M2 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
4 
“GOOD-BYE i” 
T. FERGUSON. 
The sun was bright, tho world was fair, 
My love stood by my side, 
The soent of flow’re was in the air, 
The river's rolling tide 
Rippled along, with silver song, 
To the ocean deep aod wide— 
To the ocean many a mile away, 
Where the stately vessels sail, • 
And the waves dash UP to the little bay. 
And the mighty winds prevail. 
My love, 1 know, was thinking so. 
For I watched her lips grow pale. 
To-morrow I would speed afar 
Across tlie heaving foam, 
By dawn and dark,by sun and star. 
Full many a league from home; 
And this she knew, ruy love so true. 
Whose lover needs must roam. 
She turned her Bwoot face to the sky, 
Wan. piteous, and dismayed; 
Tho time had come to say “ Good-bye," 
And, sobbing and afraid, 
" God shield and save from wind and wave 
My only love!" she said. 
The sky above Us, golden-bright, 
To redder radiance grow - 
" Good-bye!” she sobbed, “ my heart’s delight— 
Ton take my love with you!” 
But, dark as night, ucross the light 
A croaking raven flew ! 
Good-bye! "—and with a fervent pray’r 
I strained her to my breast, 
A flash of eyes, a gleam of hair— 
The green leaves hid the rest; 
And in a shroud of scarlet cloud 
The suu sank in the west. 
But did we ever meet again ? 
Nay aslc not this of me. 
The ship sped Rafe across the main— 
Alas, but can it be ? 
The wrecks are more upon the shore 
Than ever were at. sea! 
[Family Herald. 
- *-+■■* - 
WEAKER THAN A WOMAN. 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
(Continued from page 126.) 
»• 1 have come to chat with you, Eve,” he would 
say. “ Have you an hour to spare ?” 
Then one look at his face, at the shadowed eyes, 
would tell her that lie was doing flerce battle with 
his foe, She would go Into the pretty old-fashion¬ 
ed sitting-room, and, making him sit in a comfort¬ 
able arm-chair, would talk to him. To herself she 
said often that it, was like the laying of an evil 
spirit. She would read to him, converse with him, 
give him all the news she could, she knew, and 
he knew, why he was there, what ailed him, what 
old sorrow was crying aloud, what vain wild pas¬ 
sion, what vain deep regret, was In his heart; but 
it was not discussed. 
She knew when her wise, sweet, tender words 
took effect; the shadow would fall from his face, 
and he would listen In silence. At times he would 
sit. tor an hour listening, never speaking, and then, 
rising with a brightened look that did her heart 
good, lie would clasp her hand warmly in his own. 
“ Thank you. Eve,” he would say to her; “ 1 
know l)06t what you have done for me." 
Miss lister was not very well pleased just then 
with her niece. Eve had received two good offers 
of marriage, and had refused them both; and, 
though Miss lister disliked men, she had always a 
keen eye to the main chance, and said that If Eve 
refused one she ought to have taken the other. 
She confided her grievance to Felix. 
“ I wish,” she said, "that you would talk to her; 
you have known her so long—you are an old frleud. 
Talk to her, Felix; tell her how foolish it Is to re¬ 
fuse every good offer." 
“ But. I thought you disapproved of marriage, 
Miss Lester, aud disliked men.” 
“ So I do—so 1 do ; but I shall not live for ever, 
and Eve must liave some one to take care of her. 
Squire Hethway would have made her a good hus¬ 
band. Talk to her, Felix." 
“ I really do not like to speak to Eve on such a 
matter," said Felix; she might not like it. She 
must have had her own reasons for saying • No. ’ ” 
" Reasons," quoth Miss Lester. “She hasn't 
any. She is waiting until the man In the moon 
proposes to marry her, and 1 hope It will be soon.” 
Felix went away laughing, hut he thought of 
Evelyn that evening more than he had ever 
thought. 
“ Whoever marries her,” he thought, " will cer¬ 
tainly have a treasure of a wife. Eve deserves 
the truest love that a man can give her." 
Yet it never once occurred to him to love her 
himself. In his honest heart he believed that love 
was all ended for him; he could not realize that 
a man could love twice In a lifetime. His love, 
he told himself, had been slain. He never thought 
now of any future for himself; he never pictured 
himself with fair wife or loving children; lie never 
dreamed again of a home. He Piled his mind 
with work and study—love had ceased to be for 
him. 
