1853.]

subdued and solemn cadence in their voices. Like tones heard in a dream it all fell on my ears-to become afterwards a remembrance more distinct than the reality.

'How pale and still she is!' whispered Mary. And how altered since this illness. She was so full of life and energy when I first saw her. Only a few short weeks ago, Geoffrey, do you remember ?'

'Yes, dear, I remember well.' 'How different her face is now. Oh Geoffrey! She stopped weeping. He soothed her tenderly, as a mother might a petted child.

To think that but for me all this sorrow had never been,' faltered she. 'Bertha would have been spared this suffering had I never come to Cliffe.'

'Do you wish you had never come to Cliffe, Mary?' asked his low, fervent voice.

Ah, no-no! If you do not.' 'IP Heaven forgive me, darling! but a whole world of misery would seem to me a cheap purchase of what I have won.'

He spoke passionately, impetuously, and she was quick to calm him.

Hush,' she said, gently, 'you will waken poor Bertha.'

But I did not wake. I lay still and placid-soulless, as it seemed, and pangless, long after they had left me.

is

My memory of the next few days vague and uncertain. I was kept very quiet, rarely spoke, and remained, for the most part, motionless and with closed eyes, so that they often thought me asleep when I was only thinking.

And

Mary was constantly with me. Her love was devoted, untiring. It would not be discouraged by coldness, and it seemed content to be unreturned. She was the tenderest, the most watchful of nurses. every one was very kind to me. My father, my step-mother; all those of whom I had thought so hardly that they did not care for me. Sometimes now I reflected remorsefully, that if they had not hitherto shown me much affection it might have been my own fault. I had no right to quarrel with natures for being over reticent.

175

Geoffrey sent me the freshest flowers every morning, and scoured the country for fruits and delicacies to tempt my appetite. And once or twice he came in to see me. These interviews were very briefvery silent. No one wondered-I was still so feeble.

regained strength but slowly. It was long before I left my bed. And the autumn was far advanced when for the first time my father carried me down stairs into the cheerful sitting room, and laid me on the sofa near the window.

I looked out into the garden; saw the trees wearing their golden tints; the laurels in the shrubbery waving about in the wind, the little wicket gate; beyond that the cliff; beyond still, the great sea, flashing in the noon sunlight. I remembered the last time I had passed out at that gate on to the cliff.

Mary was beside me, busied in some tender cares for my comfort. With a sudden impulse I passed my arm round her. It was the first expression of the new and softer feeling rising in my heart for her.

Poor child! she nestled her head in my bosom, weeping in a torrent of gratitude and joy. She must have been often cruelly wounded by the kind of sullen endurance with which hitherto I had received all her tenderness. For it was long before her patient love won its way and softened my rebellious heart. But she could not tell-she could not guess. It must have been a mystery to her always-the strange fitful humour of my love for her, which one minute would make me clasp her in a passionate embrace, and the next gently, but irresistibly, put her from me.

As I did now. I had struggled -God knows I had!-I had battled with the fierce tides of feeling that ever and anon surged within me, convulsing my whole being, feeble as I was, till the little vitality I had remaining seemed to leave me. I had learned the new lesson of striving against myself-against the strongest, wildest part of my nature. But I was young yet, and the instincts of youth are so passionate, so uncontrollable. They rebel so fiercely against suffering-they will shriek out, and dash themselves im

potently against the strong despair, even until it stuns them into silence. And I untwined Mary's clinging arms, and turned my head away from her. She sat contentedly beside me, playing with my hands, which she kept possession of.

How thin they were, and pallid! When I looked at them, after a while, and then at Mary's, what a contrast! She was amusing herself by taking the rings from her own fingers and placing them on mine. There was one-an opal set among diamondswhich sparkled brightly.

A pretty ring,' said I, languidly, taking it to look more nearly at it; I never noticed it before.'

'No,' said Mary, drooping her head, shyly; 'I-I never had it till last evening.'

I gave it back to her. She tried to put it on one of my fingers, but they were all too shrunken, and it slipped off.

Tis of no use,' said I, and I drew my hand away; it is a faithful ring, and will only be worn by its mistress.' And again I turned my face and gazed out.

'Don't look away from me,' said Mary, pleadingly, because-because I want to tell you this ring, -Geoffrey gave me.'

