the elite I mean." 
 
 Reine did not reply. 
 
 Very soon Waldemar joined them, and it almost 
 seemed to Reine her husband actually forgot her pres- 
 ence, he was so engrossed in bandying jokes — yes, 
 jokes — with the golden haired Mrs. Smith. 
 
 For a few moments after dinner, Reine found herself 
 alone with her husband, — she hurried to his side with 
 a pale, perturbed face. 
 
 " Oh, Waldemar," she cried in distress, " I cannot 
 go to the opera with Mrs. Smith in that — that dress. I 
 — I — should die of mortification." 
 
 "What is the matter with it ?" he demanded. " I 
 thought it was something stunning." 
 
110 
 
 A FORBIDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 Reine's face flushed in dismay — " I should think you 
 would see for yourself, Waldemar," she murmured, — 
 " there — there is not much — to — to — the waist." 
 
 " Humph !" sneered Waldron, "that's only your 
 prudish taste. That's called decollette by women of 
 fashion; I should think you would know that." 
 
 " I call it by another name, Waldemar," she replied; 
 " it is — immodest. I — I — think I should die of shame 
 if I had to sit beside Mrs. Smith in that dress." 
 
 "Don't make a fool of yourself, Reine," he cried, 
 seizing her arm roughly. " Don't dare tell Mrs. Smith 
 that; you would make an enemy of her for life." 
 
 " Well, what if I do?" she answered, spiritedly. 
 
 "You would rue it to the last day of your life," he 
 hissed. " You shall go to the opera with her and make 
 yourself as agreeable as you know how." 
 
 Reine went, but it was with one of the heaviest of 
 hearts. As she had expected, all the lorgnettes in the 
 house were repeatedly turned to their box. Reine 
 shrank behind the silken curtains. Mrs. Smith 
 seemed to enjoy this close scrutiny hugely. 
 
 It was a great relief to Reine when the long evening 
 was over, and they were en route horns. 
 
 "1 never enjoyed myself so well in all my life," 
 declared Mrs. Smith, enthusiastically, as she parted 
 from Reine. "It was a grand social triumph for 
 me." 
 
 Those words puzzled Reine for long hours afterward. 
 She was to know the meaning of them all too soon. 
 On the day following this event a lady called, whose 
 friendship Reine prized highly. 
 
 She greeted Reine with a grave face, and during the 
 course of the conversation, the lady brought around 
 the subject of the opera of the previous evening. 
 
 "I saw you in your box, Mrs. Waldron," she said, 
 "but — for the moment, I could hardly persuade my- 
 self that it really was your box." 
 
 "Why?" asked Reine, smiling. 
 
 "I do not know as I should speak about it; still, I 
 feel it is my duty to enlighten you, my dear," returned 
 the lady. "Please remember it is only the friendly 
 interest I feel in you that forces me as it were, to 
 
"OH, CRUEL LOVE, WHOSE END IS SCORX ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 speak: to put it plainly, the person who was with you, 
 is a creature no lady who values her reputation can be 
 seen speaking to. Of course you did not knoAv; she is 
 a near neighbor and appears to be a woman of wealth, 
 but ah, my dear, such as she are the world's sharks. 
 I pray you, close your doors against her. Do you 
 comprehend me?' v 
 
 Eeine was too shocked for utterance. 
 
 "I told my husband from the very first I did not 
 like Mrs. Smith/" she said. 
 
 " Smith ! " cut in Berne's friend; " why, my clear, that 
 is not her name, she is called the notorious Madame 
 Eglantine. She has wealth and beauty that a prin- 
 cess might envy, but good women shun her as they 
 would a scorpion. " 
 
 "It is so strange that my husband did not know," 
 said innocent Eeine; " but then we have not been long 
 in Xew York city.'' 
 
 " Very strange," repeated the lady: and she soon 
 after took her leave, congratulating herself as she 
 rolled away in her carriage, that she had opened Mrs. 
 Waldron's eyes to what was going on; it was her duty 
 to do so. 
 
 Quite shocked, Eeine sat down before the fire, 
 thinking the matter over. 
 
 Wife-like, the moment Waldemar came in she told 
 him of what she had heard. 
 
 "It isn't true/' he declared, a dull, red flush suffus- 
 ing his face. " If you believe all these tattling old 
 busy-bodies have to say, you would have enough to do. 
 "Why, when a pack of them get together, they'd blast 
 the reputation of the Virgin Mary if they could. 
 Mrs. Smith is a gay young widow; these homely old 
 women are simply jealous of her, that's all." 
 
 "Is her name Mrs. Smith, or Madame Eglantine, 
 "Waldemar?" she asked, firmly, "'and how did you 
 come to know her?" 
 
 " I do not recollect now," he replied, adding, " She 
 is to go with us to the concert to-night, again." 
 
 "If she goes, I stay at home," said Eeine. "I am 
 amazed that you should expect me to associate with 
 one against whose fair fame there is even the slightest 
 stain." 
 
112 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 With a muttered imprecation, Waldron strode from 
 the room, vowing that he should take Mrs. Smith to 
 the concert that night in spite of all the prudes in 
 Christendom, and if she would not go with him, that 
 he should go alone. She heard him hum as he ran 
 down the stairs and lower corridor: 
 
 " Devoted love will find its way 
 Thro' paths where wolves would fear to prey, 
 And if it dares so much, 'twere hard, 
 Suah brave love met not some reward." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " GKEAT HEAVEX ! IT IS EEI^E ! 99 
 
 Whejt Reine had come to New York from AYaldron 
 Towers, she had insisted upon bringing Honora Allen, 
 her maid, with her. 
 
 "I have never been among strangers, Waldemar," 
 she said. " I must see a few familiar faces about me. y 
 
 Her husband had demurred at first. He could not 
 endure the girl who was so devoted to his wife, and 
 who seemed to have such a cordial dislike of himself; 
 but in the end Reine's maid went with her. 
 
 And the time came when she was more like a coun- 
 sellor and trusted friend to the desolate little bride 
 than a paid companion. She had seen from the first 
 how this ill-starred marriage would turn out. She 
 was not surprised that Mr. Waldron had gone to the 
 grand concert leaving his sick wife at home. 
 
 She found Reine still seated in her arm-chair by the 
 glowing fire, sobbing as though her heart would break. 
 
 "Oh, my lady," cried the girl distressedly, "you 
 must not take on so, and you so weak and sick; 
 indeed, you must not." 
 
 Reine struck her little white, fluttering hands 
 together with passionate fervor. 
 
 "I cannot help- it," she cried. "I am so wretched, 
 Honora; my heart is dead — my life is empty. He can 
 go to the concert to-night knowing I am ill." 
 
 She crept up nearer to faithful Honora, clutching 
 her hands with a gasping sob. 
 
 " He would not care if I were to die," she said, 
 despairingly. " He would not miss me. No stranger 
 could be more cold and more careless to me," she 
 went on. " 1 am growing frightened at myself, 
 Honora. I cannot tell — I dare not think — how it will 
 8 113 
 
114 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 end. I loved him better than all the world, when I 
 married him, but now — I am beginning to dislike him. 
 It has come to that at last." 
 
 " Oh, my dear lady, that is very wrong — very wrong 
 indeed! A wife should never dislike her husband." 
 
 4 ' Should a husband ever dislike his wife?" cried 
 Keine, hoarsely. " Because my husband does dislike 
 me, I am frightened at myself, Honora; for, if mat- 
 ters go on this way much longer, I shall hate him! " 
 
 That night no sleep came to her. She was think- 
 ing, hour after hour, what she was to do. She saw no 
 light in the dark clouds which obscured the future — 
 no hope for her. The years stretched out dark and 
 gloomy. And this was the man for whom she had 
 thrown away another love, which was as noble as it was 
 tender and devoted. Then, for the first time, she 
 commenced to compare Waldemar Waldron with Ber- 
 nard Chesleigh. 
 
 She knew, Heaven help her, that she had chosen 
 glittering tinsel instead of solid gold. 
 
 It was too late for regrets now. She had sealed her 
 own doom — walked into the pit with open eyes. In 
 open defiance, she had married the man they had 
 warned her against, and now her folly had come home 
 to her. 
 
 The sight would have stricken the old general mad, 
 could he have seen his beautiful daughter pacing up 
 and down her room, crying out that life was too bitter 
 to bear. If he could but have seen how she struck her 
 white breast with clasped, clenched hands, praying to 
 die; only those who know what it is to be a neglected, 
 unloved wife can realize what she suffered, when she 
 was praying to die and end it all. 
 
 The servants — those secret messengers in households 
 — soon gossipped the story about that his pretty young 
 bride did not have any too much attraction for Walde- 
 mar Waldron. Bernard Chesleigh heard these stories, 
 and was the only one who looked on with sorrowful re- 
 gret. 
 
 He did not wonder that she threw herself into the 
 whirlpool of fashionable life. 
 
 Those who met her, told how gay, brilliant, pol- 
 
£( GEE AT HEAVEK ! IT IS KEINE ! " 115 
 
 ished, sarcastic, and animated Waldemar Waldron's 
 young wife was becoming. She seemed possessed of a 
 restless idea of always wanting excitement. 
 
 An hour's quiet was more than she could endure, and 
 people who wondered at her high spirits, her brilliant 
 smiles, her clever repartees, never guessed that all this 
 covered the sorest of hearts. 
 
 She was becoming quite noted in society as a beauty 
 too. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron was quite astonished. He won- 
 dered curiously what people could see in Eeine to rave 
 over. As for himself, he never considered any one 
 save dazzling brunettes particularly beautiful. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh had avoided meeting Eeine. He 
 knew that it would affect him greatly to see such a 
 change in her as he knew must have taken place. How 
 he pitied her when he heard the whispers that floated 
 now and then to his troubled ears. 
 
 " She is trying to drown her sorrow in the continual 
 whirl of excitement," he thought; "but she will not 
 succeed, and the reaction, when it comes, will be ter- 
 rible for her." 
 
 He longed for a chance of speaking to her without 
 seeming to interfere. That chance came at last. 
 
 He had attended a grand ball at one of the fashion- 
 able residences of Gramercy Park. He had scarcely 
 entered the spacious ball-room ere his host touched 
 him lightly on the shoulder. 
 
 " Come with me, Chesleigh," he said. " I have an 
 excellent partner for you for the next waltz — the most 
 graceful as well as the most beautiful lady in the room. 
 Come and let me present you." 
 
 Thoughtlessly enough, he went Avith him to the end 
 of the rose-embowered ball-room. A slight, graceful 
 figure was seated on a rustic bench, surrounded by a 
 circle of admirers, who reluctantly drew back and made 
 way for their host and the tall, commanding stranger. 
 
 " In the dark, our fortunes often meet us; 
 If fate be not, then what can we foresee? 
 Or how can we avoid it, if it be? 
 If by free-will, in our own paths we move, 
 
116 
 
 A FORBIDDEX MARRIAGE. 
 
 How are we bounded by decrees above? 
 
 Whether we move, or whether we are driven — 
 If ill 'tis ours; if good, the act of Heaven." 
 
 Reine — for it was she — turned carelessly to see who 
 the new-comer was who stood before her. 
 
 One glance. Ah, Heaven! It was a wonder she did 
 not fall dead at his feet. It was Bernard Chesleigh 
 who stood before her. Would he turn from her in 
 haughty, withering scorn? Or would he denounce her 
 before that brilliant gathering, crying out, sternly and 
 rebu kingly: 
 
 " So it is thus that we meet again, is it, my fair love, 
 who deserted me and disgraced me so heartlessly at 
 the altar? » 
 
 Perhaps he would curse her. She had borne so 
 much already, one bitter word would slay her. 
 
 Over the crash of the gay dance music she heard 
 their host go through the formula of introducing 
 them. 
 
 Not one muscle of the girl's beautiful white face 
 quivered. The little hand that held the bouquet of 
 rare white blossoms did not tremble. She stood before 
 the man she had so cruelly slighted, like a white 
 fawn at bay awaiting her doom. Perhaps he read the 
 dumb agony she was enduring in the piteous, appeal- 
 ing eyes so dazed and agonizing in their blue depths. 
 
 But the doom she was expecting did not fall then on 
 that beautiful golden head. Was she mad, or dream- 
 ing? Bernard Chesleigh held out his strong white 
 hand to her with a grave, sorrowful smile. 
 
 " This lady and I are old friends," he explained. 
 Then their host went away, leaving them alone to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Do not shrink from me, Reine," he said, gently. 
 "The past is over between us; I have forgiven and 
 forgotten long ago. I cannot bring myself to feel any- 
 thing but friendship for you. I do not blame or re- 
 prove you. It was not your fault, my poor child, if 
 you could not love me." 
 
 She could scarcely believe that she saw and heard 
 aright. Was he holding out his hand — that noble 
 
" GREAT HEAVEN 3 IT IS REIXE ! ' 
 
 nr 
 
 hand that she had scorned — and was he speaking 
 kindly to her? 
 
 A torrent of tears rushed to her eyes, her face grew 
 deadly pale. Of the two, she was most likely to create 
 a scene by breaking down completely — her heart was so 
 sore, so desolate and lonely, kind words had overpow- 
 ered her. 
 
 " Come out into the conservatory, Beine/' he said, 
 drawing the little, ice-cold hand — ah! so cold, even 
 through the tiny glove — within his arm. " Do not 
 attempt to speak until you can control your emotions. 
 See, people are watching us. Keep tears back from 
 your eyes; force a smile to your lips, I pray you." 
 
 Silently he lead her from the glittering ball-room, 
 from among the sheen of satin and glimmering dia- 
 monds, out among the cool, green shadows and 
 softened lights of the fernery. 
 
 He stood quietly before her, his arms folded thought- 
 fully over his breast, while the tears fell like rain 
 from her lovely eyes. He did not attempt to break 
 in upon her thoughts. 
 
 Perhaps the sight of his face reminded her all too 
 painfully of the days when she was the loved and 
 petted heiress of dear old Fairlawn. 
 
 "You are good to think so kindly of me, Mr. Ches- 
 leigh," she faltered. " I did you an irreparable wrong; 
 but I have been sufficiently punished for it." 
 
 She turned away in confusion. Xot for worlds 
 would she have him know that life was going all wrong 
 with her; that the idol she had flung away his honest, 
 noble love for, she had found sordid clay. Xot for 
 worlds would she have him know she was that most 
 pitiful of all God's creatures, a neglected, desolate, un- 
 loved wife. 
 
 Every sigh that fell from her lips, every tear from 
 her lovely eyes, touched him keenly to the heart, like 
 the sharp thrust of a sword. He would have laid down 
 his life if the sacrifice of it could but have made her 
 happy. 
 
 At that moment she remembered that Waldemar had 
 asked her to dance the Lancers with him. and the mu- 
 sic was striking up already. What would the conse- 
 
118 
 
 A FOKBIDDEK MARKIAGE. 
 
 quence be if he came to look for her, and found her 
 sitting there talking to the one man above all others 
 whom he hated — her old lover? There might be a 
 fierce quarrel between them. Her heart beat; she 
 grew strangely nervous. She must get back to the 
 ball-room at once. Before she could put the resolve 
 into execution, hurried steps were heard approaching. 
 She sank back, pale, breathless and trembling, almost 
 fainting, as she heard her name called in a quick, 
 impatient voice. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A NOBLE FOE. 
 
 "I am here," said Eeine, pushing back the thick, 
 clustering magnolia branches that screened her from 
 yiew. 
 
 It was one of the servants. He looked at the beau- 
 tiful, pale-faced girl, slightly abashed, as though un- 
 certain how to proceed with the delicate mission upon 
 which he had been sent. 
 
 "What did you want of me?" asked Reine, ner- 
 vously clutching more tightly at the flowers she held 
 in her cold, trembling fingers. 
 
 A moment only the man hesitated. It was a thou- 
 sand pities to tell her what he had come there to say, 
 but it must be done. He touched his cap respectfully, 
 flushing slightly. 
 
 "If you please, madam, I would like -you to use 
 your influence with your husband to restrain him from 
 going to the ball-room just now. He looks — quite — 
 quite— ill." 
 
 No word broke from Reine Waldron's white, set lips. 
 She knew as well as the servant did what was the mat- 
 ter with her reckless, handsome husband, and why 
 they were so fearful he should re-enter the ball-room. 
 
 "Where is he?" she asked, in a frightened voice. 
 "Conduct me to him at once, please." 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh drew her back. 
 
 "Let me attend to this matter for you," he said, 
 pityingly. 
 
 She drew back with something very like the old 
 pride. 
 
 She could not bear the thought that he should see 
 Waldemar Waldron in the way in which she knew she 
 should find him. 
 
 119 
 
120 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 • " You could not help me in this matter. I thank 
 you, though, for the proffered kindness. If you will 
 conduct me to the cloak-room to get my wraps, I shall 
 be much obliged. I shall not return to the ball-room 
 again. If my husband is ill, I must see that he is 
 taken home at once." 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh offered her his arm in silence. 
 He could feel the slight form that clung to his arm 
 tremble like a leaf in a storm. He saw the lovely face 
 flush and pale; and the feverish light deepened in the 
 blue eyes. 
 
 They had to pass from the conservatory through the 
 lower end of the ball-room, in order to reach the cloak- 
 room and suite of apartments beyond, in which she 
 was told she would find Waldemar. 
 
 Gently Bernard Chesleigh folded her velvet wrap 
 about her. The snowy swan's-down that bordered it 
 was not more white than Reine's pallid face. 
 
 One moment she glances at the brilliant ball-room 
 which she must leave ere the mirth of the evening is 
 fairly begun; and in that moment some one rushes 
 past her toward the green-arched ball-room, and stands, 
 flushed and excited, on the threshold. 
 
 A low cry breaks from Heine's lips. It is Waldemar. 
 She sees plainly that the servant is right. He must 
 not enter the ball-room again. Quick as thought she 
 is by his side. Her little white hands clutch his arm. 
 Her piteous eyes are raised to his face. 
 
 "Waldemar," she whispers, hoarsely, "you must 
 take me home at once, dear. I was just going to send 
 for you." 
 
 He shook off the clinging hands angrily enough. 
 
 "What! go home when the ball has but just com- 
 menced? I shall do nothing of the kind," he an- 
 swered, turning his flushed face impatiently from the 
 imploring white one. 
 
 Ah, why was she unwise enough to tell him the true 
 reason why she wished to go, and plead with him with 
 tears and prayers. 
 
 "Upon my word, this is like a scene from a French 
 drama," he sneered. He taunted her, and laughed at 
 her, telling her that he intended to stay until the very 
 
A 2T0BLE FOE. 
 
 121 
 
 last one; and as for indulging in wine, lie had not 
 taken the half of what he intended to; that he knew 
 his own business, and would brook no interference 
 from her. 
 
 She redoubled her piteous entreaties, raising her 
 white face to his. She angered him beyond all meas- 
 ure. He raised his hand and struck her, leaving a 
 red mark on the white cheek — struck the face the 
 old general worshipped so fondly — the lovely face that 
 Bernard Chesleigh loved so well. 
 
 She had drawn him forcibly back into the cloak 
 room. The music drowned his angry voice. The gay 
 dancers had not seen the tragedy enacted so near them. 
 No one saw but Bernard Chesleigh, who had stood 
 near, almost fearing to leave her. 
 
 Before Bernard Chesleigh could reach her side Wal- 
 demar Waldron had fled — not into the ball-room again, 
 but out of the house, into the street. He scarcely 
 realized in his hot anger that he had raised his hand 
 against her. 
 
 Eeine did not faint — did not cry out; she stood in 
 the exact spot Waldemar had left her, looking like a 
 statue carved in marble — all save the faint crimson 
 mark on the pale cheek. 
 
 As Bernard Chesleigh reached her side, her pride, 
 her reserve, her grand courage, all gave way. She 
 was humbled, humiliated to the very dust. 
 
 She laid her face on her hands with a low, wailing 
 cry that seemed to freeze the blood in his veins as he 
 listened. 
 
 She crept up to him as she had been wont to do in 
 that dim past. She had always found him her cham- 
 pion — her true, noble friend. He was her friend still. 
 
 "Bernard!" she sobbed, "what shall I do? I am 
 so miserable that I wish I were dead. Take me away, 
 Bernard! Take me home, quick. He has gone. He 
 will not return for me. An hour hence he will have 
 forgotten me, and that I am waiting here. Take me 
 home, Bernard." a 
 
 He saw that she was in a state of wildest alarm. 
 Gravely he led her through the brilliant rooms out 
 into the cold, starlit night. Their carriage had been 
 
122 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 ordered, and was awaiting them. He must see her 
 safely home. So, when he placed her within the 
 coach, he seated himself opposite her. 
 
 What a blessing his love was to her in this hour of 
 need; what a haven of rest this unswerving friendship 
 seemed. 
 
 Even in that moment, words that her husband was 
 fond of singing because he found out they annoyed 
 her, came back to Eeine. 
 
 Let not woman e'er complain 
 
 Of inconstancy in love ; 
 Let not woman e'er complain 
 
 Fickle man is apt to rove : 
 Look abroad through nature's range, 
 Nature's mighty law is change; 
 Ladies, would it not be strange, 
 
 Man should then a monster prove? 
 
 Mark the winds, and mark the skies; 
 
 Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow: 
 Sun and moon but set to rise, 
 
 Kound and round the seasons go: 
 Why then ask of silly man 
 To oppose great Nature's plan? 
 We'll be constant while we can — 
 
 You can be no more, you know. 
 
 Here was a man who was constant to friendship, 
 even as the needle to the pole. What a firm rock for a 
 woman to cling to, when the waves of adversity tossed 
 her about life's ocean! 
 
 How true and noble a friend he proved himself! 
 Some men might have taken advantage of her pique 
 and annoyance to have ingratiated themselves into her 
 good graces by denouncing Waldemar Waldron and 
 traducing him. Not so Bernard Chesleigh. He was 
 so careful of her, he might have been a guardian angel 
 shielding her from harm — this beautiful girl whom he 
 would have given his very life blood to have seen smil- 
 ing and happy — like the capricious, wilful, little 
 beauty of old. * 
 
 He left her at her own door. She held out her hand 
 to him with a faint smile. 
 
 " You have forgiven me, and you are my true friend 
 
A NOBLE FOE. 
 
 123 
 
 still," she said, wistfully. " If we never meet again, I 
 shall always remember how kind you have been to me 
 to-night." 
 