While lie steadily rose In the world Sir Owen 
just as steadily went down. Five years had 
served to Injure both tho Baronet’s character and 
estate; but for the restraining hand or Darcy 
Lonsdale, he would have been ruined. The 
clever honest lawyer had acquired a kind of in¬ 
fluence over him; he would notallow him to live 
above his Income ; when Sir Owen made some ex¬ 
traordinary demand tor money, bis answer was 
always, “if you persist in spending more than 
your income. Sir Owen, I must resign my office;” 
and that threat Invariably brought the Baronet 
to reason. He knew that he was about as capa¬ 
ble of managing his estate as of translating Greek. 
Sir Owen had had one great disappointment 
—Heaven had not blessed him with a son a nd heir. 
One good quality amongst a host of had ones was 
his love of children. While he was cruel to ani¬ 
mals, almost furious at times with his wife and 
servants, he loved little children; and the chances 
were that If he had had children round him he 
would have.been a better man. As It was, the 
disappointment, made him sour and morose; he 
could not bear it; he waa sullen and flerce by 
turns. 
“ No son to Rticceed me!” he would say. “ Why 
should 1 care about my fame or my name ? 1 want 
a son. 1 should ha ve, something to live tor if 1 had 
a son. Why, some of t he laborers on my estate 
have half a dozen strong, sturdy sous; why should 
not one at least have been given to me? 
“ You may depend upon It, sir Owen. Heaven 
knows best where to place the little ones," Darcy 
Lonsdale would say; and then Sir Owen, knowing 
how r far he was Horn being able to take care of a 
child, would say no more. 
He would have loved bis wife better if little 
children had been thereto soften him ; as It was, 
he now spent: half his time In quarreling with her 
and tyrannizing over her, and the other half In 
flerce love-making. That to her was the worst 
mood or the two. 
He was not loved, the rich Baronet; the simple 
townspeople told strange tales of him when gath¬ 
ered round their tire a.t. night—strange evil stories 
that never came to his wife’s cars, or she would 
have left him. 
“ I would not let him marry my daughter,” the 
poor women would say; “ no, not If lie had been 
twice as rich.” 
There was no mistake about the fact that his 
name was In very evil repute amongst both rich 
and poor. 
Francis lluye talked over the matter with his 
wife sometimes. Mrs. Haye looked at it quite 
philosophically. 
“ I am told,” she said, “ that he drinks over a. 
bottle, of toraudy each day; If that Is really the 
case he cannot live long." 
“ i do not see how that improves matters.” re¬ 
joined her husband. 
“I do; she is sure to have all his money, and 
then In a short time she can marry again." 
Fra no Is Haye was not particularly sagacious; 
hut this view of the matter struck him at once. 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
Lady Chevenlx was standing In her superb 
drawing-room alone; she held a folded paper In 
her hand which she was reading attentively; then 
she meditated for a few minutes, and afterwards 
rang the bell. To the servant who answered It 
she said— 
“ Will you ask Mrs. Haye if she can come to me? 
I wish particularly to speak to her.” 
Mrs. Haye was spending a few days at Cam¬ 
wood—that was what the world was told; lu 
reality she was there because Lady Chevenlx 
feared for her life, sir Owen hud been drinking 
heavily, and he had grown dangerous, as she 
believed. She had lost all control over him, and the 
terrified servants told each other of sobs and cries 
that sounded at night when all the house was 
still. She grew alarmed at last, and sent for Mrs. 
naye. 
That philosophical lady said nothing to the 
flerce angry man who was beyond reasoning wit h ; 
but she sent lor a physician, and the appearance 
of a doctor frightened him Into better behavior. 
Lady Chevenlx would not part with her mother. 
" You must stay with me, mamma," she said. 
“ I have been through scenes that would make 
you shudder, aud I have lost all heart—quite 
lost all heart. You must slay with me.” 
Mrs. Ilaye was one or those women who, even 
when alone, never under-value appearances, and 
she always moved and spoke as though people 
were looking at her. She merely answered— 
“ I shall be very pleased indeed to stay with you 
until your husband Is stronger and better, my 
dear.” 
And It. was arranged that she should do so. 
