290 
THE RURAL WEVV- YORKER. 
NOV. 3 
The effect of her words frightened her. 
Ills brow crimsoned, and he leaned against the 
rock as If to steady himself, without speaking, ror 
several minutes’ lime. At last he turned towards 
her. “ You thought I was drunk, did you7" 
To his amazement the sound of a sob came tor 
answer. 
“ And you cared as much as that 7” he cried. 
'•How could I but care7” replied she. “to Bee 
any one so ! And on this day of all days! It”— 
firmly and quietly—“grieved me very much.” 
ills look hardened again. 
“ That was a pity, for, ns It happened, you were 
mistaken ; 1 was not so abandoned.” 
Pauline turned to go. 
“ 1 see you do not believe me,” he said. 
“I cannot make you understand. 1 will try to 
believe you. You always speak the truth-” 
“ You are too good!” 
“ But It It is the truth, It-Why do you ask 
me to speak It at, all 7” Bhe broke off suddenly. 
“ Why do you persecute me so? 1 wound not say 
a word to pain you, no, 1 would not-” 
“ Oh dear, no! You only hint In the most gen¬ 
tle manner at unpleasant details 1” 
Her anger rose. 
“ You must go now, or I shall. I will not speak 
to you, nor hear you sppak again. 1 will not. It 
Is no good. For the sake of the past, good-by,” 
putting out her hand, “but don’t try to keep 
me.” 
“ Good-by,” lie said, carelessly. “ I say, don’t 
laugh at me behind my back, please. I am a fool, 
1 know, but I would rather that you did not say 
It.” 
“How can you? How can you?” she strug¬ 
gled with her feelings, resolute on keeping a mas¬ 
tery over them. “ You never spoke to me so be¬ 
fore, and what have I done to make you do It 
now ? Lei me go.” 
“ Certainly." 
HO made way for her to pass. “ And so departs 
all my chance In this world, and the next 1” 
Could she go with those words In her ears! He 
thought, not; and he was right. 
She remained riveted to the spot, as if detained 
by the grasp of an Invisible hand. 
“ Don’t let me keep you,” continued Blundell, 
In the same light tone. “ I am hardly worth a 
curse—certainly nothing else! Confess now, you 
would not put out your little linger to save me, if 
you saw me going down Into that pool, would 
you ? You would sooner play the Lorelei’s part— 
1 thick 11 la a favorite one ol yours—to such a poor 
devil as 1 am! This Is the second occasion on 
which you have appeared In 1L to me. Don't do 
so a third time, please. That means the final 
scene, you understand? And 1 don’t wish to be 
unnecessarily hurried In my exit; I should like 
to nuke my bow with decency, when the correct 
time comes.” 
She turned from him, and burst Into an agony 
of tears. 
“ Good God!” exclaimed he. 
He had been beside himself. 
The shock of meeting her In the forenoon, with 
the moitlheatlon consequent on her refusal to 
recognize him, had left him so 111 at ease, as to 
make an explanation necessary. He had follow¬ 
ed her stops, directed by villagers who had seen 
her pass, and had found her more beautiful and 
more Impassible than ever. 
Wore than that, he had found her .at a pecu¬ 
liarly unfortunate time for Uls own spirits and 
temper. 
lie was suffering the reaction consequent on 
the previous day’s outbreak, and he was fasting, 
having loathe dinner-table without having tast¬ 
ed either rood or wine. 
He bad beeu betrayed into an unpardonable 
degree of irritation, until the sight ol her distress 
recalled him in some manner to himself. 
Her distress? But he wanted to be assured of 
more than her distress! He sought some claim 
to her tears. It, seemed to him as though, all 
along, he had only cared for Paulino*. 
The trio on the rocks below went quietly home; 
hut Pauline clld not see them; her face was burled 
In her hands. 
Blundell did, however, and.walted. 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
“ Pauline, Accept the Pledge.” 
“ I cannot, no, I cannot,” said Pauline. 
“ And Is this to be Anal ? May I not speak 
again ? May 1 not hope that, you will relent, that 
time-” 
She shook her head. 
