le 
iadies 
ora 
fiinet tui3 Pieto ria 
iooie 
jooijiaiuon. 
85 
“ I could not sleep, Mousie. I was wretched, and ter¬ 
ribly nervous, and when I found you were away from home 
I was just ready to raise the roof. I wandered like a lost 
spirit into Lady Betty’s room, and all over the old Hall, 
and had more than half a mind to send and have you 
fetched back. But then I decided to come for you myself, 
so I waited until all the people were abed and asleep, and 
then I stole out for I knew the night air would do me 
good.” 
“ Are you ill, dear mademoiselle ? ” Virginie asked in a 
whisper, shivering and cowering in the dark, for the wind 
had brought down a great dead limb with a sharp crack. 
“No, no,I am never ill,” Winnie answered, hurriedly. 
“ I am only restless and out of sorts. Oh, Virginie, I don’t 
know what ails me. I believe I am a fool, an idiot. I 
hate and despise myself, and I could never speak to you as 
I do if it wasn’t for the dark that hides my face,” and sud¬ 
denly she dropped her head on her companion’s shoulder, 
and gave way to a violent outburst ot tears and sobs, fright¬ 
ful as such an explosion always is from one who cries hard. 
Yirginie felt that constriction of the heart that presses 
the life and hope out of young bosoms. Her exclamation 
was a sob of agony, “ Oh, mademoiselle, what has hap¬ 
pened ? Is it Mr. Fortescue ? ” 
“ Don’t name that creature,” cried Winnie, as soon as she 
could get her voice. “ I loath the very thought of him, 
and have told him never to come near me again.” 
“ But why?” and the whisper in the dark faltered. 
“Why, darling, my love,” sobbed Winnie, as the confes¬ 
sion was wrung out of her, and feeling her face burn in 
the dark. “You are so pure-hearted, so true, you will 
never understand it, and you will despise me as I despise 
myself.” 
“ No, no,” said Yirginie, making a great effort over the 
words. “ It is I that ought to get down and cling to your 
knees for pardon.” 
Winnie was absorbed in what was passing within her 
to the exclusion of all else. Her voice broke and she 
seemed strangely humble. “ I have only allowed that 
ape-faced Fortescue to dangle after me, and whisper silly 
nothings, because I hoped it would vex Bradley.” 
“ And your cousin has scolded? ” gasped Yirginie. 
“ No, no,” with another passionate outburst of grief and 
impatience, “he does not care; he is as indifferent as a 
marble statue. You do not understand, you cannot know, 
you have never felt as I do. I thought I was strong, but 
I am miserably weak. I meant to rule myself, and never 
give way to this folly and madness,” she moaned on in the 
darkness. 
“ And your cousin ? ” returned Yirginie, holding out 
through these moments of torture she knew not how. 
“ He has made a scene, perhaps ? ” 
“ No, no,” sighed Winnie ; “he does not care enough 
for that. He would not mind if I was lying dead at his 
feet. I believe he would be glad, for this marriage must 
seem odious to him. He never would have consented ex¬ 
cept for the promise he made his mother. I believe he 
hates me, Virginie. And how can we go on in this way 
years and years ? Oh, it is hideous to think of. I hate 
myself because I cannot give him up, and tell him to go 
out of my sight.” 
The last drop had been shed into poor Yirginie’s cup, 
but the crisis seemed to calm and steady her, and she said, 
in a tone that sounded sharp, almost shrill, in her own 
ears: 
“You love him dearly, with your whole heart and 
soul? ” 
“ Do not ask me,” groaned Winnie, “I am beside myself. 
Did I not vow never to pine away, a love-lorn thing, like 
Ihe Lady Betty? I am too young and strong to die, and I 
shall not go mad, but I may turn wicked, Yirginie, unless 
you help me. I have only you in the world to cling to 
now. Can’t you comfort me a little, and show me a gleam 
of hope ? Maybe in time, in a great many years, he might 
come to feel differently. I would not expect much. I 
would be humble. I would subdue my pride and break 
my will. I would think only of pleasing him. But to 
have him dislike me always, and grow harder and colder, 
oh, that is too dreadful to bear.” 
Winnie’s tone of pleading and entreaty, not unmingled 
with tears, was a prayer for consolation poured into her 
friend’s ear, and she clung more convulsively than ever to 
her side, almost hurting her with her strong arm. 
The pause before Yirginie could gain power to speak 
seemed simply horrible, and at last when the words came, 
they were very cold and measured: 
“ I am sure your cousin will love you sometime, ma¬ 
demoiselle. You are worthy of his love.” 
Winnie heeded nothing but the import of the words. 
Though poor and scant, they were like the bread of life to 
her. 