Lady Chevenlx stood waiting for her now. As 
she stood there, so tall and stately, with such In¬ 
effable beauty and grace In face and figure, she 
did not look like one who had lost heart. Her 
girlish loveliness had developed into womanly 
magiflflcence; but there was little trace In her ol 
violet Haye, the sweet girl coquette—little trace 
of the girl who had loved Felix I/Misdate, or even 
of the woman who had asked hlrn so piteously to 
be “friends" with her. A darker sheen lay on 
the golden hair, a deeper light lay in the lovely 
eyes, the red mouth had not Its wonted smile. 
One could see at a glance that the yearn had em¬ 
bittered her. She had not grown soft and tender, 
but stem, proud, and cold. She had hardened 
her heart. and tried to care for nothing but the 
wealth and luxury she now possessed. 
She looked exquisitely beautiful; her morning- 
dress feu In artistic folds, a tiny cap of white lace 
and blue ribbon lay lightly on her golden head. 
Yet, though she was so wonderfully lovely, and 
was surrounded by all that was most desirable, she 
did not look like a happy woman. 
She raised her eyes as her mother came into the 
room. 
"Mamina,” she said, holding out the paper, “I 
wish you would read this and toll me what to do." 
Mrs. Haye took the paper from her daughter’s 
hand find read It. 
"The Loomshlre Hunt Ball,” she said. "Of 
course you are going?” 
“That Ls what 1 want to know, mamma. You 
see, sir Ow'en Is one of the stewards, if [ show’ It 
to him, and he goes, you can guess w hat is almost 
sure to happen—he will not keep sober, if l do 
not show It, arid he finds Out that! have received 
It-" A shrug of the beautiful shoulders con¬ 
veyed the rest. “ What do you advise me to do?*’ 
“ You must show It to him, my dear; there ls no 
alternative. As steward and patron he must at¬ 
tend—that ls, if he Ls well.” 
“ He ought not to go, mamma. You know what 
will happen. Doctor Bell advised me to keep him 
at home and quite quiet; but, If he finds out that 
this has been withheld from him, I can Imagine 
what, will follow.” 
There was no sorrow, no despair In her voice. 
She merely gave hard, cold utterance to what she 
knew to be certain. She looked musingly at her 
mother; Mrs. Haye gazed at her. 
“ You cannot shut yourself away from all society, 
Violet, because you are afraid that your husband 
will not behave himself. You might as well be out 
of the world." 
“ Well, as matters stand, that Is quite true," she 
replied. “ You do not know, mother, what l suffer 
when he behaves to that way. I think sometimes 
that if I had been horn an aristocrat 1 should not 
reel It. so much. Then l could have stood aloof 
from the disgrace; now’ it falls upon mo." 
“Nay, that It does not, violet,” said Mrs. Haye, 
warmly. “You cannot force sir Owen to keep 
sober. He drank before he knew you."’ 
“ Yes, that he did. I cannot expect any one to 
understand me; but that is really my feeling, that 
I share Ui the disgrace, sail that Is not the point 
in question. Do you advise me to show him this or 
not?” 
“ I think you must show it to him,” said Mrs. 
Haye—" it would not, he safe to keep him In igno¬ 
rance, I am sure—and we must do our best after¬ 
wards with him. You need not remain very long 
at the ball, you know.” 
“ I will do as you sa.y, mamma," she replied; and 
Mrs. Haye could read neither pleasure uor pain in 
her face. 
Left alone again, violet walked to the window, 
and stood looking out on the brilliant flowers and 
the stately trees. 
“Of all strange turns,” she said to herself, “to 
think that my life should ha ve taken tills—that the 
brightest part of R should be spent In keeping a 
flerce, coarse, violent man sober." 
She was always just. She had sought her own 
destiny; It had not been forced upon her. She had 
that which she had coveted, and she must take the 
drawbacks with It. 
She found that she had acted wisely in taking 
her mother’s advice, One of the first things Sir 
Owen asked about was the ball. 
“ Shall you go ?’’ she asked her husband. 
"That I shall.” he replied; “and you too. Lady 
Maude Arlington Is going; every one who Is any 
one will be there.” 
It was a favorite festival ol his; he enjoyed mak¬ 
ing himself ( popular. He never missed the Hunt 
ball. 
“ violet, mind you have a dress worth looking at. 
Lady Chevenlx of Garswood must he second to 
noneon this occasion. If there Is anythin g you 
want, no matter what it costs, you must have It.” 
She thanked him; but there was neither grati¬ 
tude nor pleasure in her voice. Bit terly enough 
she said to herself, "What will it matter if I am 
covered with diamonds? I shall have a weight of 
care on my mind which all the diamonds on earth 
could not balance—the ever-preseDt lenr that my 
husband will disgrace himself.” 
