THORNS AND ROSES. 
CHAPTER XV. 
(Continued from page 12.) 
“Not angry, but disappointed,” I replied. 
“ You may have a letter in the morning. 
“ Or I may not.” 
“ Even if he does write, don’t be vexed, for 
he would not wilfully hurt the feelings of one 
less dear to him than you are. I shall tell him 
when 1 write that you expect a letter.” 
“ You think he is not angry with me? I 
don’t know what his reason may be, but I do 
wish he had written. Hosvever, I’ll scold him 
when we meet or when I write.” 
“ I will give you the address, Kate.” 
“No; I shall not write unless he writes. 
You are sure there is nothing wrong?” 
“ If I thought there were, I should tell you, 
but I am certain had there been he would have 
said so. You saw him before he went?” 
“Yes,” I answered; “ aud all seemed as 
usual. 71 
I read for her during the long, sultry after¬ 
noon, and she listened, or pondered on her 
absent son, until it was time for me to think 
of returning. 
As I rode along the road beside Kingston, 
the old trees sighing over me and the shadows 
gathering over pool and river l saw Braudon 
just riding into the park. The clatter of 
Diamond’s hoofs reached his ear, and he 
waited. 
“Oh, Brandon, I’ve been to Nevil’s. 
“1 will take you home, and protect you 
from highwaymen. How is Mrs. Verner ? I 
suppose you have had a letter from Nevil'?” 
“She has,” I returned; “but he has not 
written to me." 
“Isn’t that strange?’ What does Mi’s. 
Verner say 
“ She seemed to think very little of it,” I 
said, and Brandon looked at me ; then an ex¬ 
pression too sweet for gravity, too tender for 
mirth—that belonged only to him—stole over 
his face. 
“Is it a quarrel, Kate, my dear ? Is there 
a ruffled page iuyour love story, sister mine 1” 
“Oh, no 1 Nevil and I have never quarrelled 
—I love him too dearly. But he might have 
written.” 
“ He might,” assented Brandon ; “ but many 
things unforeseen occur to prevent letter¬ 
writing, and it is a duty we are apt to defer. 
“True ; but I—had I been away, Brandon 
—I would have made time to write to him.” 
“ Then he doesn’t like writing, and may 
prefer to tell you verbally whatever he has 
to telL’’ 
Auut Dorothy awaited me with a letter, and 
I did not ask whose was the writing; it must 
be Nevil’s, aud how unjust had I been! I tore 
open the envelope, to see Edith’s large, bold 
characters, two words in a line. It was a 
very short letter, and the only news it gave 
me was that “ next week I shall revisit you. 
Till then adieu.” 
“ So she is coming?” cried aunt, delighted. 
I would be glad.to see my vivacious cousin 
again. Not a word did she say of Cecil Hays, 
her letter was merely to prepare us for her 
return. 
I told aunt of Nevil’s letter to his mother, 
affecting to think lightly of his not having 
written to myself. 
“ Isn’t it rather strange, though!” she 
asked. “ Of course fashion has changed since 
my young days, and ideas are different; but 
I would have thought that a lover should not 
leave the one he loves in silence. However, 
that may be one of my old-fashioned notions; 
Nevil must know modern ways better than 1 
do. It may be the new school of courtship, 
but somehow, if 1 wore young, I should prefer 
the old.” 
I laughed, but Edith’s face was perfectly 
serious. She wandered to another subject, 
saying: 
“ i visited Dare, and saw Edgar Dana’s 
great relatives. How angry I was when I be¬ 
held their wealth and splendor, and thought 
of that poor fellow toiling here for daily 
bread ; but poverty is an unpurdonable crime. 
They were kind onough to me ; but the thought 
struck me that, il' I were to become poor, 
they would treat me as they treuted him, so 
1 made no show of friendship. 
“ Speaking of Edgar Dana” I said, gravely, 
“ I think you should show him that he is hop¬ 
ing in vain. You should not play with his 
love.” 
“ Cousin mine,” she said, with the calm, 
cleai' gaze peculiarly her own, “ il you had 
ouly one rose tree in your garden, you would 
not pull it up because you w«re not permitted 
to gather the flowers ; aud when I have one 
true love I won’t throw it away, because I 
may not return it.” 
This closed the conversation. 
How swiftly and peacefully did the sum- 
THE RURAL 
mer go on ! To me a time offexpectancy, a 
pause between ebb and flow, when all seemed 
stanling still; and 1 waited for my lover’s re¬ 
turn, and nature, in the Summer hush, seemed 
waiting with me. 