“ Oh, say that again, Yirginie; say it every day and 
every hour. I can live on the least crumb of hope, and 
you shall teach me how to win him; you shall make me 
all over. I know men don’t like women who assert them¬ 
selves. You shall teach me to be gentle and docile. Do 
you know a horrible fear has sometimes come over me; 
the fear that he loves another. It was like fire on my 
bare flesh. If he is heart-free why shouldn’t I win him 
in time ? ” 
“Oh, you will win him in time,” repeated Yirginie, 
mechanically, and then with a kind of wrench, she broke 
away from her companion’s arm, and rose up before her 
from the place where they were sitting. Her face was 
deathly pale, and just at that moment the moon shone 
out upon it between dark clouds, and upon the long fair 
hair streaming over her shoulders. She looked more like 
a spirit than a mortal. 
Winnie felt a little creeping fear of her that was quite a 
new sensation. 
“ You are ill,” said she, tenderly, getting up, and stand¬ 
ing beside her. “ How selfish I have been not to find it 
out before! You are killing yourself nursing that red¬ 
headed boy, and I am to blame for permitting such, a 
sacrifice. Come, we will go call up his mother, and then 
you shall come home and sleep in my bed, and I will take 
care of you.” 
Yirginie rejected her friend’s supporting arm, and even 
the clasp of her hand. 
“I cannot go back to that house,” she said, in an un¬ 
natural, sharp tone. I must return to the boy, for I have 
promised to watch with him, and he needs me.” 
For an instant, Winnie stood rooted to the ground 
with surprise and consternation. She had never before 
heard such a tone issue from Yirginie’s lips. When she 
spoke, it was more in grief and remonstrance than in 
anger. 
But Yirginie had turned and begun to thread her way 
through the trees. 
“ Do you care more for that boy than you do for me?” 
cried Winnie, following down the path. “ He is in no 
sort of danger, and I have shown you how much I need 
you. I have laid bare my heart’s core. And you only 
seem bent on killing yourself. This is not kind, Yirginie, 
It is not like you. I never saw you perverse before. I 
thought you had the temper of an angel, for you never 
gave me a single pang. Now I am shocked that you 
should treat me in this way.” 
They had descended the bank very rapidly, and Yirginie 
was again in dense shadow. She stopped and her voice 
was forced and strange : 
“ Think of me as you will, mademoiselle, I cannot go 
back to that house to-night.” 
“ You have given me a blow in my heart,” gasped 
Winnie, in a voice thrilling with sorrow and reproach. 
“No human being but yourself could have made me 
believe it possible.” 
Yirginie did not stay to hear more; she fled over the 
cabbage patch into the cottage, and her friend was left 
outside alone in the night, stunned by the blow that had 
fallen upon her, not knowing why it had been dealt, or 
what it meant. She stood a minute or two rooted to the 
ground, gazing blankly at the dark outline of the fisher¬ 
man’s house. Something cold and moist insinuated itself 
into her hand. It was old Hector’s muzzle, for the faith¬ 
ful creature was rubbing himself affectionately against her 
dress. He recalled Winnie to reality. She found that the 
earth had not given way under her feet; that the heavens 
were still stable. All was calm and still, for the wind had 
gone down, and the moon coming out again cast wierd 
shadows down the old oak avenue. 
Winnie crept slowly through the trees, for this new 
trouble had awed her restless mood into silence. She let 
herself into the dark house at a little side door of which 
she kept the key, and, taking off her shoes, stole noise¬ 
lessly to her room. 
Winnie’s strong nature had quivered under this shock 
to her tenderest affections. For hours she lay in bod star¬ 
ing before her with eyes propped wide open, torturing her. 
self with conjectures and surmises as to the reason of Yir¬ 
ginie’s strange behavior. 
She dreaded the coming of light; she dreaded to have 
to meet her again. Her heart was bruised and sore, for 
all the happy past seemed shivered to pieces at one stroke. 
Everything was changed between them, and why was it 
so? The words that had been spoken were nothing, but 
an indefinable change in Yirginie had impressed itself 
upon her never to be effaced. It was the cold shade of 
death that had crept between them. 
Sometimes Winnie sobbed in her hard, violent way. 
She could not have it so. It was too dreadful. All her 
world, so rich and splendid, seemed crumbling to pieces. 
Once a serpent crept into her bosom, and stung her. 
Perhaps Virginie loved Bradley; had learned to love him 
on the steamer. But Winnie was loyal to her friend’s 
truth, though suffering from this change in her affections, 
and she put the creeping thing away as if it had pollu¬ 
ted her heart. 
Truth and health triumphed over this tumult of feeling, 
and, at length, far on toward morning, Winnie fell into a 
deep sleep. She was intensely interested in a vivid dream 
which she could never recall, but all the time there was 
the sound of knocking upon her door; that kind of knock¬ 
ing which we hear in sleep, but do not heed. However, 
the knocking increased. She opened her eyes to find the 
sun shining in between the curtains of her windows, and 
with a mist of sleep hanging round her she got up, slipped 
on a dressing gown, and opened the door to encounter 
the broad figure and perturbed countenance of old black 
Nanna. 