But during the next few days Sir Owen improv¬ 
ed. The doctor had given him a serious fright; 
he assured him that unless he led a more abstemi¬ 
ous life he must soon die. He bore the warning in 
mind and drank less. 
He began to Interest himself in the ball. Lady 
ChevenLx looked forward to It with pleasure; Lady 
Maude would be there, and she liked Lady Maude. 
Felix would be there too—she had heard Sir Owen 
say so. She longed to see him again; she felt that 
there would be a sense of rest and protection In his 
presence that never came to her with any other. 
She wondered to herself If he would ask her to 
dance. 
" I should Bke to dance with him,” she thought, 
to herself, with a smile that was almost pitiful. 
She took great Interest In her dress and her jew¬ 
els, hoping that he would notice her presence more 
than he generally did. Very beautiful she looked 
In her favorite colors, white and blue—white satin 
and blue velvet. With her exquisitely-moulded 
arms and neck—fair as a sculptor’s dream—a dia¬ 
mond necklace clasped round her throat, a dia¬ 
mond cross gleaming on her white breast, she 
looked like one who could sway men’s hearts, sir 
Owen was proud of her, and said go In his blunt 
fashion. 
“There will not be a woman In the room like 
you, Violet," he said; and she wondered whether 
there would be one with such a load or anxiety on 
her mind. 
The hall was always held at the Assembly Rooms 
In Lllford. It, was very exclusive, very select, and 
at times very dull. But this year the party from 
Bramber Towers was a large one; several officurs 
were visiting there. They at first voted tho Hunt 
Ball a decided “bore;” but when they saw Lady 
Chevenlx they thought differently. She was worth 
coming many mites to see, they declared; and she 
was soon surrounded by a crowd of admirers. 
The rooms were beautifully decorated nnd ailed 
with a brilliant orowd. Lady Chevenlx looked for 
Felix first; she saw him, but he did not approach 
her. She observed that he chatted with tho count¬ 
ess of Arlington, and then with Lady Maude; she 
wondered If he would seek her. she kept her 
would-be partner In suspense, But Felix did not 
come; he danced with Lady Maude, violet, could 
not, help hearing what people said- “ How well 
they look together! Can It be possible that, there 
Ls anything In it?” She could not help hearing It; 
and a pang of Jealous pain seemed to rive her heart. 
Surely that could never bo? Felix marry Lady 
Maude! It, waa all nonsense—the goHslp of foolish 
people who did not know what they wore saying. 
She checked herself abruptly. What if It, wore 
so ? Wlial; did tt, mutter to her ? Felix and herself 
were more than strangers. The greatest strangcr 
In that room thought more of her and said more to 
her than Felix did. She was the queen of the 
night. Her wonderful beauty, her gorgeous dims, 
her costly Jewels, made her the very center of ob¬ 
servation. She had her triumph. The lover she 
had forsaken treated her with coldness, her hus¬ 
band kept her In a state of terrible suspense; but 
the crowd admired her. No one present would 
have believed that the beautiful, radiant woman 
had a weight, as of lead, at her heart. 
Her spirits rose as the night wore on. It was 
something to see all the men adrnl ring her; to see 
them strive for one smile from her; to see how 
they surrounded her, how they struggled to be of 
service to her; how her smiles and blight words 
swayed them as the sweet western wind sways the 
leaves. That was her triumph, and, to one so vain. 
It was no small one. She saw that Lady Maude, 
with aU her aristocratic Influence, was not sought 
after and admired as she was. 
" Beauty rules the world," she thought, and then 
added, with a smile and a sigh, " Beauty and money 
coin blued, I mean,” 
Half the evening had passed, and she had ex¬ 
changed no word with Felix. Presently chance 
brought them almost, side by side lu a quadrille. 
He bowed and spoke to her. Would he ask her to 
dance ? She gave him tho opportunity, but he did 
not take It. He never even thought or It. He had 
taken his farewell of those false hands; he would 
touch them no more. 
When she went to partake of an Ice with Major 
Morrison, she saw her husband standing by the 
buffet. He waa holding a tumbler In his hand, and 
she could tell by his face that, he had drunk too 
much. Her heart almost Stopped beating. What 
Should she do If there waa a scene here ? 
