742 
THE RURAL HEW-YORKER. 
“ Yes,” said Miss Crawford, sadly. “It is terri¬ 
ble for Mm.” 
“ Hush said Lady Sliolto, “ here comes Jean.” 
She was coming towards them along the passage 
dressed ready for her departure, and seeiug the 
anxious faces, tiled to force a smile to her pallid 
lips; but the smile was sadder-infinitely sadder 
than tears, and Ida's blue eyes ruled with water. 
Jean was looking frightfully pale: but she was 
calm and composed, and spoke quietly. In almost 
her usual voice. She was dressed in a dark cash- 
mere dress, and wore over It a long, fur-trimmed 
mantle, while her faee was shaded by a broad- 
brimmed Spanish hat which Collins had chosen, 
because It partly concealed Joan's pallor. 
“ Are you cold, dear,” said Ida,lu surprise, “that 
you have on your furs?” 
** Yes,” said Jean, quietly. “ It is a chilly morn¬ 
ing, is It not?” 
Ida had taken her hand; It was cold as death, 
and when she released It, It fell heavily at her 
side. 
“I will say good-bye now r ,” said Jean, calmly. 
‘•Ida, I shall not see you again. Will you come 
and see me—not yet, but bye-and-hye ? Good-bye, 
Ida, I hope you will be very happy, dear.” 
She bent forward and kissed her on t he cheek, 
the girl clung to her, weeping passionately; but 
no teal’s dimmed Jean's eyes, which shone w ith a 
feverish lustre. •* I will not say good-bye to you, 
Florence.” she said, with another pale, sad smile; 
“you will come and ‘speed the parting guests.’” 
She passed on quietly down 1 he broad staircase, 
and without any pause or hesitation, pushed open 
the door of Lord Slvolto's study, and entered. 
The Earl was there alone, and waiting for her. 
But. though he was Waiting for her, Jean's slow-, 
noiseless step and t.he sort unrustllng cashmere 
dress she wore did not betray her presence, for the 
Earl neither turned, nor looked up. 
The air was close and heavy. Jean softly 
crossed the room and unlatched the window; the 
autumn sunbeams slanted in at the casement 
and tell, almost i n mockery, as It seemed, on the 
bowed golden head; the soft air stole in refresh¬ 
ingly, and the Karl, lifting his head, sank back 
in the arm-ehalr, shading bis eyes as If the light 
hurt him; while Joan could have cried out with 
pain at, the sight of the change In the beloved face, 
so white—so haggard—so terribly sad. Jean went, 
back to his side, kneeling down with Iter head 
upon the arm of his chair: and then, for the first 
time, he was conscious of her presence, and put¬ 
ting out his hand felt blindly for the bent head; 
but Jeau caught his fingers and drew them softly 
to her 11 p3. 
“Archie,” she said, softly, “can you ever forgive 
me?” 
“There is no such word between you and me, 
Jennie/’ he said, in an almost Inarticulate voice, 
looking down at her, with his face white and 
quivering, but, trying to smile at her with the 
weary, sad, gray eyes-the eyes which had made 
all her sunshine In by-gone days-the eyes which, 
for both their sakeg, must not look upon her face 
again until they had both learnt that hardest of 
lessons, a lesson which can never-never be thor¬ 
oughly learnt—to forget. 
“ There can be no such word between you and 
me, Jeanle,” he repeated, trying to speak more 
calmly. 
••Can you listen to me, Archie?” she said, 
softly, at length. “We have so little time before 
us, tny dearest, and 1 have so much to say to 
you.” 
“ Say on, my darling,” he answered, in a hoarse, 
unsteady voice. “ I will not pain you again by my 
weakness,” 
But If Jean had so much to say 5he was strangely 
silent for some minutes, and she turned her face 
on his shoulder and hid it there for a moment, 
struggling for calmness and composure. 
“ l want you to promise ms something, Archie,” 
she went on, then lilted her lace a little so that 
she could look into Ms eyes. 
“ What Is It, Jeanle?” 
*• That you will not grieve much, dear,” she 
said, entreallhgly. “ The blackest spot In my 
own sorrow is caused by the thought that 1 have 
laid such a burden on your shoulders. If I could 
think, my dearest, thatyou were conquering your 
trouble, that you were learning to—to' —her voice 
tailed a moment—“toforget the unhappy girl who 
has repatd your love so 111, l think I could bear 
it better. ” 
“ Poor child!” he said, with a sad, bitter smile. 
“Do you think I can forget?” 