I had been quite prepared for Edith’s re¬ 
marking on Nevil’s silence, but it was some 
time ere she did so. We had gone back to our 
old life. Brandon had called, but he did not 
ask if I had heard from Nevil; and I blessed 
him for his thought and consideration, for 
there had been no word, no letter, from my 
lover. He might almost have been lost to me, 
or 1 shut out from the world. Mrs. Verner 
had sent me a note, saying that she had writ¬ 
ten to Nevil, asking him to return. There 
had been no letters, and she was getting* 
anxious. 
Every day I waited for a comment from 
Edith about Nevil’s silence, and at last it 
came. 
Kate, you needn’t be afraid of me laugh¬ 
ing at you for receiving letters from Crich¬ 
ton. Do you think L don’t know what a love- 
letter is ? Why, I have a desk full upstairs! ” 
“ Why do you ask ? ” I said, not looking up. 
“You must hide the letters, or I should see 
them. I’ve watched the postman every morn¬ 
ing, but I never heard you speak of the treas¬ 
ures, aud I was rather curious as to how he 
wrote. Is he overwhelming ? ” 
“ I really cannot tell you.” 
“Does he write often ?” 
“He has not written at all,” I said, care¬ 
lessly. 
“Oh! have you quarrelled with him ?” 
“ No, I have not.” 
“He really does not write? How quietly 
you take it! 1 should be furious! Have you 
written to him ? ” 
“ Why- should I ? He will explain when he 
returns. ” 
“When he returns, if I were you, I should 
tell him to go back again! If it were not 
worth his while to write, it should not be 
worth my while to speak! You are a queer 
pair of lovers! IIow could he bear to tear 
himself from you ? What took him away ? ” 
“ Business; he said it was very pressing.” 
‘ ‘ Business! ” cried Edith. * 1 Ha! ha! my in¬ 
nocent dear ! ” 
“ Perhaps you can explain why Nevil went 
away ?” 
“ 1 could if I would, but if you will not see, 
you will not see. What says our right trusty 
and well-beloved counsellor, Braudon 
“That many things occur to prevent letter¬ 
writing.” 
“ Well, don’t look cross, because I wont say 
another word against your ‘ peerless daisy 
flower-; ’ let him rest in peace. Oh, me ! 1 
shall be getting another scolding from papa 
soon, but what can I do ? King’s Rest and its 
iueome would suit me, but not the master, 
because I should be afraid of him.’ 
“ Why ?” I asked, quickly. 
“ He would not give me my own way; he 
would insist on ’love, honor and obey.’ I 
never understood him, and I should feel as 
though I were walking in a river, expecting 
every moment to And myself out of my depth; 
I should be afraid, too, of bis flying into 
passions, for once roused, he’d be dreadful.” 
“ Do you tbink him passionate ?” 
“ Not exactly ; he is of the class who turn 
white and cold, not hot and red, with anger, 
if you understand the distinction. Ah ! look 
who comes now !” 
I raised my head, and saw Edgar crossing 
the lawn. 
“ A few words of good news for you, dearest 
Kate. 1 had a letter from Nevil, and he will 
be home very soon. When he returns, I shall 
tell him that I have sent word to Lovel House, 
that he will call at once. 1 will write again.” 
Nevil coming home! I felt that my life 
was new again, and the time of waiting less 
weary. I hastened to aunt Dorothy, and 
read the letter; Edith stared at me until I 
had concluded, then resumed her reading 
without a word. 
CHAPTER XVI. 
NIGHT. 
Nevil coming home at last! The very beauty 
of summer seemed to me increased; the sky 
took a deeper blue, the roses a richer crimson; 
there was a new note in the bird’s song, and 
earth was glad as my own heart. Edith had 
not said anything about Nevil; aunt rejoiced 
with me in her own kind w ay. I now waited 
with little patience for Mrs. Verner’s second 
note, but I had not to wait very long. 
I rushed into auut Dorothy's presence with 
small dignity, waving the letter triumphantly. 
“ Nevil arrived this morning, aud this will 
be only a short note, as I am writing it whilst 
he is downstairs. 1 told him that he must go 
at once to Lovel House, but said nothing about 
his not having written, as I thought 1 had 
better leave that to you. He asked if I had 
heard from you, if you had called, aud what 
you had said. He intends to call to-morrow 
evening, being to-day very tired. He is look¬ 
ing remarkably well. 
“To-morrow evening, aunt," “I said, with 
the quietness of great joy. “I must tell 
Edith.” 
Aud I went in search of my cousin, dis¬ 
covering her in the drawing-room, with all 
the windows open, and all the blinds down— 
her jilan for cooling a room. 