 She turned away abruptly. The door opened and 
 closed again hurriedly, and he was alone again with 
 the starlit night — alone with these words sounding like 
 sweetest music in his ears: 
 
 " You are my true and noble friend still." 
 
 Ah, Heaven, if he had but had the right to protect 
 her — to revenge that cowardly blow. He longed, with 
 all the mighty passion in his soul, to smite the hand 
 that had been raised against the only being whom he 
 had ever loved. 
 
 As for Eeine, she walked slowly and hesitatingly up 
 the broad staircase and on to her boudoir. No tears 
 blinded her blue eyes. No quivering sob broke the 
 straight tension of those white compressed lips. Noth- 
 ing could ever pain her after what she nad suffered to- 
 night. She had reached the climax of human woe and 
 human endurance. 
 
 Her maid cried out in alarm when she opened the 
 door for her, and saw her standing there so pale and 
 death-like on the threshold, with that crimson stain 
 on her white face. 
 
 Why was she home so early from the grand ball? 
 What had happened ? 
 
 "I shall not need you to-night, Honora," she said, 
 wearily, throwing off the heavy white velvet cloak. 
 " You can go to your room." 
 
 In vain the maid protested that she looked ill; 
 that she was sure she needed her. Reine shook her 
 head. 
 
 "111!" sobbed Eeine, when she found herself alone. 
 What was all the illness in the world compared to 
 what she was suffering then? 
 
 She went to the window, and drawing aside the 
 heavy silken drapery, raised her white arms to the 
 star-gemmed night sky. 
 
 " Mother! Mother! " she wailed, with gasping sobs. 
 " If you are looking down upon me from yonder clouds 
 — if you can see and know all that has happened to 
 
124 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 your most unfortunate child — oh, gentle mother, you 
 will plead hard with the angels to pardon me for what 
 I am about to do to-night. I am driven to it. Yes, 
 driven to it." 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "I AM GOES' G- WHERE XO OXE WHO EVER KNEW ME 
 CAX SEE MY FACE AGALS"." 
 
 Theee was a brief but terrible straggle in the heart 
 of beautiful, hapless Reine, as she stood by the window, 
 with her white face mutely raised to the night sky. 
 
 The golden stars had died out long since. Dark 
 clouds, presaging the coming storm, obscured the face 
 of the heavens, and ere long a blinding snow-storm set 
 in. 
 
 The snow outside was not more cold than the girl's 
 heart. 
 
 " I cannot endure it longer," she told herself, bit- 
 terly. " When Waldemar returns he shall not find 
 me here. He has driven me to it." 
 
 She turned hurriedly to her wardrobe. By chance, 
 Honora's long, dark cloak hung there. She donned it 
 mechanically, tied a dark vail over her face, then, 
 with cautious, quiet steps, she went down the stairs, 
 and out of the hall door into the terrible storm of the 
 night. 
 
 No one heard the door open. Xo one heard it close 
 again. 
 
 Like one mad, Reine fled through the darkness and 
 the storm, little heeding whither she went. 
 
 So delicately nurtured, so tenderly reared had the 
 general's darling been, that the bitter cold soon told 
 upon her. 
 
 She looked at the white, falling snow, stretching 
 like a shroud over the deserted streets and the house- 
 tops. Would it be her winding sheet ? 
 
 She struggled on through the drifts with but one 
 thought in her mind: To get so far away from Wal- 
 demar Waldron that he could never find her. 
 
 125 
 
126 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Was it fate that at that moment brought her face 
 to face with — Bernard Chesleigh? 
 
 For an instant he gazed with puzzled bewilderment 
 at the young girl approaching him. The light of the 
 flaring gas lamp fell upon the slender figure. The 
 eyes of love were so keen that he knew her at once. 
 
 " Reine/' he cried, springing forward, " what in the 
 world can you be doing alone, and in such a storm, 
 upon the streets at night ?" 
 
 A piteous sob fell from the girl's lips, ending in a 
 hysterical laugh. 
 
 " I am running away, Bernard,''* she said. "I am 
 leaving the old life far behind me. I am going where 
 no one who ever knew me can see my face again."' 
 
 He drew back with a pained, grave face. 
 
 They were opposite a fashionable cafe. Gently he 
 drew her within, out of the bitter cold and the fierce 
 storm. 
 
 "Oh, Heine, Reine/" he cried, distressedly, seating 
 her upon one of the velvet divans, and taking a seat 
 opposite her, " tell me what it is that has led you to 
 such a course as this? 
 
 She laughed; and the mirthless music was sadder to 
 hear than the most violent weeping would have been. 
 
 " It is simply this/" cried Reine. "When I reached 
 home, I tried to school myself to meet him again, after 
 what happened at the ball. Oh, the torture of the 
 hour I passed! I was so maddened with pain, humil- 
 iation, and rage, that if he had entered the room then, 
 I could not have been accountable for what I would 
 have said, even though he were to strike me dead for 
 it. I hate him so that I can never look upon his face 
 again/' she sobbed, with reckless despair. " I would 
 sooner die.*' 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh gazed at her with infinite pity 
 in his dark eyes, a troubled look on his grave face. 
 
 "Reine, poor child, is it so bad as this? " he asked, 
 huskily. 
 
 "It is so bad/" she said, "that it could not be 
 worse; to meet death would be preferable. I am tired 
 of it. I am going away/" 
 
 "Going away!"" he repeated, slowly. "That is 
 
HEINE'S PLIGHT. 
 
 12? 
 
 what I feared would happen. Has your patience, your 
 forbearance, come to an end at last, Reine?" he said, 
 compassionately. 
 
 " Yes, she replied, truthfully, "it has at last." 
 
 He was silent a few moments; and then, as she 
 looked up at him, a great awe stole over her. His 
 eyes were upraised ; his lips were moving silently. 
 What should he clo? What should he say to her? 
 
 Only Heaven knew the struggle that was in his 
 heart, and how he conquered it. Loving her with all 
 the great love of his heart, how easy it would have 
 been to rejoice and encourage her in the step she was 
 taking. There was something more than heroic — it 
 was sublime — the way he beat back his mighty love, 
 that he might counsel her aright. 
 
 She was another man's wife. He prayed to Heaven 
 for strength to guide her as he would wish a sister of 
 his guided, if she were to be placed in just such cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 " My marriage was a terrible mistake," she sobbed, 
 raising her beautiful, childish face to his. "I see it 
 now; " and, almost unconsciously, the words that had 
 so often trembled upon her lips burst heedlessly from 
 them now: "Oh, Bernard, I am sorry that I gave you 
 up for him; you would have taken me for love. He 
 only wanted me because I was the prospective heiress 
 of Fairlawn." 
 
 Ah, how he longed to take her in his strong arms, 
 put the golden, clustering curls from her white face, 
 and weep over her. He crushed the mad impulse — 
 spurned the thought from him. 
 
 Bernard had a code of honor, all his own perhaps — 
 a rare one in these degenerate days. He had loved 
 her dearly, Heaven knew; he loved her now; but it 
 would unman him to listen to words like these from 
 her innocent, thoughtless lips, for there is no storm 
 so strong, so irresistible, as that of human passion; yet 
 Bernard stood firm. 
 
 "You must never dwell upon useless regrets, 
 Reine," he said, gravely. " Remember you are wedded 
 to another now, and marriage is for life/' 
 
 I wonder how many men of the nineteenth century 
 
128 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARKIAGE. 
 
 there are who would give up everything that is dear in 
 life for the sake of maintaining a high, ideal purity! 
 
 " When the chain galls it should be broken asunder," 
 she said piteously; " I could not endure it until death 
 sets one or the other free," Eeine added. . 
 
 " Do not urge me to go back, Bernard," she sobbed; 
 the life I have been leading would soon kill me; oh, 
 the wretched loneliness of it! Here are some lines I 
 read the other day and wept over; they almost seemed 
 to have been written for me. I cannot repeat them 
 just as they were written. I think I scarcely read 
 them aright through my tears: 
 
 "No one to love, — none to caress, 
 I'm living alone in this wide wilderness; 
 Sad is my fate, joy is unknown, 
 For in my sad sorrow, — I'm weeping alone. 
 Oh this world is a wide world of sorrow; 
 Can e'en those who smile efface the sad tear 
 With no one to welcome the light #f to-morrow, 
 With no one to share it when sunshine is here? " 
 
 " Oh, Bernard, that is so like my dreary life; I live 
 such a lonely existence, — no one to love, and no one to 
 love me. There are times when I long for the clasp of 
 strong hands, for sympathy, and — and — to feel the 
 assurance that some one cares for me. Can you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 " Yes," he replied, huskily. 
 
 " To creep into the fold of strong arms, and pillow 
 my head on a faithful breast," she went on, piteously. 
 
 " Poor child! poor little Heine," he murmured, bro- 
 kenly. 
 
 "I cannot endure the thought of what the future 
 would be with him; I have thought it all over, I 
 would rather face death — for that would be nothing 
 to the cruel torture of dragging out day after day, 
 weeks, and the months that lengthen into years. 
 With him, love died with possession. The thought 
 of our growing old together is full of nameless horror 
 to me; we should detest each other more thoroughly 
 — if that be possible — as time rolls on, than we do 
 now," 
 
keike's flight. 
 
 129 
 
 " Oh, Bernard/' and she crept nearer to him/' "tell 
 me where to go? I want to go so far away that he can 
 never trace me; " and hiding her face in her hands she 
 gave way to hysterical weeping. 
 
 " Will yon let me advise yon as to what your duty is, 
 Reine," he said, very gently, " and follow it?" 
 
 In uttering the last sentence, Chesleigh uncon- 
 sciously took up his hat, which he had laid on a chair 
 beside him; Reiiie, sensitive as to his slightest move- 
 ment, took it as an intimation that he was wishing the 
 interview over, and was anxious to leave her. 
 
 She Rooked wistfully into his face, with a deep sigh. 
 " I will listen to what you tell me, but I cannot prom- 
 ise to follow it," she said. 
 
 " With all his faults, you love him still, Reine," said 
 Chesleigh, very gravely, and because of that love you 
 must — " 
 
 She interrupted him with a dreary laugh. 
 
 "I have never loved him, Bernard," she sobbed. I 
 see now that it was only a girlish, mad infatuation that 
 I had for a pair of fine eyes and a curling blond mous- 
 tache. I do not wish to speak evil of him, Bernard," 
 she said, slowly; the very fact that he has injured me 
 should make me generous to him; the very fact that I 
 dislike him should make me speak well of him. Do not 
 blame me for abhorring him,": she pleaded. How could 
 anyone help despising and disliking a man who has 
 not since marriage shown me the ordinary civility that 
 a gentleman never fails to show to a lady? 1 have been 
 cruelly victimized. There is but one course open to 
 me — to go away." 
 
 " There are tivo ways before you, Reine," said Ches- 
 leigh, pityingly. {i That of flying from your fate — or — 
 making the b$st of it; running away from your trouble 
 would be a commonplace ending. 1 see how you may 
 make of yourself a heroine, Reine, and unless I am 
 greatly mistaken in the estimate of your character, you 
 will do it. 
 
 He took her little, trembling hands in his own 
 brave, strong ones, pleading with her gently and ten- 
 derly to go back again to the home from which she 
 
 9 
 
130 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 had just fled, to try just a little while longer to live in 
 peace and unison with the husband she had wedded. 
 
 He pictured to her in glowing words how heroic 
 such a line of action would be. She had a great mis- 
 sion to perform, reclaiming Waldemar Waldron from 
 the slough of dissipation into which he had drifted, 
 instead of fleeing from him and leaving him to his 
 fate. 
 
 Keine looked at Bernard in sheer wonder. 
 He met the glance calmly. 
 
 ' ' Let my entreaties win you from the path you have 
 marked out for you, Reine," he said. " It is a delicate 
 matter at any time to interfere between man and wife. 
 It is only because I take so true an interest in you that 
 I dare speak at all. 
 
 " Ah, Reine, you have your fate in your own hands. 
 Go back to your husband and plead with him to com- 
 mence life anew with you. Tell him that you, on your 
 part, will do all you can; that you are willing to 
 make any effort to bring about a pleasanter state of 
 things." 
 
 "It would be quite useless, Bernard," she said, 
 hopelessly. " Snow and sun, water and fire, will agree 
 together better than he and I ever can." 
 
 e.t p rom i se me that you will try it, Reine," he urged. 
 "It is worth the. effort; it is, indeed. And if it fails, 
 you will at least have done your best." 
 
 "He will only say something very unkind, perhaps 
 insulting, to me, Bernard," she exclaimed, bitterly. 
 
 " Then you must summon all your patience to your 
 aid, Reine," he said, gently. " You may have many 
 sore humiliations, many hours of pitiful annoyance, 
 many a contest with your own pride, but you will win 
 in the end." m 
 
 She clasped her hands, and looked at him with pit- 
 eous entreaty. 
 
 " You forget, Bernard, that my husband does not 
 love me," she said. "He would only sneer and laugh 
 at me. Kindness would be thrown away upon him." 
 
 " You can but try," urged her companion, gently. 
 
 He saw that she was listening to him with a 
 thoughtful face, and his natural eloquence rose to 
 
REIlrfS FLIGHT. 
 
 131 
 
 the occasion. He pleaded with her, used his strong- 
 est arguments, and in the end he succeeded in winning 
 the promise from her that she would try again — the 
 life she had been so eager to cast off. 
 
 " We shall meet often in society, Reine," he said, 
 " and I shall watch eagerly for the signs and tokens 
 that shall tell me you and your husband are once more 
 happy." 
 
 A faint smile parted her lips. She caught his hand 
 and kissed it. 
 
 The caressing touch of those innocent, velvet lips 
 made the blood leap like wine through his veins. But 
 not a muscle of his face betrayed his agitation. 
 
 For the second time that night he called a cab, and 
 placing Seine in it, saw her safely to her home; leav- 
 ing her with an earnest, cheery "good night." 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh was a strong man, strong in his 
 noble principles of honor, strong in his own' integrity; 
 but as he rode homeward to his hotel alone that night, 
 hot tears forced themselves to his eyes. 
 
 His life was ruined, wrecked, and a sigh broke from 
 his bearded lips as a thought of '"'what might have 
 been in the dim future" occurred to Kim — if he had 
 allowed Reine to follow her own course. 
 
 He had been a noble foe to "Waldemar Waldron. 
 Xot one man in ten thousand could have so heroically 
 resisted the temptation to encourage her to follow the 
 bent of her own will, which would have torn down the 
 barrier between them. 
 
 She would not know it now. But in the long years 
 to come there might come a day when she would realize 
 how true and steadfast the love had proven which she 
 had once flung so lightly away. 
 
 He could never forget her; for that love which was 
 buried deep in his soul was a part of his life. 
 
 If she should ever need the help of a strong arm, his 
 should be at her disposal. He would have given every 
 drop of blood in his heart to have served her. He 
 would watch over her from afar. He would give his 
 very life for her, if -need be. His was a noble, exalted 
 love, which would always prove true. 
 
132 
 
 A FORBIDDEN" MARRIAGE. 
 
 How many men in his place, loving her as he did, 
 could have beat back from his lips the reckless, passion- 
 ate whisper: — " Come with me, dear; fly from him you 
 hate, to the arms of love; the world would be well lost 
 for both of us — for love's sake." 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 i YOU DID NOT WED A SAINT WHEN YOU MARRIED 
 
 Softly as a shadow Reine crept back to the lonely 
 boudoir she had so lately quitted. ]^o one had missed 
 her, although she had been gone an hour or more. 
 
 It was drawing close on to midnight now. Walde- 
 mar might come in at any moment. He must not find 
 her with her wraps on. 
 
 She laid them wearily aside, praying to Heaven that 
 she would have strength to follow closely the pro- 
 gramme Bernard had laid out for her. 
 
 Poor Bernard! What a true and noble friend he 
 had proven himself! How his handsome face had 
 glowed with enthusiasm as he had pleaded with her to 
 turn back! How strange it was that she had not no- 
 ticed this grandeur of soul, this nobility of spirit, be- 
 fore! This man had stooped from his high pedestal 
 to love her, and she had tossed that love from her as 
 carelessly as a child tosses away a broken toy! 
 
 Now, when it was too late, she realized what she had 
 lost. Ah, yes! the past was all over between them. 
 There was no time for regrets or tears now over "what 
 might have been." 
 
 " Glitters the dew and shines the river; 
 Sparkles the tear in the lily's bell; 
 But the two are walking apart forever, 
 And wave their hands in a mute farewell ! " 
 
 Reine had not thrown off her wrappings a moment 
 too soon, for a heavy step sounded on the stairs, and 
 the next moment Waldemar Waldron entered the room. 
 
 It was a great trial to keep back the bitter words 
 that sprang to her lips, or vail the scorn that flashed 
 into her eyes^ but by a great effort Reine did it. 
 
 133 
 
134 
 
 A FORBIEDEX MARRIAGE. 
 
 She looked up at him, and was surprised to find that 
 the effects of the wine which he had indulged in at the 
 ball had well nigh worn away. How could she speak 
 kindly to him when they had parted in such a bitter 
 quarrel a few short hours before? 
 
 He was the first to break the awkward silence. 
 
 " How does it happen that you are up waiting for 
 me?" he asked, brusquely, looking at her with keen 
 curiosity. 
 
 The girl's face flushed. Hot, bitter rebellion rose in 
 her heart. She stilled the anger and contempt. Her 
 victory over herself was so great that she was surprised 
 at it.. 
 
 She rose from her chair, her hands trembling ner- 
 vously, her lovely, child-like face flushing and paling 
 by turns. 
 
 " I have waited for you, Waldemar, because I have 
 something to say to you," she said, very gently. 
 He looked at hor steadily. 
 
 " You want to renew that scene that occurred in the 
 Dall-room," he said, harshly; "but if you are wise you 
 will let matters drop. You provoked me into doing 
 what I did." 
 
 "Are you sorry for it now?" she asked, wistfully. 
 
 "Yes," he confessed, a dull red flaming into his 
 face. " But I repeat, you provoked me to it, Keine, 
 and you know it." 
 
 She went up to him, laying her little white hand on 
 his arm. 
 
 " We have not been very happy — have we, Walde- 
 mar? We have quarrelled and disputed until I am 
 ashamed to think of it," she said. 
 
 He looked at her in amazement. She would not see 
 the surprise on his face or make the least difference 
 because of it. 
 
 "Most decidedly, Eeine, we have done our best in 
 that line," he admitted. " We have not kept the 
 peace." 
 
 "I should like so much to change all that, Walde- 
 mar," she said, in a low voice; "to try if we cannot 
 begin again and really do better. I will try, if you 
 will, Waldemar." 
 
YOU DID NOT WED A SAINT. 
 
 135 
 
 He looked at her with a contemptuous laugh. 
 
 ''Have you been to a revival meeting?" he asked. 
 
 Reine's face flushed, and hot words of anger came to 
 her lips; but she controlled herself. She would not 
 utter them. 
 
 "No, I have not," she replied; "but I have been 
 thinking, Waldemar, and would give anything on earth 
 if we could do a little better — agree a little better. 
 Now, for instance, if you will promise not to speak 
 angrily or contemptuously to me, I will make the 
 same promise to you." 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the kind," he answered, 
 haughtily, a sudden fire leaping into his indolent, 
 handsome face. "I tell you what, my lady Reine," 
 he replied, roughly — " I do not like this sudden fit of 
 humility. ' Still waters run deep/ It betokens no 
 good. You have some deep design in your head, and 
 I know it." 
 
 " You are wrong," she replied. "I want simply 
 to be on better terms with you, so that we may have 
 some chance of happiness. I want no more. We 
 are husband and wife now; we must spend our lives 
 together. Let us make the best of each other, Walde- 
 mar." 
 
 She spoke quickly, with an appealing face, her little 
 trembling hands clutched nervously together. He 
 answered her almost ferociously. 
 
 " What do you mean by making the best of each 
 other?" he cried. "Do you mean that I am not good 
 enough for you ? " 
 
 "I do not know," she replied, hopelessly, a dull 
 feeling of despair coming over her. 
 
 " Then you ought to know," he retorted. "If you 
 wanted to marry a saint you should not have thrown 
 Chesleigh over." 
 
 She raised her clear blue eyes to his face, and he 
 read something in them that puzzled him. 
 
 " Remember that I gave up everything in the world 
 for your sake, Waldemar," she said, in a low voice; 
 " and in memory of that I would like you to be more 
 kind to me. My heart is breaking for want of sym- 
 pathy and — and — love." 
 
136 
 
 A FOKBIDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 " Such utter nonsense! — such rubbish! Who has 
 been putting such romantic notions into your head? " 
 he asked, sharply. "I am tired and sick of hearing 
 over and over again what you have given up for my 
 sake; let me hear no more of it. Never talk to me in 
 this strain again. I shall never be any woman's slave; 
 but I will compel my wife to listen to me. and not 
 attempt to dictate to me. If you are not happy it is 
 your own fault — your own temper and your own 
 pride." 
 
 "Perhaps so," she said, listlessly. "You may rest 
 quite assured of one thing — that while I live I shall 
 never broach this subject again to you. If, in time to 
 come, I want a friend, I shall not come to you. If I 
 want advice, consolation, sympathy, kindness, I shall 
 never ask it from you." 
 
 " So much the better," he answered, leaning indo- 
 lently back in his favorite arm-chair. " If there is 
 anything I abhor, it is a crying, fault-finding woman. 
 At such times I can realize what i Ik. Marvel ' meant 
 when he said: ' I long to break away, and find what 
 liveliness can be found elsewhere." 
 
 Eeine turned away from him proudly. It had been a 
 terrible mistake, trying to make friendly overtures to 
 him. She saw plainly they could never live as other 
 husbands and wives did. It was but the common fate 
 of the many who resort to runaway marriages. They 
 never turn out happily. Ah! would that young girls 
 would take warning! 
 
 Heine's was the most unhappy of all unhappy mar- 
 riages. 
 
 It was Waldemar Waldron's own fault that his lovely 
 girl-wife's idolatrous love for himself died away, giving 
 place to hopeless despair, which grew from bad to 
 worse — into positive dislike. 
 
 A week passed. Although Reine did her best, her 
 heroic effort to live on better terms with Waldemar 
 Waldron had met with rebuffs and ignominious fail- 
 ure. 
 
 One afternoon she had asked him to take her the 
 following day to drive through Central Park, and for 
 a wonder he consented: but when the hour rolled 
 
"YOU DID NOT WED A SAINT." 
 
