THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
“ Yes, dear—when the sun ceases to shine, when 
the tide neither ebbs nor flows, when flowers cease 
to bloom and birds to sing; but not until then, Vio¬ 
let—not until then, my sweet.” ills voice took all 
Its old sweetness, his face Its old light, as he drew 
nearer to her. *• My darling," lie said, “it was not 
your real self that was speaking. Your parents 
hare persuaded you. They have told you that I ! 
cannot give you a home suited for you: but I can, 
my darling—1 can. Only trust me. Violet, sweet, 
forget all they have advised, forget this wretched 
interview. Nothing so beautiful could be so false; 
nothing so fair could be so cruel, Let us forget It, 
my darling. I forgive It all, for I know it has been 
taught to you. Violet, let us bury the past wretch¬ 
ed weeks. Let us begin again—.you with renewed 
faith in me, l with my old love and old faith in you 
—faith and love which have never varied, and 
never will. Will you listen to me, violet?” 
“Icannot,” she Cried—and he felt the shudder 
that passed over her frame—“I cannot, Felix.” 
“Have you ceased to love me, violet?” he asked i 
quietly. 
“Nol”site Cried. “Oil, do forgive me, Felix! I 
wish I hadI” 
“You still care for me?” lie asked. 
It seemed some relief to her to cry out that she 
did care for him—to lay her golden head on his 
breast, and moan out that she wished she were 
dead. His whole face brightened and changed as 
he heard the words. 
“You stilt care for me, my darling," he said gen¬ 
tly; “why. then, violet, matters must come right 
in the end. Tills dark hour will pass, and happi¬ 
ness will dawn upon us.” 
so she lay sobbing near the noble heart she was 
breaking, while the wind walled round them with 
a strange mournful sound. 
Violet was the first to speak, she raised her 
lovely face all wet with tears. 
“You do not understand, Felix,” she said quiet¬ 
ly. “id) love you—that makes my cowardice all 
the greater. I love you. but ! eau never marry 
you, because you cannot give me that which my 
soul loves best.” 
“ But wlmt if I do give it to you, violet—what 
then ?” he asked. 
“ You cannot; you must work hard all your life 
even for the moderate means that you will have. 
Do not talk any more about It. Felix, my resolu¬ 
tion Is liked as are the stars hi heaven; nothing can 
niter it, nothing can cha nge it. We have made a 
mistake.” 
And for the flint t ime during that interview it 
dawned across him that it, was no girlish caprice 
he had to contend with, no idle whim, but the 
settled resolve of a woman in whose heart love 
took a secondary place. 
Looking at Iter exquisite face, he asked himself, 
what if all this time he had been mistaken, il he 
had given this beautiful woman credit for a noble 
soul and a tender heart, while she had neither? 
Such things had been; men had made even 
greater mistakes than that.. What it she were 
worldly and selfish, raise and |)len**ure-lovtrr, 
even In the core of her heart ? 
“ violet, you puzzle me,” lie said* "Let me un¬ 
derstand; you love mo, you say?" 
She sobbed out that She could not help it. 
“ You love me. yet you willfully break your prom¬ 
ise to marry me. You send me away nr your own 
free will, not because you do not. love me, but be¬ 
cause I have not money enough. Is that it, vio¬ 
let?” 
She did not deny it.; if was the exact truth. He 
continued.— 
“ You love me, and I am what you call poor. 
You send me away, and a richer man comes. You 
will many him because lie is rich; you will marry 
him tor Ids money while you love me. violet Haye, 
do you know what the law of God call?, such a sin? 
Do you think your weak subterfuge of calling this 
crime or yours * changing your mind’ 'sill hold 
good when you are judged for your aet Ions, and the 
just award is given to you ? 
He put her from him with a bitter cry—a cry 
that huunied her for long year. 
" You have slain tire lies! part of me; you have 
slain my love, my hope.” 
His despair frightened her; she drew nearer to 
him art! tried to soothe him, but he would not let 
her hands touch him. 
“ You are not worth a man’s thought, you are 
not worth a man’s love,” he cried, “you who have 
slam the truest, of love. Do not touch me. It, is 
such women as you who lure men on to death, 
who take a man’s heart and crush it like a rose- 
leaf. No, do not touch me, Violet”—for she clung 
(0 him, weeping and crying out that, lie was too 
luti’d upon her—too liard. 
“No, lam not hard," he said. “To my mind 
there is but one kind ot love, and the soul or it 
truth. I do not Understand such love us yours. 
