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>elure.

32X

THE QUEEI Of THE ISLE

Mrs. may AGNES FLEMING

AUTHOR OK "im.- iiAVLr v;r,.n,.„M .,

MIDNIGHT OUEKV " "tui^ uf,... ^

VUi.LN, rilL KIVAL liROTHERS," ETC.

NEW YORK

THK FEDERAL BOOK COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

CONTENTS.

1 1

v
i

PACE

I. Campbell's Isle 5

II. Tlie 31ugic Minor 9

III. The Maniac's Curse oj

IV. The Haunted Room 32

V. The Midnight Cry 39

VI. The Old Love and tlio New 4(j

VII. The Ilcarfs Struggle 53

VIII. The Triumph of Passion cO

IX. The Vision of tlio Isle 69

X. One of Fortune's Smiles ;5

Xi, The Storm- the Wreck .- 93

XII. Sybil's Return to thf : Isle 90

XIII. The Meeting oq

XIV. Jealousy -. qc

XV. Self-Torture II3

XVI. Falsehood and Deceit II9

XVII. A Lull Before the Tempest 127

XVIIL The Tempest I35

XIX. ThatDay ^^4

XX. What Came Next ]51

XXI. That Night..... l,r^7

XXII. Next Morning 16^

XXIII. Morning in the Island I73

""3"

l\ i

4 CONTENTS.

XXIV. Christie ^^°'

185

XXV. The Maniac's Story. . .

•^ 199

XXVI. Remorse. . . .

213

XXVII. Tlie Widowed Bridegroom ooo

XXVIII. The Thunderbolt Falls o""

XXIX. The Devotion of Love o^p

XXX. Sybil's Doom 1,

345

XXXI. The Bankrupt Heart or^

XXXII. Another Storm without and within 257

XXXIII. The Dead 4.1ive „1,

265

XXXIV. Explanations

XXXV. Meetings and Partings 288

35
13

50
tG

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

CHAPTER I.

Campbell's isle.

About six miles from the mainland of M-

— , with its

rock-bound coast waslied by the waters of the broad At-
lantic, was an islet, known in the days of which I write
as Campbell's Isle.

This island was small — about two miles in length and
the same in breadth, but fertile and luxurious. Tlie dense
primeval forest, which as yet the destroying axe had
scarcely touched, reared its self high and dark in tlio
northern part of the island. A deep unbroken silence
ever reigned here, save wlien some gay party from the op-
posite coast visited the island to fish or shoot partridges.
Sometimes, during tlie summer, pleasure parties were held
here, but in the winter all was silent and dreary on this
lonely spot.

This island had been, from time immemorial, in the
possession of a family named Campbell, handed down
from father to son. The people of the surrounding coun-
try had learned to look upon them as the rightful lords of
the soil, " to the manor born." Tlie means by wliich it
had first come into their possession were seldom thought
of, or if thought of. only added to their reputation as: a
bold, daring race. The legend ran tliat, long before Cal-
vert came over, a certain Sir Guy Campbell, a celel)fatcd
freebooter and scion of tlie noble Scottish clan of tliat
name, who for some reckless crime had been outlawed and
banished, and in revenge had hoisted the black flag and
become a rover on tlie high seas, had, in his wanderings,
discovered this solitary island, which he made the place of
his rendezvous. Here, with his band of dare-devils— all

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

outlaws liko liimself — lie held nuuiy a jolly carousal that
made the old woods riiig. In one of his adventures ho
liad taken captive a young Spanish girl, whose wondrous
beauty at once conquered a iieart all unused to the teiuler
passion, lie l)ore ofT his prize in triumph and, without
asking her consent, made her his wife at tiie first port he
touched. Soon, however, tiring of her company on ship-
board, ho brought her to his island liome, and there left
her to occupy liis castle while he sailed merrily away.
One year afterward. Sir Guy the Fearless, as he was called,
■was conquered by an English sloop-of-war, and, true to
his daring charac^ter, he blew up his vessel and, together
with his crew and captors, perished in the explosion.

His son and successor, (lasper, born on the isle, grew up
tall, bold and handsome, witli all his mother's beauty and
torrid, passionate nature. lie, in the course of time, took
to himself a wife of the daughters of the mainland ; and,
after a short, stormy life, passed away in his turn, to ren-
der an account of his works, leaving to his eldest son,
Hugh, the bold spirit of his forefathers, the possession of
CampbelTs Isle, and the family mansion known as Camp-
bell's Lodge.