I know, I answered quickly; I understand-all. You need tell me nothing.'

She seemed relieved, and scarcely surprsied. For a moment she looked in my face, her own cheeks all flushing, and her eyes only half raised from the shadow of the lashes. Then she fell weeping on my neck.

Tell me tell me you are not sorry,' she said, brokenly; he is so good, and I-oh, I am so unworthy. You knew him long before I did, and you must know how noble he is, and how little I deserve him. But-but I love him, Bertha!'

She raised her head, and looked up straight into my eyes, as she uttered the last words. I pressed the tearful face down again upon my bosom hastily but gently.

I love him she again murmured, in a kind of childish dalliance with the words; I love him dearly!'

I said, after a little while, Then, Mary, is there no need to fear your

brace.

'I am tired,' was all I could say: 'I should like to sleep.'

But her sweet look of innocent self-reproach for having wearied me smote on my heart. When, after carefully arranging my cushions and coverings, she stole quietly away, I called her back. She knelt down at my side, and unsuspectingly the clear, untroubled eyes were raised to mine. I parted the hair on her brow, and twisted the fair tresses listlessly in my fingers.

I am weak still, dear,' I said, the while, and peevish, and capricious often. But you are very patient; you will forgive me.'

She was eager with deprecatory words; but I would not heed them. I kissed her tenderly, solemnly; bending over her, as I whispered the words

'God look on you, and love you always!-you and Geoffrey !'

And when I was alone, I prayed the same prayer.

Very gradually I regained strength. I do not care to dwell upon the time of my early convalescence. When I was well enough to need no nursing, Mary returned home; but she came to see me every day, and she was almost more at Cliffe than at F. Geoffrey would go to fetch her in the morning, and escort her home in the evening: when he returned, I had always retired to my room, so that I saw but little of him, though he was still, nominally, my father's guest.

He was most kind, and affectionate to me as ever. If the close and con

'Oh, I promise you infinite amusement in this young lady's budding diplomatic talents,' he persisted. As for me, I know the programme of her plot by heart-as I ought, having heard it so often. She is quite a female Macchiavelli. I only wish I were going out on a mission: what an invaluable secretary she would be to my ambassadorship!'

'I will give you a mission,' said she, laughingly-go and get Bertha some grapes. Her hands are quite hot, and I know your talking is too much for her. Go away, and ask Mrs. Warburton for a bunch.'

She pushed him playfully towards the door, through which at length he departed, grumbling, and appealing to me against her tyranny.

I did not see him again that night. Before he returned with the grapes, I had gained my own room, where I was glad to be quiet and at

rest.

After that day, I noticed that a certain shade of pensiveness appeared to hang over both the lovers, as the time of their first separation drew nigh. Geoffrey grew thoughtful often, while watching Mary as she worked, or read, or lay on an ottoman by my sofa, one of her fair arms thrown around me, as she loved to remain, her head half raised, and her loving face peering forth from the midst of her curls. So we were sitting, the very evening before Geoffrey's departure, and I remember how he looked at her, as he stepped into the room from the garden, where he had been pacing the terrace with quick, firm strides for more than an hour. He stopped for a moment on the threshold, gazing on her with eyes whose deep, wild love it seemed to me must have thrilled her-all unconscious as she sat. Then, as I furtively watched his face from under my trembling hand, I saw a changed expression come upon it-an expression of keen, vivid anguish. I had never seen such a look on his face before, and it appalled me-smote me out of my forced, stony self-possession. I started up, with a suppressed cry. Geoffrey-Geoffrey! what ails

you!'

He glanced rebukingly at me, as Mary rose hastily to her feet, and looked alternately at me and at her

lover, her whole frame shaking with alarm.

Bertha, have you wakened out of a bad dream?' he said, while he drew her to his side, and soothed away her fright that you horrify this poor child thus ?'

I sank back again on my cushions, and closed my eyes.

The poor frightened child hung sobbing on his breast. For a few minutes they did not heed me, and I had time to restore myself to my habitual composure before Mary, breaking from his arms, came to me again.

Darling Bertha, you terrified me so! Tell me, of what were you dreaming ?-that some harm had come to Geoffrey ?'