Oh, Violet, once more let me appeal to you and 
warn you ! Dear, you are all wrong—all wrong— 
and you will llnd It out Loo late. Believe me, 
Heaven Ins so made woman lhat to her the chief 
good Is love—i.o her lpve is religion and life. Are 
you of a different nature that you can dispense 
with love ?’’ 
“ It would not make me happy,” she answered, 
ill a low voice. 
Her team fell while she listened silently to words 
that haunted her for ever. His voice softened as 
lie went on. 
*• You will not be young and beautiful always 
violet. The time must come when your hair will 
have lost It* golden sheen and your eyes their 
light- What will wealth do for you then ? If sick¬ 
ness comes to you, will all the wealth of i lie whole 
world purchase for you the tender touch or a lot ing 
hand or t he tender words of a loving voice ? You 
will lie, my darling, through long hours of pain 
t hinking of me, longing for me, wondering how 
you could have been so mad as to send me from 
you, crying out my name, until you remember that 
to love me is a crime and that in my place you 
have the wealth you have chosen. Think of the 
long days when you will miss me. Ah, Violet, 
mind, lest in breaking my heart you break your 
own! I warn you that you cannot live without 
love ; heed my warning before It is too late.” 
She made him no answer. He continued— 
“ I can sec farther Into the future Ilian you, Vio¬ 
let, and « Ith clearer eyes. 1 prophesy to you that 
the time will come when you will repent of what 
you are- doing now, and be willing to give your 
whole soul to undo It. Will you heed my warning ?” 
ller heart went out to him In love and pity; but 
there was the picture before her of Garswood— 
the thought of llie diamonds—of herself as Lady 
Chevewlx, 
*• I cannot,” she said. 
He stood quite still for a few moments. 
“ You forsake ritft, then, for a rlfiher lover-urn 
give up my love for gold? May, In plain words, 
that you do so; do not let there be a, chance ot 
mistake, Violet—do not let any false halo linger 
round your memory in the years to come. You give 
me up because l lim e not money enough.” 
“ Yes,” she replied ; but flic word came slowly 
and with great reluctance. 
“ I shall not regret you, violet—you are not 
worth regret 1" he said ; but she cried out— 
“ Do not be so hard, Felix. I—I am weaker than 
a woman.” 
“ You are indeed," he said, gravely. “Some 
women’s weakness Is halt divine; yours is—well, I 
will give ii, no name; l know none that describes 
anything nne-half so false.” 
“ You ura very hard, Felix.” 
He laughed aloud, and pleasure-loving Violet 
Haye wished never to hear such another laugh. 
“ l have no place, here now, Violet. I will say 
farewell. My dear love, my lost love, farewell! 
Lay your sweet, cruel hands in mine once again— 
let me look into your sweet false face once more. 
Farewell, little white hands—you will caress me 
and stall me no more. Farewell, sweet eyes—you 
will look no more Into mine. Farewell, golden 
head—you will never lie on my breast again—never 
again. Farewell! • Beauty such as woman never 
wore,' heart most false, love most cruel—farewell!” 
His voice died away In a low wall, and the next 
moment he was gone, and she stood there weeping 
foi- that which she could never recall. 
“ How cruel fate Is 1” she said. “ 1 love Felix. 
■Why could Felix not have Sir Owen’s fortune? I 
almost wish that I had never seen Sir Owen. I did 
not think that 1 should care about Felix so much.” 
It was something new to the spoiled, petted 
beauty to feel pain—to weep without being com¬ 
forted. she was unjust enough to think that Felix 
should have stayed to comfort her— should not have 
left her so wretched. 
Then she realized that her faithful lover, so tend¬ 
er, so true, and so brave, had passed out of her 
life, and would be nothing to her for all time. She. 
was Impatient with her own misery—her own sor¬ 
row. 
“If the time could come over again," she said, 
“ T would not do It; I would marry Felix, let him 
be poor as he might." 
But It was done; It was all over. 
She. was not very angry with pretty Jennie, hut 
she warned her that her interview with Mr. Lons¬ 
dale must lx- kept a secret. She believed that Fe¬ 
lix had bribed the girl—not that the girl had told 
Felix. 
It was Just as well, she thought, that the Inter¬ 
view had taken place; there must have been a 
scene sometime or other. Now tho matter was all 
sett led, and she could go to London with a mind 
free from all anxiety. The grandeur awaiting her 
there must surely comfort her, for her heart ached 
for Felix—his burning, stinging words haunted 
her. 
Who should dare say that on t hat white brow of 
hers was branded “liar”? Felix would be dread¬ 
fully distressed when he heard of her marriage. 
