45 $ 
THE R 
YORKER. 
Then my resolution! wa8].taken, and I determ¬ 
ined to tell nim all. 
*< Let ns sit down, Reggie,” I answered. “ We 
are well wrapped up—the wind will not hurt us.” 
So we sat down on an old rock, with thugray 
sky above us and the sea sobbing at our feet, and 
I told him all—ot my dream, uiy strange fellow- 
traveler, and the unmistakable Identity or the 
bands. He listened pat iently till I had tlnlsbed, 
and then he pul his strong brave arm around me 
and drew me very close to hltn. 
“Nellie, my treasure*” he whispered, “you 
need not fear dreams, presentiments, or anything 
else, with Heaven’s will nothing shall separate 
us—nothing, nothing but death.” 
Even as the word passed his lips a wild shriek 
rent the air. Wo started up and looked.eagerly 
round. While we were talking the tide bad been 
so rapidly rolling In that It had almost reached 
tho rock Where we were silting. Many were 
already nearly covered. On one or these latter 
stood the solitary figure ot a woman, frantically 
gesticulating and calling loudly tor help. She 
was In imminent danger, lu a tew moments 
more she must, inevitably be swept away. 
Quicker than thought Reggie had taken lu all 
this—quicker Ilian thought he hud thrown off Ids 
coat, and was even now wading towards her. In 
the wild Belllshucss ot the moment 1 would fain 
have recalled 1dm. hut he heeded not my Implor¬ 
ing gestures; a human life waa In peril, and he 
might bo the means of saving 11. on and on, 
nearer and nearer, he progressed, HU, Just as he 
reached her, a huge billow rolling lu enveloped 
thembotu ; then, as it passed on, 1 watched lor 
some seconds which seemed like hours the rising 
and tulling, the struggle between life and death. 
It Reggie had been alone, he could easily have 
battled ugainsL the w'aves, but i lie clutch ot the 
drowning woman and his efforts to keep her 
head above water weighed hlin down and clogged 
his progress so Hint 1 felt bot h must be lost. 
Just at this awful moment two coast guardsmen, 
attracted by my cries, appeared on the scene, and 
in another Instant four figures were In the water 
Instead ot two. Then a mistiness crept over my 
eyes, and, though I still stood rooted there, I 
knew nothing of what happened till I fell some 
ono pull my sleeve. H was one otthe coast- 
guardsmeu, dripping from head to loot, uud 
looking very much exhausted. He did not speak 
but only pointed to two objects lying on the dry 
sand a little way off. 
“It is Lady Cedevllle’s son,” said the other 
man, coming up—“Mr. Reginald; who will pre¬ 
pare the poor mother v” 
Then sight and speech seemed to return to me 
suddenly. • 
“ I will!” i cried, not heeding the pitying looks 
of the men, not heeding anything but the mad¬ 
ness that seemed coursing t hrough my veins like 
lire as I rushed on, on, till 1 reached the gate of 
Cedeville Manor. 
Lady Cedeville was walking up and down the 
avenue. I ran up to her aDd clutched hold of her 
hand. 
Mother,” I cried, using the flrst word that 
came from my agonised heart, “your—Reg- 
“ Better not, Nellie.” 
“ Nay, little sister, but I wish it.” 
Without another word she led the way Into an 
adjoining room, where lay the dead body. I looked 
down on the calm white face, with the black hair 
brushed soltly back, and then I looked farther— 
to the hands crossed on the still breast—and my 
heart seemd tor an Instant to cease beating. The 
left hand lay uppermost, scarcely whiter In death 
than In lire, with the deep r«l mark reaching 
from the wrist to the middle Unger, once more, 
and tor the last time, 1 saw the hand of my 
dream. When I looked up, Louise was standing 
opposite me, gazing wistfully at the dead form. 
“ Ah, Nellie,” she said, as our eyes met, “ 1 may 
well be sad : It Is my late governess and dear 
friend. Miss King.” 
So the mystery was solved. M ; fellow-traveler, 
the apparition In the north gallery, and tbe wo¬ 
man Ij log dead before us now were one and Iho 
same, sue bad escaped from the lunatic asylum, 
had traveled down to Chenworth, and, knowing 
all the Ins and outs or Cedeville Manor, had ap¬ 
peared in the north gallery on Christmas Eve, ap¬ 
parently to warn Reggie. What she intended in 
her madness to do, or whether she had any set¬ 
tled plan to frustrate Uls marriage, will on Hits 
eaith never be known, but her words came n ue— 
Reggie did not marry in her lifetime. They bulled 
her in i he little village churchyard, and erected 
a plain wiffte stone to her memory. Reggie and 
I often walk there In the still summer evenings. 