“ Why should I say time, indeed? ” cried be, 
“ why not now, this moment ? You have said so 
much, you have been so good, 1 can scarcely be¬ 
lieve my own happiness—It cannot be that you 
retusc farther to confirm it 7 You would not have 
me now despair 7 Only toll me that; only throw 
out the smallest crumbs of comfort, and 1 will 
feed upon them, like a dog 1 ” 
“ Mr. Blundell, I do not dare. You know, you 
know, why." 
“ Yes,” he said, “I do know. A viler wretch 
than I am, you cannot make me out, think what 
youinayofino. That you should care—” He 
stopped in evident emotion. 
Care 1 Oh yes, I care-” 
“ Then you can save me. Gan you refuse, and 
yet acknowledge what you have acknowledged 7 
Confess that 1—that my love, my devotion, has 
met—unworthy as 1 am to say It—has met with 
return 7 ” 
“ Are you asking me to save you ? ” cried Paul¬ 
ine. “ A sinner like yourself, save you 1 ” 
“ God forbid ! 1 ask a pure and noble saint to 
save me, and to her shrine I am come,” he added, 
folding his arms, and scooping his head before 
her, with a gesture of proud humility. “ Will 
Bhe disdain bo poor a suppliant ? Having alone 
the power, has she not the will 7 ” - 
“This Is dreadful,’* said Pauline, “What warn¬ 
ings you have had already! Your brother’s fear¬ 
ful end 1 Your own danger.' These you have 
disregarded, and you think that I, a poor, weak 
woman, can do more ! What If 1 gave myself to 
you ? You would soon cease to heed me. You 
would speak to me as you did Just now-” 
“ No—no." 
“ You would. What right, should I have to ex¬ 
pect anything else 7 Now, at this moment, you 
are seeking to persuade me to disobey the plain 
command of God—” 
“ What command ? To save a soul 7 ” cried 
Blundell eagerly. " Is that the command I would 
have you disobey ? See here. 1 have read the 
Scriptures, have studied them, perhaps, as much 
as you have, and although 1 pretend no longer to 
shape my life by what I found there, so much I 
can aver,—you could not he committing a sin In 
making so great a sacrifice,” 
Sacrifice; ” 
“ Perhaps It would hardly be a sacrifice ; but 
Ft 11J It would be,” he paused, casting about In 
blB mind for some word, some Idea, that should 
weigh down the balance In his favor. “ Is It 
nothing to reclaim a man like me ? Could you 
have done this, would I have asked It, wonbl I 
have spoken another word on the subject, If that 
moment’s weakness had not disclosed to me more 
than 1 could ever have presumed to hope * Now 
you weep again, and give me courage,” a tempt¬ 
ing to taka her hand. “ You do love me, you do 
care for me. God bless you for It! Pauline, let 
us both be happy.” 
“ stop,” Bald she, “ stop, and listen to what I 
have to Bay." 
She paused, and drew a long breath, and grew 
calmer. 
“ Mr. Blundell, when i first knew you, and I 
thought—we all thought^-we believed that you 
were, so far as you then knew, seeking with a sin¬ 
gle heart to walk In the»lght way, I—I would not 
have spoken t-o you as I have done to-night,. I 
thought, that for a man to be In earnest, and to be 
Blneere, It was enough. That he was sure i o flud 
out the truth at last. But 1 have learnt other¬ 
wise. You were in earnest; yes, you were ; but 
you were determined to walk In your own 
strength; and you fell. And you will fall, wheth¬ 
er you lean on yourself, or me, or on any other 
than the Holy Spirit of God. That you may be 
led to cast away all other aid, and to seek His be¬ 
fore It Is too late, shall be my dally prayer for 
you” 
“ Don’t, pray for me—lead me,” pleaded Blun¬ 
dell, not unnaturally. “ You shall tench me what 
you mean, and show me by your own Bweet, ex¬ 
ample the way to heaven. Who can do tnat bet¬ 
ter than a wire? You are leaving rne to myself, 
when you might be my hope—my light—my life—” 
“ Should I be that ? ” said she, trembling. “Are 
those words fit Tor ine ? You would put me lu the 
first place—me-" 
“ I would 1 1 do already.” 
“ In Ills place, who will not tolerate such wick¬ 
edness .' ” 
“ WlckedneBs 7 ’ 
“Oh yes, you will see It some day, and I should 
be the cause I ” 
“ l don’t understand. You are surely mistaken. 
You are under some delusion.” 