She knew that he would feel it. most keenly; but 
then after a time he would forget It—no one would 
hear animosity against the young and charming 
Lady Chevenix. When she came back again, she 
and Felix would be friends. She would make over¬ 
tures of friendship to him. and he would nflt de¬ 
cline them; he had always been so fond of her— 
poor Felix! 
so she went away the next day to London, try¬ 
ing to forget the past and to think of the future. 
She did not care to remember that morning found 
her pillow wot with tears, for she had been dream¬ 
ing of Felix. 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
Felix Lonsdale had tried his best; he had done 
hard battle with his sorrow—the sorrow that had 
come to him while the summer moon was shining 
and the com stood ripe in t he Helds. 11“ had done 
hard, move, terrible battle with it. It stood there 
ever by his side; no one had detected it yet—Its 
presence was a secret from every one except him¬ 
self. He was stunned, dazed, and bewildered by 
it; still he did brave battle with It. He looked at 
the Invalid fat her, at the kindly mother, a t the “ar¬ 
my "or little ones; there was work to do, and he 
must do it. The home must lie kept up, business 
attended to; money must be made, the home must 
not he neglected. Indulgence In sorrow was not a 
luxury lor him. 
lie hardened himself, he hardened his heart; he 
said that, there was neither mercy nor kindness nor 
love lu the world. 
Within a week after his farewell to violet the 
handsome face had grown so haggard that It was 
hardly recognizable; the kindly eyes had a wild, 
well’d expression, as though he were always suffer¬ 
ing mortal pain—the ring had gone from his voice, 
from Ids laugh; he was an altered man. How he 
worked! He said to himself that work was the 
only thing which could keep him from going mad. 
But It told upon him—no food, no sleep, no rest 
would he take—this constant warfare that kept 
every nerve strained. It seemed to him that If he 
once gave way, even If only for a moment—If he 
opened Ids heart to the dreadful sorrow waiting to 
be admitted—if he closed Ins eyes In rest —he must 
die. colder and harder and prouder he grew, shut¬ 
ting himself and Ills sorrow in Icy reserve; and at 
last Kate grew so miserable about him that she 
sent tor Evelyn. 
1 “ I must l o you, Eve,” she said, “ or my heart 
will break. I do not Uke to distress my husband— 
he Is ill enough; and, if Felix goes on like this 
much longer, he will have a terrible illness, or he. 
will die. What, is the matter with him, Eve? He 
does not eat or sleep; he looks Uke a man who has 
been stunned; he grows so hard and cold that I am 
almost afraid of him. He does not open his heart 
to me, he avoids me. lie does not even look at me— 
he who used to love me so well. What Is the mat¬ 
ter with him, Eve ?” 
Eve looked very pale and sad, her sweet face was 
clouded; bur Kate, In her distress, did not notice It. 
*• I can tell you what is the matter,” she replied— 
“ I heard it this afternoon. Violet Haye has gone 
to London to be married,” 
Kate cried out that it was impossible—that it 
could not be—Violet Haye was betrothed to Felix. 
“ It is so," said Kve —“ aunt Jane told me about 
It tlUs afternoon; and, fearing you would be hi 
great trouble, I came lo you at once. Violet broke 
off her engagement with Felix some short time 
since, and she Is gone to London to be married.” 
“Married to whom?” cried Kate, In hot anger 
for her boy’s sake. 
“ I do not know— she has so many admire ns; but 
I believe it is some very rich man. Mrs. Haye Is 
almost wild with excitement about it. She told 
my aunt the day before they started.” And then, 
remembering how Felix loved Violet, they both 
wept together. 
“ I understand it all now," said Kate. “ My poor 
boy has hidden It from us lest we should know 
what he suffered. Evelyn, does Heaven punish 
treachery ?” 
“ 1 am afraid so," she replied, gently. " You say 
that Felix has grown hard and cold. Tell me 
where he is, that I may go and 3 ee him.” 
“ He Is at the office," repUed Mrs. Lonsdale. “ Do 
go to him. Eve. lie was always fond of you—he 
always t rusted you. Go and try ir you can comfort 
him." 
A light shadow of pain came over the sweet face 
—it passed in a minute. 
“ Yes,” she said, thoughtfully. “ he always trust¬ 
ed me. I will go and see what I Can do for him. 
Eve walked gently through the warm sunlit 
streets. 
she went Into the office without any announce¬ 
ment—she had done so since she was a child. Only 
Felix sat there, his pale, haggard face bent over Ills 
papers, a shadow like death in his eyes. He looked 
up in wonder at his visitor. Eve, with her sweet, 
face, looked like an angel come to minister to him. 