“ Nevil will be here to-morrow evening,” I 
said. 
“Dear me!” she cried pettishly. “ I was 
asleep and dreaming that 1 was married to a 
marquis, I am sure it is the same to me if he 
never comes.” 
“ I am sorry I disturbed you, for after the 
labor of this morning, writing a letter, you 
must be exhausted. 
“ Don’t be ironical, Gloiiana. If I hadn’t 
the sweetest temper in the world, I should say 
something cruel. I suppose I must rejoice 
with you over the retm n of Prince Charm¬ 
ing; consider me in ecstasies.” 
I slept that night peacefully and tranquilly; 
no dream of pain or sorrow clouded my rest; 
no voice whispered through my slumber in 
warning and preparation. 
Morning came, and passed; in the after¬ 
noon Aunt Dorothy had a violent headache, 
and knowing that Nevil would excuse her, I 
persuaded her to lie dowu. After dinner I 
dressed myself for the evening, wishing to be 
fresh, and to look my best. 
I went to the parlor, to wait for him, and 
found Edith there. The sun was just setting 
and a long line of golden light touched her 
dress, its pale blue tint deepening to violet 
whore a crimson glow fell on it; the graceful, 
bending head, the fair, pure cheek and delicate 
profile, were crowned too by sunset glories. 
She looked up with a languid smile as 1 en¬ 
tered. 
“ Isn’t it tiresome waiting ? 1 wonder what 
your hero will have to say for himself. He 
will have some excellent excuse, but if you’ve 
a spark of pride you will not let him off 
easily.” 
I stood by the window, expecting every mo¬ 
ment to see the familiar face. The whole 
house was silent. I could hear the ticking of 
the little timepiece, even the low sigh of wind 
sweeping through the yew-trees; and I wan¬ 
dered into a reverie, seeing with dreamy eyes 
the golden light fade away, and deep purple 
clouds floating in a sky of faintest green re¬ 
placed the rosy glow. Shadows gathered under 
the trees, and a lonely star sparkled above 
their solemn clusters. I had noticed all these 
changes, but did not think how time was 
passing Until Edith, yawning, tossed her book 
aside. 
“ I will go aud see aunt,” said I. 
When I entered the room I sat down by the 
window watching, feeling certain that Nevil 
would come, even though later than I had ex¬ 
pected. 
I left the room presently and lingered by the 
staircase-window a short time. As soon as I 
entered the hall I saw a hat aud gloves on 
the table, and know that Nevil had come. 
In the quiet room upstairs I had not heard his 
arrival. 
1 almost ran to the parlor, prepared to bid 
him welcome—prepared for the loving eyes, 
the glance, the tender words, and the deal* face 
lighted with smiles. But when 1 reached the 
door, I stood paralyzed. 
Nevil stood there in the pale light, and he 
clasped Edith in his armsl His head was bent 
over her, and I could see his face with its 
beautiful features, but hers was hidden. 
Neither saw me looking hi from the shadows. 
I heard again his words of love, but not 
spoken to me—oh, not to me! 
“ Edith, my own bright Edith! I loved you 
all along! Dearest, do not doubt me! A love 
such as I have given to you can never change! 
The time may come when I can prove its fer¬ 
vor, yes, by the devotion of my life!” 
There was a pause ere I heard his voice 
again. 
“ My darling, I did tell her. 1 sent her a 
letter, setting her free, releasing her from her 
promise. 1 never loved her—it was only fancy 
—aud I can’t help despising a woman who is 
always at my feet! My heart has found its 
true queen at last!” 
My strength came back to me. I turned 
away, and fled out to the cool night air, and 
threw myself on the ground under the pro¬ 
tecting boughs of a tree, for 1 fought sorrow 
best in solitude. Was it for this 1 had waited 
and hoped! Was this the loug-looked-for re¬ 
turn! Oh, it was haid—it was hard! and I 
clasped my hands over my eyes, feeling that 
my very heart was broken. I did not think 
of what I had seen; 1 only knew that 1 had 
lost him, and that my fairy palace lay in 
ruins at my feet. IIow had I deserved it? I 
had loved him so fondly! 