“ No.” said Pauline, starting forward with sud¬ 
den vehemence, “ I am not. And I must not lis¬ 
ten to yon any longer. Do not,” seeing he was 
about to Interpose—“ have pity, do not stop me. 
You would not be so cruel. If you knew—li you 
guessed-And now,” resolutely, “ I am going." 
Going! Without one word of hope 7 ” 
“ Yes, 1 have no hope." 
She turned dejectedly away, and he mechanic¬ 
ally held our, his hand to guide her footsteps over 
the uneven pathway. 
“ At least 1 shall see you sometimes ? You re¬ 
turn south 1 ” he said, at last. 
“ Yes.” 
“ To our neighborhood ? ” 
“ 1 must, I am dependent on my aunt, and must 
go where she goes.” 
“Indeed? Forgive me for being glad. It 
leaves me something yet to look forward to, 
something to live for 1 Must l take you home, 
now ? ” 
lie was still moving beside her step by step, 
holding her hand. 
Neither spoke until they reached the footpath, 
when she would have withdrawn it, but ho sud¬ 
denly caught It to his Ups. 
“ 1 cannot let this go," he said, “ I cannot.” 
“ Would you break my heart 7 ’’ said she, weep¬ 
ing afresh. “ Will you torso mo never to look 
upon your face again? Go! do not make me 
fear you ! Leave me—leave us friends." 
“ And thus 1 seal our friendship! ” said Blun¬ 
dell, suddenly clasping her In his arms, and kiss¬ 
ing her trembling lips. “ And thus 1 pledge my¬ 
self lo woo and win you yet! Pauline, accept 
the pledge. 
Bhe could not speak. 
“ I am a brute!’’ said he, lifting the shawl 
which had dropped from her nerveless arm, and 
folding her in it. *• You shall not have more to 
bear from me—to-plght, at least. Stay—one kiss 
more—and now, lean upon me, and we will come. 
You shall not again have to say you fear me, 
Pauline. You may trust me. Cornel By Jovel 
it is nine o’clock 1" 
She hurried along, aware of what this meant, 
Uls companions must be already waiting, nine 
having been the hour fixed upon for their start 1 
So much her aunt had overheard, and even at 
such a moment she could feel an additional tor¬ 
ment In the apprehension that he might he 
searched for and discovered—with her! 
Her hand lay within his arm, but, as he had 
promised, he forbore to urge her further. 
At length the bridge was reached. 
“ You will stay here, I presume,” said Blundell, 
bending towards her. “ Stay but ten minutes, 
and we shall be gone 1 But wo shall meet, Pau¬ 
line, meet at Blundellsaye- Only one question, 
now. When do you go there t” 
“ Net for some time. Not till the autumn.” 
“ You are going to Scotland, first ?” 
“ Y'es.” 
“ I wish I were! But I have promised to Join a 
party In Norway. And—yes—I’ll go. I shall 
come hack In October, however, and then- 
No, not a word. Not a single word I I shall for¬ 
get all you have said to me to-day, all but one 
confession, and that I shall never forget, never. 
It shall go with me, stay with me, until I draw 
another from your Ups. Now, I suppose I ought 
to go.” 
She remained motionless. 
“Say good-by, won’t you ?” said he, putting out 
bis hand. 
“ Good-by.” 
Other wayfarers were crossing the bridge, and 
a group of villagers stood curiously regarding the 
pair. 
“Good-by, good-by,” he whispered, coming 
close to her. “Say good-by once again, Pauline. 
1 hate to hear you say It, and bo 1 punish myself 
for all T have done and said to-night. And yet—1 
don’t, wish a word unsaid 1 Do you 7 nave you 
forgiven me 7 Fnrgl ve me with some more tears, 
dear. Think of me to-night; no matter how; 1 
know it cannot he unkindly. Think of me to¬ 
morrow, and the next, day, and every day. Now, 
one look, one smile! By Heavui! I hardly 
know how lo part with you! Say but a single 
word—a touch of your little hand will keep me 1 
What! You won’t? And you turn from me 
again? Pauline!" 
His look of reproach she could hardly with¬ 
stand. 
“Go, go,” she stammered, faintly, “You 
promised me to go." 
“Iam going. Now, don’t speak, but listen. I 
take with me to-night a talisman; and when 
next we meet, you youmlf shall acknowledge all 
that It has done for me. The thought of you ’’— 
he stopped- he almost broke down—she could 
Just catch the entreaty—“ don’t forbid me that, 
and I shall need no more.” 