 137 
 
 around — the sleigh stood at the door — her husband 
 had quite forgotten his appointment with her, and the 
 consequence was that she rode alone. 
 
 At the park entrance she saw Bernard Chesleigh, 
 who was just alighting from a cab. She beckoned him 
 eagerly to her side, making room for him on the cush- 
 ioned seat; but, though it would have been a keen 
 delight to him to have sat by her side, looked into her 
 eyes, heard her voice for a brief half hour, he gravely 
 declined, urging, as a reason, a pressing business en- 
 gagement. 
 
 " You will be at the art gallery this afternoon, Ber- 
 nard?" she questioned, earnestly. 
 
 He said " yes," regretting it, however, the next 
 moment. He must not throw himself so constantly in 
 her society; he must rather avoid it, for it was like the 
 moth hovering about the flame that first blinded and 
 then burned it. He turned to leave her, but she laid a 
 detaining hand on his arm. 
 
 " Would you like to hear how my first lesson in obe- 
 dience went on, Bernard?" she asked. 
 
 " If you would like to tell me," he replied. 
 
 " I waited up for him until he came in that night. 
 I crushed my bitter anger and my hot rebellion, and 
 greeted him as kindly as I could. I went up to him 
 with that crimson mark still on my face, and asked 
 him to bury all past unpleasantness and begin life 
 anew — to try and make each other happier if we could. 
 He answered me, Bernard, with a low, contempt ui on s 
 laugh that made me — ah! well, never mind how it 
 made me feel. He laughed at me, and insulted me, 
 until I could have struck him down; only Heaven 
 knows how I kept back the tears from my eyes astd the 
 sobs from my lips. It w T as an utter failure, Bernard. 
 I told you how it would be before I humbled my pride 
 before him — to be scoffed at for my pains." 
 
 " Well?" said Bernard Chesleigh, pityingly. 
 
 "Well, I would rather die, than humble myself to 
 him again — that is all, Bernard. It is a terrible mis- 
 take to think that the embers of love can be awakened 
 in a heart where they have once died out. To imagine 
 that it can be done, reminds me of the pitiful lines: 
 
138 
 
 A FORBIDDEX MARRIAGE. 
 
 " ' Only, oh God, to cry for bread 
 
 And to get a stone. Daily to lay my head 
 Upon a bosom where the old love's dead. 
 Heaven pity me — the sweet dream's fled.' " 
 
 " It is of no use, Bernard," she repeated hopelessly. 
 " Waldemar and I can never get along well together. He 
 thinks that — and I Jcnoio it. I am tired of hoping for a 
 better state of things. No woman should coax her hus- 
 band for the love that should be hers. I am too proud 
 to do it. I cannot make the first advances even though 
 I craved it, though in truth I do not." 
 
 He knew Seine's nature — the necessity of living in 
 the atmosphere of affection, and his heart went out to 
 her in a great throb of pity. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh gazed pityingly at the beau- 
 tiful face. 
 
 " Promise me that you will not be discouraged with 
 this first attempt to win your husband back to his old 
 allegiance, Reine," he said earnestly, " even though 
 you have met with slight encouragement so far. 
 Great victories must be valiantly fought for, you 
 know." 
 
 " I will do my best, but it will be a very poor 
 'best/ I fear/'' said the girl, holding out her hand to 
 him. 
 
 He bent over it a moment — that little white hand 
 that should have been his — then released it. 
 
 The next instant he was standing by the Park gate 
 alone: the natty, red-cushioned sleigh, with its occu- 
 pant, had vanished from sight, hidden by an abrupt 
 curve of the road. 
 
 Poor Reine! so fatally fair, her beauty had been a 
 curse to her. He asked himself how it would all end. 
 
 There was one thing that was quite positive — he 
 could not, he must not see Reine again. He must 
 leave New York at once. Better fly from danger than 
 court it. 
 
 Reine rode listlessly enough through the Park. 
 Hundreds of gaily caparisoned equipages dashed past 
 her, and more than one cast a backward glance at 
 Reine; but she did not even see them, so intent was 
 she upon her own thoughts. 
 
 Gay, chattering voices, together with the merry 
 sound of sleigh-bells, rang out on the crisp air; but, 
 just as Reine turned her horse about, she was startled 
 by the sound of a familiar voice, pealing out in hila- 
 rious laughter. 
 
 139 
 
140 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 She raised her eyes with a sudden start, and the 
 sight that she saw made the hot blood course like lava 
 through her veins, her heart beat, and a sudden mist 
 gather before her eyes. 
 
 In a sleigh that flashed past her with the rapidity of 
 lightning, she had beheld Waldemar Waldron. He 
 was not alone. A young and exquisitely lovely girl sat 
 beside him — a young girl with a laughing, dimpled 
 face, a crimson mouth, flushed cheeks, and eyes flash- 
 ing like stars. ! - 
 
 Even in that meteoric glimpse, Eeiue could not help 
 but notice how lovely the dark, glowing face was; and 
 the rapt expression that rested on Waldemar's as he 
 inclined his handsome head toward her. 
 
 Reine drew back, pale and breathless. Evidently 
 neither of them had observed her. Reine was the last 
 person that Waldron was thinking of at that partic- 
 ular moment. 
 
 Reine never remembered how she drove home 
 through the crowded thoroughfares, her heart was in 
 such a whirl of bitter emotions. She had been home 
 an hour or more when Waldemar came to luncheon. 
 
 He was in capital good humor, singing a snatch of 
 the latest opera as he entered. Reine went up to him, 
 timidly placing two letters in his hand that had 
 arrived for him in the morning mail. 
 
 " I had a long and weary wait for you this forenoon, 
 Waldemar," she said. " Had you forgotten that you 
 promised to take me out sleighing? " 
 
 She quite believed he would tell her frankly just 
 what had detained him, and who his companion was 
 with whom she had seen him in Central Park. 
 
 She had yet to learn the depth of falsity in Walde- 
 mar Waldron's nature. He gave a sudden start of sur- 
 prise. His fair, indolent face flushed hotly. 
 
 He had forgotten it most certainly; but it would 
 never do to admit it. He must resort to a subterfuge 
 of some kind. 
 
 " You had a long wait, did you? Well, by George, 
 that was careless of me to forget mentioning to you 
 that I had a very important matter to attend to which 
 
AX UNEXPECTED EX C QUOTES. 
 
 141 
 
 would prevent me from accompanying you. I had to 
 meet a man — " 
 
 The violent fit of coughing which attacked him then 
 seemed a just retribution for the prevarication on his 
 lips. 
 
 Reine drew back, scorn and wounded pride flashing 
 in her eyes, her white lips trembling. 
 
 " An important matter to attend to! 99 
 
 Her face flushed with bitter anger as she listened. 
 Was driving a lovely girl through the Park such an 
 important matter that he should forget her ? 
 
 A quick retort rose to her lips, but ere she could 
 give it utterance, Waldemar Waldron sprang from his 
 chair, clutching nervously at the open letter he held 
 in his hand, his face dark with passion, then turning 
 fairly livid. 
 
 " Affairs are reaching a crisis," he muttered, crush- 
 ing the letter deep down into his pocket with some- 
 thing very like a groan. 
 
 At sight of his distress Eeine forgot her pride and 
 her terrible anger. In a moment she was kneeling 
 beside him. 
 
 "What is the matter, Waldemar?" she urged. 
 "Have you bad news?'' 
 
 "Bad news! It is the worst possible news, Reine," 
 he cried, desperately. " Every one is pushing me for 
 money, and unless I can make an immediate raise 
 from some source or other, we are completely ruined." 
 
 His lovely young wife looked at him. She had not 
 the least idea what complete ruin meant. 
 
 He went on excitedly. " I can't see my way clear. 
 We shall come to grief, I'm afraid, and that speedily, 
 too. unless — unless — " 
 
 He moved uneasily in his chair, his eyes drooping 
 nervously under her calm, searching gaze. 
 
 "'Unless what, Waldemar?" she asked, earnestly. 
 
 " Unless you can manage it for me, Reine," he 
 answered. 
 
 She looked up into his face. 
 
 "I" she answered in dismay. "Oh, Waldemar, tell 
 me how." 
 
 He had the grace to flush hotly. He pondered for a 
 
142 
 
 A FORBIDDEN" MARRIAGE. 
 
 choice of words in which to frame his reply. For one 
 moment shame mastered him; but necessity spurred 
 him on to desperate measures. You could help me if 
 you would go on the stage, Eeine," he declared. 
 "That face and form of yours would set New York 
 wild. You'd get a handsome salary. 
 
 He did not raise his eyes to look at her; had he done 
 so he would have been startled; he went on ner- 
 vously — " And there's an opening for you — which I 
 heard of by chance, that would turn any woman's 
 head. 
 
 " It was all by chance I heard about it," he went on, 
 emphatically; Fll tell you how it came about. As I 
 stepped out of the Stock Exchange to-day, I met Man- 
 ager . He was in the deuce of a hurry, and all in 
 
 a nutter. He is just about bringing out a grand 
 revival of the " White Fawn," and at the last moment, 
 without so much as ' by your leave/ his star levanted 
 — skipped with a rival concern. 
 
 " ' What in heaven's name I am to do, I don't 
 know/ he declared. 'If I could find a woman with a 
 face and figure like Mdlle. Bertantis, — she might 
 name her own price to take her place.' It's a chance 
 that comes but once in a lifetime. What do you 
 think of the idea, Eeine?" 
 
 She had sprung to her feet, shocked and literally 
 astounded. He never forgot the way in which she 
 drew up her slight form to its utmost height, crying 
 out passionately — "Your jest is in very bad taste, 
 Waldemar." 
 
 "It is no jest," he declared, frowning darkly. "I 
 am in earnest. When people are pushed as hard as 
 we are for money, they must put their pride in their 
 pocket. Don't let a little nonsense stand between me 
 and ruin. You must help me out of this, Eeine. 
 Come, *what do you say to the plan?" 
 
 There was a look in her flashing eyes that made him 
 wince. 
 
 " I say that I will not do it," cried the girl, in clear, 
 steady tones. "I — I — would die first." 
 
 Her answer exasperated him. He grasped her ten- 
 der white arms in his strong hold so fiercely that there 
 
AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER,. 
 
 143 
 
 were purple bruises upon them for long days after- 
 ward. Yet she did not even wince with the cruel pain 
 of it. 
 
 You shall promise that you will do it," he cried. 
 "I will wring it from your lips. Your absurd pride 
 shall not ruin me. 
 
 "No," cried the girl, heroically, forcing the tears 
 back from her eyes — "I will not. You are stronger 
 than I — you may kill me — but you shall never make 
 me do that against which my whole nature abhors. 7 ' 
 
 "Another woman in your place would be delighted 
 at the opportunity," he retorted sullenly. "It is your 
 duty to help me in any way you can." 
 
 "Not in that way." 
 
 "In any way," he responded emphatically — "As 
 long as I approve of it." 
 
 She wondered what the old general would say if he 
 had but heard. How shocked too, Bernard Chesleigh 
 would have been. 
 
 "It's poor policy playing the high and mighty when 
 one hasn't a cent in their pocket," he sneered. 
 
 " I would rather earn my bread as a seamstress — a 
 nurse — anything " — cried Reine. 
 
 " Don't be a fool and stand in your own light," 
 cried Waldron in anger. You could afford to be 
 neither a seamstress or a nurse; leave that for older 
 and homelier women. You could not earn at one or 
 the other much over a five-dollar note a week. Man- 
 ager would give you two hundred, he says." 
 
 "Have you dared talk with him about it," de- 
 manded Eeine. 
 
 " I have not only talked with him, but arranged 
 with him," Waldron cried. " You shall take Bert an - 
 tis' place. In fact, to bind the contract, he has al- 
 ready advanced me a comfortable sum, and — I have 
 run through with it." 
 
 " You must return every dollar of it then," she 
 cried shrilly. " I repeat, you might hill me in endeav- 
 oring to compel me to do this thing, but you shall 
 never make me subservient to your will. You have 
 gone too far." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE DESERTED BRIDE. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron gazed steadily down into the 
 beautiful death-like face raised so defiantly to his own. 
 
 He knew what she said was perfectly true. He 
 might kill her — she was weak and fragile, tender, and 
 helpless — but he could never wring the promise he 
 desired from her lips. 
 
 He flung the white arms and clinging, trembling 
 hands from him, telling her that she should take the 
 consequences then. He left her with a cruel laugh 
 and a sneering look on his fair, handsome face that 
 stamped out all its beauty. 
 
 Eeine sank down into the nearest chair, and, cover- 
 ing her face with her hands, burst into passionate 
 tears. 
 
 Could Waldemar be so near upon the verge of ruin 
 as he had declared? Ah, surely not! He had said it 
 to tease her — to frighten her. 
 
 She made up her mind to write one more letter to 
 her father. She would lay her pride aside, and beg 
 him to help Waldemar for her sake. Her heart felt 
 lighter after it was written and mailed. She would 
 tell Waldemar what she had done when he returned 
 home to luncheon; then surely he would be more kind 
 to her. 
 
 The noon hour came and went. The long hours of 
 the afternoon dragged themselves slowly by. The 
 sun sank at length in the western sky, and the dusk of 
 night fell silently over the bustling city, still Walde- 
 mar Waldron did not return. 
 
 As the night deepened, Reine took up her station by 
 the lace-draped window, eagerly watching for him. 
 
 Ah, reader! do you know the blank, almost terrible 
 144 
 
THE DESERTED BRIDE. 
 
 145 
 
 calm that comes just before a storm, when the wind 
 sleeps that it may gather force, when the waves lie 
 silent that they may dash and foam, when the ''color 
 and weight of lead falls over the sky, and the earth 
 grows frightened? That strange calm, very like awe — 
 swept over Heine's heart as she stood hour after hour 
 at the window, listening for the step which did not 
 come. 
 
 This was not the first time that Waldemar had ab- 
 sented himself in like manner, yet she had never felt 
 like this before. There was a forboding sense of pain 
 in her heart which she could not shake off. Eleven 
 o'clock struck from a clock in an adjoining church 
 steeple; and as the last stroke died away some one ran 
 lightly up the broad marble steps, and touched the 
 bell. 
 
 As she opened the door of her boudoir she heard her 
 own name mentioned. A messenger boy stood in the 
 vestibule with a sealed letter in his hand. 
 
 With a strange fluttering at her heart, Reine took it, 
 and hurried back to her own room. It was in AY aide- 
 mars handwriting, she saw at a glance, and she 
 noticed, too, that the writing was hurried — agitated — 
 as though it had been done under the stress of great 
 emotion. 
 
 Why had he written to her instead of coming home? 
 Had anything happened to him? she wondered, and in 
 a moment all the old love flooded her heart for him. 
 She forgot all his coldness and unkindness, remember- 
 ing him only as the handsome, fair-haired, graceful 
 young lover for whom she had given up home, father, 
 friends and wealth, the lover and young husband, who 
 had taught her love's young dream. 
 
 Had ill befallen him? 
 
 With trembling hands she broke the seal and tore 
 open the envelope. There were but a few dozen brief 
 lines — surely the crudest and most pitiful that ever 
 broke a human heart. 
 
 A wild cry broke from her lips as her eyes ran over 
 the first few words on the page. Then the stillness 
 of death settled around her, broke now and then by 
 the fluttering of the sheet in her trembling hands. 
 10 
 
146 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 These were the words she read: 
 
 " R^ine: — By the time this letter reaches you I shall be far 
 away. It is better to speak plainly to you, telling you all. I 
 am leaving you forever, Heine, for I cannot face you after 
 what will happen to-morrow. Perhaps, after all, it is better for 
 you to be free from such a wretch as I own myself frankly to 
 be. 
 
 "You married me for love. Your attractiveness to me was 
 — you were the prospective heiress of Fairlawn. There are 
 men whose hearts are incapable of love, for love's sake alone. 
 Mine, I admit, is one of them. If I had thought your father 
 would have cast you off as he has done, I should never have 
 snatched you from luxury and happiness to share such a rov- 
 ing life as is mine. We were never suited for each other. A 
 sinner like myself has nothing in common with angelic purity. 
 We have lived luxuriously, and now we are come to the end of 
 the road — ruin and utter bankruptcy. Your firm denial to 
 make one more effort to save me rendered me desperate, as I 
 told you. I am a profligate by nature. I have won and lost 
 much money at cards. Last night I staked our all — the furni- 
 ture, plate and pictures of our home, and — lost. They have 
 passed into other hands, and to-morrow they will be taken 
 from you. I inclose twenty dollars ; take it, and return to the 
 home you left for my sake. I am going out of your life, sever- 
 ing the bonds that bound us to each other, wilfully, deliber- 
 ately. You are not the first wife so left; it is common enough 
 for hearts to break over it. Try and forget that I have ever 
 crossed your path, for I am not worthy of reclaiming or being- 
 reclaimed. 
 
 " Waldemab." 
 
 Eeine sat quite still, with her letter in her hand. 
 She read to the very end, and then sat still, staring, 
 dumb, like one turned to stone. She did not cry out, 
 after that first gasp of horror. The white lips were 
 parted and open, but no sound came from them. The 
 lovely blue eyes had a mild, bewildered expression. 
 She was trying to realize that most cruel blow that 
 could ever strike a living heart — that she was a de- 
 serted bride. Her husband had fled from her — yes, 
 fled from her, wilfully, deliberately. Heaven help 
 her! Was there any remedy either on earth or in 
 heaven for such woe as hers? 
 
 What shame, what grief, what outraged love and 
 pride swept over her like a tempest, as she sat there 
 looking into the glowing coals, who shall say? A wild 
 laugh echoed through the room. It quite startled 
 
THE DESERTED BRIDE. 
 
 Reine. She did not realize that it was her own voice. 
 The sound of that strange laugh pierced the thick 
 walls to the inner apartment, where Honora, her maid-, 
 was busy sorting a package of new lace fichus. She 
 dropped them in dismay, and hurried to Kerne's bou- 
 doir. One look at the white, ghastly face bent over the 
 open letter was enough. 
 
 " Oh, my dear! my dear! you have had bad news!" 
 she cried, in affright. 
 
 Reine looked up at the faithful servitor with wide, 
 sombre eyes. How could she tell her what had hap- 
 pened to her? 
 
 "Honora," she sobbed, with quivering lips, tears — 
 hot, bitter tears — falling like rain down her face, " I 
 may tell you — all the world will know it soon. My — 
 my husband has deserted me. He has left me forever. 
 Oh! I wish to Heaven that I might fall down dead! " 
 
 Deserted her! It could not be! Whatman in his 
 senses could have fled from a young wife like this — a 
 young wife as lovely as a dream. She looked bewil- 
 dered. 
 
 "Left you!" she cried in horror. "You cannot 
 mean it, my lady! " 
 
 "It is quite true,'* sobbed Eeine. "Oh, Honora! 
 you are older and wiser than I," she cried out in 
 agony; "tell me what other wives do when their hus- 
 bands leave them. I have heard that such things 
 have happened; I have read of them; but it never oc- 
 curred to me to ask what the poor wives did — whether 
 their hearts broke, or whether they went mad, or if 
 they committed suicide." 
 
 " They have to bear it calmly and patiently, I 
 think,'' replied the honest maid, who had always 
 feared that something of this kind would be likely to 
 happen to her beautiful, hapless young mistress sooner 
 or later. 
 
 "I can never live to bear the shame and disgrace of 
 it, Honora," the girl moaned. "If I walked out upon 
 the street, saw anyone I knew, I would be looked at 
 with curiosity, and they would whisper as they passed 
 me by, ' Her husband left her. I wonder why?' Oh, 
 
148 
 
 A FOKBIDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 Honora! I could not bear that. I — I cannot live to 
 endure it!" 
 
 " Alone she sat — alone! that worn out word, 
 
 So idly spoken and so coldly heard ; 
 
 Yet all that poets sing and grief hath known, 
 
 Of hopes laid waste, knells in that word — alone!" 
 
 "You must turn a deaf ear if anyone says anything 
 so very unkind as that/' replied Honora. - " Other 
 women have had the same thing to endure — but perhaps 
 it is not as bad as you think." 
 
 "It could not be worse," moaned Keine ; oh, what 
 am I to do? 
 
 The maid wa& nonplussed. " Lay down and try to 
 compose yourself to sleep a little, and I will try to 
 think/' said Honora; but Reine shook her head. 
 
 " It seems as though I should never sleep again/' 
 she sobbed ; "my brain is on fire." 
 
 " It may not be true that he has gone away forever," 
 declared Honora. 
 
 For some moments Reine sat silent; then, cowering 
 down in her chair, she buried her face in her hands, 
 saying desperately — " I am beginning to think there 
 is no such thing as real love. I read once wouds I mar- 
 velled at then, but which seem pitifully true now: 
 ' that some say the devil carried the seed from hell 
 and planted it on the earth to plague men and make 
 them sin; and some say that when all the plants in the 
 garden of Eden were pulled up by the roots, one bush 
 that the angels had planted was left growing, and it 
 spread its seed over the whole world, and its name is 
 — love. There are different species under that name; 
 one love that blots out wisdom, that is sweet with the 
 sweetness of life and with the bitterness of death, last- 
 ing for an hour, but it is worth having lived a whole 
 life for that hour. There is always the scent of a god 
 about it. 
 
 " ' When love's sunshine falls on the dead crust of 
 the soul, a throbbing yearning wakes — a new life stirs 
 to the depths of the heart; — that alone is satisfying.' 
 
 "I thought them wonderful words/' repeated Reine; 
 now I have lost all faith in love." 
 
THE DESERTED BRIDE. 
 
 149 
 
 Honora had listened, but she could not comprehend 
 such a strange vein of musing. 
 
 Suddenly Heine turned toward her again, clasping 
 her hands nervously together, murmuring in a low, 
 broken voice, that was husky with suppressed sobs: — 
 " Oh, Honora ! I am glad I never brought a little 
 child into the world. " 
 
 The girl started. She had not the key to her mis- 
 tress' thoughts; she had no comment to offer on this 
 unexpected remark. 
 
 Reine went on thoughtfully: "Night after night I 
 have thanked Heaven on my bare knees that I have 
 not caused another to suffer. Do you think that was 
 hard for me? A man who could leave his wife, could 
 abandon his little child if he had one. Anything is 
 possible to a man whose end is like his. Sinful — he 
 moves straight for it, and it alone. 
 
 " Some women can bend men and tilings completely 
 to their purpose, but not a man like Waldeinar Wal- 
 dron; they are the ones that escape the stings that 
 strike deep — these women who control: — they never 
 throw the burden of their sins on them.'' 
 