I leaned against the tree, feeling that, if 1 
tried to stand alone, 1 should fall. Nevil lost 
to me! Ho has never loved mo, and I had 
been deceived. His old fond words returned, 
their sweetness mocking me, and 1 lifted my r 
head as though to gaze at the host of spectres 
rising from the past. It was a bitter waken¬ 
ing; it had crushed at once tho sweet light of 
hope and love. Better that I had died, still 
believing in him, not knowing my delusion 
How long I stood there I could not tell; it 
was night—a calm, still night; but peace aud 
rest, I thought, had fled from me forever. I 
looked at the house, and remembered that I 
had my part to play; that I must not betray 
my humiliation. The ring still glittered on 
my finger, and I plucked it hastily off, tryiug 
to compose myself; but a voice, a step on the 
gravel, aud 1 shrank farther into the shad¬ 
ows. Nevil was going, aud Edith stood gaz¬ 
ing out. I saw him look back and wave his 
hand; I heard him call "Good night, again!’ 
and then he passed, a smile lingering on his 
face. 
I longed to go to my room, but it was too 
early yet; I returned to the house. The par¬ 
lor was still without light, and as I cast a 
glance towards it in passing, I saw Edith, not 
standing in triumph or pride, but kneeling on 
a chair, her arm curved round her neck as 
though she were in paiu. I could not speak to 
her, but went upstairs to auut Dorothy’s room, 
and sat there with a book, watching how the 
lines melted into one, until auut stirred and 
spoke; 
“ Is that you, Kate ?” 
“ Yes, it is I. Are you better ?” 
“Oh, yes, quite. Has Nevil been yet ?” 
“ He has been and gone. Here is some tea 
for you.” 
Here Edith entered, rather pale, but other¬ 
wise perfectly unchanged. After speaking 
to aunt she came across the room to me. I 
clasped my hands so tightly that the ring I 
always wore, and which had been my mother’s, 
cut into my Angel’s; but I retained my com 
posure. 
“Nevil has been here, Kate,” she said, with 
her steady gaze, so full, so piercing, so unfal¬ 
tering. 
“ I know that he has.” 
“ Why did you not come down to see 
him ?” 
“Did he ask for me, Edith ?” 
“ Strange that you never came when you 
had watched so long for him. Some one once 
told me that I was a splendid actress, but you 
eclipse me.” 
She turned away as she spoke, and did not 
again address me. 
I was glad when we said “.Good night,” aud 
I could go to my room; there ray restrained 
grief burst forth, and I knelt in the darkness 
alone, weeping the bitterest tears 1 had ever 
yet shed. 
Hour after hour I heard the clocks strike ; 
and at last I laid my head on the pillow, and 
sobbed myself to sleep, not to dream of Nevil, 
but to grope in darkness, searching for some- 
tliing I had lost, though what I could not tell, 
even when kind voices asked me, and kind 
hands would have aided my seurcb. 
I woke before the dawn, aud at once recol¬ 
lection returned ; for the last waking thought 
is generally the first when dreams are over. 
I began to think of last night, to recalL what 
I had heard : “ I sent her a letter whilst I was 
away, setting her free.” Was this true or 
false ? No such letter hail I received. Sup¬ 
pose he had written it, that it had miscarried, 
and that, unconscious of the change, I had met 
him first with word and look of love ! My 
face burned at the thought. Surely Provi¬ 
dence had led me down last night to see what 
I had seen and to hear those words ! 
I thought of his coldness, and bow I had 
borne it, with scorn for Die love-sick girl who 
bad submitted to it and studied his caprices; 
who had tried to hold him when lie wus trying 
to break loose, who had wept over him last 
night. But she was one girl—1 another; and 
though I hail lost love and lover, pride was 
mine, to aid me to bear and “ make no sign.” 
My love lay in its grave, and I could smile 
upon it as it lay dead, uo shadow’ of regret, 
pity, or lingering affection, redeeming the 
gloom of that resting-place. 
Hearing faint, sounds downstairs, I de¬ 
scended, and went out to the garden. It was 
early morning. The sky had scarcely a cloud; 
on every blade of grass drops of dew were 
sparkling aud shimmering; mid the roses 
.shook the diamond spray upon me as 1 passed. 
The air was fresh and cool; lights and shad¬ 
ows flitted across the lawn, and a thought, 
joyous as the morning, born of its sights and 
sounds, blent with its fragrant breath, rushed 
through my mind. I was free! 1 was free as 
the very sunlight that flooded field and plain, 
as the lark above me, as the birds siuging in 
the trees! The golden letter of love was 
broken, and liberty was mine! 1 was Kate 
Lovel yet, queen of myself, not bound to any 
man, not at the feet of any, save the feet of 
Him who gave me life; and the thought 
chased away despondency as morning had 
driven uway night. I gathered the wet flow- 
ers; 1 even kissed the rugged bark of the old 
tree where 1 had sobbed last night, as if it 
were a friend to rejoice w ith me! 
To be Continued. 
-- 
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This is a work full of lively r interest for 
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