MAY 25 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
various summer resorts, but Sir Alan cbose to re¬ 
main In town, and Cora, as a dutiful wife, re¬ 
mained with him, although she had scarcely an 
acquaintance left In the metropolis, aud she was 
consequently much alone. Harold had been sent 
down to The Bungalow, so that even the amuse¬ 
ment and companionship of her boy were denied 
to her just now. At any other time she might 
not have felt this; but sir Alan seemed much oc¬ 
cupied, and there wiis a strange alteration In 
his manner towards his wife which puzzled her at 
times, and made her anxious and unhappy. It 
was not that his words were less affectionate, or 
his caresses less frequent: but they had now a 
certain coldness and restraint which struck upon 
the young wife’s sensitive heart, and caused her 
own manner to be less frank and spontaneous. 
She knew that her husband was as kind and In¬ 
dulgent as ever, but 3he felt that some shadow 
had fallen upon the old, sweet companionship. 
Lord Almane still lingered In London, and was 
a constant guest at Rtvlngton square. Cora re¬ 
ceived him with a cordial frankness betokening 
the friendship she had offered him, hut which 
was anything hut pleasing to the Viscount,, 
although he seemed to accept his position frankly 
enough, and abstained from reminding Lady 
Vincent of the old Intimacy. Sir Alan, whenever 
he appeared In the drawing-room during hla. 
lordship’s visits, was courteous and pleasant, but 
their meetings were not frequent; nDd as the 
Viscount and Cora were generally alone, he was 
at liberty to entertain her with hla regrets for a 
misspent past, his hopes and aspirations for the 
future; and he talked with that sad bitterness 
and mournful self-reproach which has a certain 
charm for a woman, especially one who was not, 
quite happy. 
On the whole, his visits were not displeasing to 
Cora, and she gave herself up freely to the pleas¬ 
ure she felt to their Intercourse. She loved her 
husband too truly to dream of wrong to him; and 
It seemed as If Sir Alan had banished hts besett¬ 
ing sin, for he showed no annoyance at the con¬ 
stant visits. 
But It was not so, for the baronet was a prey to 
a passionate Jealousy which he had tried vainly 
to combat. 
her hand. The viscount took It, and was about 
to put It to his Ups, when the door opened sud¬ 
denly, and Alan entered. 
“ An unexpected pleasure, my lord,” he said, 
bowing, but appearing not to notice the hand 
Lord Almane offered him. “ Have you some tea 
for me, Cora J” 
It. was Impossible to ascertain from his manner 
whether Sir Alan had noticed the quick start of 
bis wife and her companion at hla entrance, or 
the rapid unclasplDg of the two hands which had 
met so frankly. His manner was quiet and pleas¬ 
ant, and he spoke In his usual way. 
11 1 thought you were at Richmond, Alan ?” his 
wife said, as she gave him some tea. 
" I did not go,” he replied, shortly; “ you see I 
am here." 
Shortly after. Lord Almane took his leave, and 
Sir Alan and his wife were alone. Cora a little 
apprehensive, ir the truth were known. 
“ Have you any objection to go Paris at this 
dull season, Cora?” said Sir Alan, suddenly. 
“They have a new statue at the Louvre I am 
most anxious to see. Are you afraid of the 
heat ?” 
“ Not tor myself a hit, Alan, but for Harold.” 
“ Oh I we’U send Harold and tho nurse down to 
The Bungalow.” 
“ And this house ?” said Cora, a little surprised. 
“Leave the servants on board wages. You 
will take your maid of course ? Marks shall be 
courier and general factotum, and wo will have 
a second honeymoon, sweetheart. What say 
you?” 
“That I shall he charmed,” she said, gayly. 
“ When do you mean to start, Alan ?" 
“ As soon as you like, wllle, and the sooner the 
better. You really like to come, Cora ?” 
And he put his hands upon her shoulders and 
looked searchlngly Into her face. 
Cora felt that the. blood rose In her cheeks, but 
she lifted her eyes to his unflinchingly. 
“ Anywhere with you, Alan,” sbe said, sweetly; 
and her husband bent and pressed his lips almost 
roughly to bora. 
He turned and left her, hut, returning In a few 
moments, appeared to have already altered his 
mind concerning the journey to Paris. 
“ On second thoughts, Cora, I think we won’t 
start quite yet,” he said. “ 1 have business which 
will keep me la town some time longer. You'll 
say I am very changeable, almost as changeable 
as a woman, Cora!” 
And though Cora forced herself to return his 
smile, she felt her heart sink with a foreboding of 
evil. 
July and August passed uneventfully for Cora. 
All the fashionables had deserted London for 
“ Be It so,” she said, coldly ; “ let It be as brief 
as you can, my lord.” 
Shortly after you left England,” he rejotned, 
“ my engagement to Lady Lucie was broken off. 
I was hastening to you to offer you the love which 
had been yoqrs for so long, when 1 heard of the 
terrible bereavement you had sustalnd. At such 
a moment It seemed to me as if even my sympa- 
pathy must seem an Intrusion, and 1 hesitated. 