“It will be hard,” she said, brokenly—“It will 
be hard—oh! so hard, my darling; but harder 
lessons have to be learnt sometimes. You will 
go away, you will travel, you will see new strange 
countries, perhaps. Oh! I hope so, dearest. Per¬ 
haps you will find some one whom you can love as 
youloved me In the past, and who will make you as 
happy as 1 would have tried to do if—It—It-—” 
She sMvered and drew closer to Mm; he 
stooped his lips to her hair. She had removed her 
hat and thrown It trom her as she entered. 
“And If you find her, Archie,” she went on, 
bravely—“it you find her and win her heart, you 
will remember that I told you I hoped It would be 
so. I will pray that It may be so.” 
“ Do you know what a man's love Is, my poor 
child?” he said, with intense sadness. “ Ah! no, 
you cannot, or you would not toll me to forget. 
Jeanle, ir you had died, If I had buried you under 
the cold earth, and seen l he llowers growing on 
your grave, I would not have forgotten, but I 
would have borne my sorrow, and in time resigna¬ 
tion would have come; but as It Is, knowing that 
3 ou love me, and that you are that man’s wife, 
Bow can I forget ? llow can 17 How can I give 
yen to him and forget?” 
She shivered again, clinging to him with her 
It:tie trembling hands; she tried to speak, but no 
words came. 
“Jeanle,” lie said again, in a moment, “have 
you thought what It will be to spend our lives 
asunder? Have you thought what It will be to 
love as we love when such love Is a crime? “No, 
pay darling; it you had thought you would not 
tell me to forget—to marry another woman. There 
are enough miserable women in the world, Heaven 
knows, without my adding to the number by mar¬ 
rying an unloved wife.” 
He paused, with a short, bitter laugh. Jean put 
up her hand to his mouth to silence him; but he 
caught It In Ms, and held It closely. 
“Ob! my darling,” he said, passionately, 
“would to Ileaven l loved you less—would to 
Heaven that 1 loved you with a love that could 
bear your slnvme; for it I did, kneeling now at 
j’our feet, I would ask j’ou to go with me away, 
far from that, man who has robbed me of you; for 
it was a theft, Jeanle. Your own words would 
not make me believe that you were willing to be¬ 
come Ms wife—willing to break my heart.” 
“ Arelue, you are killing mo!” she moaned, with 
her white race upon his breast, and ber lips 
parched with pain. 
“ Forgive me, Jeanle,” lm said, in a moment, 
“Forgive me, love—l am mad, I Think.” 
There was a long silence during which Jean lay 
white and shivering in hts anus, and Lord Ivor 
tugged fiercely at his moustache, trying to stifle 
the fierce passions of anger and sorrow which were 
burning within. 
“ You have not given me the promise, dear,” she 
said, soltly, at length lifting her eyes to Ms face, 
and carrying Ills hand to her Ups and to her brow. 
“ What promise, Jeanle ?” 
“ To go away and forget me.” 
“I am going away,” he said, huskily. “ I don’t 
know, nor do I care, where; but I am going—the 
farther away the better. Ah! my darting, do you 
guess how hard It must be for me to say, the 
tart her away from you the better?” 
“ And you will forget, Archie?” 
“Forget!” lie repeated. “ If I can.” 
She thanked him, softly, trying to shut her ears 
to the bitterness of Ms voice. 
“ is that all I can do for you, Jeanle ?” he said, 
in a moment. “ Is there any thing else In which I 
can help you, my child?” 
“ Mo,” she said, softly. “ Florence will give me 
news of you. You will do nothing rash and reck¬ 
less,” she added, lifting her head with a gesture, 
of sudden tenor, as Iftlie thought had struck ber. 
"You will remember that my life Is bound up in 
youra, Archie, and that if anything hurts you, It 
will hurt me equally.” 
Be smiled sadly. 
“You bid me remember that?” lie said, softly. 
“Youbid me remember that, Jean? and In the 
same breath you tell me to forget you. Ah ! fool¬ 
ish lassie, your theory is easier than your prac¬ 
tice!” 
'Ihere was another long pause. The room was 
very still and silent; outside the servants’ steps 
could be heard as they passed to and fro, then the 
sound ol a carriage driving up to the front en¬ 
trance, and Mr. Blair’s voice In the great hall 
made Jean start. 
“1 must go,” she said, faintly. “Oh! Archie, I 
must go.” 
He held her more closely for a moment, then he 
unclasped his arms from around her, and Jean rose 
dizzily to her feet. 
The Earl rose also. 
For a moment they stood In silence, Lord Ivor 
looking down with Intense passion, scarcely re¬ 
pressed, on the beautiful, wan face, on which he 
was looking Ms last; and Jean, with her long 
lashes resting upon her cheek, dared not meet his 
glance, but stood erect, pressing her little cold 
hands against her heart as If to slide Its rapid 
throbs. 