He was not forbidden, she had no voice—per¬ 
haps no wish—to forbid him. 
Borne minutes he waited, as though to test the 
full value of her silence, then gently drawing her 
yielding form closely in his embrace he whispered 
In a fine passion or love, “ No, T will not. go. You 
love me, and you alone Bhall lead me from the 
mad scenes ol my turbulent life Into the quiet 
haven of your protecting love. Pauline, you arc 
mine, and nothing short of death shall part us. 
Kiss me, darling, Just one little kiss, and 1 shall 
leave you only long enough to return to my com¬ 
panions, bid adieu to my rortner life uud associa¬ 
tion, and hlc back to the darling Uttle girl who 
has had the faith and courage to rescue me, a 
miserable sinner, irom a life worse than living 
death.” Showering kisses on her upturned, pallid 
brow ho tenderly disengaged her from his arms 
and was gone. 
Scarcely had the sound or Ills stops died away 
ere Pauline sank down upon the broken wall by 
the roadside, unable longer to stand. 
Her strength had departed. Concealing her 
face from observation, whilst feebly wiping from 
her eyes the ever gathering moisture; all power 
or thought and memory for the moment gone. 
Blundell with her! Holding her hand! His 
kisses on her face 1 His passionate words vibrat¬ 
ing on her ear 1 
it seemed a dream—a mad improbability. 
Here—In this quiet place—away from all the 
world—she had spent one moat terrible, most 
blissful hour. 
This man, till a few hours ago her hero—then 
her scorn—had prevailed to be her husband! 
And the past V 
It had been explained In a moment, had 
scarcely seemed to need explanation. 
Her coldness, her reserve, his sense of unworthi¬ 
ness, his resolution to forget, uU by turns had 
been recounted. 
Then he had hurried on to the present, and 
then had been the test. Did she love him ? 
Her heart had been his from the very flrstday. 
A word, a glance, hud made It leap; a touch had 
made It tremble. This was for herself alone, but 
something of the truth had been revealed also to 
him. He had caught at It, and forced from her 
the whole. Site did love him. 
She could not deny It. 
And he loved her. 
Had she done right 7 She hardly knew. 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
Conclusion. 
Mrs. Wyndhain was a most surprised woman 
when she was made acquainted with the occur- 
rances narrated In the last chapter. “Well,” 
she exclaimed petulantly, “ you might have told 
me Bomethlug about yourGourloch acquaintances. 
1 always did suppose there was something mys¬ 
terious about those Highlands, but I suppose tUat 
all 1 am expected to do Is to say “ Bless you, my 
children." Bui J won’t. I consider the whole 
transaction horrible. Now, run away, Pauline, 
you are too Idiotically happy to be of any use. I 
will question Mr. Blundell.” 
But this gentleman had assumed an air of 
mysterious silence which quite baffled PauUne’s 
aunt. 
The following morning the coach rolled gaily 
away with at least two passengers whose sudden 
departure was a topic of animated discussion. It 
was at Mrs. Wyndham’s suggestion that they 
were now on their way up to London. 
Pauline was anxlou9 to see her brother, and tell 
him all (hat had transpired since his visit to the 
Grange. He professed not to be surprised ffflrm- 
lng that affairs could have had no other ending 
In the estimation of one whs had known about a 
certain episode at Gourloch. This assumption of 
suprrlor intelligence was very amusing to at 
least two of the company, and the merriment was 
In no way lessened w hen this brother added that 
thp example set by such a model pair, would have 
been a powerfut Incentive Tor him to go and do 
likewise, had he not already secured Elsie’s prom¬ 
ise to become Mrs. La Baric, “ for you see,” he 
continued, “ if Pauline leaves the family, some 
ODe must have a care that the line Is not per¬ 
mitted lo run out, as obviously It would not. do for 
bo tine a type as myaeirto become extinct!” This 
was laughingly assented t.o, and the suggestion of 
Mrs. WjLdham made a few minutes later, that 
the double wedding should bo solemnized at the 
Grange, met with favor. 
Great was the surprise of Blr John and Lady 
Finch at the news. Dolly was quite cut up. 