 "To-morrow, dear mistress, you can think more 
 clearly/' said Honora. " Do let me implore you to go 
 to bed; " and with that she loosened the coils of beau- 
 tiful golden hair that fell down over her shoulder to 
 her waist in a mass of shining splendor. 
 
 Honora brought the dainty robe to her mistress, and 
 Reine patiently suffered her to fasten it about her. 
 
 Throwing herself upon her couch, her bare arms 
 from without the flowing sleeves clasping her pillow, 
 Reine soon slept. 
 
 "Poor child — how hard she is taking her trouble," 
 thought the maid, watching the outlines of her heav- 
 ing breasts and listening to the quivering sighs that 
 trembled on her lips. 
 
 When Honora went to her mistress' room the next 
 morning, she found her already up and dressed. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 YOU AEE WANTED IN HASTE. 
 
 Reine pointed to the letter that had fallen from her 
 clenched hand to the floor, and the wild laugh that 
 broke from her lips was more pitiful to hear than the 
 stormiest outburst of sobs. 
 
 " It is quite true, Honora. He has left me wilfully 
 and deliberately. Read what he says, and be con- 
 vinced. Take it to your own room. I cannot bear it 
 in my sight"." 
 
 "What shall you do?" said Honora, pityingly. 
 " If I were you, I would send for my father." 
 
 "No, no, no," gasped Reine, shudderingly. "I 
 would not have him know what has befallen me for 
 worlds. You do not know the kind of man he is. He 
 has never forgiven me for marrying Waldemar against 
 his wishes." 
 
 And at the mention of her father's name poor Reine 
 broke down utterly, and dropping into the nearest 
 chair, gave way to such a storm of grief that Honora 
 was fairly frightened. 
 
 What words could she find to comfort her? She 
 realized at length that the greatest kindness she could 
 show her would be to leave her quite alone, and, letter 
 in hand, she stole softly from, the room. 
 
 It was quite a relief to get beyond the sound of that 
 violent weeping. Should she ever be able to forget 
 the lovely, wistful, tear-stained face as she saw it then? 
 
 She read the letter over and over again, just as 
 Reine had done, her honest anger increasing each mo- 
 ment. 
 
 "The miscreant!" she muttered. "If I had the 
 making of the law, no penalty would be severe enough 
 for a man who had deserted his wife. 
 
 150 
 
YOU ARE WANTED IX HASTE. 
 
 151 
 
 " Poor,, pretty young bride! " she thought, compas- 
 sionately. " Her father ought to know what has hap- 
 pened to her. If he has any heart in him at all, he 
 would come to her, and protect anil comfort her in a 
 crisis of this kind/"' 
 
 A sudden idea came to her. 
 
 " If she's too proud to send for him, why couldn't I 
 do it for her? Yes, I will do it," she cried. 
 
 It was but the work of a very few minutes to put 
 her project into execution. A half hour later the 
 message flashed along the wires that stretched through 
 the lovely scenery, through the snow-capped hills and 
 vales, until it reached the pretty little town, a mile's 
 distance from Fairlawn Villa. 
 
 It was past midnight when the messenger rode up to 
 deliver it. Yet the old general had not sought rest. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh had arrived at Fairlawn Villa 
 that morning, and although no mention of Keine had 
 passed between them, the old soldier knew quite well 
 why Chesleigh had left the metropolis so suddenly. 
 He knew Keine was there, and he could not meet her. 
 
 The servants had long since retired, and the general 
 answered the summons himself. 
 
 " A telegram! " he cried, holding out his hand ner- 
 vously. 
 
 In a moment he had torn open the envelope and mas- 
 tered its contents. 
 
 " General Hastings. Fairlawn : Your daughter is in great 
 trouble. I strongly urge you to come to her at once." 
 
 A name that the general never remembered having 
 heard before was signed to it. 
 
 His features worked convulsively. He leaned back 
 heavily against a massive marble column, his face 
 rapidly changing from red to white. 
 
 Eeine in trouble! What could it mean? 
 
 He touched the bell with such a resounding peal 
 that in less than a moment the frightened and dis- 
 mayed servants were flocking about him. 
 
 Like the general, Bernard Chesleigh had not retired, 
 and the unusual disturbance brought him to the scene 
 at once. 
 
152 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 General Hastings put the telegram in his hands, 
 with an anxious face. 
 
 " Read that and tell me what you think of it," he 
 said, hoarsely. "My Reine — in — trouble — I am quite 
 unnerved by this telegram, Chesleigh," cried the old 
 gentleman, plaintively. "Do you think that cursed 
 villain is misusing my child, now that he has her so 
 far away from home and friends?" asked the old sol- 
 dier, suddenly. (t If I thought that, 1 would follow 
 him to the world's end, and lash him like a hound!" 
 
 Bernard Ohesleigh turned white to the lips. Had 
 the general read his innermost thoughts? Had he 
 read the grave fear that he dared not put into words? 
 
 The scene at the ball rose up vividly before him. 
 Had Waldemar Waldron dared raise his hand against 
 Reine again? If he had he should answer for it to 
 him; there would be war to the knife between them. 
 He would revenge her; he would wipe out all wrong 
 done her if it cost him his life. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron had won Reine from him, but, 
 for all that, he should not abuse her. 
 
 He read the telegram through and handed it back to 
 the general. 
 
 Well," said the old soldier, huskily. 
 
 " I should advise you to go on at once to New York 
 and investigate this matter," said Bernard, gravely. 
 
 "You will accompany me, of course," returned the 
 general. 
 
 Bernard shook his head. 
 
 " If you need me, send for me," he said, " and I will 
 come on. Remember, your daughter was once my 
 promised bride, general; I have no right to intrude 
 into the household of my rival; but remember, too, 
 though fate parted us, I would lay down my life for 
 Reine. God bless her! " 
 
 General Hastings was fortunate enough to catch the 
 early express on the following morning. And all the 
 way to the metropolis he was occupied in trying to 
 think what could possibly be wrong with Reine. 
 
 He found the street and number indicated, and, with 
 the strangest of sensations in his heart, walked hur- 
 riedly up the massive brown-stone steps, and touched 
 
YOU ARE WASTED IS HASTE. 
 
 153 
 
 the bell. TVhat if "Waldemar TTaldron should answer 
 the summons himself? How awkward the meeting 
 between them would be! 
 
 His meditations were suddenly cut short by the 
 opening of the door and the appearance of a house- 
 maid on the threshold. 
 
 He saw at a glance that her eyes were red and 
 swollen with weeping. 
 
 " I am General Hastings," he said; "1 wish to see 
 my daughter, Mrs. TTaldron, at once. Tell me, my 
 good girl," he added in the same breath, c< is she well 
 or — or — " 
 
 "'Please to come in, sir. I have been expecting you. 
 I sent you the telegram/'' said Honora (for it was she), 
 as she ushered him into the drawing-room. 
 
 " I will go to my daughter at once," said the general, 
 nervously. "Kindly announce me without delay, my 
 good girl. Your — your — telegram has worried me. 
 Tell me first, however, before I see my daughter, what 
 the trouble is which you referred to, that I may pre- 
 pare myself for it." 
 
 Honora wrung her hands. Xever was there a task 
 so hard to perform. She drew from her pocket the 
 letter Eeine had handed her the night before, and 
 placed it in his hands. 
 
 In an instant his quick eye had glanced over the few 
 terse lines, and had mastered its contents, compre- 
 hending its import; comprehending all too clearly 
 that the scoundrel who had stolen his daughter from 
 him had deserted her, deliberately, wilfully, and that, 
 too, ere the honey-moon had scarcely waned. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the scene that 
 followed; how the old general raged and stormed, 
 tearing the letter into a thousand fragments and grind- 
 ing them beneath his heel deep down into the hearts 
 of the crimson roses of the velvet carpet. 
 
 He quite forgot the giiTs presence. She was secretly 
 wondering how she could break the next and worst 
 blow to him. 
 
 At length the terrible storm of anger wore itself 
 away, and something like calm came to him. Then 
 he asked to be taken at once to Eeine, that he might 
 
154 
 
 A FOKBJDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 comfort and console liis child. Then calmly Honora 
 broke the trying news to him — how, in the morning, 
 she had gone to her mistress's room, and found it quite 
 empty. Her pretty snow-white bed had not been slept 
 in, and upon one of the white pillows she had found 
 a note in Heine's handwriting, saying that she was 
 going away, and bidding each one of her servants who 
 had served her so well and faithfully, good-bye. 
 
 "I cannot stay and face what will happen to-morrow, 
 Honora," she wrote. " I am going away." 
 
 General Hastings listened in silence. Words can 
 illy portray his anguish. 
 
 Tears filled his eyes as he looked out upon the scene 
 without, the bare branches of the trees beating madly 
 against the window pane, and the snow coming heavily 
 down in great blinding drifts. 
 
 Where was Heine — his idol — his darling? 
 
 God help and protect her! Thrown out upon the 
 cold mercy of the pitiless world — breasting, alone and 
 penniless, the merciless storm! His lovely, golden- 
 haired Keine, so daintily and tenderly reared! 
 
 There would have been little mercy shown to Wal- 
 demar Waldron if the old general had run across him 
 just then. 
 
 Late that afternoon Bernard Chesleigh received the 
 following dispatch: 
 
 " Come on at once. Bring Donald Gray, the detective, with 
 you. (Signed), General Hastings." 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh's heart beat with dread apprehen- 
 sion as he read it. He responded to the summons at 
 once. He was in quite as much of a fever of anxiety 
 as the general himself by the time he reached New 
 York city. 
 
 Together Donald Gray and himself boarded the up- 
 town elevated car. They had barely seated themselves 
 ere a young and slender girl entered, heavily veiled, 
 and all alone. They were too much pre-occupied to 
 notice the start of surprise she gave, or hear the cry 
 of surprise she stifled on her lips, as her eyes fell upon 
 the face of Bernard Chesleigh. 
 
YOU ARE WANTED IX HASTE. 
 
 155 
 
 It was useless to conjecture why lie had been sent 
 for, but Chesleigh could not shake off from his mind 
 the impression that matters were worse than the tele- 
 gram had set forth. 
 
 He looked from the open window, but he never saw 
 the waving trees, and the houses, as the train dashed 
 past them, he was so preoccupied. 
 
 " Poor Heine," he murmured below his breath, " I 
 pray Heaven no harm has befallen her; and he thought 
 of the red mark on her lovely face — the imprint of the 
 hand that had dealt her a blow. 
 
 "Poor Eeine! — what had happened her? '' was the 
 agonizing question he asked himself over and over 
 again. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THROWN ON THE MERCILESS WORLD. 
 
 The young girl who entered the car so heavily veiled 
 was Reine. There was but one vacant seat — the one 
 on the left of Bernard Chesleigh — and she took it, 
 drawing her veil more securely down over her face 
 that he might not recognize her. 
 
 At a station further on Bernard and his companion 
 left the car. 
 
 Reine looked after the tall retreating form wistfully. 
 
 Ah! what a good, noble friend this lover whom she 
 had rejected had been to her! She was in sore need of 
 counsel and advice; but not for worlds would she have 
 gone to Bernard Chesleigh. She prayed Heaven that 
 he might never know that the man for whom she had 
 deserted him had, in his turn, now forsaken her. 
 
 She never realized until now what Bernard, who had 
 loved her so dearly, must have suffered. 
 
 After Honora, her maid, had left her the night 
 before, for long hours she had paced the floor of her 
 boudoir, trying to look the future in the face, and 
 think what she should do. All the long, weary night 
 through she never rested her head upon the white pil- 
 low. Sleep was out of the question for her. It seemed 
 to her that she should never sleep again. 
 
 When daylight broke she had packed a few neces- 
 sary articles in a little hand satchel, and without one 
 glance at the room — without a glance about the pretty, 
 ornamented boudoir, whose adornings she had grown 
 to love so well — she hurried down the stairs softly, and 
 out of the house into the brisk cold of the December 
 morning. 
 
 The streets of New York are never deserted. Early 
 as the hour was, busy pedestrians surged to and fro. 
 
 156 
 
THR0VTX OX THE MERCILESS WORLD. 
 
 15T 
 
 Eeine was swept along with the surging throng, 
 finding herself at length in the very heart of Broad- 
 way. 
 
 It was not until the sun reached the horizon that 
 she realized how faint and hungry she was, and that 
 she was penniless, all save the half dollar which she 
 was fortunate enough to find in the pocket of her 
 dress. But what would she do when that was gone? 
 The thought appalled her. All the old gay, girlish 
 life seemed to have been left far behind her, like a 
 bright, faded dream. Could there ever have been a 
 time when she was happy and without care? 
 
 Had she ever been petted, loved and worshipped as 
 the heiress of Fairlawn, or was it all a strange dream? 
 
 Oh! if she had but learned how to do something to 
 support herself in case of emergency then, she would 
 not have been so utterly helpless now. She uttered a 
 blind prayer to Heaven to guide her as she walked 
 wearily along. 
 
 And the event which happened the next moment 
 seemed an answer to that piteous appeal. 
 
 She had scarcely proceeded a dozen steps when sud- 
 denly she stumbled over something lying directly 
 beneath her feet. 
 
 It was a small purse — a lady's purse. Upon opening 
 it Eeine found that it contained a few dollars in 
 money, a tiny, dark curl tied with a bit of blue rib- 
 bon, and an old envelope, the back of which served as 
 a memorandum; several items were jotted down upon 
 it. The face of the envelope, however, revealed the 
 name and address of the owner of the lost purse. It 
 read: " Mrs. William Arnold, No. — East 11th Street, 
 City." 
 
 There was but one course to pursue — and that was 
 to return the purse at once to its owner. 
 
 The street indicated w 7 as some distance down-town. 
 Thus it happened that Eeine took the elevated car, 
 and the first person whom she beheld was Bernard 
 Chesleigh. 
 
 She was thankful that he left the car without observ- 
 ing her. 
 
 Eeine had little difficulty in finding the street and 
 
158 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 number she sought. It was a neat three-story brick 
 dwelling, with the sign of " Boarding" upon the door. 
 
 Eeine inquired for Mrs. Arnold. She was ushered 
 into a plain but neatly furnished parlor, and in a few 
 moments that lady made her appearance, flushed, nerv- * 
 ous, and somewhat excited. 
 
 " Before Heine had time to state her errand she saw 
 the pocketbook in her hand, and a cry of delight broke 
 from her lips. 
 
 "I was fortunate to find this on the street an hour 
 since, and rinding your address within, I hastened to 
 return it to you," said Eeine, simply. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold thanked her, with tears in her eyes. 
 
 " It was not the loss of the money I was grieving 
 about just as you came in, but it was because the purse 
 contained a lock of hair of my daughter's. She died a 
 year ago. Money could not have bought that little, 
 dark curl from me, I value it so highly. I was just 
 about to put an advertisement for it in the " Lost " 
 column, offering to pay a handsome reward for its 
 return. If you will accept the reward I was about to 
 offer I shall be very much pleased." 
 
 Eeine drew back, flushing painfully. Accept a 
 reward for. doing one's duty? She felt quite hurt, 
 and refused at once, on the impulse of the moment; 
 but the very next instant, when it was quite too late, 
 she remembered how sadly she was in need of money. 
 
 Eeine burst into tears, and then the true state of 
 affairs came out, — that she was penniless — that she 
 was thrown upon her own resources that day, for the 
 first time in her young life; that she had not even a 
 shelter when the darkness of night closed in around 
 her. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold was shocked. She was almost rendered 
 speechless. What young girl in tens of thousands, 
 similarly situated, would have brought her back her 
 purse? 
 
 She pressed Eeine's little soft hands sympathetically, 
 noting the while how beautiful and white they were, 
 like the tender, velvet leaves of a lily. 
 
 Searching for employment — Heaven pity and help 
 her! She remembered a time, far back in her own 
 
THROWN OX THE MERCILESS WORLD. 159 
 
 life, when she had had an almost similar experience; 
 and she remembered, with a shudder, she had told 
 herself, if she did not find something to do before 
 nightfall, she would kill herself. Better a quick death 
 than the maddening tortures of starvation and expos- 
 ure to the bitter cold in the dreary streets. Xow she 
 was differently situated — widowed— yet doing quite 
 well as the mistress of this thrifty boarding-place, with 
 a neat little sum put by for a rainy day, as all wise 
 people should have. Her one great sorrow had been 
 the loss of her daughter, but she thanked Heaven that 
 her only son — the idol of her heart — had been spared 
 to her. 
 
 Do not weep any more, my dear." said the 
 motherly lady, wiping the tears from Eeine's eyes. 
 " You shall stay here with me until you can find some- 
 thing to do. I know just how to feel for you in your 
 present trouble — indeed I do." 
 
 Eeine was only too glad to accept. She had not the 
 least idea what she would have done if Heaven, in its 
 mercy, had not found her this kind friend. 
 
 "I shall not be a burden to you long, my dear 
 madam," said Eeine gratefully. " If I could get 
 a place to teach school, or find pupils for music, 
 drawing or French, I would soon be able to repay 
 you/ 5 
 
 "You seem to be quite accomplished. If you could 
 teach all these things. " said Mrs. Arnold, "I take it 
 you must have been rich once." 
 
 "My father was worth considerable," said Eeine 
 blushing painfully. " I never thought one short year 
 ago, that I should ever come to want." 
 
 <: Ah, well," replied the good woman, cheerfully, 
 " many a man is rich to-day and poor to-morrow. 
 The world never knows how shaky many a rich man is 
 until he comes to die. In most cases, there's a mighty 
 falling off in their wealth. I can tell you, and the heirs 
 find themselves in tight places. " 
 
 Eeine did not correct the impression the good 
 woman was evidently laboring under — that she was an 
 orphan. 
 
 "'You have not told me your name, my dear,'* said 
 
160 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold, at length. "I wish to present you to 
 my son when he comes in." 
 
 " My name is Reine Waldron," she answered, with 
 another flush, debating within herself whether she 
 ought to tell this good woman that she was married or 
 not. 
 
 She concluded, however, that if she were to tell her 
 she would be obliged to repeat to her all of her sad 
 story, and she would rather have died than have said — 
 "my husband left me yesterday, for no offence what- 
 soever — left me wilfully, deliberately." 
 
 The world is so uncharitable to women, especially if 
 a sorrow of this kind befalls them. No, no, it were 
 better far to say nothing upon the subject. Let them 
 think her Miss Waldron, if they would. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold conducted Reine to a very neat little 
 bedroom opening off from her own. 
 
 "You are to occupy this for the present, my dear," 
 she said. 
 
 Reine was only too grateful, and she thanked her 
 with tears in her eyes. 
 
 When the six o'clock dinner bell rang, Mrs. Arnold 
 came hurriedly into the room. 
 
 " My son has come home," she said. " I have told 
 him of the little episode that happened me this after- 
 noon, and its sequel, which he declares is quite roman- 
 tic; and Horace is anxious to see you, for I have told 
 him, my dear, that you are as beautiful as you are 
 honest. There is one thing more he tells me which 
 will be the best of news for you to hear. . He thinks 
 he can get you employment to copy briefs for a law 
 firm; that is, if you are quick with the pen, and write 
 a good, plain hand. The pay isn't much — about three 
 dollars and a half a week; but you had better take 
 that while you are looking about to better yourself. 
 Do you think you could do that kind of work accept- 
 ably? It Avouldn't do to make mistakes, you know." 
 
 "Iam sure I could do it," replied Reine, faintly, 
 romembering the hundreds of briefs she had seen in 
 her father's study, and remembering her idle curiosity 
 as her eye fell upon the close-written pages, quire after 
 quire, how the person who wrote it had the patience to 
 do it. 
 
THROWX OX THE MERCILESS WORLD. 161 
 
 And now, she, the petted heiress, the disinherited 
 daughter, the forsaken young wife, was glad to get it 
 to do. 
 
 She followed Mrs. Arnold down to the parlor 
 thoughtfully. A tall, pleasant-faced young man rose 
 to greet them as they entered. 
 
 "Miss Waldron, I have the pleasure to present to 
 you my son Horace — Horace Arnold, " said the fond 
 mother proudly; adding in almost the same breath: 
 "My son is a lawyer, connected with the law firm of 
 Chesleigh & Sanford. I presume you have heard of 
 the firm." 
 
 Heine gave a violent start, but neither Mrs. Arnold 
 or her son observed it. The lovely face grew a shade 
 paler and her crimson lips trembled. 
 
 " Both Mr. Chesleigh and Mr. Sanford are estima- 
 ble gentlemen," Mrs. Arnold went on, enthusiasti- 
 cally, " especially the former. Horace is very much 
 attached to him." 
 
 Reine's heart gave a strange throb, half pleasure, 
 half pain. 
 
 How well every one loved Bernard Chesleigh who 
 knew him! Ah /how blind she had been in that dark 
 past! 
 
 I suppose Horace may as well bring some briefs 
 home to-morrow for you to commence on," suggested 
 Mrs. Arnold. 
 
 "I will be very grateful if he will be so kind,'' 
 replied Reine. 
 
 It was no light task roiling through the many 
 meshes of legal puzzles, yet Reine never complained as 
 the days came and went. The pretty white fingers 
 were always ink-stained now, but it did not matter to 
 her; those little stained fingers earned for her her 
 daily bread. 
 
 Horace Arnold taught her type-writing, too; then 
 Reine accomplished her work with great rapidity. 
 
 How strange it was that while General Hastings and 
 Bernard Chesleigh, together with the indefatigable 
 Mr. Gray, were searching the city through for her, 
 Reine was quietly earning her living almost under 
 their very eves! 
 11 
 
CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 ONE KIND EDITOR. 
 
 Copying, however, proved very tedious, and not 
 yery remunerative work for Eeine; she was not very 
 quick with the pen, and then, to make the matter all 
 the worse, it was just that season of the year when 
 there were but few briefs to copy other than were 
 given to the more experienced clerks. 
 
 More than once Reine found she was short of money 
 for her board, and her heart sank within her. 
 
 " If I could only find something else to do in con- 
 junction with copying," she thought despairingly. 
 
 One day an idea occurred to her to try to write 
 poems for the magazines. In those old days, verses 
 she had written had been highly praised. If God had 
 given her any talent in this line, why not try to turn 
 it into profit now? 
 
 She consulted with Mrs. Arnold on the subject. 
 
 "I should think you could make a great deal in 
 that way," declared Mrs. Arnold. "The publishers 
 have to print somebody's poems, why not yours? I'd 
 try it by all means, my dear." 
 