And so, from one generation to another, the Campbells
ruled as lords of the isle, and became, in after years, as noted
for their poverty as their pride. A reckless, improvident
race they were, Ciiring only for to-day, and letting to-
morrow care for itself ; quick and fierce to resent injury
or insult, and implacable as death or doom in their hate.
Woe to the man who would dare to point in scoi'ii at one
of their name ! Like a sleuth hound they would dog his
steps night and day, and rest not until their vengeance
was sated. Fierce alike in love and hatred, the Campbells
of the isle were known and dreaded for miles around.
I^^rom sire to son the liery blood of Sir Guy the Fearless
passed unadulterated, and throbbed in the veins of ]\Iark
Campbell, thelato master of the Lo(''ge, in a darker, fiercer
stream than in any that had gone before. A heavy-
browed, stern-hearted man he was, of wliose dark deeds
wild rumors went whispering about, for no one dared
breathe them aloud, lest they should reach his vindictive
cars, and rouse the slumbering tiger in his breast. At
liis death, which took place two or three years previous
to the opening of our story, his son Guy, a true descendant

CAMPBELL'S ISLK.

of liis illiistrions namosuko, became tlio lord and master
of tlio isle, and tlie hist of tlie Oampbellrf.

Vuung (iiiy sliowed no dis])osiU()n to pass lii3 days in
the spot wiierc lie was b*»rn. After tlie death of his fatlier,
(Jiiy resolved to visit foreign lands, and h'ave (':mipbi'irs
Lod<;e in care of an old black servant. Aunt Moll, and
lier son Lein, both of whom had ]);issi'd their lives in tho
service of the family, and eonsideri'd that in some sort tho
honor of the house lay in their hands. \'M<,Mie riimorg
were current that the ohl house was haunted. Fishermen
out, castiiiix their nets, avowed that at midnitjlit, blue, un-
earthly liirlits ilashed from the Ujiper ehambei's — where it
was known Aunt Moll never went — ami wild, ])iercing
shrieks, that chilled the blood with horror, echoed on tliO
still night air. The supcM-stitious whispered that I)la(;k
]\Iark hiid been sent back by his master, the Evil One, to
atone for his wicked deeds done in the llesh, and tlnit his
restless spirit would forever haunt the old Lod<;{i, the
scene, it was believed, of many an appalling crime, lio
that as it may, the old house was deserted, save by old
Moll and her hopeful son ; and youns^ ^'ny, taking with
him his only sister, spent his time in cruising about in the
schooner he owned, and — it was said, among the rest of
the rumors — in cheating the revenue.

Besides the Lodge, or ('ampbell's Castle, as it was some-
times called, the island contained but one other habitation,
occupied by a widow, a distant connection of the Canip-
bells, who, after the death of her husband, had come hero
to reside. Tho cottage was situated on the summit of a
gentle elevation that conimanded an extensive view of the
island ; for Mrs. Tondinson — or Mrs. Tom, as she was
always called — liked a wide prospect, at least, if nothing
else could be obtained on the lonely island.

The most frugal, tlie most industrious of housewives wag
Mrs. Tom. Xo crime in her eyes ecpialed that of thrift-
lessness, and all sins could be pardoned but that of laziness.
Unfortunately for her peace of n.ind, she was alllicted
with an ori)han nephew, the hiziest of mortals, whose
shortcomings ke[)t the bustling old lady in a fever from
morning to niijlit. A wild voung sister of Mrs, Tom had
run away with a Dutch fiddler, and dying a few years after,
■was soon followed to the grave by her husband, who drank
more than was good for him one night and was found

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

dead in tho morning. Master Carl Henley waa accordingly
adopted by liis only living relative, and, as that good lady
declared, had been " the death of her " every day since.

A young girl of sixteen, known only as ''Christie," was
the only other member of Mrs. Tom's family. Who this
girl was, where she had come from, and what was her
family name, was a mystery ; and Mrs. Tom, when ques-
tioned on the subject, only shut her lips and shook her
liead mysteriously, and spoke never a word. Althougli she
called the old lady aunt, it was generally believed tliat
she was no relation ; but as Christie was a favorite with all
who visited the island, tho mystery conoerning her, though
it piqued the curiosity of the curious, made them like her
none the less.

A big Xewfoundland dog and a disagreeable, chattering
parrot completed the widow's household.

Mrs. Tom's business was flourishing. She made a reg-
ular visit each week to the maiidand, where she disposed
of fish, nuts and berries, in whicli the island abounded,
and in return brought back groceries and such other
things as she needed. Iksides that, she kept a sort of tavern
and a place of refreslnnent for the sailors and lishermen,
who sometimes stopped for a day or two on the island ;
and for many a mile, both by land and sea, was known
the fame of Mrs. Tom.

Such was Campbell's Isle, and such were its owners and
occupants. For many years now it had been quiet and
stagnant enough, until the development of sundry startling
events that for long afterward was remembered in tho
country around and electrified for a time the whole com-
jiunity.

THE MAGIC MIKKOR.

i
i
i

U
>

CHAPTER II.