You returned to England, and I heard that you 
were engaged then to the man I had seen at Mrs. 
Colston’s, your brother’s friend and messenger, 
Sir Alan Vincent. Cora, I was in despair. I 
longed and yet dreaded to see you. Nay, one day 
calling at Lady Martyn’3,1 heard that yon were 
there, and T fled the house rather than look upon 
your beauty, and know that you belonged to an¬ 
other. Ah, Cora, It was not quite—and yet I can- 
blame you.” 
“ Lord Almano," said Cora, eagerly, “ will you 
believe me, when I tell you that It was quite two 
years after my return from Italy that I became 
engaged to Sir Alan; that at the time of which 
you speak I was quite free." 
“ Oh, Heaven 1 and I lost you thus.” He hurled 
his face Lu his hands with such au air of grief aud 
suffering, that Cora’s eyes lllled, and then en¬ 
sued a long silence. 
She spoke at last, and her voice had a very gen¬ 
tle Intonation : 
“ Lord Almane, of what avail Is It to look back 
upon the past ? We were both deceived It seems, 
and we have suffered ; but all that Is past now 
and you must see with me the folly of remember¬ 
ing what cannot be undone.” 
“ It Is well for you,” he said, bitterly—“ you, 
happy and loved ; while 1-” 
"You will be happy, too,” she Bald, gently. 
“ Do not waste time In useless regrets. We can 
he frlenda U you will. Believe me—” 
“ Did you ring, my lady ?” 
“ No," said Cora, quickly and sharply, turning 
round to meet the evil look of Marks' blue eyes, 
while Lord Almane rapidly raised his head. 
As the servant disappeared, with a humble, “ I 
beg your ladyship’s pardon,” Cora uttered an 
angry exclamation. 
“ If I had rung, It is not that man’s place to an¬ 
swer the bell," she muttered, angrily. 
But the man’s entrance had effectually broken 
the thread of the conversation, and It was dlmoult 
to join It again. 
“ Do you remember long ago offering to be my 
friend?” said Lord Almane, softly, “ and what I 
answered you then ? Ah! we are older and wiser 
now, Cora; and If you will give me your friend¬ 
ship, 1 will prize It greatly. Is It mine ?" 
“It Is yours,” said Cora, frankly, putting out 
TO A1BEET PIKE 
Suggested by his Article In Rural, entitled 
“ Every Year.” 
,t. t. .MonaieoN. 
To me each budding: spring: doth brighten 
Every year. 
And the fragrant blossoms whiten 
Every year, 
The April showers earlier quicken 
The leafing troes—and verdure thicken 
Even' year. 
AHho’ I know I’m growiug older 
Every year. 
The world to me does not grow colder 
Every year, 
Tho’ sorrows with my loves are blended. 
My Joys of friendship are not ended 
Every year. 
Tho’ my infirmities remind me 
Every year. 
That my youth I leave behind me 
Every year, 
Yet affection’s ties shall bind me 
To this life (till death shall find me) 
Every year. 
And as life's shadows lengthen 
Every year. 
Then my thoughts of love shall strengthen 
Every year, 
More firmly grow the recollection 
Of earthly friendships and affection 
Every year. 
OORA. 
Stanley bent over the little Jeweled band, and 
touched It with his lips. 
“ Where are you going now ?” asked, Helen, lift¬ 
ing her brilliant eyes to hla face, tnquirlngly. 
“To the club," he answered, "at oncebut 
when he entered his cab, which was waiting at 
the door, he desired the servant to drive to No. 
IT Rlvlngton Square, and then stopped at the 
house Inhabited by sir Alan Vincent. The door 
was opened by Marks, whose quiet face showed 
no sign of recognition of the visitor, except that 
an evil gleam shot for a moment Into his blue 
eyes. 
“ Her ladyship is at home, my lord. Sir Alan 
Is at Richmond.” 
And the Viscount followed a footman up the 
broad staircase Into the drawing-room, where 
Cora was sitting alone. Sbe started 
nervously when she saw who her vis- . . . 
ltor was, but greeted him with some 
self-possession. 
“ I am fortunate In finding you at 
home, Lady Cora,” he said, as he seat¬ 
ed himself opposite to her. “ I have 
been unlucky several times.” 
Cora colored faintly, and murmured 
sometblng In excuse. 
“ Nay, 1 kuow you have many calls . r 
upon your time," he said; theu added, e —. / 
with a soft reproachful Intonation, “or / j 
was it purposely to avoid me, Cora?" 
She flushed hotly to the roots of her 
hair, and her lustrous eyes met his 
proudly. 
“ Lord Almane!” she said, haughtily. 
he said, sadly, “ I - 
He told himself that Cora was true 
and noble, and that she loved him; but notwith¬ 
standing all hla efforts, that demon, the “ green- 
eyed monster,” had obtained firm hold upon his 
heart, and although he appeared so outwardly 
calm and cool, he was suffering acutely. 