 Reine did try, and the consequence was, she pro- 
 duced two very creditable little poems, which Mrs. 
 Arnold declared to be the most pathetic she had ever 
 heard. One was entitled, "A Misspent Life," — the 
 other, " A Pathway Strewn with Thorns." 
 
 Mrs. Arnold further insisted any publisher would 
 purchase at once, after hearing the first lines. 
 
 Thus imbued with hope, although Reine could not 
 share her friend's enthusiasm over them, she started 
 out to dispose of her productions. 
 
 She took a list of the publishers' names and ad- 
 dresses, and made a tedious tour to the different 
 cfiices. 
 
 162 
 
02sE KLXD EDITOR. 
 
 103 
 
 Some smiled, when they heard the object of her 
 call; others brusquely declared their waste basket was 
 full of poenis, and their pigeon-holes overrun with 
 them. 
 
 At last, one editor, pitying the wistful young face, 
 agreed to look them over if she would leave them. 
 
 He had seen. a great deal of authors in his day. It 
 was nothing new or strange to him to see a white, 
 wistful face looking into his office to see if there was 
 any good news. 
 
 At first he used to purchase himself, rather than see 
 the pain bad news inflicted as he handed back the 
 manuscripts. Many a genius struggling in the depths, 
 . owed their first start in life to him. But half the 
 manuscripts he bought, he could find no possible use 
 for; he soon found he might invest the whole of his 
 capital in such dubious ways. He was compelled to 
 give it up, and contented himself by giving encourage- 
 ment by kindly words. 
 
 He bought Heine's two poems, but as he placed the 
 small pittance they brought into her hand, he told her 
 he should not be able to buy any more from her until 
 after these had been published, which would be some 
 months yet, they were so overstocked just then, but 
 wishing her great success meanwhile, elsewhere. 
 
 Keine wrote other poems, but she found no one who 
 wanted to buy them. 
 
 My forte does not lie in that direction," she t old- 
 Mrs. Arnold one day with a faint smile, — " I shall go 
 back to my copying. Some day I shall try to paint a 
 picture. I think I would make a better artist than, 
 poetess. So one day the picture was commenced. It 
 progressed slowly enough, her time was so occupied 
 from day to day in copying the briefs young Mr. 
 Arnold brought home to her. 
 
 It never occurred to generous-hearted Bernard Ches- 
 leigh to inquire who the young girl was, whom his 
 clerk had modestly suggested to add to their corps of 
 copyists, as she was greatly in need of employment. 
 
 " By all means give her copying to do if we have 
 work for her," he had responded, heartily. Then he 
 quite forgot the matter altogether. 
 
164 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 It was with a feeling of . strange pleasure Heine 
 listened evenings to Horace Arnold's conversation, 
 which always touched upon Bernard Chesleigh more 
 or less. 
 
 " He is a bachelor/' he said, one evening; " but if 
 report speaks truly, he won't be a bachelor long." 
 
 " Why — is — is — he engaged to — to — marry any one?" 
 asked Reine, raising a strangely white face up from 
 the page over which she was bending, and clutching 
 her pen moie tightly in her hand. 
 
 "No; but it's only a question of time before he will 
 be, I imagine," laughed Horace. " To tell you the 
 plain truth, if you will pardon the language, Miss 
 Flora Sanford, his partner's niece, has made a 'dead 
 set 'for Mr. Chesleigh." 
 
 Reine looked greatly interested, and it was a pleas- 
 ure to Horace Arnold to have such an attentive lis- 
 tener, and he went on readily enough. 
 
 "She is a beautiful, dashing girl, this Miss Flora, 
 but not quite the style Mr. Chesleigh admires most, if 
 I am any judge. She is tall and dark, like a Spanish 
 princess. She always reminds me of a picture in the 
 magazine. 
 
 "Every day she comes to the office and calls for her 
 uncle; but we clerks know that's only a blind. It's 
 Mr. Chesleigh she wants to see. 
 
 "She always manages, on one pretext or another, to 
 sit and chat until Mr. Chesleigh is about to leave the 
 office for the day, and she very kindly offers to drive 
 him in her phaeton — which is at the door — to his des- 
 tination. He cannot well refuse, and is quite used by 
 this time to being made a captive of. She will get the 
 noblest and best-hearted young man in New York 
 when she does get him," young Arnold went on, medi- 
 tatively. "He is certainly a capital fellow, and will 
 make her a husband that any young lady might be 
 proud of — " 
 
 "Why, what is the matter, Miss Waldron? Are 
 you ill?" he cried, in affright. "Your face is the 
 color of that paper in your hands. How stupid of me 
 to tire you by recounting gossip concering people 
 whom you have never seen ! " 
 
0> T E KIXD EDITOR. 
 
 165 
 
 "I am very tired; that is all/' said Kerne, laying 
 down her pen wearily. "I think I will stop writing 
 for to-day, and go np to my own room.'' 
 
 " It is tiresome work/ 5 admitted Horace, pityingly. 
 " Let me finish those pages yon have in your hand, 
 while you go and rest." 
 
 Keine shook her head. 
 
 " You are tired enough doing your own day's work," 
 she said. " I must not tax you by thinking of mine." 
 
 It "would be a great pleasure to me to do anything 
 for you, Miss Keine," he said, modestly, his fair, hand- 
 some, boyish face flushing hotly. 
 
 But Keine shook her head again, and, taking the 
 paper with her, slowly quitted the room. 
 
 Horace Arnold looked after her with a tender light 
 in his eyes. 
 
 " I have known her but four weeks," he soliloquized, 
 "and — I love her." 
 
 All the beauty and warmth of the room seemed to 
 fade as the door closed upon her slender, retreating 
 form. 
 
 He quite believed that a romantic fate had brouglit 
 Keine to his mother's home; that he should see her, 
 love her, and in time win for his own. 
 
 Poor boy! how little he dreamed that fate had an 
 altogether different purpose in bringing Keine thither! 
 
 Meanwhile the object of his thoughts went wearily 
 up to her own room. All night long Keine tossed 
 restlessly upon a pillow that was wet with burning 
 tears. 
 
 " Why do I weep?" she asked herself, bitterly, over 
 and over again. "Is it because they tell me my dear 
 old friend is to marry and be happy at last? Am I so 
 selfish that, because / have found no happiness- 1 w r eep 
 when I hear of the happiness of others? " 
 
 Of course he would marry some day. Few men 
 remained single because they failed to win their first 
 love. 
 
 Yet the thought brought with it the keenest pain to 
 her heart; not that he was, or ever could be, anything 
 to her now — for a barrier that could never be beaten 
 
166 
 
 A roRBlDDEH MARRIAGE. 
 
 down was raised between them. That barrier was 
 Waldemar Waldron. 
 
 True, he had deserted her — wilfully, deliberately — 
 yet she was still his wedded wife until death should 
 come to her to break the heavy bonds. 
 
 She must not complain, for she had fastened those 
 heavy chains that shackled her, with her own white 
 hands. 
 
 True, she could have found freedom through re- 
 course to the divorce courts, but Eeine shrank from 
 dissolving the ties that bound her in that way. To 
 her, those whom God had joined together in holy mar- 
 riage could never be put asunder by the hand of man. 
 
 From that hour Reine- commenced to droop and 
 fade; still she kept at her copying with feverish 
 energy, devoting her spare time, to keep her mind 
 busied, by painting a Southern landscape. 
 
 Quite unconsciously many of the old scenes and pic- 
 turesque spots in the vicinity of Fairlawn were worked 
 out upon the canvas under her deft brush, even to a 
 small cascade that flowed between two cleft perpen- 
 dicular rocks at the rear of her father's estate. 
 
 Horace Arnold was delighted with it, and insisted 
 upon showing it to an old friend of his — an artist who 
 had a studio on Broadway. 
 
 " I am sure Eeine possesses more than ordinary tal- 
 ent, mother," he declared. "Do persuade her to per- 
 mit me to show it to my friend." 
 
 In vain Eeine protested; mother and son carried their 
 point, and Horace duly carried it to his friend's studio. 
 
 The young artist went in raptures over it. 
 
 "Why, it is a perfect gem, my dear boy," he cried, 
 laying his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Whoever 
 painted that is a genius. It is so true to nature. I 
 went there sketching last summer, and upon my honor 
 I did not do one-half so well as this. It is in the heart 
 of the Virginia hills, near a grand old country-place, 
 called Fairlawn. If you like, I will put it in my win- 
 dow with the artist's name attached, and who knows 
 but what it will bring her in many an order," he said, 
 kindly. 
 
 Horace Arnold was delighted. 
 
OKE KIKD EDITOR. 
 
 167 
 
 " Put it into your window by all means/' he said, 
 "but as for putting on a card with the artist's name, I 
 wouldn't advise it. She would not like it, I am sure." 
 
 "Any young lady ought to be proud to put her 
 name to a gem like" that," insisted the enthusiastic 
 young artist; "however, let it be as you say. I should 
 like very much to meet this young artist. Bring her 
 down to the studio, Arnold." 
 
 Then Horace xirnold saw what mischief he had done. 
 His artist friend was interested in Reine; if he were to 
 see her, he would fall in love with her on sight. Ah, 
 no; he must not see Eeine; he must prevent thai. 
 
 How quick love is to catch the flame of jealousy! 
 
 Frederick Ballon, the young artist, had the picture 
 Reine had painted put into a superb and unique frame, 
 and placed it in the window without delay. 
 
 It attracted great attention. ~New York pedestrians 
 have an eye for such a gorgeous bit of coloring as was 
 this; so true to nature, one could almost fancy him- 
 self transplanted on this cold, stormy day, to the 
 cheery scenes among the green sunlit hills upon which 
 they gazed. 
 
 Quite a little knot of beauty worshippers gathered 
 about the artist's window ere Reine's picture had been 
 there an hour; and this was what had attracted Ber- 
 nard Chesleigh to the spot, as he was. hurrying down 
 Broadway. 
 
 For one moment he gazed carelessly enough; then a 
 sudden whiteness overspread his face, as his quick eyes 
 took in every detail of that beloved and familiar scene. 
 
 He stepped inside the studio, inquiring if the pic- 
 ture was for sale. 
 
 The young artist answered in the affirmative; adding, 
 that he would be pleased to send for the young lady 
 who painted it, if the gentleman had any thought of 
 purchasing it; or, if he was passing that way, he might 
 call upon her himself in reference to it. No doubt 
 she would be pleased to dispose of it, and at a very low 
 figure. 
 
 The artist jotted down the street and number, apol- 
 ogizing for being unable to furnish him the name of 
 the young lady. 
 
168 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh put the slip of paper in his pock- 
 et-book. And, an hour later, finding himself in that 
 vicinity, ran lightly up the steps and touched the bell, 
 surprised to find the young lady living at the home of 
 his clerk. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold was delighted to see him, and still more 
 delighted to learn the errand upon which he had come. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 I HATE COME HOME TO DIE. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold came up to Seine's room all in a 
 flutter of excitement, and told her the wonderful news. 
 Mr. Bernard Chesleigh, the great lawyer, had seen the 
 picture in a window in passing — and, being told her 
 number, had come to purchase it if it was for sale. 
 
 ' ' Hoav Seine's heart beat as she listened! 
 
 " He wants to buy it because the scene recalls the 
 home of an old friend who has but very recently passed 
 away." 
 
 The lovely face into which Mrs. Arnold gazed was 
 as white as death; a great trembling had seized Seine. 
 
 " Tell him he can have the picture at any price — 
 he — he — thinks it is worth," she said chokingly. 
 "I — I — cannot see him; — and — and — Mrs. Arnold — I 
 beseech you — do not mention my name to him." 
 
 This was a strange freak of Seine's; still, Mrs. Arnold 
 consented to it. Chesleigh bought the picture, but 
 not for many a long day after, did he learn the name 
 of the artist. 
 
 Seine was greatly astounded at the magnificent sum 
 Mr. Chesleigh left for the picture. 
 
 He was too noble to take advantage of a struggling 
 artist. With the eyes of a connoisseur he saw that the 
 picture was a little gem — and he showed his great 
 nobility of character by paying for it accordingly. 
 * But despite the sale of her picture, Seine felt heavy 
 hearted; who could the old friend be, who had passed 
 away so suddenly? A nameless dread seized her — terri- 
 fied her — she dared not put the thought into words 
 that flitted through her brain. 
 
 A great longing came to her to visit Fairlawn once 
 again, and look upon her fathers face. Yes, go she 
 must. 
 
 169 
 
170 
 
 A FOKBIDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Arnold's parting with Reine, whom she had 
 grown to love, was quite affecting. 
 
 The blow fell heaviest, perhaps, upon her son 
 Horace. His face was deadly pale, but he preserved 
 an outwardly calm demeanor. The inward cry that 
 welled up from the very depths of his heart was: 
 
 " It has been my own fault. It has been my own 
 hand that plunged the dagger into my breast. But 
 ' for that picture which I begged her to place on exhibi- 
 tion, they would not have discovered my beautiful 
 Seine, and taken her from me." 
 
 He bowed his handsome, boyish face over the little 
 white hand that was stretched out to him at parting, 
 and the fair moustache hid the grievous quivering of 
 his lips. 
 
 "Good-bye, Horace, my dear friend," said Reine, 
 earnestly. " I shall never forget how kind you have 
 been to me. I shall always be most grateful." 
 
 " I shall always be your true friend until I die," he 
 answered, huskily. " Try to remember those words. 
 Say to yourself: ' If I am ever in great trouble — if the 
 whole world turn from me — I shall ever be sure of one 
 true friend in Horace Arnold." 
 
 "I shall remember," said Eeine, gently. 
 
 That was their parting; and when Mrs. Arnold 
 entered the parlor an hour later, wondering why her 
 son remained there so long, she found him with his 
 head buried deep in the velvet cushions of the sofa; 
 deep sighs, that were almost moans, breaking from his 
 lips; then she knew the full extent of the mischief 
 that had been done. Beautiful, golden-haired Keine 
 had taken with her her boy's heart. 
 
 It was a love as mad as it was hopeless, she well 
 knew, for her keen eyes had discovered the secret he 
 had thought guarded so well. 
 
 From this she had drawn her own conclusions. She 
 left the parlor quickly and noiselessly, and her boy 
 never knew there had been a silent witness to the 
 agony which the parting with Reine had cost him. 
 
 It was with a heart thrilling with strange conflicting 
 emotions Reine took her seat in the outward bound 
 Southern express. No matter how cruelly the world 
 
I HATE COME HOME TO DIE. 
 
 in 
 
 dealt with her, she had always whispered to her hungry 
 heart she could always creep into the shelter of her 
 father's arms, and find peace there. Xo matter what 
 she had done, the old general would find forgiveness 
 for her, when she came back to him crushed, penitent, 
 humbled, — a poor bruised butterfly, whose bright 
 wings were broken and trailing in the dust. 
 It was a sweet hope to cling to. 
 
 How slowly the train on which Keine was a passen- 
 ger seemed to creep along! 
 
 The darkness of night had gathered ere she reached 
 the cross-roads, but a young moon hanging like a jewel 
 in the star-studded sky, threw a faint white light over 
 the sleeping trees and flowers. 
 
 It was quite three miles to Fairlawn. but knowing 
 the road so well, Reine decided to walk the distance. 
 
 She remembered the last time she had passed over 
 that road — fleeing from home with the man sbe loved 
 — in defiance to her fathers command. 
 
 Ah, me, every word of the old general's prophecy had 
 proven true. How happy her young life might have 
 been with the rose-bloom of an honorable mam's love, 
 brightening her existence! She was only a wilful girl 
 then — only sixteen — it almost seemed to her long cen- 
 turies had elapsed since that fatal day she had gone 
 with handsome spendthrift YValdemar Waldron, to fol- 
 low his fortunes. 
 
 She paused a moment as she reached the gate, tears 
 that quite blinded her, falling from her eyes down her 
 pale, wan cheeks. 
 
 She heard a low lowing among the bushes; she knew 
 before she turned her head, that it was the old Alder- 
 ney cow Beatrix. She held out her hand and patted 
 its" sleek sides: the faithful creature rubbed her cold 
 nose against her shoulder. 
 
 Reine opened the gate noiselessly and paused again. 
 How still and dark the old gray stone house, with its 
 turrets and gables, looked to her as she crept up the 
 well remembered walk to the broad veranda! 
 
 A tidy maid she never remembered having seen 
 before, was sweeping the dead leaves from before the 
 door. 
 
172 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 <e Is General Hastings within?" inquired Reine 
 falteringly, leaning weakly against one of the pillars 
 of the porch. 
 
 For an instant the girl stared blankly into the white 
 face turned so wistfully toward her, and Reine repeated 
 her words. 
 
 "Do you not know? Why, you must be a stranger 
 hereabouts to ask that question," she said. "General 
 Hastings — poor old gentleman — is dead; he was buried 
 almost a fortnight ago. That is his grave, on that high 
 hill yonder; you can see the tall white shaft shining 
 through the trees. 
 
 For a long, awful moment, the darkness of death 
 seemed to enfold Reine; the world seemed to stand 
 still, and her heart to slowly break then and there. She 
 put out her hands blindly, and sunk down on the cold 
 stone steps. 
 
 " Come round to the kitchen and let me get you a 
 cup of hot tea," said the girl kindly, as she gazed piti- 
 fully at the white, pitiful face raised to her own. 
 "You look faint and worn." 
 
 " No," muttered Reine, with white, stiffening lips. 
 
 " You'll be welcome to it, dear knows," insisted the 
 maid; the old general used to say, 'no stranger should 
 ever be turned from his door/ Come." 
 
 And she half led, half carried Reine into the cheery 
 kitchen, and seated her by the genial, glowing fire. 
 
 The rest of the servants did not seem to be about. 
 
 How natural the room seemed to Reine. Everything 
 seemed the same except the strange face of this new, 
 kind hearted little serving-maid. 
 
 Reine almost expected to see the door leading into 
 the hallway open, and her father come quickly over 
 the threshold, his ruddy face beaming with love, and 
 hear his hearty bluff voice, crying cheerily — 
 
 " You have come back to your old father at last, 
 dear; I always knew you would come sooner or later — I 
 have been watching for you, all these long, weary 
 months. Your old father has been lonely without his 
 wilful little madcap." 
 
 Reine aroused herself from the stupor that was steal- 
 
I HATE COME HOME TO DIE. 
 
 ing over her. Was it true that he was dead — dead: 
 Ah, pitying God! how couAd she realize it. 
 
 '' Haven't you heard the story of the old general's 
 death," asked the girl, adding in the next breath, " no 
 of course you haven't, or you wouldn't have called here 
 for him to-night." 
 
 " No — no — I haven't heard," faltered Reine, won't 
 you tell me? " 
 
 " It's a sad tale," responded the girl, brushing off a 
 tear-drop with the corner of her apron. " The doctors 
 and the neighbors say he died of apoplexy. I say. he 
 died of a broken heart, and it is the will-o'-the-wisp 
 daughter of his who ran away with a handsome spend- 
 thrift who will have to answer for it. 
 
 "The old general had a lovely young daughter, with 
 a face like the white waxen leaves of a lily, and hair 
 more glorious golden than its golden calyx, as pretty a 
 young creature, they say. as the sun ever shone on. 
 
 " Lovely, wilful Reine was the idol of the old gener- 
 al's heart. 
 
 " His one anxiety was to see her well married and 
 settled in life; he always had a foreboding, they say. 
 that she might not turn out well, she was so wilful. 
 
 " He picked out a husband for her, a noble gentleman, 
 but do you think she would have him? Oh, dear, no, 
 though like the general, he fairly idolized the ground 
 her pretty feet walked over. 
 
 " She fell in love with a handsome profligate, a trifler, 
 and despite all opposition, eloped with him 
 
 " Perhaps I am tiring you with hearing about the 
 general's madcap daughter," said the maid, looking 
 anxiously at the white face of the stranger, which was 
 each moment growing more ghastly. 
 
 " Xo — no," faltered Reine. "I am greatly inter- 
 ested — go on." 
 
 The gossiping maid looked pleased; she was fond of 
 relating the story, which sounded like a romance, end- 
 ing in a tragedy, as she called the general's death, to 
 any one who had not heard it. 
 
 "'As I was saying," she continued, "the heiress 
 ran away with the handsome spendthrift and married 
 him, but as every one predicted, she soon found him 
 
174 
 
 A FORBIDDEK MARRIAGE. 
 
 out. He had married her for money, not for love, and a 
 pretty life he led her, to be sure. The general's wrath 
 was terrible; he cut her off without a shilling, and 
 when the young husband found that out, he left her. 
 
 " Some one wrote to the general about it, and he went 
 on to bring his broken hearted daughter home; but 
 when he got there, she had vanished. He hunted for 
 her the whole world over; but he never found her. He 
 came home, took to his bed, and never left it alive. 
 
 "The old general's widowed sister was sent for from 
 away down in Tennessee, and she got here just as he 
 was breathing his last. 
 
 "He beckoned her to him, and when she bent over 
 him, he whispered brokenly: — 
 
 " ' Always keep the latch string out, Rachel; some 
 day Heine will come back — but I shall not be here to 
 welcome my darling. He had had her picture brought 
 from the library and hung where he could see it, and 
 he never took his eyes from it. It would have made 
 you cry if you had heard his mind wander, the moment 
 before he passed away. He seemed to imagine he was 
 at the gate of heaven and had met his dead wife there, 
 for he cried softly — ' Open the gate — open the gate/ 
 adding plaintively: — ' You ask me what I have done 
 with the little child you placed in my arms, dear, when 
 the angels took you, and I answer: I guarded her well, 
 Evelyn; but — I lost her; some day she will come to you 
 and me at this gate; we will wait for her here, Evelyn; 
 no matter where she has been, what she has gone 
 through, she is still the little darling that once slept in 
 our arms — our pretty little Reine/ 
 
 "After that he never spoke again, and, we know he 
 had gone to join his angel wife, to wait at the gate for 
 Reine; poor, pretty, wilful Reine, whose name was the 
 last word he ever spoke on earth. 
 
 "Are you crying, lady?" asked the maid. "Ah, 
 well, I told you it was a pitiful story — it would bring 
 tears to eyes of stone." 
 
 By a great effort Reine kept from swooning. She 
 rose unsteadily from her chair, and put down the cup 
 of tea untasted. 
 
 "I must go, thank you; and good-bye," she said. 
 