At last she held out her hand to Mm with a pale, 
wistful smile. 
“ Good-bye,” she said, faintly. 
“Good-bye,” he repeated. “Are you going to 
leave me thus, Jeanle?” 
The girt lifted ner eyes then, eager, startled, im¬ 
ploring, shuddering a little as she read the Infinite 
reproach and love on Ms face. 
“Let. me go,” she said, faintly, “ Archie.” 
“No,” he cried out, passionately, catching her in 
his strong arms; “ 1 cannot let you go thus—thus 
as If we were mere friends or acquaintances. Not 
thus Jean, not thus.” 
White and passive she stood still In his anus, 
while he looked down at her, in the fierceness of 
Ms pain, with despairing eyes. 
“ You love me. Jean,” lie whispered, abruptly. 
The girl gave Mm a wild, helpless look, and 
shuddered. 
“ You love me,” he repeated. 
“Oh! Archie, think. 1 arn-oh! Heaven help 
me—I am his wire I” 
slowly his arms fell from around her, leaving her 
free, and he drew back a step. 
“Ills wire!" he repeated, hoarsely. “True, 1 
had foigotten.” 
They stood and looked at each other in unutter¬ 
able, heart-breaking pain, and there wasa stillness 
as of death In the room. 
As of death! Aye, was not death in the room ? 
nad they not the death of their hopes and love to 
mourn for? 
“ You love me,” he said, slowly, in a moment. 
“ Let me thluk of that. You are his wife; he can 
take you trom me—he has taken you; but your 
love will be mine still wherever you go. He cannot 
take that from me-it Is mine. Oh! great Heaven,” 
he went on, In a moment, “ must we part-loving 
as we do ?” 
“Archie—Archie, let me go; they are coming for 
me,” the girl said, piteously, trembling in every 
limb and white as death. 
A low knock came to the door at tlds moment, 
and the Earl took Jean’s hands in bis, looking Into 
her face with hungry, yearning, gray eyes. 
“ l may kiss you once,” he said, in t he voice of a 
man la deadly pain. “ There can be no sin In that, 
Jeanle; tor you were mine, and your heart Is mine 
still. Heavens, how pale you are, my child I” 
He broke lnt.o a despairing malediction; then, 
seeing Jean shudder and shiver, struggled for 
calmness again. 
“ one kiss, my darting,” ho said, brokenly. “ It 
will be the last.” 
He drew her into his arms again and pressed his 
lips to hers In one long, last, lingering kiss. 
The door opened softly, and Lord Sholto came 
in, looking pale and agitated. 
Lord Ivor started and lilted his lips from the 
mouth wMch ho had touched with a passionate 
force In his despairing embrace, and he released 
Jean. 
“ Take her away,” he said, hoarsely, putting her 
hand luto Lord Sholto’s, as she stood passive, 
white, despairing before him, and then as his 
brother-in-law drew her slowly towards the door, 
he flung himself down upon the couch, covering 
his face with his hands to shut out sight a ndsound. 
At the door Jean paused, and, turning round, 
stood still a moment, looking with a heart-broken 
face at the bent figure, then disengaging her hand 
from Lord Shollo’s sh* went Jjtick a few paces, 
holding out her arms towards her lover. With a 
quick gesture of pain, she turned away, pulling 
out her hand to Lord Bliolto with an appealing 
gesture which she understood. He put his arm 
round her. and as the beau' Iful head fell upon Ms 
shoulder, he led her genliy from the room out Into 
the hall. 
In the great hall Mr. Blair was waiting; the 
hall door was open, and the carriage was waiting 
without. 
•• Jeannle,” wlilspered Lord Sholto, “try and be 
brave, dear child. Don’t let. the servants have 
reason to suspect anything." 
The girl trembled a little ; but withdrew herself 
from the support of Ms arm and went forward 
alone, calmly and proudly. 
Lady sholto came out of the library, looking 
white and trembling. Collins was standing on The 
steps, while the Duller, looking a lltlle mystified 
notwithstanding all Ms efforts, was holding open 
tbe door. Mr. Blair’s profuse generosity had made 
him rather a favorite with the household at Sholto; 
hut they could not quite forgive Mm ror having 
won Jean’s affection from the Earl; for though 
they had learnt tne marriage, they were unaware 
of Its real facts. 
jean paused for a moment. Lady sholto put her 
arms round her and kissed her gently. 
“ Go to Archie,” Jean whispered, softly. “I’lorle, 
dear help him to hear It; and when you see his 
suffering, forgive me if you can.” 