“ Evelyn,” he said, “you are an unexpected vis¬ 
itor.” 
She went round to him, and stood by tho side Of 
his chair. 
“ Felix," she said, “I know what has happened, 
and lam come to comfort you.” 
“ comfort! * comfort scorned of devils,’ the poet 
sings. Eve,” he laughed, “ what comfort can you 
give me?” 
She took the paper from his hands, and was star¬ 
tled on that warn day to find his Angers as cold as 
death, she held them in her own—her sweet yes 
filled with tears. 
“Telix. you must not harden your heart against 
me. You must not keep me outside It. We have 
been such true friends—such dear friends always. 
Do not be hard and cold and proud with me, dear 
friend.” 
“ I will not. Eve,” he returned gently. “ Heaven 
bless you. Eve!” 
“Listen to me a little while, Felix,” she said— 
and her voice stole Uke a strain of sweetest music 
over his tired senses. “No man can know a great¬ 
er sorrow than this sorrow of yours. The one you 
loved and trusted has deceived you. violet has 
been false to you.” 
He shrank back with a cry at the sound of the 
words, she only clasped his hands the more 
tightly. 
“Nevermind the pain. Felix," she said. “It Is 
right that you should accustom yourself to hear the 
words, and uot shrink from them. Violet has 
proved false to you. 1 kuuw how you loved her, 
and I know that The words cut you like a sharp 
knife; but, Felix, has there never been a mistaken 
love ? Have you never heard of a man idealizing a 
woman, and worshipping In her virtues that she 
never possessed ? The very fact that Violet could 
prove false to you proves also that she was un¬ 
worthy ot your love, that you thought her posses¬ 
sed of qualities quite foreign to her, and t hat, she Is 
not worth all t his passion ot regret.” 
“ I loved her,” was all he answered. 
“I know, dear mend—I know”—and Evelyn’s 
voice was sweet as the cooing of a dove—“ and it 
is a terrrlble grief to you. Felix, because we are 
such dear and true friends, 1 am come to talk to 
you about this sorrow. There are three ways in 
which men meet sorrow. The weaker part of 
them fly at, once to drink, lo dissipation, to a 
reckless kind of despair’; they have no nobility. 
You are above that. Others harden themselves; 
they shut out all love and sympathy from then 
hearts; they grow cold and proud, so that no 
kindly Influence reaches them. Others—and, dear 
friend, believe me, these are the noble ones—at 
cept sorrow as purr- of the discipline of life, as a 
gift sent from Heaven; ami, while they accept it 
with humility, they bear it w Ith dignity. It makes 
them nobler, grander, and better. It. Is an educa¬ 
tion that prepares them for Heaven. Which of the 
three classes will you join, Felix?" 
“ The last, it 1 can. Eve,” he said slowly. 
“ Believe me, she went on earnestly, - we shall 
not know, until we come to die, what great sor 
rows do for us, and then we shall thank Heaven 
lor them. 
“ A soul that has never suffered Is but a puny 
soul, the strong and noble soul is the one that 
passes through the turuaee of lire and comes out 
pure gold—not base metal or gold with an alloy— 
but pure refined true gold. The mystery is why 
men and women must all suffer; but that we 
shall never fathom; we only know that, -God 
semis pain—even to Ids best beloved lie sends 
pain.’ ” 
Something- in t he brave face and the brave pa¬ 
tient voice touched him. He looked up at her 
suddenly. 
“ Surely, Eve,” he said, “ you have had no sor¬ 
row that you should speak In such a fashion?” 
She smiled, ami he thought how like her face 
was to that of pictured angels. 
“ Vos,” she said, “ I have a. great sorrow; but It, 
Is dumb—It will never And a voice—It, will die with 
me, and be burled in my gra ve.” 
What has your sorrow done for you. Eve?” he 
asked, after a time. 
It has opened my heart,” she replied, “it has 
killed oil self-love, it has made me love and pity 
eveiy one who has suffered, it has taught me that; 
life is but short, and that heaven is my true home," 
It shall tench me the same. If you will help 
me, Eve. 1 loved her so dearly that my loss has 
almost killed me.” 
Ills pride and self-control gave way—he sobbed 
like a child. 
“ My dear old friend!” said Eve; and, as simply 
as a child might have done it, she drew his head 
upon her arm, and the first, tears he shed over the 
great sorrow of his life fell on her kindly minister¬ 
ing hands. 
RECENT LITERATURE. 