“ Pray excuse me,” she said to Major Morrison. 
she went up to sir Owen, and laid her hand upon 
his arm. 
“ We have had a very pleasant evening,” she 
said—and her poor lips were white with fear. 
“Very," he replied; and In the effort to look 
dignified ho spilt, some o( the brandy on her dress. 
“ I am t ired," she said, trembling In every nerve; 
“and,if you will. Sir Owen, I should like to go 
home.” 
Her one wish was to get him away before any 
one noticed his condition. 
“I shall not go home yet,” he said. “Go back 
to your dancing. When 1 am ready, l will send 
for you.” 
She dared not disobey him. She went back to 
the ball-room, a deadly fear nestling In her heart. 
Whether he ever did send tor her, or whether It 
was but the fancy of an excited brain, violet never 
knew. 8he had not ventured to disobey him when 
he said, “ Go back to your dancingshe did as he 
had directed. She had not dared to disobey or to 
plead with him, or to urge one entreaty on him. 
She read contempt for her husband and pity for 
herself In the eyes ot Major Morrison. He made 
no allusion to the scene, nor did she; but when 
the dance was ended she asked him to take her 
back to the same spot,. When she reached It Sir 
Owen was gone. 
Felix had been to escort Lady Maude to her car- 
rlage.-the party rrom Bramber retired early—and 
as be was returning he saw sir Owen assisted Into 
Ills carriage. Sir oweu called to him, 
“.Mr. Lonsdale,” he said In a thick voice, “will 
you take a message to Lady Chevenlx from me? 
Tell her that she did not choose to come when I 
sent for her, aod now she may get home as she 
can; she may wall; through t he mud If she likes I” 
“ stop, sir Owen I” cried Felix. 
But. with great dignity and ferocity mingled. Sir 
Owen shouted, “Home! "and tho horses started 
off rapidly, leaving Felix angry and full ot wonder. 
At first he thought It must he a Jest—no one 
could treat a young wife so barbarously, so cruel¬ 
ly—and he half expected the carriage to return ; 
but It did not, a nd there was nothing left for him 
but to make the best of his message. He went 
back to the ball-room; it. was difficult to believe 
that the beautiful, brilliant young queen round 
whom the best men in the room had assembled was 
the wife of the stupid, flerce, drunken Baronet. 
He made his way to her, anti waited until he could 
And an opport unity of speaking to her. 
" Lady ChevenLx,” he said, “ 1 have something I 
wish to say to you." 
She turned eagerly to Min. and the light that 
came over her face caused him keen pain. She 
rose flOIfl her seat, dismissed her train ol admirers 
with a queenly smile and bow. and laid her hand 
upon his arm. if the touch ot the little hand made 
him tremble, she was not aware of It. They 
walked through the crowded bait-room until they 
came to a small recess at the end of tt; then She 
raised tier face to fits. 
“You wanted to speak to me,” she said. “I 
shall he very happy to listen. 
She decided that, he had come to tell her that he 
would like to be better Mends with her; no other 
thought entered her mind. Her Urnpld eyes were 
tilled with light as she w’alted eagerly. 
“ 1 am afraid it ls not a very agreeable subject,” 
he began. “ May I ask If you have seen Sir Owen 
lately ?” 
He saw the light and the color fade, the cold 
hard look come back again; the very tone of her 
voice changed. 
11 1 saw r him half an hour since, and wanted him 
to go home, with mo,” she replied. 
“ Then there has been some mistake—just as I 
imagined. The truth ls, Lady Chevenlx, Sir Owen 
has gone home, after Intrusting to me a message so 
brusque and abrupt that I do not Like to deliver It.’ 1 
Prouder and colder grew the fair face, yet Into 
It there came, he saw, a shadow of fear. 
“ Gone home,” she rei.iea.ted, " and lert me here?" 
"i am sure there has been r mistake,” he said. 
“Sir Owen wished me to say that he had sent for 
you, and -and that us you did not come lie had 
gone home without you. " 
“But lie will send the carriage hack for me?" 
slic Interrupted. 
“I am afraid not," lie replied. “But I would 
rather not repeal ids words. I am sure the car¬ 
riage will not return.” 
“And lie sent mo this message by you,” she 
cried—“ by you of all men!” 
“I am sorry to have had to deliver tt, but I had 
no alternative," he replied. “May I advise you 
Lady Chevenlx ?” 
“ If you please,” site replied. 
“Then I should counsel you to return home at 