Wo talk of the poor young creature whose life 
was so sadly blotted out, and of Heaven’s great 
mercy to us. 
---- 
CORA. 
1 saw her turn as white as death, I saw her fix 
her eyes on me and ask the question which her 
lips refused to utter, J felt my head reeling, 1 
felt my senses going; but I had no pity for the 
hereavel mother then, no pity tor any one but 
myself, as I shrieked out— 
“ He is dead—dead—dead !” 
It seemed to mo that the trees, the earth, the 
sky, the w hole air took up and re-echoed the cry 
and with It still whirring and dinning In my ears 
I fell down on t he cold damp grass and was for 
the time lost to all outward things. 
They told me 1 went from one tulullrig-fit Into 
another, and It was not l ill two days later that 1 
came to my proper senses again; thenl found 
myself in my own little room, Louise titling on 
a chair by tho bedside. She too looked dreadfully 
HI, poor child. .She was leaning back lu her 
chair, and I could see the tears rolling down from 
her closed eyelids; but as soon ns I touched her 
she started up and brushed them away. 
“ Louise “’—“Nellie, my sister !” 
“ yes, w'o shall bo sisters, Louie—sisters still.” 
She bent over me, with a wealth of pity and love 
In her dark eyes. “It will not belong, Louie, I 
think,” I said, lilting my head wearily — “ not 
long; you know I cannot live without him. I can- 
not>-l cannot!" 
“ Don’t speak so, Nellie. Heaven is very mer¬ 
ciful.” 
“ Heaven Is very merciful, therefore I shall be 
taken away. I shall not be left all alone lu this 
cold world. I could not hear It, little sister. Hav¬ 
ing tasted the sweetness of love, 1 could not live 
without It now." 
“ You shall not, Nellie. Heaven has many 
ways of showing mercy.” And. so saying, Louise 
gently drew back the curtain and stepped aside. 
Had the dead come back to life Y Almost, I 
think ; for my own Reggie stood before me. TUat 
afternoon I rose and dressed. The excitement 
of great sorrow', succeeded by the excitement of 
great joy, left, me weak and taint. One thing 
puzzled me. Louise still looked downcast and 
unhappy without apparent cause. Shecamelnto 
the room just as I was dressed, and a sudden 
thought struck me. 
« Louie.” l said, “ tell me what became of tho 
woman Reggie tried to save. Is she alive, too 7” 
I saw she tried to evade an answer ; but I would 
not be put off. “ Tell me, Louie. I would rather 
hear the worst at onee.” 
“ She Is here, Nellie.” 
"In this house 7” 
“ Yes—all that remains of her.” 
“ Will you let me see her ?” 
When Ilarol d Sinclair was alone he threw him- s( 
self Into a chair, and gave himself up to deep 
thought. Recalling in his mind in an j an inel- a| 
dent dating Lord Almane’s stay at the Tryst, it 
seemed to him now almost. Impossible ihar, lie ^ 
should not. have suspected some attraction, which gl 
detained this brilliant, young nobleman In their L 
quiet home long alter ho was sufficiently recover- w 
ed to leave it. X l 
“ Doll t hat I was to risk her happiness so care- & 
lessly!” he exclaimed. “ Hi® he touched her t] 
heart I wonder; It Is almost Impossible that It x 
can be otherwise. My poor Cora t” . 
Harold remained some time lu this state ot 
patntul meditation, and then moved by a sudden 
resot t e, caught up bis hat and started lor town, t 
making his way to the studio at a young artist—a d 
man of good family and considerable talent, with c 
whom Harold w'as Intimate. 
lie found George Leeson at home and busily en- c 
gaged ou a large painting of “Rebecca," which 
he destined tor the Academy, and which as yet 1 
had not made much way towards completion. 1 
“ Welcome, thrice welcome, old fellow 1” ho ex¬ 
claimed. “ I was just wishing some owe would 
look in and prevent mo from working myself to 
death. Look at my •Rebecca.’ Lady St. Naur < 
sat for her. is she not beaulllul 7 I [had to put 
some warmth Into the face, however, for her « 
ladyship Is an Icicle, notwithstanding those great 
black eyes of here, which look so luff of softened 1 
lire. What do you think of her 7" 1 
“ it.Js a glorious face, ’ Harold answered, sur¬ 
veying the palnttng with a professional Interest; 
I “and rarely beaut Hub i have not seen you for 
an age, Leeson.” 
ii I was Just wondering what had become of 
you. Well, have you made up your mind for 
Rome, Sinclair? I am quite willing to risk ma¬ 
laria, and go in the summer for such an opportu¬ 
nity os Martlnuccl offers us.” 