Madeleine. By Jnr.s Saxdeah. Philadelphia: 
T. B. Peterson & Bro. 5'J cents. 
Inn character of Madeleine Ls a charming con¬ 
ception and the story or her life is prettily told. In 
the career of Maurice, the hero, we have an excel¬ 
lent Illustration of tin* mental degradation to which 
an honest youth may come, who, reared in wealth 
and refinement, is sent forth to appease the youth¬ 
ful craving for change Into the world, ignorant ot 
Its follies and the allurements of vice, and with no 
safeguard against them but the beneficent Influ¬ 
ence of a pure and refined home circle. As is loo 
•frequently the Case, Maurice succumbs and, step by 
stop, becomes a thoroughly selfish and depraved 
creature, until, ruined In property and station, he 
contemplates suicide as the only escape from dis¬ 
honor. ills rescue anclgradual restoration to moral 
health by Madeleine, the simple country girl, is 
gracefully and naturally told. Unlike many of the 
novels we have from the French, there is nothing 
to offend the most delicate sensibilities throughout 
the story. 
-- 
MAGAZINES. 
II ah rat's Magazine for Jam ART offers an unu¬ 
sual variety of interesting reading matter with over 
ninety illustrations. The number opens with an 
effectively Illustrated paper on Liverpool entitled, 
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articles entitled. Rambles in the South ot France. 
Besides these articles descriptive of places, there Is 
for readers Interested in the curiosities of animal 
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History of Ants—a narrative of her own observa■ 
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Edw. E. Hale, closes the number, Tho Easy Chair 
discusses Choate, the magazine of to-day, and the 
true story of Paul Revere s Ride, etc. The Literary 
Record Is a survey oi the Important books of the 
month. 
Lmuxcorr's Magazine for January, beginning 
the new volume has a varied and attractive list of 
contents. There arc three Illustrated articles— 
Yorkshire Byways, b,v A. 8. Gibbs; The Artists 
Island, by Dwight Benton; and Wild Boars and 
Boar Hunting, by Dr. G. Archie Stoekwell. Miss 
Loffan, the author of that capital noveL The Hon¬ 
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sketches of character and manners. A Young 
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gives a thrilling picture ot the life ot a Parisian 
family at the time of the Frauco-Prussian war, and 
the fearful scenes enacted under the Commune. 
A series of stones under the general title of 
Women's Husbands, is begun in this number, and 
seems likely to pique curiosity by its fresh delinea¬ 
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graphic account of a Western Town. D. C. Mac¬ 
donald describes A Trip to Newfoundland. Mrs. 
Hooper sketches the career of Madame Dubarry. 
Sidney Lanier gives us u Fairy Tale tor Grown 
People. There are two striking poems In the num¬ 
ber, The Poet’s Protest, by AlTred H, Louis, and 
Christ us! by Julia C. R. Dorr. .Miss Olney’s 
Through Winding Ways grows In interest, and the 
Monthly Gossip contains several papers deserving 
notice. The whole number is bright and readable 
from beginning to end. The publishers offer free 
to all nev subscribers, in book-form, that portion 
of Through Winding Ways that has appeared 
previous to the Issue of tho January number. 
s r. Nicholas for January opens with a long and 
beautiful noem, entitled The Voyage of the “Jet- 
tie.” by John G. Whittier. Mrs. Dodge contributes 
a fairy-story. Wondering Tom. beautifully illus¬ 
trated, and for the very little folks the same author 
gives a story of The Little Gu t who Wanted to go 
to the Moon, illustrated with novel stlhouettes. 
ChiiS. Dudley Warner asks the youngsters What 
shall We do with Her ?—a tailless cat whose queer 
ways as he narrates them must keep her human 
neighbors in fits of laughter. F. H. Burnett, the au¬ 
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mas tale. Behind the White Brick. The long-prom¬ 
ised fairy-story, by Julian Uawtbon Rumprv 
Budget's Tower, begins In this number, and the sLx 
pictures, by Alfred Fredericks, ably second its en¬ 
chantments. .Sarah J. Prichard tells How Wlister 
Elspeet’s Ship went into the Church. There is a 
funny story, Pete's Christmas Tree, which de¬ 
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come more than once a year. Christmas Day at 
si. Paul’s, Is a story which describes incidentally 
the anniversary ot the charity school children in 
the great church ot London. Two illustrated 
jjoerns add much to the attractiveness of the num¬ 
ber. The departments this month sve extra good, 
and there ls a capital acting play Ten Dollars, and 
a sweet little piece of music, A Nocturne for Little 
Hands. Susan coolldgeN new serial, Eyebrtght, 
will be begun in the February number. 