I HAVE COME HOME TO DIE. 175 
 
 And, like one suddenly stricken blind she staggered 
 out of the house, and down the path, and was lost in 
 the darkness beyond. 
 
 She crept up to a little, white gate, by the side of 
 which great weeping willow trees grew — opened it, and 
 stole softly up the narrow path to the grand old sol- 
 dier's grave; she knelt down upon it, parted the grass, 
 laying her burning face upon it, and with her arms 
 thrown about the cold polished marble shaft, wept 
 tears that it grieved the angels to witness. 
 
 " The world has gone all wrong with me, father," 
 she sobbed, " Heaven has punished me sorely for dis- 
 obeying you: oh, how bitterly I have repented! I have 
 been unhappy in my love — in everything. I have come 
 back to die upon your grave, papa." 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 MAN IS BUT MOKTAL. 
 
 Suddenly it occurred to Reine that it would be far 
 better to steal away from that spot, that it would be 
 better to hide herself forever from the gaze of those 
 who had known her, in the dark, rippling waves of the 
 silent water that skirted Fairlawn. 
 
 What matter what became of her whom nobody 
 loved? 
 
 With pale, cold lips, poor Reine kissed the marble 
 shaft, praying her father to forgive her for the past, 
 and plead at the great White Throne for what she was 
 going to do — for she was soon to join him. 
 
 Gathering her dark cloak about her and looking 
 back with one long, lingering gaze, that had her very 
 soul in it, at the dark, solemn stone house on the 
 sloping hillside, and at the steady flame that shone 
 like a beacon light from the kitchen window, the poor 
 child turned away, and crept on down the path toward 
 the dark, sullen stream. 
 
 The wind blew coldly on her face, but she did not 
 hesitate. Never again after to-night, would she see 
 the great throbbing world with its mysteries, its mis- 
 eries, its hopes and its loves. When spring came again 
 her feet would not tread the grass; never again would 
 she see the sweet violets, the yellow daffodils, such as 
 grew around the dear old home, nodding their heads 
 in the breeze. Never again would men worship her 
 beauty; never more would she see love glowing in 
 passionate eyes for her sake. It was all over. 
 
 She paused on the margin of the dark, sullen stream 
 for a moment, then climbed down on to the moss 
 covered rocks. 
 
 " Good-bye, cruel world," she moaned; " no one will 
 176 
 
MAX IS BUT .MORTAL. 
 
 177 
 
 ever miss me; no one cares for poor, hapless Seine." 
 Only the echo of her own voice answered her. Silence 
 settled down again. A land-bird, roused from its sleep, 
 opened its bright eyes and gazed at her from its nest 
 among the rocks — that was all. Xo human being 
 cared or rose from their quiet sleep to save her. 
 
 Eeine took off her cloak slowly. The cold winds 
 chilled her. but she did not mind it. Her beautiful, 
 curling, golden hair had loosened from the coil at the 
 back of her head, and fell in a shining mass of glitter- 
 ing splendor to her waist, but she did not heed it. " 
 
 " I am going to die, and you will never know how I 
 loved you. In the last moments of my life, I dare own 
 it even to myself, Bernard," she moaned. You will 
 never know that I learned your worth too late — yes — 
 I love you, and you alone. I have seen no one else that 
 I love in the crowd of faces that fill the world! I have 
 seen only yours, only yours, Bernard, by night and by 
 day; not his, Bernard. I have since learned that I 
 never loved Waldemar Waldron. It was only a mad 
 infatuation. Your face has smiled upon me in my 
 dreams; it has shone down on me from the stars; 
 it looks up to me from the water; in the light of 
 the sun, in the beams of the moon. All the world is 
 blank except the spot where you are — and that is — 
 heaven. Suddenly some one touched her on the arm. 
 
 "What are you doing here lady?" asked a voice 
 which she recognized instantly as black Tom's — he 
 had been one of the attaches of Fairlawn Villa ever 
 since Eeine could remember. 
 
 She shrank back from him. "I meant no harm in 
 strolling into the grounds/' she murmured, endeavor- 
 ing to disguise her tone, but it was no use; he sprung 
 forward peering in dismay into the white, averted 
 face. 
 
 "It's Missy — Missy Keine, by all de saints, above!" 
 he exclaimed excitedly. 
 
 " Yes, it's me, Tom," she sobbed. "Don't tell any- 
 body I have been here. I have been to poor papa's 
 grave, and now I am going away again. Oh, Tom! 
 take great care of it, keep the grass trimmed down 
 close, and — and — plant some white flowers around it— 
 12 
 
178 
 
 A FOEBIDDEK MAEEIAGE. 
 
 my white rosebush, that I loved so well, and the white 
 hyacinths — you will attend to it Tom? — This tearfully. 
 " Oh, yes, Missy Reine." 
 
 " I — I — am going now, Tom," she faltered, turning 
 away, but he caught at her gown with trembling 
 hands. 
 
 " What fo' should you go away fo' again, Missy 
 Heine," he entreated; " do stay, it am yer own home, 
 ain't it? Missy Woodstock — de ole genral's sister, am a 
 very nice.pusson; but oh, Missy, we ole folk/ 'bout de 
 place like de ole rulin' best. 
 
 "I can't stay Tom," Heine declared shuddering, 
 but:— 
 
 "Man proposes and God disposes." 
 
 It was destined she was not to leave Fairlawn Villa 
 so soon. She took one step forward, then exhausted 
 nature and whirling brain asserted itself. Reine 
 slipped down unconscious in the long lush grass, at 
 faithful Tom's feet. 
 
 " Poor Missy Reine," he muttered, as he raised her 
 in his strong arms. It was but the work of a moment 
 to carry her to the house; and almost as soon as he had 
 laid her down, he had told his story of how and where 
 he had met Reine and all that had transpired, to the 
 astounded servants who had assembled, attracted by 
 the confusion. 
 
 " Thank heaven Reine is found, at last!" sobbed 
 Mrs. Woodstock, Heine's aunt, bending over the pros- 
 trate form, and death white face. 
 
 All the usual old-time restoratives proved of little 
 avail, and a doctor was quickly summoned, also a tele- 
 gram to Bernard Chesleigh, telling him what had 
 occurred, was sent flashing over the wires, which 
 brought him on to Virginia, and to Fairlawn Villa 
 without delay. 
 
 It was many a long day ere a knowledge of her sur- 
 roundings came to Reine. 
 
 One day, as soon as Reine was able to be about, her 
 aunt sent for her to come to the drawing-room, adding 
 that "some one was there who wished to see her very 
 much." 
 
MAX IS BUT MORTAL. 
 
 179 
 
 Girl-like, she took a glance in the mirror before 
 going down, smoothing her collar, and pushing back 
 the rings of golden, curling hair from her forehead; 
 and in that momentary glance she could not help but 
 notice how pale and thin she had grown. She could 
 scarcely recognize the wan face reflected there. 
 
 She walked slowly d©wn to the parlor, and opened 
 the door. Some one was seated in the shadow of the 
 bay window — some one who uttered a cry of intense 
 surprise as he beheM her; and the next moment Ber- 
 nard Chesleigh was clasping her hand, looking joyfully 
 down into her face. 
 
 " Why did you hide yourself like this from those 
 who love you best? " he asked, sadly. 
 
 Heine hid her face in her hands. 
 
 "Did you know, Bernard, that he — lie left me for- 
 ever?" she sobbed. "Left me wilfully, deliberately 
 — left me to the world's cold mercy, dependent upon 
 myself ? " 
 
 " I know all, Reine. But why, in the hour of need, 
 did you not go to your father, who loved you so well, 
 or come to me? " 
 
 " Papa would never have received me," she faltered. 
 " He shut his heart against me. I have deserved it as 
 the price of my folly." 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh was a good man, but he could 
 scarcely refrain from cursing the villain who had 
 wrecked Reine's young life. For God had punished 
 her sufficiently for forgetting the words of her dear 
 old Bible: " Honor thy father and thy mother." 
 
 Poor Reine! She was but another pitiful example 
 of the folly of eloping. Will young girls never take 
 heed, and learn to shun false-hearted lovers whom lov- 
 ing friends and parents strive to warn them against? 
 
 She continued to improve in health and strength 
 rapidly; and once more, as she stood among the roses, 
 and her clear laugh rang out, she seemed like the 
 merry, joyous Reine of yore. _ 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh watched her with yearning, sor- 
 rowful eyes, no longing seeking to hide the truth from 
 himself. He loved her with all his heart. She was 
 his first and only love, the other half of his soul. Yet 
 
ISO 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 she was separated from him as completely as though 
 she lay in her grave. 
 
 The days that passed were all too hitter-sweet to 
 Bernard Chesleigh. He was only human, not a saint, 
 and it was beyond human nature to deny himself the 
 joy of being near the woman he loved. 
 
 He fell slowly, without knowing it, from the state 
 of blind worship into the deepest pit passion ever digs 
 for men. He understood it at last, when a feeling of 
 despair came over him, and he said to himself that he 
 would give his very life to clasp her in his arms just 
 one fleeting moment, and kiss her, even should he 
 then die. It was when that thought came over him 
 that he realized how desperately, how madly and 
 blindly he loved her, and more now, if that could be, 
 than ever. He had never trembled at a woman's soft 
 touch before; now, if his hand touched hers, if her 
 dress touched him in passing, if, as he bent over her 
 to read or to sing, the perfume from her hair reached 
 him, he trembled like a strong tree swaying in the 
 storm. 
 
 He knew his love was hopeless, he told himself over 
 and ov3r g,gain that she could be nothing to him, and 
 the next thing was to fly from her, to go where the 
 witchery of her face would never set his heart on fire 
 again; to go where her voice would not reach him. 
 And yet, realizing all that, he still lingered. Why 
 should he not? life was all too short to cheat himself 
 of a few hours of comfort.. What would it matter? 
 
 He drained his cup of poison slowly, surely, know- 
 ing it was poison, knowing that it would destroy him, 
 yet unable to put down the fatal cup, which once 
 tasted, clings to the lips. He found himself wonder- 
 ing over and over again, if she were but free, if her 
 heart would turn to him, for he read in her eyes now 
 a look which was new in them, if they by chance met 
 his; then the white lids would droop over them and 
 Reine would turn confusedly away. 
 
 There was one incident that happened one evening 
 which was certainly a trying one for both Reine and 
 Chesleigh. 
 
 The latter was sitting at the piano, drumming 
 
MAX IS BUT MORTAL. 
 
 181 
 
 thoughtfully on the white keys, when a lady who was 
 just then visiting at the villa, crossed over to where 
 Chesleigh sat — requesting him to try a piece of music 
 for her which she had just received. "I think I have 
 heard you sing it before." she said, laying it before 
 him. 
 
 One glance at the title, and his face paled; he 
 turned hastily around: Reine was in the room, seated 
 near them. He bowed, took the music, placing it on 
 the rack; the next moment his deep impassioned voice 
 rang through the room. From a mirror hung over 
 the instrument, he could see Heine's face distinctly; 
 their eyes had met; then he lowered his scorching gaze, 
 never raising his eyes again until he had finished his 
 song. 
 
 These were the words he sung: 
 
 '• And have you quite forgot me, dear? 
 
 Or say, do you sometimes dream 
 What life might have been if we wandered still 
 
 Together by wood or stream ! 
 Do you think of days when my love was all 
 
 The world could give or take, 
 Do you say with a sigh they were 'happy days,' 
 
 Just for the old love's sake? 
 
 "Do you ever sit in the twilight, dear, 
 
 And think of that other day. 
 When we met. and parted, and journeyed forth, 
 
 Each on our separate way? 
 I turned and stood for a moment, dear, 
 
 And looked in your face to take 
 Its memory far on my way through life, 
 
 Just for the old love's sake S 
 
 "Do you ever think they were bitter words? 
 
 Their memory haunts me yet: 
 Do you wonder how you could say farewell, 
 
 And wonder if I forget? 
 Dear, my heart has forgiven — forgiven long ago, 
 
 Though at first I thought 'twould break-" 
 And whenever I think — it is kindly still — 
 
 Just for the old love's sake ! " 
 
 Reine rose hastily and silently quitted the room. 
 Chesleigh excused himself shortly after and went 
 out into the grounds. He paced rapidly up and down 
 
182 
 
 A FOEBIDDEK MABRIAGE. 
 
 under the trees to cool the mad fire in his veins; 
 future possibilities, with their alluring fancies, took 
 possession of him, clouding his better nature; that 
 painful issues were to accrue, he could not foresee'. 
 
 To Chesleigh's nature, the moment was cruel, with 
 its yearnings and doubts. 
 
 "I should save myself from such agitation as this," 
 he muttered, hoarsely; "I will not go through it 
 again." Those airy visions to which he could give no 
 outline, rendered his thoughts of her as beautiful as 
 the freshly-opened violets after rain. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A STORM OX THE FLORIDA COAST. 
 
 As soon as Reine's health would permit of the 
 journey, it was decided that her aunt should take her 
 to Florida. It was arranged, through Aunt Rachel's 
 earnest request, that Bernard should join them a little 
 later. 
 
 It was dangerous to his peace of mind to be so near 
 Reine, but he could not deny his starving heart so 
 small a crumb of comfort, as her near presence 
 brought to him. 
 
 He felt himself drawn like the fabled moth, irresist- 
 ibly toward the flame, and the words came to him: — 
 
 " He who loves the danger perishes in it. ,? 
 
 " There's nothing like travel and change of scene to 
 make one forget sorrow," Mrs. Woodstock had de- 
 clared; "and amid new scenes Reine would, in a 
 measure, forget the past." 
 
 But, alas! how human calculations fail. A week 
 after Bernard arrived, Reine's aunt was attacked with 
 her old enemy, the rheumatism, and upon Bernard 
 devolved the task of cheering Reine. It was a pleas- 
 ure so great that it was almost pain. 
 
 She clung to him with all the old-time childish 
 thoughtfulness. With him it was hard to refrain 
 from uttering the loving words that often rose from 
 his heart to his lips — so hard to keep down the love 
 that thrilled every nerve — yet he crushed it with a 
 mighty power that surprised even himself. 
 
 On the evening Mrs. Woodstock had been stricken 
 down, the three had planned a sail on the water as far 
 as the light-house, which was situated on an island a 
 few miles from the beach. 
 
 183 
 
A FORBIDDEN" MARRIAGE. 
 
 " Never mind me," Aunt Rachel had said, irritably; 
 " don't stay on my account; take Eeine and go, by all 
 means, Bernard; I'd rather be alone." 
 
 She watched the tiny boat as it shot into the sunny 
 waves. Eeine looked up at the window, kissing her 
 little white hand to her until the light bark faded 
 from her sight in the blue haze of the distance. 
 
 Aunt Rachel turned away from the window with a 
 weary sigh: 
 
 "Ah! but for her folly — her mad folly — Reine 
 might have been Bernard's wife! How would it all 
 end?" she wondered. Ah, if she had but known! 
 
 The sun was low in the western sky when the little 
 boat touched the island. 
 
 " I'm afraid we will not have time to explore the 
 light-house," said Bernard, anxiously. " If I am any 
 judge we shall have a storm, and a severe one, too. I 
 think I had better turn the boat about, and head for 
 our hotel again." 
 
 Reine laughed and sprang out on the yellow sands. 
 
 " The storm-clouds will blow over, as they did yes- 
 terday," she said. " See, they are shifting now. We 
 must explore the old quaint light-house, now that we 
 are here." 
 
 Against his better judgment he allowed himself to 
 be persuaded. Whether there was a " fate " in it or 
 not, only Heaven could have foretold. 
 
 He fastened the boat and followed her up the steep 
 path without further objection, seeing that she had 
 set her heart upon it. 
 
 The evening had a weird beauty all its own. The 
 rose of the sunset, mixed with gold, had dark purple 
 linings. The sea was calm, but the color of it had 
 changed from blue to a dull, leaden hue; the waves 
 were languid, but there seemed to be a deep under- 
 current; the boats rocked, the white-sailed ships 
 passed more slowly by; every now and then there was 
 a slow, sullen murmur in the wind, as though it were 
 collecting force for some special purpose. There was 
 a heavy, brooding silence over the trees and flowers of 
 the little island; the birds seemed frightened, and 
 sought shelter in their nests. The whole scene had a 
 weird effect — grand, beautiful, terrible. 
 
A STORM ON THE FLORIDA COAST. 
 
 185 
 
 While they stood there the keeper of the light, a 
 bronzed, weather-beaten old sailor, joined them, bow- 
 ing to the tall, broad-shouldered young man, and doff- 
 ing his cap to the slender, golden-haired girl by his 
 side. 
 
 " We have come to view your castle," smiled Ber- 
 nard; "that is, if you do not object." 
 
 The old keeper declared that he would be only too 
 pleased to show them about, adding that they were 
 just in time to see the great lamp lighted. Even as 
 he spoke the leaden hue of the water deepened, and 
 the weird colors died out of the sk}^ 
 
 The grave light deepened in Bernard Chesleigh's 
 eyes. 
 
 " That usually presages a storm," he said. " Do 
 you think it is far off? " 
 
 "It will be upon us directly," declared the keeper. 
 " You must bring the lady in, sir, and wait a bit until 
 its fury is spent. See, the great drops are commenc- 
 ing to fall now." 
 
 " Are the storms here very dangerous? " asked Ber- 
 nard, following his guide, and assisting Eeine up the 
 steep, rugged path. 
 
 "The storms do a sight of damage at times. Just 
 by the white rock there lies a dangerous reef, and 
 many a good ship has been battered to pieces there." 
 
 While they were speaking, the darkness of night 
 seemed to fall like a pall over the earth, without warn- 
 ing. And they had barely reached shelter ere the 
 storm broke in all its fury. The hissing of the wind 
 rose into a scream, the sullen waters into a roar, the 
 rain fell in torrents, and the lightning flashed in 
 white, blinding sheets. 
 
 It was one of those terrible storms that sweep at 
 times over the Florida coast, carrying destruction with 
 it. At first it was wonderful; then it became awful; 
 at last alarming. And in the midst of it all, some- 
 thing terrible happened. The awful hurricane demol- 
 ished one of the windows of the tower, and the deluge 
 of water put out the great lamp. 
 
 The keeper's bronzed face paled. 
 
 "Great God!" he cried, "the light is out! Heaven 
 
186 
 
 A FORBIDDEN" MARRIAGE. 
 
 help any vessel on the sea that must pass this way to- 
 night!" 
 
 A lurid flash of lightning lit up the room, showing 
 the ghastly effect of the weird, awful scene outside. 
 
 A low cry broke from Reine's lips. 4 The old light- 
 house seemed to rock on its foundation. The angry 
 waves, rolling mountain-high, seemed to threaten to 
 dash it at any instant into the hungry sea. 
 
 Reine clung to Bernard's strong strong arm with 
 trembling hands, and the flashes of light showed him 
 the pale face, quivering lips, and eyes distended with 
 fear. 
 
 Oh, how he longed to take her in his arms and com- 
 fort her. But his shield of honor restrained him. 
 
 Suddenly, as they stood there, a terrible sound 
 smote their ears — a sound that strikes terror to every 
 heart: the firing of the minute guns, which denotes a 
 ship in distress at sea. 
 
 Louder and loader sounds the booming of the signal 
 guns. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh listens, his grave face whitening. 
 
 In an instant the keeper of the light had sprung 
 for his tar jacket and lantern. 
 
 <( A ship in distress. I must get my life-boat and 
 go to the rescue/' he said, simply. 
 
 And snatching up his lantern, he was gone in a 
 trice. 
 
 Hark! There it is again. The terrible booming. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh unclasps the little, white, cling- 
 ing hands from his arm. 
 
 "The old keeper of the light has shown me my 
 duty, Reine. He has gone to the rescue. I cannot 
 stand here while my fellow-creatures are crying for 
 aid, facing death. I must go and help. I must save 
 a life if 1 can." 
 
 Reine clung to him in wild alarm. 
 
 "You must not go, Bernard," she sobbed, pit- 
 eously. " You would die in those horrible waves, 
 and it would kill me. Oh, Bernard, do not leave me. " 
 
 " I must, Reine," he said hoarsely, bending his 
 handsome head and kissing reverently the little white 
 hands that clung to him so frantically. 
 
A STORM OX THE FLORIDA COAST. 
 
 is; 
 
 He loosened the white hands, and, in a flash, she 
 was standing alone in the deserted light-honse. 
 
 Eeine sprang through the doorway after him with 
 a wild cry. She forgot the drenching rain and terrible 
 storm as she tore madly down the beach after him, 
 crying out, wildly: 
 
 -'•'Oh, Bernard! Bernard! You are going out to 
 death! Take me with you, and let me die, too, for 
 I cannot live without you! " 
 
 And those piercing cries smote Bernard Chesleiglrs 
 ears far out among the mad waves, as he valiantly 
 headed his life-boat toward the fearful wreck on the 
 reefs. 
 
 How the words clung to him! They revealed that 
 which made his heart bound with a great throbbing 
 pain — Reine cared — yes she cared for him. 
 
 How cruel the knowledge was to him now when it 
 was too late! She was nothing more to him now save 
 a dearly loved sister. 
 
 "Words that he had read somewhere, came back to 
 him in that moment with a dull pain. 
 
 " Had I met thee in thy beanty, 
 
 "When thy hand and heart were free, 
 When no other claimed the duty. 
 
 Which thy soul would yield to me; 
 Had I wooed thee, had I won thee, 
 
 Oh. how blest had been my fate, 
 But thy sweetness hath undone me, 
 
 I have found thee — but too late! 
 
 Like the fawn that finds the fountain, 
 
 With the arrow in his breast; 
 Or like light upon the mountain. 
 
 Where the snow must ever rest; 
 Thou hast known me — but forget me! 
 
 For I feel that ills await, 
 Oh! 'tis madness to have met thee, 
 
 To have fouad thee — but too late 1 " 
 
 Yes he had found Reine — but too late. But he must 
 put all thoughts of her from him at this moment and 
 think only of those in such dread peril out there at 
 the mercy of the deep. 
 
 AVas it a reckless madness that siezed him, to wish 
 for half a moment that, he might not live to return? 
 
©HAPTEK XXX. 
 
 LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 The rain beat upon Keine's golden head; the terri- 
 ble storm drenched her clothing through and through, 
 yet she did not appear to notice it. Her white hands 
 beat the air; bitter cries fell from her lips as she flung 
 herself down on her knees, sobbing out that if he 
 never came back to her, she would throw herself into 
 the sea. 
 