'I hope so, fervently,' he broke in, with his old vivacious manner. 'I have great faith in the proverb about dreams being fulfilled contrariwise. There could not be a better omen for my approaching journey than that you or Bertha should dream I had broken my neck.'

Mary shuddered.

'Oh, don't talk so!' she murmured; and don't wish us to have such dreams. Think, when you are gone, how dreadful-'

Her voice died utterly away, and she buried her face in my bosom. Again Geoffrey looked on her with that same look which I had scarce strength to endure. Then he turned away, and strode to the window. There he remained, looking out on the wintry, stormy world of sea, and cliff, and snow-covered moor-until Mary rose from beside me, and trying to laugh at her own foolishness, ran from the room to hide her freshly gathering tears.

Geoffrey approached me hastily, even as the door closed upon her. He seized my hand with almost fierce earnestness, and looked down upon me, his face quite wild with agitation.

'Bertha, Bertha! I always feared this happiness could not last. I believe each human soul has its portion allotted from the beginning of its existence and I-I have drank mine to the dregs already.'

I suppose the expression of my face struck him then, for he stopped suddenly, then resumed

'I am a thoughtless brute, I feel,

1853.]

But you must not with me,' I said, rising with a sudden effort. Tell me all that is troubling you. It will do you good to talk unrestrainedly. And you need not fear for me: I am quite strong, and very calm. Now, speak!'

Ever

Blessings on you, my Bertha— my sister!" he said, with a grateful tenderness that for a moment overset my boasted calmness. since I knew you, you have always been the refuge for my cares-my fits of depression; and you have always done me good. What should I do without you, Bertha ?'

'Go on,' I said; 'tell me what you have to tell, for we may be interrupted. Mary will return.'

At the name, his face again grew darkened with a strange gloom.

How shall I tell you?' he said, hoarsely; 'you will not laugh at my weakness-you will understand and pity it. Bertha, do you believe in presentiments ?'

He looked fixedly at me, but without waiting my reply, proceeded in a lower, yet more distinct tone

For two days I have been conscious of a strange burden on my mind a mysterious prescience of some ill to come, I don't know of what nature. Whether any ill is pending to me, or-No! not to Mary-not to her-but-'

He paused abruptly, and sat as if thinking for awhile. I tried to speak; I could not-I could only remain still, looking at him.

'Did I ever tell you,' he suddenly resumed, about my poor friend Sinclair? He was about to be married, and a week before, he caught a fever, and died on the very day fixed for his wedding.'

Still I said nothing. But the glance he gave me taught me something of the look that my own face

wore.

'Don't, Bertha-don't think too much of these foolish fancies. I am worse than foolish to infect you with my dismal ideas. Come, let us talk;

179

you will do me good, and make me all right again. Let us be cheerful?'

Looking back upon it now, I can hardly tell how I restrained the agony in my own heart to minister unto him. But I did so. In the gathering twilight we sat, until I had soothed him into a comparative serenity. It was strange, how his reason yet fought against his sensations. When I urged him to delay his journey for a time, he laughed, and, with something of his old pleasant banter, deprecated such a weakness, and derided himself for yielding to it as much as he had done. And his was always such a mercurial nature, that I felt no surprise at seeing him suddenly shake off all his gloom, and when Mary joined us, become even more than ordinarily vivacious. When the rest of the family joined us, he and my father began arguing in their usual style of quaint warring of wits. Mary sat silent, her fingers busily engaged with some light work; my stepmother, equally speechless, at her unfailing wools; and I-I could lie quite unthought of and unobserved on my sofa in the dark corner, out of the glare of the firelight and the lamp.

Oh, miserable-miserable evening! It was surely not unnatural that I, spite of what seemed my better reason, should be deeply impressed by what Geoffrey had told

me.

I had carefully avoided letting him see how much I was affected by it; but I could not conceal from myself the feeling of undefined terror and yearning anguish with which I watched him that last evening. I shivered as I gazed on his laughing face, and marvelled and doubted within myself whether his mirth were real or assumed. Well as I knew him, in the confusion and pain I had to battle against in my own mind I could not satisfy myself with respect to what was passing in his.

Mary was to stay with me that night, and Geoffrey was to depart early the next morning. When we prepared to separate for the night, he bade adieu to my father and Mrs. Warburton, then he came to me. No one could see his face but I, as he advanced to my sofa. I turned hastily aside, saying I should see