“1 have not thought about It lately,” Harold 
said, throwing himself Into a chair and watching 
his mend’s skillful lingers as he wielded Lis 
brush. “ 1 have been over head and ears-” 
“In love7” interrupted his friend, with a 
laugh. 
“Nonsense” salJ narold, testily. “lu arrears of 
work; and you know, Leeson, 1 am not so free to 
come and go as you are. There is Cora.” 
•• Rome would not do Tor her In summer,” said 
Leeson, gravely. “That sweet bloom or hers 
would soon fade there. But It Is a thousand pit ies 
that oue should lose such a chance of studying 
anatomy.” 
“True,” mused Harold, who was more Intent 
on Lord Almane In tlie flesh than any anatomi¬ 
cal studies Just then. “We have had an unex¬ 
pected visitor at the Tryst,” ho w ent on, after a 
pause. “Lord Almane was thrown from his 
horse, and seriously hurt at our door, and has 
been with us for three weeks,” 
a Who ?” said Mr. Leeson, pausing In his paint¬ 
ing, aud looking up. 
It George Leeson had ft weakness it was for a 
Ui le, and he wma not a little proud of Ills relation¬ 
ship to one or two peers, while his knowledge of 
s “liourke” was profound. 
“L.rd Autmne,” answered Harold, with an 
f affected indifference. 
•• Stanley St. Roger, tenth Viscount Almane,” 
i, said the other, nodding Ida his head. “ I know.” 
t “Do you know him7” queried Harold, 
r i» nave met him ouee or twice. Is not his a 
1 splendid face? Purest Norman typs I ever 
a saw." 
a “Do you know much of him?” said Harold, 
hiding hla anxiety under an assumed ludtf- 
e ferenep. 
” “ Only that he Is one of the handsomest men of 
a the day, and a king of fashion,” answered Mr. 
r Leeson, with a touch of contempt. “ Bo is a 
clever intellectual man, however, and tolerably 
well liked, 1 believe. Of course, he is a great fa¬ 
vorite with tlie fair sox. I have heard also that 
he has sown a tolerable crop of wild oats, and 
I rattier materially affected his fortune, which was 
very large when he inherited it at one-and-twen- 
ty, having accumulated during a long minority. 
However, that will be easily repaired.” 
“now?” asked Harold. 
“ By a rich wife, my friend. Stanley St. Roger 
seems born with a silver spoon In his mouth, for 
he has wooed and won one of the richest heir¬ 
esses now In London market. A pretty creature, 
too. Though a little Insipid. Ue Is engaged to be 
married to bis cousin. Lady Lucy Belmont,and the 
engagement was announced In the Court Journal 
about three months ago.” 
CHAPTER V. 
A I.1TTI.E MUSIC—UNDER THE ELM. 
Harold left George Leeson’s studio anxious and s 
111 at esse, totally at a loss as to the best course ‘ 
to pursue, M yrlanna’s words had been so signifi¬ 
cant and earnest that lie felt almost certain that 
Lord Almane had spoken love to his sister; at 
the same time was It possible that he, a man 
bound by every lie of honor to another woman, a 
woman, too, his equal In rank and fortune, should 
liavo stooped to try and win an affection which 
he could not return ? 
Harold, with Ids simple, old-world notions of a j 
man’s honor aud truth, his venerat ion lor the sex ( 
to which bis mother and sister belonged, could 
hardly believe that It could be so; he had liked 
and trusted Lord Almane much too easily to credit ‘ 
anything to his disadvantage. 
“Marianna must be mistaken,” he mused, ashe , 
went back to The TrySU “ The child would have 
told me ir it were so; she would hot keep such a 
serious thing from. me. 11 c could not—he could 
not have betrayed my trust so basely. If she 
loves him—I pray Heaven that she does not—it 
will be my fault not his. Cora, oh, Cora! I who 
so longed for your happiness.” 
Sorely perplexed and distressed was the young 
artist. Had both his friend and his sister de¬ 
ceived him, and was Cora to be the sufferer for 
his cartiessness and blind confidence 7 L ntll his 
sister confided lu him he was powerless to act; 
he could neither upbraid his lordship nor inquire 
what his intentions were—that momentous ques¬ 
tion which Is not always so easily answered as 
asked. Neither could he let Lord Almane suppose 
that he did not trust Cora lully and completely. 