 If he found death in those cruel waves, dashing 
 mountain high, she would find a grave there, too, and 
 the sad sea waves should sing a requiem over both. 
 
 Breathlessly, in the vivid flashes of blinding light, 
 she watched the little life-boat battling with the angry 
 sea. & 
 
 The scene on the wrecked steamer was a terrible 
 one. The life-boats had been lowered; but many of 
 the frightened passengers, in their mad terror, had 
 thrown themselves in the lashing sea. 
 
 She had struck the treacherous reef, and it was but 
 a question of a few terrible moments ere she would go 
 down, for she was fast settling. The steamer was 
 doomed. 
 
 Not a soul seemed to be on board the fatal steamer 
 when Bernard reached it, and a voluntary cry, 
 " Thank God! all have been saved!" burst from his 
 lips. 
 
 He turned to leap into his boat again, but at that 
 instant a low moan fell upon his ear from down the 
 hatchway. 
 
 Seizing a lantern that one of the sailors had left, 
 Chesleigh sprang in the direction from which the 
 sound proceeded. 
 
 A man was attempting to make his way toward 
 188 
 
LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 189 
 
 the deck. By the feeble, flickering light from the 
 lantern he carried, Bernard Chesleigh saw that his 
 face was covered with blood from a wound on his 
 temple. 
 
 He cried out, faintly, rejoicing to see succor at 
 hand: 
 
 " One of the spars fell upon me, and I must have 
 lost consciousness. They left me here to die," he said, 
 putting out his hands gropingly to reach the spot 
 where his rescuer stood. 
 
 He took one step forward, then staggered blindly, 
 and fell at Bernard's feet exhausted, crying, faintly: 
 
 H I am too weak to walk — I — " 
 
 The sentence never was finished. Bernard Ches- 
 leigh bad stooped beside him, holding the lantern 
 close to his face. 
 
 There was a hoarse cry from the lips of both. 
 
 ' ' Bernard Chesleigh! " 
 
 " Waldemar Waldron!" 
 
 In that awful moment they had recognized each 
 other; each was gazing into the face of the other with 
 bated breath — these two who had been such bitter 
 rivals for the love of Beautiful Reine. 
 
 "Ah, it is you!" gasped AYaldron, white to the lips. 
 " Then all hope of rescue is at an end. You will 
 leave me to die/' 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh had drawn back with a face 
 ghastly white. There are moments when the bravest 
 and most honorable of us have been sorely tempted — 
 tempted almost beyond the power of human endurance 
 — and such a moment of terrible temptation assailed 
 Bernard Chesleigh now. 
 
 His rival lay at his feet, maimed, helpless, at his 
 mercy. He need but turn and fly; speak no word; 
 lift not so much as a finger, and, ere he reached the 
 shore, the steamer would go down, carrying with it 
 the barrier that parted him from the woman he loved. 
 
 If Reine were but free, he might woo and win her. 
 This man's life parted them. His death would set 
 her free. The world would never know — even Reine 
 need not be told — no one would suspect that his hands 
 were crimsoned with the blood of a human life. 
 
190 
 
 A FORBTDDEtf MARRTAGE, 
 
 Wgfltfemar Waldron gazed fearfully up into the 
 white face bending over him, and read all the struggle 
 there. The poor wretch groaned aloud. 
 
 The tempter cried: " He has wrecked and spoiled 
 your life and Heine's. Let him die. Make for your- 
 self a golden future." Honor and conscience cried 
 out: " You must save a human life, no matter how 
 painfully your lives have crossed." 
 
 " I will save you! " cried Chesleigh, hoarsely, " for 
 Keine's sake. Make amends to her for the past, and I 
 shall be repaid." 
 
 Waldemar Waldron was too much spent to utter the 
 grateful words that sprang to his lips. 
 
 By main force Bernard Chesleigh succeeded in 
 lowering him into the skiff, grasped the oars, and 
 again the little boat, with its double burden, was 
 breasting the mad waves. 
 
 They were scarcely out of danger's way a moment too 
 soon, for the boat went down, dragging all witliin her 
 reach into the whirlpool — down, down to the rocks 
 full many a fathom below. 
 
 They reached the shore in safety. The excitement 
 and the pain of the wound on the temple had been too 
 much for Waldemar Waldron, and again he had suc- 
 cumbed to unconsciousness. 
 
 Ohesleigh lifted the inanimate form in his strong 
 arms and laid him on the beach, then hastened to 
 secure his boat, which the high tide threatened to 
 take out to sea with each high wave. 
 
 The rain had ceased, and the moon looked out 
 clear and bright from the net-work of jagged clouds. 
 
 It seemed but an instant that Chesleigh had spent 
 in securing his boat, but when he turned around, lo! 
 no motionless form lay where he had placed it. The 
 white-capped, eddying waves curled around the spot. 
 Waldemar Waldron was not there! 
 
 Then the horrible truth burst upon him. The tide 
 had carried its unconscious victim out to sea again. 
 He had done his best to save Waldemar Waldron, but 
 it seemed to be the will of Heaven that he should not 
 be spared. 
 
 With hurried steps he regained the light-house, and 
 
LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 found poor Reine suffering from hysterics, in 
 
 of the light-house keeper's daughter. It would have 
 
 brought tears of pity to any one's eyes to have heard 
 
 her cry of joy as Bernard flung open the door and 
 
 entered. 
 
 He did not tell her just then the startling revelation 
 lie had to make. She was too weak to bear such a 
 shock. 
 
 Mrs. Woodstock was waiting for them at the hotel 
 in the greatest alarm. "Safe!" she cried, clasping 
 Reine in her arms. "I feared you were both at the 
 bottom of the sea. I was sorry — so sorry that I con- 
 sented to your going." 
 
 That night, when Reine lay sleeping the sleep of 
 exhaustion upon her pillow, Bernard Chesleigh was 
 relating to Mrs. Woodstock all that had transpired. 
 
 When he had finished the two sat looking earnestly 
 into each other's eyes. 
 
 " You have proven yourself a noble foe," said Aunt 
 Rachel, huskily grasping the other's hand. " You 
 did what you could to save his life. Perhaps Heaven 
 knew what was for the best when it interfered." 
 
 The terrible story that had so strange an ending was 
 not told to Reine for many a long day after. 
 
 She was back in the old garden at Fairlawn when 
 her aunt gently broke the news to her months later. 
 
 She did not cry out. She did not weep. She 
 listened like one turned to stone. 
 
 " Waldemar was not kind to me, Aunt Rachel," she 
 said, slowly. "Still I loved him once. I grieve that 
 he met such an untimely fate. I can never look again 
 on the hungr}^, sobbing sea, for I should see his face 
 in the waves." 
 
 Yet even as she spoke she realized that his death 
 had set her free. Yes, Heaven help her, she was free 
 — at last ! 
 
 Aunt Rachel left her alone in the garden, and Reine 
 sat down on one of the benches among the great crim- 
 son roses, pale and trembling, her thoughts in the 
 wildest chaos. 
 
 She would not be disloyal to Waldemar Waldron 
 even in thought. She tried to think of him kindly 
 
192 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 and of his best, for his untimely death wiped out all 
 the keen misery he had ever caused her. 
 
 How long she sat there among the blossoms she 
 never knew. A step startled her at length — a step that 
 brought the warm blood to her cheek and a- thrill to 
 her heart — for she knew it was Bernard's step. Before 
 she could rise to meet him he had come forward and 
 seated himself by her side, imprisoning the little white 
 hand that lay on the rustic bench. 
 
 Her long, curling lashes were wet with tears, and he 
 knew what brought them there. 
 
 " Let me teach you to forget, Reine," he said, 
 gently. " The one gift I ask from Heaven is the right 
 and power to comfort you, clear. Renew the promise 
 you once made, Reine, and my happiness will be com- 
 plete. Be my wife. No barrier stands between us. 
 Give me the heart that should have been mine long 
 ago/' 
 
 She shrank from him in passionate tears. 
 
 " No, no," she cried, incoherently, " it can never be 
 ■ — never! I must be true to his memory, — nothing 
 else would be right." 
 
 Is this my reward for waiting for you all these 
 weary years ? " he exclaimed, bitterly. 
 
 " Be content — as matters are now, Bernard," she 
 said faintly; " everything is going on well." 
 
 He moved nearer her, — so near that his hot breath 
 scorched her cheek, — as he answered steadily: — 
 
 "Would it satisfy you to live forever, like this ? — no 
 nearer to me than you are now? " 
 
 It seemed to Reine his fiery eyes burned down into 
 the very depths of her soul as he asked this huskily, 
 murmuring — " Oh, my love — so cold and cruel ! " 
 
 Reine shivered a little, her face paling. 
 
 "Oh, Bernard," she faltered, " why are you not 
 content ? " 
 
 "Why am I not content? "he interrogated passion- 
 ately, and so bitterly that he quite frightened her. 
 " Because I am not made of marble — or ice; be- 
 cause I have a living, human heart pulsing in my 
 bosom that longs for love returned, — a soul that cries 
 out against this cruelty of being so near you, yet held 
 
LIFE OR DEATH. 
 
 193 
 
 off at arms' length. I love you so well that I must 
 win you,, or 1 must go from you. I have borne more 
 than a man should bear. Do you think I never long to 
 clasp your hands in mine? — to hear you whisper tender 
 words to me?" 
 
 ••I do not know." she murmured. 
 
 '' But I know, Beine, and I can bear the torture no 
 longer of being near you if there is no possibility of 
 winning you. I am neither a stick nor a stone, I can 
 readily realize all the poet meant, when he wrote : 
 
 " ' A man had given all other bliss, 
 And all his worldly wealth for this, 
 To waste his whole heart in one kiss 
 Upon her perfect lips.' " 
 
 A thrill shot through Reiue's heart. — " We cannot go 
 on dreaming like the lotus-eaters forever/' he con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " All the dreaming- is broken through : 
 Both what is clone and undone I rue. 
 Nothing is steadfast,' nothing is true, 
 But your love for me, and my love for you, 
 My dearest, dearest heart! 
 
 " When the winds are loud, when the winds are low, 
 When the roses come, when the roses go, 
 One thought, one feeling, is all I know, 
 My dearest, dearest heart • " 
 
 Eeine drew a long breath. How could she with- 
 stand his ardent pleading when her heart yearned for 
 him so strongly! ••'Have you an answer for me, 
 Eeine?" he whispered. 
 
 "1 am not worthy, Bernard/'' she faltered. "I 
 once threw away your love. Would you — could you — 
 trust me after that ? " 
 
 For answer he raised the sweet face to his and kissed 
 away the pearly tears, murmuring loving words over 
 her. 
 
 She attempted to struggle out of his arms, for she 
 saw her aunt coming down the path, but her laughing, 
 happy lover held her fast. 
 
 When Mrs. Woodstock saw them, she knew that the 
 13 
 
194 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 ardent hope of her life was to be realized, yet she 
 could not refrain from crying out, with many a ha ! 
 ha! ha!— 
 
 « Why, what in the world does such a scene as this 
 mean? Bernard! Reine! explain this situation at 
 once/' 
 
 "It means, dear madam/' said the happy lover, 
 proudly, "that my long devotion and deep love are to 
 be rewarded at last. Seine has promised to become 
 my wife/' 
 
 "Thank Heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Woodstock, fer- 
 vently. " I have always said God brings together soon 
 or late, the hearts he intended for each other/' With 
 these words she left them. 
 
 The hour they spent sitting side by side on the 
 rustic seat by the murmuring fountain, building bright 
 air-castles of a rosy future, was the happiest they were 
 ever to know. 
 
 How great is the wisdom of God that the darf 
 beyond is all unknown to us ! 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 e: UNHAPPY IS THE BRIDE THE RAIN FALLS ON." 
 
 It was decided at length that the marriage should 
 take place at once. Aunt Rachel demurred greatly 
 at losing her niece so soon, but the impulsive lover 
 declared he had waited altogether too long for his bride 
 already, that delays were dangerous, and he must claim 
 Reine at once. 
 
 He could hardly restrain his impatience at the time 
 it took to prepare the elegant trousseau. 
 
 The grand wedding was to take place at Mrs. Wood- 
 stock's new villa in Richmond, and the preparations 
 were going on, on a magnificent scale. 
 
 All the country side had been invited, just as they 
 had been invited to attend that other wedding so long 
 ago, where Bernard Chesleigh was to have been the 
 happy groom, and lovely, golden-haired Reine the 
 bride. More than one vaguely w r ondered how this af- 
 fair would end. 
 
 And the vague, uneasy speculations grew as the wed- 
 ding day drew nigh, and heavy storms, which were 
 unusual at that season of the year, set in. 
 
 At length the day before the grand event dawned, 
 and the storm increased in its wild fury, showing no 
 signs of abating on the morrow. 
 
 Many watched the fearful warring of the elements 
 with troubled faces, the old adage recurring to them — 
 " Unhappy is the bride the rain falls on." 
 
 Reine watched the scene from her window with 
 smiling lips. The storm had laid the roses low in the 
 garden. The trees bent earthward, nearly stripped of 
 their green foliage. Still Reine smiled, despite her 
 maid's anxious face. 
 
 " Signs of good or evil omen do not count for 
 195 
 
196 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 much," she said. " I have no faith in them. My 
 wedding day will be a happy one, even if the sun does 
 refuse to shine." 
 
 "The Lord grant it," replied the maid, fervently. 
 
 " I shall not need you any more to-night," said 
 Eeine, pleasantly, although it was only dusk. "Come 
 to me early to-morrow morning, Amy." 
 
 The girl courtesied and left her young mistress. 
 Ah me! How little she dreamed under what thrilling 
 scenes she was to pass, and what tragic events were to 
 transpire ere she looked upon Reine's face again. 
 
 Keine drew the heavy silken curtains, and turned 
 away from the window, for it had grown dark while 
 she stood there. 
 
 " To-morrow is my wedding day," she murmured, 
 uncoiling her long golden hair before the mirror, and 
 running her slim white fingers through its luxurious 
 masses. (i How kind Heaven is to me to let me be 
 happy with my love at last." 
 
 The words had scarcely died on her lips ere a para- 
 graph in a crumpled bit of newspaper lying on the 
 mantel caught her eye, and held her spell-bound. 
 
 For one moment the darkness of death seemed to 
 enfold her. Her heart almost seemed to cease beating, 
 and stand still. The wild-rose bloom faded from her 
 cheeks like a pale blossom Li the lightning's blast. The 
 light died from her blue eyes, and the joy from her heart. 
 
 Slowly, steadily, she put out her poor, white hands 
 and grasped the bit of paper, sinking down upon the 
 nearest seat, and smoothing it out over her knee. 
 
 One instant a hot gush of tears blinded her eyes, but 
 she brushed them away, bending her burning eyes on 
 the printed page. 
 
 There were but a few lines, but they were a death - 
 knell to a human heart — death in life. 
 
 Like one who has received a dagger-thrust in the 
 heart, she read the cruel words; and each letter seemed 
 branded on her brain in letters of scorching fire. It 
 read as follows: 
 
 " We are pleased to announce that the story of the tragic 
 death of Waldemar Waldron, the young heir of the Towers, 
 
"UXHAPPY IS THE BRIDE THE EAIX FALLS ON." 19? 
 
 which went the rounds of the press some time since, is entirely 
 without foundation. Instead of meeting death in the sea 
 waves which carried him out from shore, he clung to the 
 wreck of a spar; and was picked up by an outward bound ves- 
 sel bound for a foreign coast. After a long and tedious illness 
 he set sail once more for his native land, and will arrive at his 
 estate in Virginia — YTaldron Towers — to-day. accompanied by a 
 party of friends." 
 
 Alive! Heine crushed back her misery— trying to 
 thank God his life had been spared — but the words 
 died on her lips in a moan. 
 
 She looked at the date of the paper — it was that 
 evening's. In the excitement of the preparation for 
 the morrow's wedding no one had thought of taking- 
 time to read it, and consequently it had become torn. 
 
 Could it be that a mistake had been made ? She 
 buried her death-cold face in her trembling hands, 
 with a bitter, gasping sob. 
 
 To-morrow was to have been her wedding-day. She 
 was to have been married to the man she loved. Had 
 Heaven swept them apart by an insurmountable barrier 
 — a second time ? 
 
 " I cannot, I will not believe it. I will go myself to 
 Waldron Towers and see if it be true. If it is — " 
 
 Heaven forgive her the thought that crept into her 
 heart — she was so sorely tried. 
 
 What mattered it to hes that the storm raged out- 
 side with demon like fury? Her very soul was burn- 
 ing with a fever of unrest. She must know the truth 
 ere the light of the morrow dawned, or the suspense 
 would drive her mad. 
 
 The house was wrapped in a mantle of gloom and 
 darkness as the slender figure, heavily cloaked and 
 veiled, crept noiselessly down the stairway. 
 
 A small revolver, belonging to one of the servants, 
 had been carelessly left on the velvet divan in the mar- 
 ble corridor. 
 
 Only Heaven could have foretold the impulse that 
 caused the poor girl to thrust it into the pocket of her 
 long cloak. Reine had left a little tear-blotted note 
 for Bernard — enclosing the paragraph, and telling him 
 where she had gone. — believing it would not be found 
 until the next morning. 
 
198 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 Silently as a shadow she stole out into the bitter 
 storm. 
 
 She took the night train, and, to her consternation, 
 found, when she was fairly on her way, that the express 
 made no stoppages until it reached the cross-roads. 
 No doubt she could find a stage there to take her to 
 Dover, upon whose outskirts lay the Waldron estate. 
 
 Trembling with excitement and fatigue, Reine 
 alighted from the express at the cross-roads. And 
 this, dear reader, brings us back to the opening chapter 
 of our story — to that memorable ride of a young girl 
 on the mountain road through the terrible storm. 
 
 When Reine alighted from the mail coach at the 
 gates of the Towers, her heart gave a strange throb. 
 She saw that the house was brilliantly lighted, and the 
 sound of music floated out to her over the wild warring 
 of the pitiless storm. 
 
 Silently as a shadow she crept up the marble porch 
 and gazed through the lace-draped window. 
 
 One quick, startled glance, then a cry that was 
 hardly human, fell from her white lips. 
 
 She saw Waldemar Waldron, standing in the middle 
 of' the spacious drawing-room, handsome, smiling, gay 
 as ever, and by his side, clinging to his arm, was a young 
 and lovely girl. 
 
 Reine turned away sick »at heart. She could not 
 censure Heaven that his life had been spared. She 
 could not wish that he had died in the dark waters 
 that night. But, oh, the pity of it! the pity of it! he 
 had spoiled her life. 
 
 To-morrow was to have been her wedding-day. She 
 was to have married the man she loved. And now, it 
 was all over. Bernard and she, who loved each other 
 so fondly, must now part. They were separated more 
 cruelly than if one of them lay in the grave. 
 
 Waldemar Waldron had deserted her, fled from her 
 wilfully, left her ill and penniless among strangers. 
 It was not likely he would seek her out now. Still, he 
 was her husband. The fatal marriage bond, forged in 
 a moment of thoughtless folly, -bound her to him while 
 her life lasted. 
 
 Life! How could she endure it, separated from the 
 
" UXHAPPY IS THE BRIDE THE RAIN FALLS OX." 199 
 
 >ne love of her heart, whom she was to have wedded on 
 :he morrow? Better death than that. 
 
 The thought, born of frenzy and despair, came to 
 her with a sudden shock. Xothing could ever release 
 her from the fetters that galled her so, save — death. 
 Ah, why shouldn't she die and end it all? 
 
 Involuntarily, her trembling hands sought the pearl 
 and silver revolver which would furnish the way and 
 means. 
 
 The poor, misguided girl raised her white face to the 
 dark night skies. 
 
 In her anguish she did not heed the warning voice of 
 conscience. She forgot everything save her supreme 
 misery, and her one yearning desire to end it all, then 
 and there. When morning dawned she would be the 
 pale, cold bride of death. 
 
 One moment she leaned heavily against the frame- 
 work of the long French window, her white lips parted 
 in the tremulous word, Si Forgive! " The next instant 
 there was the clear., ringing report of a revolver. But 
 the fatal bullet, owing to the unsteadiness of her 
 hand, missed its mark wide, and instead of piercing 
 the white breast of its victim, crashed through the 
 plate glass window, whirred over the heads of the 
 panic-stricken guests, and buried itself in the opposite 
 wall. 
 
 And at that instant, as their gaze was riveted to the 
 window, they caught a fleeting glimpse of a white, 
 terror-stricken face, framed in dishevelled golden hair; 
 but, swiftly as a shadow, it was lost to view in the 
 darkness and storm of the terrible night. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 MYSTERY AND WOE. 
 
 In an instant the wildest confusion prevailed at the 
 Towers, and, despite the fury of the storrn> the gentle- 
 men dashed from the drawing-room out on to the 
 porch in search of the beautiful, desperate, golden- 
 haired young girl whose terror-stricken face had been 
 seen at the window. 
 
 The foremost of them nearly stumbled over the 
 prostrate form of a woman lying, face downward, 
 among the wet grass. 
 
 Despite their belief that the bullet must have been 
 intended for some one of the party in the drawing- 
 room, they raised the cowering form with tender hands, 
 and bore her into the marble corridor, and laid her 
 down on a velvet divan. 
 
 Reine had not swooned, she struggled, up to her 
 feet like a hunted deer driven at bay, still holding the 
 veil closely down over her face, which shielded her 
 from recognition. 
 
 " I — 1 did not mean the bullet for any of you," she 
 cried, incoherently. "I meant it for myself. I 
 wanted to die and end it all." 
 
 " Why, was life so distasteful to you?" asked a fair- 
 haired young man, pityingly. 
 
 " You ask me that, Waldemar Waldron?" she cried 
 quivering with intense excitement and passion. " You 
 ask me that? — you who have spoiled and wrecked my 
 life?" 
 
 She drew back and looked at him with bitter scorn, 
 clenching her little white hands together, her eyes 
 blazing like blue fires, even through the thick veil 
 
 "There is evidently a strange mistake here," he said 
 quickly, " I a,m not Waldemar Waldron; I am Clar- 
 
 200 
 
MYSTERY AXD WOE. 
 
 201 
 
 euce AYaldron, his younger brother. The likeness be- 
 tween us is said to be striking. Am I right in sun- 
 posing you have mistaken me for him?" 
 
 "Not AValdemar Waldron!" Eeine murmured, 
 brokenly. "Am I mad or dreaming? or are my senses 
 playing me false? " 
 
 Like a flash, a sudden thought occurred to the 
 young man. 
 