Why, urged tho tormentor, did Cora keepjher 
acquaintance with Lord Almane a secret from 
him ? Why had she turned pale, and seemed so 
much moved on that first day when they had 
met ? Why had both started, and seemed em¬ 
barrassed, on his sudden and unexpect- 
... — ed appearance in the drawing-room? 
He would not doubt her, he said to 
"j himself, passionately; and yet be was 
doubting her with all his heart. It 
him that almost dally 
seemed to 
Marks'quiet face appeared at his stu¬ 
dio door with, “ Lord Almane Is In the 
drawing-room. Sir Alan." Or when he 
returned from his club, In reply to his 
question, “ Has any one called for me, 
Marks7”—“No, Sir Alan; no one has 
been here except Lord Almane.” 
Then, too, he noticed that Marianna 
had seemed annoyed and anxious at 
being sent with the child, whom she 
worshipped, and his nurse, to The 
Bungalow; and Cora had told him that 
the old Italian had wished her to ac,, 
company theca thither. 
Could it be that Marianna, wh nad 
lived at The Tryst, and been with Cora 
rrom her childhood, knew of that.old 
friendship, and distrusted It ? Sir Alan 
was a proud man; hut tils ruling pas¬ 
sion was strong upon him now — so 
strong that he lode over to The Bun¬ 
galow, aud when he round himself 
alone with Marianna, he mentioned 
his lordship’s name, and asked the 
old cameriarta concerning him. 
“I know but little of Milord Al¬ 
mane," she replied, calmly. “He 
stayed at Richmond with my young 
master once, having met with an acci¬ 
dent at our door. But, signor, 1 do not 
like him—I do not trust him. Do not do 
so either, signor,” she added In a mo¬ 
ment. “ Ah! do not forget that the 
signora Is very beautiful, and very In¬ 
nocent." 
She concluded abruptly; but Sir Alan 
could not obtain any further Informa¬ 
tion from her, and he returned lo town 
with his belief strenghteued—almost 
confirmed. 
The next day Sir Alan told Cora that 
she must prepare for the Intended visit 
to the French capital; and she gladly 
obeyed, hoping to win hack the old 
love and trust when they were alone. 
Aud during the first tew days It seem¬ 
ed as If she succeeded, for, freed from 
Lord Almane’s presence, the baronet 
gave himself up frankly to his real love 
for Cora; and she hoped and believed 
that whatever the cloud had been It 
had passed away. 
But It was not so. The cloud was 
Out gathering, and, when it burst, the 
storm would be a terrible one, almost 
overwhelming her with Its violence, t [ 
“ oh, pardon me,” 
forgot that what gives me so much 
pain gives you none. What mockery 
It Is,” he added, passionately ; “ what 
madness to believe In a woman’s con¬ 
stancy '—a woman’s truth ! No such 
thing exists." 
Cora sat proud and silent, her eyes 
downcast, her mouth set, but he saw 
the little hands on her lap tremble. 
" Forgive me," he continued peni¬ 
tently. “ I forget—1 forget. Cora, 
the sight ot you brings back old days, 
aud blots out the remembrance ot the 
present; for a moment I am happy 
again, and then the bitter reality 
comes back.” 
" Let us talk of something else, 
Lord Almane,” Bite said quietly. “ The 
past does not Interest me at all, and 
the recollection of It can give you no 
pleasure.” 
“ Can It not ?” he answered, mourn¬ 
fully. “ItIs a sad pleasure—hut still 
a pleasure. They say, you.know," and 
he turned to her with a wonderrully 
Bweet, sad smile, “ that the saddest 
words in our lauguage are — ' what 
might havo been !’ hut If they are sad, 
they have still a little drop of sweet¬ 
ness when they remind us of the hap¬ 
piness which was once within our 
reach. But you—you are very happy, 
Lady corn ?” 
" Very," she answered, gently, for 
the extreme sadness of his voice and 
mannner touched her against her bet¬ 
ter judgment. Then she added, rap¬ 
idly : “ Tell me something about your 
travels abroad, Lord Almane. That 
will be more Interesting than my do¬ 
mestic bliss." 
“ Nothing that concerns you, lu how¬ 
ever small a degree, Is uninteresting 
to me,” he replied ; “ and yet 1 feel, 
Lady Cora, that my own conduct must 
require some explanation. Will you 
let me Justify myself lu your eyes ?” 
“There Is no need,” said Cora, 
haughtily. 
“ But there is,” he returned. “ You 
Bhall not think badly of me—you, the 
only woman I ever loved. Let me 
speak this once, Cora; I will not 
rouble you again,” 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
The month of September Is a lovely 
one in Pails, and residents and stran¬ 
gers look upon It as one ot the most 
agreeable seasons in that, favored city 
The Parisian grandees come back then 
irom their season at the euux or their 
country houses, and the closed shut¬ 
ters are reopened, the boulevards re¬ 
sume their brilliant appearance, the 