It was a very heavy heart that Harold Sinclair 
took back to the Tryst. 
He found his sister and Lord Almane sitting in 
the dreamy twilight In tlie pleasant old-fashioned 
drawing-room. Cora, sitting at Hie piano, in an 
evening dress of some fleecy black material, with 
a scarlet geranium lu the shining folds of her 
dark hair, made a pretty aud attractive picture. 
The Viscount was reclining In a deep arm-chair. 
Neither appeared lobe speaking much, nut there 
hung over the room an atmosphere of happy sil- 
lence which Old not quite please the anxious 
brother. 
Cora rose to meet him, and t he innocent glance 
ol the sweet gray eyes went like a stab to Har¬ 
old’s heart. Lord Almane gave him a few pleas¬ 
ant words of greeting. 
“ What a truant you are, (Sinclair! Have you 
been painting aU the afternoon, or have you been 
up to town 7” 
“1 have been to London,” Harold answered 
trying to speak uneonstrainedly. “ I went up to 
see a brother urtlst., whom perhaps you know. 
Lord A lmau e—G e.orgc Leeson.” 
“ l fancy I do know the name,” Lord Almane 
replied, indifferently. 
“He Is painting his long-talked of ‘Rebecca,’ 
Cora,” continued the artist. “ Lady St. Mam" sat 
for him; she must bo a beautiful woman.” 
“ She is exceedingly handsome,” remarked the 
viscount. “ One or the reigning belles, and has 
been ever sluce she was presented, five years 
ago.” 
“Do you know her?” said Cora, turning to 
him. 
“I know her very well,” he answered, with a 
, slight smile, which lhe darkness hid. “ We meet 
very’ often, and I admire her immensely. 
I After this there was a short silence. Cora, sit- 
5 ting on a low seat by her brother, played un- 
, easily with a scarlet blossom In her breast. 
, “Why don’t you ring for lights, Cora?" Har- 
“ old said, as he walked towards the bell and rang 
t It. 
“ Blind man’s holiday wasso pleasant,” she re- 
. plied, a little confusedly. 
L j n a low moments Marianna appeared with 
s lights, and then the chit-chat recommenced untU 
h dinner was announced.—[To be coutinued. 
RECENT LITERATURE. 
The Poetical works of Percy Bysslie Shelley 
“[with copious notes.! Edited by Mrs. Shelley : 
With a JWemOir. lour volumes in two. lirno, 
l>p. 1052, $8.00. Now York: Hurd & Houghton. 
The publication of a new edition of Suklley’s 
poems has revived an Interest lu one whose brief 
life shines brighter with passing years, and 
whose memory continually grows dearer to those 
who are willing to judge a tree by Its fruits, and a 
man by his deeds. 
Shelley was born in Sussex County, England, 
in 1702 , was the eldest son of Sir Timothy Shel¬ 
ley of castle Goring. His education was coiu- 
m D nccd while he was quite young and at IS he 
was sent, to Eton where he remained tUree years. 
His hatred of oppression and willingness to suffer 
for the right,Showed itself at this early age in h|s 
refusal to fag, for which he received harsh treat¬ 
ment from his school-fellows, but by his determ¬ 
ined spirit of resistance and uniform kindness he 
at length won their respect. 
During his stay lu Eton he seems to have had 
ambition to enter the literary field, and Indeed In 
ills 15th year wrote two romances. That they 
were written, and that they were crude and ro¬ 
mantic, as might have been expected from his 
years and nervous temperament* Is all that Is re¬ 
membered of them. 
But he did not neglect hiR studies, and was well 
prepared. In 1810,ta enter University College, Ox¬ 
ford. Here he devoted himself to the study of 
physics, aud spent much time In the Chemical 
Labrntory. Several accidents, consequent either 
on his carelessness or want, of knowledge, aided 
doubtless lu his abandoning this branch of educa¬ 
tion and taking up Metaphysics Instead. 
About this time he read the works ot Hume and 
others of the same character. His nature was 
such 1 bat, to believe a principle was to become Its 
defender and oharupiOD. With the impulsive¬ 
ness ot youth he became. so earnest In his advo¬ 
cacy of the alhcistlo doctrines, taught in the 
books he now devoured, as to be offensively ag¬ 
gressive. So dear to his immature mind, seemed 
the fallacy of the generally received ideas, that 
he set about converting the world at once—and 
published an argument fuff ot false logics and in¬ 
discreet, assertions calling It The Necessity of 
Atheism. This resulted in his Immediate dis¬ 
missal from the College and the refusal of his 
father to receive him at his home. 