 "My friends. " he said gravely, turning to those 
 about him, " will you kindly leave me alone with this 
 young woman? There is a grave mystery here." 
 
 Intense as their excitement was, there was nothing 
 else for them to do but readily acquiesce to their host's 
 request. 
 
 He closed the door carefully after them and wheeled 
 suddenly around, facing Reine. 
 
 "I see it all now," he exclaimed, excitedly: "You 
 are the young lady whom my hapless brother wedded, 
 and — Heaven pardon him for it — deserted — " 
 
 " Hold — hear me through," he added, as Reine 
 nodded in the affirmative and attempted to speak. 
 "This matter is quite clear to me; I see through this 
 whole matter quite plainly. You, the deserted wife of 
 my poor, unhappy brother, saw the paragraph in this 
 afternoon's paper, and, of course, believed it. Part of 
 the statements made by the reporter were quite true, 
 others sadly mixed up. It was true, Waldron did not 
 die in the waves on the Florida coast: he was picked 
 up by an outward-bound vessel and was landed in 
 China, ill unto death. It was long months before the 
 ravages of fever left him, and he was able to set sail 
 for home; and on that homeward-bound steamei% the 
 first persons whom he saw, upon coming up on deck, 
 were my bride and myself with a party of friends. 
 The second day out, my brother confessed to me the 
 whole story of his misspent life ; I came here to take 
 possession of the Towers with my bride and requested 
 that all the neighbors hereabouts should be invited 
 here to meet us. Through my perfect resemblance to 
 my brother Waldemar, I was taken for him by those 
 who saw me drive up from the station. It did not take 
 long however, to explain the situation, when my curi- 
 
202 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 ous, wondering guests arrived. A pretty mess these 
 papers have made of it, to be sure. Waldemar will be 
 here to-night. I am expecting him every moment.". 
 
 Eeine listened to the strange recital with speechless 
 amazement. Waldemar really not dead! and this his 
 younger brother! No wonder the newspaper reporter 
 who had made such a strange blunder had been de- 
 ceived by the close resemblance between the brothers. 
 
 But now that Eeine observed him more closely, she 
 saw many points wherein he differed from Waldemar. 
 
 There was a hasty step in the corridor outside, that 
 both of them recognized. 
 
 " Ah, here is Waldemar now! " his brother exclaimed, 
 adding hastily, "I will leave you alone together to 
 settle your differences." 
 
 Reine would have detained him, but he hurried from 
 the apartment, and, an instant later an opposite door 
 was flung open and Waldemar Waldron stood on the 
 threshold, with glowering eyes — red and bloodshot — 
 even at the distance he was standing, the horrible odor 
 of rum reached her. 
 
 For a moment Reine was stricken dumb, a terrible 
 sound filled her ears, flashes of red, glaring light 
 seemed to play before her vision, but through it all, 
 she raised her terrified eyes to the harsh, mocking face 
 before her. 
 
 "Well," he cried, harshly, "you have led me a 
 pretty dance, haven't you?" and, as he spoke he 
 banged the door after him, and strode up to her, and a 
 hand, hard and heavy, clutched her white arm, hissing 
 in her ear: 
 
 " I have just heard how you came here, and fired in 
 among the crowd. I knew that the heavily veiled 
 woman they were all talking so excitedly about was 
 you. What did you do it for, I say! Did you mistake 
 my brother Clarence, who was standing there, for me 
 and attempt to pop him over, thinking it would rid 
 you forever of me?" 
 
 " Waldemar," she murmured, faintly, " hear me; I 
 — I — never meant to fire into the room among those 
 people — I — I — well I may as well tell you the truth," 
 she said, desperately: " I did take your brother for you, 
 
MYSTERY AXD WOE. 
 
 203\ 
 
 and I determined to kill myself to end it all." As 
 she uttered the words, no cry fell from her white lips; 
 although the grip of the hard, steely hand that grasped 
 her arm, grew cruelly harder each moment to bear. • 
 
 A sneering laugh broke from his lips, a laugh hor- 
 rible to hear. 
 
 " When you ran away from me you thought I should 
 never be able to find you, did yon" he cried, taunt- 
 ingly. 
 
 " You left me, TValdemar," she corrected. 
 
 "It's a lie! " he cried, brutally, giving vent to such 
 a volley of horrible oaths, that Seine's heart seemed to 
 die within her. She shrank back from him, coweringly. 
 
 " It's a lie! 99 he repeated, fiercely, and you know 
 it. I only wrote that letter to frighten you into getting 
 some money from the old man, or from somewhere else 
 — it didn't matter much where. I stayed away three 
 days to bring you to your senses, and when I came 
 back you were gone; glad of the excuse no doubt, and 
 ever since I have been searching for you, and you have 
 led me a pretty dance of it, I say." 
 
 "I did not know, TValdemar," she murmured, 
 faintly. 
 
 "Do you think I'm fool enough to believe that? " he 
 cried, fiercely. 
 
 "It is the truth, Waldemar," she said. 
 
 "And there's another affair that came to my ears as 
 I was coming up the mountain pass; the report of my 
 death, which you have circulated, and last but not 
 least, that you were about to marry Bernard Chesleigh 
 — curse him — is it true? Answer me!" 
 
 ,f We were to have been married to-morrow," she 
 replied, falteringly, " but when I found you were alive, 
 and supposed to be here, I came here'too." 
 
 " To put me out of the way," he interrupted: and 
 again he broke into such a volley of horrible oaths 
 Reine was fairly electrified. He seemed to not stop 
 to catch breath until he had exhausted his whole vo- 
 cabulary. 
 
 "Don't," she cried faintly; "you are killing me, 
 Waldemar; " but her remonstrance only made him all 
 the worse. He stopped at length through sheer exhaus- 
 
204 
 
 A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE. 
 
 tion, for a moment, and in that moment the doot 
 was suddenly opened again and Bernard Chesleigh, 
 with a face white as death, stepped into the room. 
 
 It was Reine to whom he turned, ignoring Waldron's 
 presence altogether. 
 
 "I had your note," he said, simply, " and I could 
 scarcely credit what you said was true; 1 believed 
 there was some terrible mistake, Reine, and followed 
 you here in all haste to see if what you wrote were 
 possible." 
 
 The saddest cry that ever fell from human lips 
 broke from Reined, With an almost superhuman 
 effort she wrenched herself from the detaining hold 
 of Waldron's steel-like hand and flew like a wounded 
 bird that has the arrow in death in its heart, to Ber- 
 nard Chesleigh's arms, clasping him with her white 
 arms as though nothing but death should loosen her 
 clinging hold and part her from him. 
 
 " Bernard, my love, save me from him," she gasped. 
 " Oh, save me from him, or kill me with your own 
 dear hands." ' 
 
 Before Bernard could answer, Waldemar Waldron 
 had torn her white arms from his neck, thrust her 
 back and stepped between them. Waldron had pushed 
 her so roughly that she had fallen backward, at Ber- 
 nard's feet. 
 
 Bernard sprung forward to raise her — a low cry 
 breaking from his lips. 
 
 "Do not touch her, do not dare to touch her, Ber- 
 nard Chesleigh," he cried, in a voice of thunder; 
 " she is my wife ! " 
 
 "Just this once," implored Bernard, "let me raise 
 her in my arms and whisper one poor word of com- 
 fort to her, we have loved each other so well, and on 
 the morrow," he sa,id huskily, " she was to have been 
 — my wife, — I know she is yours; I am not going to 
 dispute your right. Let me raise her just this once 
 and look into the face that has been heaven on earth 
 to me, then I will go quietly away." 
 
 "Stand back ! lay your hands upon even one hair 
 of her head and 1 will kill you," cried Waldron, his 
 fear fairly purple with rage. " You have stolen Reine's 
 
MYSTERY AXD WOE. 
 
 heart from me, and I curse you for it — curse your low, 
 smooth, winning ways and proud, aristocratic face. 
 But for yon she would be willing enough to go back 
 home to Xew York with me. No doubt you would 
 like me to give her up to you," he sneered,* but with- 
 out waiting for Chesleigh to utter the words that were 
 on his lips, he added : 
 
 "Know this, that I do not love her, I never loved 
 her. I hate her with the bitterest hate — for her white 
 face, tearful eyes, and moping ways — yes, I hate her, 
 but she will go with me all the same. It will be a 
 glorious revenge to me anyhow, to know that I have 
 wrested her from you, Bernard Chesleigh. Xo matter 
 how she may shrink from me, she must go with me: I 
 am her lord and master,'' he cried} boisterously. 
 
 She had straggled to her feet, poor, beautiful, hap- 
 less Heine. Her white face was turned to Bernard, 
 oh. so pathetically lovely in its terrible woe! and a 
 voice, tragic in its despair, cried faintly — 
 
 " Must I leave you, Bernard — oh, must I leave you, 
 love, and go out with him into the bitterness of death?" 
 
 " Certainly," retorted AValdron, frowning darkly; 
 " what. need to answer such a question. You are to 
 go with me— your husband, certainly/ 3 
 
 Still she looked at Bernard in her piteous despair. 
 
 " Are you quite sure I should go with him, Bernard? " 
 she repeated. " Ah, it would kiil me, my love." 
 
 " Dare to speak to him like that again at your 
 peril,"'' foamed Waldron furiously. " I am sure that you 
 are to go with me whether he is or not. He will do 
 -well to not interfere between us." 
 
 Poor Reine! her heart died within her when Ber- 
 nard's head drooped and a heavy sigh of anguish broke 
 from his lips. Then, poor child, she knew there was no 
 hope for her, Without another word she fell prone on 
 her face among the lilies of the carpet in a deep swoon. 
 
 If he must leave her, better that he should leave her 
 now. Bernard told himself. " Good by, my lost love," 
 he murmured, letting his eyes linger for an instant on 
 the white face lying there so cold and still, and with a 
 sudden movement, knelt down and kissed the spot her 
 feet had so lately pressed, then tore himself away. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH. 
 
 The carriage which had brought Bernard Chesleigh 
 to the Towers stood at the entrance gate. He sprung 
 into the vehicle, saying hoarsely to the driver, 
 
 " Take me back to the station at the cross-roads. 
 When does the next train pass that goes to New 
 York?" 
 
 "At midnight, sir," replied the man; "but it 
 doesn't stop, sir." 
 
 " I suppose it can be nagged and made to stop," 
 said Bernard. 
 
 S( Oh, yes, sir," answered the man, " it has been 
 done, but it's rather uncommon." 
 
 How he passed the time after he had reached the 
 station until the train came in, Chesleigh never knew: 
 for some time he was like a man bereft of reason. 
 
 Once, the thought had come to him, as he stood 
 looking gloomily through the narrow window, how easy 
 it would be for him to end his sorrow ther%^nd then, 
 by flinging himself headlong down the deep mountain 
 
 forge into the ravine below; but the next moment his 
 etter judgment had reasserted itself; such an act as 
 he had contemplated would be cowardly, and only 
 cowards had recourse to such a way out of difficulty as 
 that. No, he would live; he knew he should never 
 know what happiness was again; it would be a dead 
 letter for him forever after. Ah, what grand and noble 
 words the poet had uttered when he had said, 
 
 " It is better to live, and learn to forget." 
 
 He would keep those words ever before him. 
 
 He knew that time might blunt the keen edge of 
 his grief; but forget her, ah, he could never do that, 
 go where he might; her face would be always before 
 him. He had won Heine's love, too late, 
 
 206 
 
THE WAGES OF STCf TS DEATH". 
 
 ee I ask from heaven what I have done that I sho, 
 be so cruelly punished," he ruminated bitterly, as i 
 paced up and down the narrow waiting room. Bui 
 from the darkling heavens to which he appealed, there 
 came no reply. 
 
 " Some men meet with a cruel fate," he mused, " but 
 they deserve it. In my life I may not have done much 
 good, but I have done no great harm. I have com- 
 mitted no crime — yet, never since the world began, 
 has a man's life been so wretchedly wrecked as mine, 
 and happiness so near me twice." 
 
 From afar off he heard the shriek of the midnight 
 express, — in a few moments more it had flashed around 
 the curve of the mountain and stood panting and 
 quivering like a thing of life before the station. 
 
 Chesleigh boarded it and sank into a seat, but instead 
 of rushing on after a moment or so, it still stood 
 upon the track whistling shrilly. 
 
 One or two of the impatient passengers started out 
 to learn the cause and reported that the down express 
 was some twenty minutes late and that the train 
 would have to wait there at the cross-roads probably 
 some twenty minutes or more. 
 
 "I have known a train that was late to cause no end 
 of disaster^from one end of the line to the other," 
 grumbled a commercial traveller sitting back of Ches- 
 leigh. But Bernard paid little heed to these remarks, 
 and the fellow traveller rather piqued at his neighbor's 
 silence, sauntered off into the smoking-car, leaving 
 that portion of the train in which Chesleigh sat, quite 
 without occupant other than himself. 
 
 "Reine," he murmured, "it is hard to give }*ou up, 
 but alas, — " 
 
 The sentence never was finished, — the door of the 
 car was flung suddenly open and Reine — ves, it was 
 surely Reine, sprang into it. 
 
 At the first glance she beheld Chesleigh and in an 
 instant she was kneeling before him. 
 
 There was no mistake, he was neither mad nor 
 dreaming, it was Reine, kneeling at his feet, her long 
 dark cloak dripping with rain and bespattered with 
 mud thrown about her — her head uncovered, her long 
 
208 
 
 A FORBIDDEN" MARRIAGE. 
 
 golden hair, wet and dishevelled, hanging all about her 
 white terrified face, and ner hands clenched tightly 
 over her heart that beat with great strangling, spas- 
 modic throbs. 
 
 " Bernard/' she cried, shrinking clown at his feet, 
 clasping his knees and looking up into his face with 
 great, terrified, dilated eyes; "save me, — oh, Bernard, 
 take me with you, dear, anywhere — anywhere; save 
 me, Bernard! " 
 
 "Heine, my poor child! "he exclaimed; " tell me, 
 dear, what does this mean?" 
 
 A laugh that was more horrible to hear than the 
 crudest sob could have been, broke from her lips. 
 
 "It means," she cried wildly, ".that he tried to 
 murder me, Bernard, after you had left me with him. 
 When I woke to consciousness from my swoon, I saw 
 him standing by the mantel; he had not even sum- 
 moned help for me, and he did not know whether I was 
 dying or not. 
 
 "I saw him standing there drinking brandy from a 
 flask he carried about him. He was bad enough when 
 you saw him; he is a fiend incarnate now. 
 
 " As I struggled to my feet he approached me, hurl- 
 ing me back on my knees. 'Stay there!' he cried, 
 with a demoniac laugh; 'stay where you are, and say 
 your prayers if you know any, for your time has come 
 to die! I will show you how I deal with those who are 
 faithless to me/ and with that, and before I could cry 
 out for help he struck me and whipped out a revolver, 
 and holding it close to my heart— fired. It was so 
 near the fire burned my arm, Bernard, but his hand 
 was unsteady, and the murderous ball crashed wide of 
 its mark. 
 
 " Terror lent me strength. With a scream I sprang 
 to my feet, and clashed precipitately through the open 
 French window out in the storm and the night. He 
 pursued me, with cries of rage, firing right and left. 
 The brandy had driven ham into a frenzy; he was like 
 notlrjng human. 
 
 " I thought you had come to the station to take the 
 train, and I ran here every step of the way. Oh, save 
 me, Bernard^ for the love of Heaven! Let me stay with 
 
THE WAGES OF SIN" IS DEATH. 
 
 209 
 
 you, dear; if he finds me, he will kill me!" and the 
 words died away with a bitter wailing cry of mortal 
 fear. 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh was so filled with horror and dis- 
 may that the very power of speech seemed to have de- 
 serted him. 
 
 " See, Bernard," she sobbed, holding up her white 
 arm to him, " there is where the powder burned me, 
 and here," — flinging back her rain drenched cloak, — 
 " there is where the fire burned my dress — right over 
 my heart; see, Bernard!" 
 
 It was more than mortal man could bear. Surely 
 Heaven could find pardon for him, that in that 
 moment he lost all self-restraint. His calm reason, 
 his better judgment, his nobler self, all had vanished. 
 He only heard her words, — " Take me cway with you, 
 Bernard, if he finds me he will kill me! " 
 
 " I will take you away, Reine," he cried, breaking 
 the clinging clasp of the white hands that clung round 
 his knees, and drawing her to a seat by his side, and 
 holding the poor shivering girl close. " He has 
 brought the last tear to your eyes — you shall not stay 
 here — you shall not be the victim of a madman. 
 Your very heart is crushed. I will save you. We will 
 go so far that no one who has ever known ns will look 
 upon our 'faces again. You shall know nothing but 
 love and happiness all the rest of your life. We will fly 
 to the other end of the world together, and live only 
 for love and each other." 
 
 Ten minutes before, he would as soon have thought 
 of shooting himself as to ask Reine to fly with him to 
 escape her husband; for, no matter what the man was, 
 lie was still — 'her husband. 
 
 Now that Bernard's passionate nature was in the 
 ascendancy, it seemed to him that to rescue her from 
 this tyrant was a right thing to do. He had a most 
 chivalrous feeling for women; a woman's tears were 
 to him irresistible, and while she clung to him with 
 trembling hands and he was protesting to her that she 
 should never regret coming with him, slowly the train 
 moved out; another instant and it was whirling along 
 at a terrific rate of speed on through the storm and 
 14 
 
A FORBIDDEN MARRIAGE, 
 
 darkness of the night. But all in a moment as the 
 train had moved out, Bernard Chesleigh began to 
 realize what he had done. Great Heaven! he, who had 
 always been the very soul of honor, had done so das- 
 tardly a thing as to fly with another man's wife ; what 
 had he been thinking of! 
 
 Let you who read — and who draw back in horror, 
 sitting in judgment upon their actions — even though 
 you censure, remember, it is said : — 
 
 " To err is but human." 
 
 But of what use w r ere regrets now? "Why startle 
 Heine — who was still clinging to him with hands trem- 
 bling with fear? There was no returning — they had 
 burned their bridges behind them. 
 
 " Are you content, Reine?" he asked, slowly, — 
 huskily. 
 
 Ci Yes, Bernard," she sighed. He clasped her closer, 
 and soon, despite all the cold and the chill of her gar- 
 ments she sank to sleep like a child in his arms. 
 
 " Poor Reine," he murmured compassionately. 
 " Heaven have mercy on us both." 
 
 He sat quite still, trying to think out what their 
 future should be. The angels in Heaven who had 
 watched iu all, and wept over poor Reine, had marked 
 out that future. 
 
 How long they sat thus, Bernard Chesleigh could 
 never afterward quite fully recall — the train whirled 
 on past hills and dales and leaping rivulets — on and 
 on rushed the lightning express — on with a terrible 
 roar until it reached a high bridge that spanned a dark, 
 deep ravine — and then — 
 
 There was a horriSle crash, a quiver, a sudden blind- 
 ing light flashed through the car for an instant, — and 
 in that instant the engine plunged down through the 
 bridge — down the steep height to the dark vine- 
 wreathed valley below. Then came oblivion to Ber- 
 nard Chesleigh. 
 
 It was many a long day after when Bernard Ches- 
 leigh awoke to a realization of what was transpiring 
 around him. 
 
THE WAGES OF SIX IS DEATH. f 
 
 He found himself in a small, unfamiliar room^ wu 
 strange faces bending over him. 
 
 " Where am I ?" he asked, faintly. But before the 
 good woman could answer, a cry of anguish broke from 
 his lips. 
 
 " I remember. Great Heaven ! I remember. The 
 accidenr. Where is — is — " 
 
 i: You are not to talk." said the nurse, gently. " It 
 was a terrible accident ! Many were wounded, many 
 were killed outright ; you were found terribly wounded, 
 and brought here, where you have been for many a 
 long week. Look through the window : see those snow 
 flakes scurrying past . it is winter now ; you have had 
 a long siege of it." She went on: There was a lady 
 near you, a young and beautiful lady, lying there dead 
 — quite dead' — when they found her, which was at day- 
 light. Her hands were crossed over her breast like a 
 tired child's. There was a smile on her lips. Everyone 
 said the angels must have been hovering very near her 
 when that accident happened, watching for her soul. 
 She was so young to die, — poor, pretty young thing. 
 There was only a little purple mark on the temple to 
 show how death had met her. that was all. 
 
 " Some one came up from Waldron Towers, away 
 down in Virginia, and took her home *'ith them — the 
 body I mean, and I heard since that they buried her 
 on the slope of hill — just back of the Towers. " 
 
 Bernard Chesleigh turned away with a groan, turn- 
 ing his face to the wall. It seemed to him that her 
 death lay on his soul. 
 
 One stormy winter night, a fortnight later, a man 
 made his way through the snow-drifts close to a small 
 enclosure, which was fenced off in the most isolated 
 portion of the Towers grounds. 
 
 He need not have taken so much pains to steal along 
 in the shadow of the trees, for there were none to see 
 him. The old Towers was closed again, its occupants 
 gone, none knew whither, and surely his tread could 
 not awaken her who slept beneath the marble shaft 
 toward which he beut his steps. 
 
 He lit a match and read the inscription on it; it 
 bore simply this : 
 
A FORBIDDEN CARRIAGE. 
 
 Sacred to the Memory of 
 / RE I N E. 
 
 AGED 18 YEARS. 
 
 The flaring match which , shed its light upon the 
 tomb fell upon the man's face, — the pale face of Ber- 
 nard Ohesleigh. 
 
 "* From that night Bernard Chesleigh was never seen 
 again. For a time those who knew him missed him, 
 then forgot him. 
 
 Many a winter's snow fell deep upon Reine's grave, 
 and many a summer's storm showered down blood-red 
 rose leaves from a wild vine that had clambered round 
 the shaft and over the grave, ere the. inmates of 
 Waldron Towers returned. It was summer then and 
 the wild-rose vine was still in bloom. They found the 
 wild-rose vin°s twined so closely about some object 
 lying on the grave that they had to bend closer to see 
 what it was. To their surprise and horror they found 
 it was the skeleton of a man, but who he had been, or 
 how he had come there no one knew ; only this, some- 
 one must have lain down to die on the moss grown 
 grave that was " Sacred to Heine. " 
 
 They never knew they were carrying out the last 
 fervent prayer he had uttered on . earth, wher they 
 dug his grave and laid all that remained of him beside 
 Reine. 
 
 THE END. 
 
t 
 
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