25 1 The Tutor-Fiend and his Three Pupils. QSept. 



wind's chamber, the moon's glorious light — he wept at his darkness. 

 He lay, for a time, the smarting penitent to nature, stricken down by 

 self-accusation, whilst compunction triumphed over him, and, like the 

 scorpion near the flame, he writhed, stung with his own venom. He 

 praved for the rock to yawn and swallow him ; he asked for annihila- 

 tion, or to change his being with the weed or shell-fish clinging to the 

 elifF. His prayers were scoffed — he still must live, and bear the human 

 stamp. 



Thus for a time he lay, passively suffering the embraces of one, who 

 had watched and followed his steps where even the nest-seeking school- 

 boy had feared to tread. By degrees, the vacant look of Scowl changed 

 from its wandering dulness, and his eyes flashed fire. He looked with 

 a demon's glances at the girl ; and, his voice rattling in his throat, he 

 cried — " Have I not said enough ?" 



The girl answered not. She sunk upon her knees, and, pale and 

 trembling, with outstretched hands and averted head, in silence waited 

 her destiny. Scowl, raising himself from the rock, hurried to and fro 

 on the little space allowed by the uneven surface— then stopping, and 

 looking at the girl, he exclaimed, " Jane !" She turned her face to- 

 wards his, but rose not. " Jane ! you have seen me weep — have heard 

 me groan ; you have beheld me snatch in hope at the fruits of heaven, 

 and heard my teeth gnash at finding them ashes ; you have twisted a 



shining serpent in my path ; you have " And he approached her 



with madness in his features. 



" Oh, God ! and will you ?" shrieked the girl, as, trembhng, she 

 seized the arm that grasped her. 



" What ! fear you death ? Look at the beach beneath. But a mo- 

 ment, and, when your fragile form shall dash upon its bed, you will be 

 as insensible as the pebble you displace. The rising tide will bear you 

 to the ocean's vault ; and — ha ! ha ! — sighing nymphs will mourn the 

 love-murdered maid. Why have you hunted me ? Was it not enough 

 that I gave up heaven, man's social feelings — pity, love, benevolence ? 

 Did I not already stand the grim, uncouth image of man ? — must the 

 mockery be painted with blood.''" 



" Are your wishes blood ?" replied the girl, for a moment nerved 

 beyond herself ; " I thought they were gold !" 



" And gold is blood !" fiercely answered Scowl. " Could gold weep 

 for the means by which men obtain it, a new Red Sea would swallow 

 misers in their homes." 



" I have gold. — Here" (and she presented to Scowl a small, well- 

 filled leathern bag) — " here is gold — madness — infamy eternal ! Ask 

 not how I gained it !" 



" Girl ! what have you done ?" 



" Loved you — lost myself !" 



" That woman so should fall! — But, come, let me know your story — 

 else, unwittingly, I may want gratitude." 



" This gold — I thought my heart would stop, my arm be palsied, as I 

 touched it — was my father's. It is — oh ! shall I say — it is my hus- 

 band's !" 



" Husband ! I must trudge and sneak about the world, filching 

 from all men. A wife is an incumbrance to a social ruffian. Were I 

 a proclaimed bandit, then you should be my robber-queen — should kiss 

 my sword for good fortune when I went forth, and wash my hands from 