Charlotte was his comforter In these trying times, 
and the poor youDg fellow Daturally felt grateful 
for the sympathy. Thus It. came about, that he 
asked Charlotte to continue the duties of com¬ 
forter for an Indefinite period, and as they had 
coutrlvtxl to become sincerely attached to each 
other. It was not an unpleasant ordeal to follow 
In the footprints of Blundell and Tom. 
The wedding day was celebrated with a lavish 
disregard of everything but the greatness of the 
occasion. Sir John was as effulgent as an East¬ 
ern prince, while Mrs. Wjndham subsequently 
declared “that there new was Euch a gor¬ 
geous ceremony.” 
It would be futile as well as impolite to con¬ 
tradict the lady, and with vistas of happiness, 
opening up before the happy couples we leave 
them. 
- ♦ ♦ ♦ 
A MADMAN’S METHOD. 
BY T. It. S. 
Did I love her? you ask. Better, yes, better 
than my life. Then why—? But stay; wait my 
story, and you shall know all. Quietly, calmly, 
soberly, I will tell you alt. You -smile: you think 
I cannot; you call mu mad. Nay, not so. But 
you point to the cell In which w e are sealed,—to 
the high walls beyond, which bar egress,—to the 
piteous forms outside bow ing. In the agony of 
their Impotence, their heads feebly to and fro. 
What, or that 7 what of all this which you see and 
tell me of 7 Du these things prove me lo be a 
madman ? Listen: 1 sa.v loyou, that In the huge 
city yonder, beyond the precincts of ibis accursed 
prison-house, there wander at. large In the 
streets and In the thoroughfares men and women 
madder, ay, madder far, than any Imprisoned 
hurt*. Is not all their lire one vast expanse of 
madness? They w T eave, and the robe thus woven 
la one of laughter, derision, und scorn: they 
spend all their lives in sowing, and yet they 
never reap. Fame, name, wealth—day idler day, 
night after night they strive for these. Cease¬ 
lessly, painfully, feverishly a little heap of 
glldPd chaff is got together; then comes the 
whirlwind of sorrow and death, and sweeps It— 
poor fools!—sill away. It Is coming all the time : 
they might know it from afar off, and yet see It 
not, or seeing heed not. This—this Is madness— 
madness preordained of God, the worst and most 
fearful there can be. Thinking then of this, tell 
me not that I am mad. The heart, Is the book of 
the German 6age; It will not let Itself be read. 
But If 1 be not a madman, you want to know 
how came I to do what i have done 7 With 
soberness, calmness, deliberation I dkl It. Hear 
me, bow quietly I Bpeak to you ; think j ou, then, 
that 1 was a madman when I acted 7 
Why I loved her I do not know; by what slow 
stages I grew to find that all my life, all my soul 
were absorbed In hers, 1 cannot tell you. A face 
beautiful and bright as that of an angel, a heart 
pure and spotless as a sunny summer sky, a voice 
whose every word was a note of music—these 
Burely were fit reasons for love. And so gradual¬ 
ly did the spirit of love take whole possession of 
n y brain and being. Yet from the Urst, believe 
me, 1 knew well bow It would all end. You may 
place no trust In presentiments; neither do I In 
the presentiments of all men alike. But there 
ure some—I am assured of it—with whom to feel 
ominously. In however vague a manner, Is to 
know. You cannot apply one and the self-same 
rule to the spiritual organization of all. Your 
presentiments may end as they arose, lu vanity 
and nothingness: not so mine. Throughout life 
I have ever been able to discern the future clearly 
looming through the present; throughout my 
Ufe I have been able to hear In the midst of 
sounds of mirth and Joy, of happiness and 
laughter, the unerring footsteps of coming doom. 
With some men the senses have a power of which 
those who have not felt It oauuot. dream. In the 
deep darkness of the night they can hear the 
death-watch ticking In distant walls—can hear 
the palpitation of some loved oue.’s heart when 
she whom they love is far removed. With me It 
was not the senses but the mind—or shall I 
rather call it the spirit. 7—which attained this 
morbid development. And so, even lu those 
blessed hours of sunset, when my darling nestled 
closer, closer still to me; when she talked, with 
an assurance that nothing could break our future 
hours of sacred peace; and when 1 responded to 
all she said with words of equally confiding and 
trustful love—I knew quite well what the end 
must be. It was calm then, and happiness: but 