“ Oh, little Miss, dat furrin gal,” the old woman whim¬ 
pered. “ I dreampt of snakes las’ night, honey, an’ I 
knowed suffun was wrong.” 
“What about Virginie?” the young mistress asked 
sharply, now broad awake. 
“ ’Pears like Ive scart you, honey. You’s pale as 
bleachin’ cloth. Dat yaller-haired gal is like de apple in 
yore eye. Dat pore white trash, Finster’s wife, she sent 
up to say how as Miss Jinny was took bqd in de night, 
and has gone off light-headed, and is cryin’ for you dat are 
put out wid her, honey, and won’t forgive her nohow.” 
Winnie leaned for a moment against the wall. She was 
weak from the rush of emotions that had come into her 
heart. Pity, love, and sorrow were struggling there, but 
thankfulness was uppermost. 
It was all plain to her now. The delirium was coming. 
It had made poor Yirginie appear strange and unnatural, 
but she had been too selfish and purblind not to perceive 
the cause. Winnie felt an impulse to pray, though she 
had never been taught to pray. The instinct arose with¬ 
in her, and bedewed her heart, and made it soft. When 
she opened her eyes they were full of tears. 
“ Get the carriage instantly,” said she, in her clear, de¬ 
cisive tones. “ We will fetch Yirginie home.” 
Mrs. Finster was on the lookout, with the heavy baby 
sucking its thumb over her shoulder, and the rest of the 
children huddled together in an awed, little group when 
the carriage drove up to the door. 
“ It’s a mercy you’ve come,” she began in a very lachry¬ 
mose tone. “ I never was so beat in my life as when I 
found her lying on the floor at the foot of Jake’s bed, with 
her head burning hot, and her eyes staring wide open, but 
not knowing me more than the dead. And then liow she 
did talk, and sing, and laugh ? It would have just broke 
your heart to hear her. Now she -lias fallen into a stupor 
like, and I routed Finster out of the house, and made up 
the bed clean with the only whole sheets I’ve got; and 
there she is breathing and moaning in her sleep, so it’s 
dreadful to hear. Poor Jake has took on so about her, 
I thought he’d have a collapse himself.” 
Winnie cut short Mrs. Finster’s lamentations by push¬ 
ing past her into the low, untidy room, in one corner of 
which stood the bed, where Virginie lay with a purple, 
congested flush on her face, her baked lips wide apart, and 
the sunny hair scattered over the coarse pillow. It was a 
sight to wring. Winnie’s heart, but at that moment she 
must not give way ; she must act. Motioning Nanna to 
the bed-side, she said in a low voice, “ You and I can lift 
her easily to the carriage.” 
Softly as the words were spoken, they seemed to thrill 
through Virginie. For an instant the lethargy was shaken 
off. She shuddered and cowered away from Winnie’s 
touch, and moaned out, “ Don’t take me away from here. 
Let me stay here and rest.” 
But Nanna, with one firm movement, lifted her in her 
arms, and laid her drooping head down on her broad, 
motherly bosom, and thus she hushed and soothed her all 
the way, like a sick baby. She even carried her, unaided, 
up the broad staircase at the Hall, declaring she was only a 
feather in weight. 
“ Take her into my room,” whispered Winnie, as they 
were going up. 
Yirginie opened her eyes full and wide, and the same 
shuddering and shrinking came over her. “ Put me in my 
own bed,” she half sobbed. “ I shall die if you lay me 
there.” 
Winnie knew she ought not to be hurt by the poor 
girl’s ravings, in her delirium; but somehow she was. It 
recalled all she had suffered during the night. She was 
glad there was no time to brood over her thoughts. So 
Yirginie was laid in her own little bed ; and for two days 
she knew not what was happening about her. 
Bradley had passed a wretched, sleepless night beween 
hours of self torture, and ii rational gleams of joy awak¬ 
ened by the consciousness that Yirginie loved him. Hag¬ 
gard and unrefreshed, he arose just at dawn to nerve 
himself by a few hours in the fresh air for the interview 
with his cousin, in which he meant to break with all his 
past, and set his face toward a new life. He would tell 
her the truth, and throw himself upon her generosity. It 
was maddening to think that any imputation of evil would 
be cast on Yirginie; but he was there to guard and shield 
her. 
This step he meant to take without her knowledge, for 
he knew he could never gain her consent, and it was im¬ 
possible for him to carry longer a load of deceit. He was 
about to take his fate into his own hands. And the reso¬ 
lution once formed, he was calm and almost joyful. 
When he returned to the house, Winnie stood in the 
great entrance hall, holding an earnest half-whispered 
conference with the country doctor. He was rooted to the 
ground by the first words that reached his ear. 
“ A «d you think it won’t be necessary to cut off her 
hair?” 7 