She released herself from Lady Sholto’s embrace 
and went on. 
“I am sorry to have detained you,” she said to 
Mr. Blair, quietly, ns she took Lord Sholto’s arm 
down the steps. 
“Collins, you must go Inside,” she said, calmly, 
to the maid. “Get in," she added, as the woman 
hesitated; but obeying her mist ress's glance more 
than her words, she enlcred the carnage. 
jean followed, and then, leaning forward, she 
held out her hand to Lord Sholto. 
“Good-bye,” she said, lu a rather constrained 
voice, with a lltlle tremulous smile. “Bring Flo¬ 
rence over to Blair Gates soon." 
lie touched her hand to Ms Ups In silence. 
Mr. Blair entered the carriage, tbe footman closed 
the door, sprang on the box, and the husband and 
wife drove away on the first stage of that llle jour¬ 
ney they had undertaken together, and wMch 
promised such little happiness for either. 
CHAPTER Will. 
UrSBANll AND WIFE — EMILY BltKTT. 
They had been married now for six weeks; the 
nine days’ wonder was over; people had ceased to 
talk of the romantic marriage, and nil the great 
people In the neighborhood had called ou Mrs. 
Blair. They had some dim idea that she had be¬ 
haved badly to the Earl or Ivor; but that must be 
forgotten, they decided, it would never do to slight 
Mrs. Blair on that, account; so they came one and 
all, and Jean had received them Witil gracious, If 
rather cold, politeness; and they had gone away 
with the Impression that she was very lovely, very 
beautifully-dressed, very cold, and very unlike Ute 
Miss McLeod, whom one or two of them had seen 
the year before at Miollo Hall. 
Jean was, perhaps without exception, the most 
unhappy woman In the shire. Too proud to show 
her misery, even to the man who had caused It, 
she opposed a cold Impenetrable dignify to bis ad¬ 
vances, although no wife, however devoted, could 
have done her duty more truly and well to the 
household, few of whom guessed the state of 
things. But this cold, calm, contemptuousdfgnlty 
—the ley tones of her voice when she answered 
him (tor she never directly addressed lhm)-the 
look lu her eyes when they met ills-were, of all 
filings, most galling to Andrew Blair. 1 f she had 
shown sorrow, If she had been angry. If the bad 
stormed, il she had wept, he would have Infinitely 
preferred It; it was this complete Indifference 
which angered him, which roused him scmetlmes 
to fury. 
On the morriLug on which we find them again 
the breakfast had proceeded lh almost complete 
silence. Jean, at her place near the urn, glancing 
over her letters, and sipping her tea; while Mr. 
Blah’, reading his paper, glanced up at her now 
and then, with half reluctant admiration. lie did 
not love her; aU the attraction she had po;sessed 
for him was over; but he would not help admhlng 
her, and admiring In her too what most repelled 
him, the calm hauteur and haughty indifference. 
She wore a rich, dark wine-colored morning- 
dress, raced and trimmed vs 1th velvet of the same 
shade, and mado In a quaint, half-foreign, emi¬ 
nently graceful manner. She hud no other color 
about ber, and the rich, dark shade became her 
fair complexion and delicate coloring admirably. 
Suddenly throwing down his paper, Mr. Blair 
said, coldly: 
•*There is something here which will Interest 
you.” 
Jean made no reply, hut she lifted her eyes In¬ 
quiringly. 
“Yes,” he went on, harshly: “ your old lover 
has not remained long away. He has returned 
not only to England, but to Scotland. He is to 
1 spend chrislmas at Sholto Hall.” 
A slight start from Jean had not passed unno¬ 
ticed. 
“ Indeed!” she said, calmly. 
" Are you not glad v” ho went on. coldly. “You 
appear to take thettdiugs very indifferently.” 
She made no answer. 
“Well," ho said, angrily, “why don’t you say 
sometlfing?” 
“About what?” she said, calmly; although he 
could see that she was trembling, ancl his face 
lighted up Joyfully. 
Her indifference was disturbed at last. As long 
as the Earl of Ivor had been absent. Horn Scotland, 
she could he Indifferent. Now- 
“ Are you not glad to hear of his return” sakl 
her husband, with a sneer. 
“Very glad!” said Jean, tremulously. “Very 
glad!” 
“And you dare say so to me—to your husband ? ” 
he said, with a sudden gust of fury. 
Jean laced him haughtily. 
