166 A BOTHER, AND— A BRIDE. 



hunting season is over, and his leave of absence has 

 expired. To-morrow he must return to his bureau. 



It is dark, cold March evening — the rain is loud 

 upon the casements ; the wind is loud among the tur- 

 rets ; a bright wood fire is flickering on the hearth in 

 the library ; and Mary Merton sits — where we saw her 

 sit on that hunting morning — with her beautiful head 

 bowed upon her hands, weeping, silently, bitterly. 



The door opened noiselessly, and the fine head of 

 Fairfax was intruded. With an inaudible step he 

 crossed the room ; and, before she knew he was near 

 her, one arm was round her waist, one hand had 

 clasped her cold fingers. 



'' Mary, my own, are these tears for me ?" 



Her form thrilled in his embrace, like the aspen in 

 a breeze ; she raised her beautiful large eyes, gazed 

 on him wistfully, but with a sad, sad gaze. She made 

 no effort to withdraw herself from his arm, but only 

 shuddered, from head to foot, as if in an ague fit. 



" Oh ! Fairfax — don't, please don't — you hurt me." 



"Hurt you?" 



"Yes ! sadly, cruelly. I can't bear it." 



"/hurt you, who could die for you — who owe my 

 life to you. Oh ! Mary Merton, I hurt you ! 



" Yes ! that is it — that is it. How could I do so ? 

 What a wicked, wicked girl I am." 



" For saving me, Mary ?" 



For one moment her old smile lit up her face, but 

 she burst into tears again. " Oh, no ! not that — not 

 that. Oh ! you will hate me now, Percy Fairfax." 



"I do not understand you." 



" God help me, I don't know if I understand my- 

 self. But I — I — Fairfax — Fairfax — I — I can't he 

 — your's. There — it is spoken." 



And she burst into a wilder paroxysm of tears than 

 ever. 



" Great God ! and can I have misunderstood you ?" 