Such treatment wa3 not the best for one of 
Shelley’s temperament, ir at this time a spirit 
ot kindly affection and Christian charily had 
been shown him, the result would doubtless have 
been much different. Angered by what he lelt 
to be unjust censure and oppression by the col¬ 
lege authorities, his father, and bis friends, ho 
went to London almost penniless, but strong In 
the belief that he was a martyr in a righteous 
cause, and determined to go on in the way he had 
commenced. 
In London he read Godwin’s “ Political Justice,’ 
a work almost as radical in Us way as were those 
of a theological nature with which hehitd become 
acquainted at Oxford. Ills sisters (who were r.T, 
school near LoudOD) divided with him their pock- 
I -money, which they sent by oneot their school- 
ates, Harriet Westiirooke, the daughter of a 
tired coffee-house keeper. Ills acquaintance 
1th her soon ripened into intimacy, and resulted 
i wedlock. 
Influenced in some way not recorded, Shelley’s 
.ther had relented sufficiently to allow him a 
naff Income; but ultor learning that he had 
ade a Gretna Green marriage with Miss Wkst- 
(oo ke (supplemented, how ever, by a public mur¬ 
age at Sussex) this was atsconi inued. It is said 
iat thereupon the bride’s father, ptoud of an al- 
Iince with a noble family, furnished the youth- 
il pair—he was ff>. she in—with thesamo amount 
is father had formerly given him. 
Notwithstanding the cloud under which Shel¬ 
by lived, he formed the acquaintance of such 
ion as Southey, Leiuh Hunt, De Quinuky men 
Bo could perceive genius and goodness and 
ighlriulndedness in ono who had some opinions 
it,h which they could not agree, and whose so¬ 
lely could not lull to bo of service to him In ta¬ 
lons ways. 
He seems to have lived but a short time In any 
lace, until In 1812 we find him again In London, 
lore his first child, IA nth r. Eliza, was born. An 
slrangement— lor some cause not known—had 
ieen slowly growing, which culminated in 1813 ; 
md his wife lelt him and returned to her father, 
loon alter a second child was born, who died la 
826 . 
Shelley’S admiration lor tho work on “ Polllt- 
:al Justice,” aud Others or the same character, 
nduced him to seek the acquaintance of ttieii 
luthor, William Godwin— whoso wife was Mary 
iVollstoncrakt, known as ono of the earliest 
advocates of Woman's Rights. She held much the 
iame views of marriage as SuklLky expressed In 
Us “ Notes to Queen Mab.” That her daughter. 
Miss Godwin, was also a believer In the doctrine 
ff elective affinity, may be presumed trom the 
fact that she eloped with Shellby In 1SI t. They 
visited Switzerland and other parts of the Conti¬ 
nent, returned to England In 1815, were again In 
Switzerland lu 1816, and returned to England In 
tho same year, bringing with them their child, 
lie then learned that his first wife had committed 
suicide by drowning. No cause for the act has 
been made known. The effect on Shelley was 
such as for a time to deprive him of reason. 
Later in tho year isic, he and Mary woli,- 
sto NEC raft Godwin were legally married, and 
about the same time hla father, having succeeded 
to tho ancestral estate, made him an allowance 
of £1,000 a year. 
Alter the death of his first wife, Stielley de¬ 
sired to regain posscsslou of his children, who 
had lived with their mother, but was denied by 
the Court el chancery, on the ground that he was 
an atheist and as such was not a proper person 
to have control of children. During his resi¬ 
dences In England, from 18)5 to 18ls, ho wrote 
several of Ids poems among which were Alastor 
and the Revolt of Islam. 
In 1818, seeing how fruitless were his endeavors 
toward regenerating society, and fearing the 
courts might take from him his son by his 
Becond wife, he left England to make his future 
home abroad. The remainder of his ltfe was 
mostly spent in Italy studying and writing. 
While ho was yet at Oxford at, the age of 18 he 
wrote Queen Alub-a production which was full 
of his sentiments and Ideas at that time. He did 
not publish it, and only circulated a few copies 
privately, in 1821 some persons without his 
knowledge or cousent andinuehto his displeasure 
printed an edition. He endeavored to have It 
suppressed by the courts but without avail, 
belug told that the only notice a court could 
properly take of an atheistical work was to punish 
the author. 