“ or course I say so,” site said. “ 1 shall he yet 
more glad to he sure that he has returned, hav¬ 
ing forgotten that the miserable woman who Is 
your wife had ever flic supreme happiness-” 
But he Interrupted her furiously, 
“Take care,”he said—“take care! You may 
go too far, Jean 1” 
she turned trom him with a contemptuous 
glance. 
lie resumed Ms seat, quietly, for he had risen in 
Ms anger, and there was a short silence. 
“ it was always my father’s habit,” he said, 
quietly, “ to keep Christmas merrily at Blair 
Gates! I propose lo follow his example." 
She made no reply, hut he saw that the shadow 
deepened on her face, and an expression almost of 
fear crossed It. 
“ 1 propose to keep It right.merrily,” he went ou, 
calmly, watching her face closely the while. •• We 
will fill the whole house with guests, and give 
them a ball fit for royalty, Blair Gates never 
had a lalrcr mistress. I want to see my taste 
appreciated as it deserves. You do net speak? 
Really, Jean, at Hines you make mo wonder III 
have married that marvellous being, a silent 
woman.” 
“What would you havo me say?” she said, 
calmly, hut with beating heart, for Ms proposal 
lmd filled her with anxiety. 
“ Express 3 our appioval of my scheme,” he an 
swered. “uf course you approve of It. All 
women like gaiety,” 
“ 1 do not approve,” she said, slowly. 
“ Not ? And wherefore?” 
She hesitated a moment. 
“ 1 do not approve,” she said, earnestly. “Let 
gaiety alone IMS Christmas. What heart have l 
tor gaiety? Why-oh! why do you wish to fill 
this fiouse with guests to sflow them the misery 
which exists here? It will be wiser-believe me, 
It will be wiser not lo do so. Let It alone.” 
“ Your request is an extraordinary one,” he said, 
knitting his brows. 
“ But you will accede to It ?” she said, eagerly. 
“ l see no good reason for doing so.” 
Sfic ruse from her scat, and crossed over to his 
side, putting her hand ou Ms arm gently and en- 
truatlngly. 
“Andrew," she said, pleadingly, “ It Is the first 
favor I have asked from you. Take mo away. Let 
us go abroad—where you will—for Christmas. Oh! 
think how short a time you have given me. I am 
your wife, It is true; but, * she clasped hei hands 
lu dreary pain--*• but because 1 wear your ring 
upon my linger, I do not—I cannot forget! if we 
go away — 1 will try— behave me, l will—to do my 
duty as your wife 1” 
*• You must try to do your d .ty here,” he said, 
coolly. 
“ Do you mean t li it you will not take me away ?’ 
she said, with a great horror dawnlrg ou her face. 
“ I do, most certainly.” 
She retreated from hts side with a passionate 
gesture of pain and horror. 
“ You will ask them here v You will ask Lord 
Ivor here?’ she said, hoarsely. 
“.Most, certainly. If you do not choose to he 
sociable, l must be so. If you do not eliooso to 
issue Invitations for a ball, l will do so ” 
“You are resolute ? You arc determined ?" 
“ Quite resolute—quite determined. My mind Is 
mado up.” 
“ Very well,” she said, calm’y. “Remember, It 
is your own wish, your own doing. If ill come of 
It, let It be on your own head 1” 
“If ill come of It! My dear Jean, I have too 
good an opinion of you to think that any 111 should 
come of it.” 
•• You know that 1 do not love you!” she said. 
In a tone of concentrated scorn. “ I ou know that 
1 love Mm still with my whole heart and soul!” 
“I must believe it It you say so,” he returned, 
w 1th a sneering laugh. 
“ You know that not only do I not love you, but 
that 1 hate you—I loathe you! that l should re- 
jolce—Heaven forgive me !-lt 1 saw you dead at 
my feet: that, If 1 could, I would kill you!” 
“Take care}” said her husband, Interrupting 
her with a laugh; you are overheard! ’ 
Jeau turned quickly. During her speech awoman 
had entered the room and stood at. a little distance 
front the table, In an attitude of respectful waiting, 
but with ail expression in her face which showed 
that she was not unmindful of Jean's passionate 
words. 
The color faded from Jean’s face as she turned. 
“Do you want me, Brett?" 
“ I beg your pardon, ma’am; Barn.shy said you 
desired iny attendance.” 
“Biirnsby was mistaken—I do not!” said Mis. 
Blair, haughtily. “ You may go.” 
An evil Hash lighted up the woman’s lace lor a 
moment, and she stood motionless, with her head 
as haughtily erect as Jean’s own. 
She was a woman of thirty yours of age, or 
thereabout, and superbly handsome. Altogether, 
the housekeeper at Blair Gates-tor the woman 
was no other |.l)aii Emily Brett—was a \ciy beau¬ 
tiful and distinguished-looking personage, 