TITK MA(iI(; MIllKOU.

_ turnoil my oyos, unci as I turned surveyed
An awful vision."

TiiF. sun was sinking in tlie far west as t lie little schooner
Evening Star went dancing over tiie i)rigiit waves toward
C'ainnbeirs Isle. Ca})tain (Juy ('anipWell stood leaning
negligently over the talTi-ail, solacing himself with n
ci^'ar and conversing at intervals with a slight, somewhat
haughty-looking young man, who stood beside him, watch-
ing the waves splashing as they sped along. No two could
Le more opposite as far as looks went than those two, yet
both were hiindsoiue and oL' aij^iit. the same age.

Fiike all of his race, young Cam})bell was very tall, and
(lark as a S|)aniard. Jlis short, bhick, curling hair shad-
owed a forehead high, bold and commanding. Dark, keen,
proud eyes (lashed from beneath j<'tty eyebrows, and the
firm, resolute moutli gave to his dark face a look almost
fierce. His iigure was exquisitely ])n)|)orlioiifd, and there
was a certain bold frankness mingled with a reckless devil-
may-care expression in his fine face, that atoned for his
swarthy com])lexion and stern brows.

His companion was a tall, elegant young man, with an
air of proud superiority about him, as though lit> were
** somebody " and knew it. His complexion wiis fair as a
lady's, and would have been eireminate but for the dark,
bold eyes, and his dashing iiir generally. There was some-
tliing particularly winning in hishan(1some iace.espo(Mally
when he smiled, that lit up his whole countenance with
new beauty. Yet, withal, there was a certain faithless
expression about the finely formed mouth that would
have led a close observer to liesitato b(^fore trustinjx him
too far. This reader, was Mr. \\'i]lard Drunimoiid, a
voung half-American, half-Parisian, :ind heir to one of the
finest estates in the Old Dominion. The hist five years he
had passed in Paris, and when he was thinking of return-
ing home, he had encountered Captain C-ampbell and his
sister. Fond of luxury and ease as the young patriciaa

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

was, ho gave up all, after that, for tlie attraction he dis-
covered aboiird the schooner Evening Star. And Captain
Cani))l)ell, phnised with !iis new friend, invited him to cross

ic ocean wi

th J

iini, a

s])en(

few

wee

wit]

1 hmi in

liis anci'Strai iionie, whitlier he was obliged to stop while
some repairs wcrt^ being made in )iis vessel — which invita-
tion Willard Drummond, notidng U)lli, ac('e])led.

" A\'ell, ('ani]»b(!ll, how is that pat lent of yours thiseve-

nmcf

iiHluirei

i I)

rumnioiu

alier a i):ins(

'M)on't know," re|»lied Capti.in Campbell, carelessly ;
I haven't seen iiim since morning]:. Svbil is with liim

now.

Hy th

the way, where did you pick him up ? He was
not one of your crew, 1 understand."

'*No; I met him in Liverpool. He came to me one
day, and asked nu; to tji'vo him home. I rej)lied I luid no
accommodations, and won hi much rati)er not be troubled
with passengei'S. JJowevcr, he pleaded so hard for me to
accommodate hiiii, and looked so like somclhing from the
other world all the time, that J had not the heart to refuse
the poor fellow. Jiefore we had been three days out at sea
lie was taken ill, and has been raving and shrieking ever
since, as you know."

'* What do you sup[H)se is the matter with liiin ? "

*' AVell, I haven't mueh cxi)erience as nurse myself, but
I think it's brain fever or something of that kind ; Sybil,
liowever, thinks that bitter remorse for something he lias
done is preying on his mind; and girls always know best
in these cases."

*' lie is, if I may judge by his looks, of luunble stjition,
rather," said Mr. Drummond. in an indiil'erent tone.

'' Yes ; Miere can be no doubt of that, though he
ap])ears to have plenty of money."

" Has he "[iven his name : "

*' Yes; l^ichard Grove."

*' Hum ! Well, it would be unpleasant to have him die
on hoard, of course." said Drummond.

" Oh, I tliink iie'll live to reach our destination ; lie does
not a])pear to be sinking very fast."

*' ^Ye must be now quite near this island hon.c of yours,
aptain Campbell ; I giow impatient to see it."

** We shall reach it about moonrise to-night, if the wind
holds as it is now."

THE MAGIC MIRROR.

" And wliiit, may I ask, do you intend to do with this
—this Riohurd (Jrovo, when you get tliore ? Will you
take him into your Robinson Crusoe castle, and nurso
him until he gets well, as that enter])risin<i: canoe-builder
did Friday's fatiier ? "

" No, I think not. There is an old lady on the island
who is never so happy as when she has some one io nurse.
I think we'll consign him to her,"

*'Thon there is another habitation on the island beside
yours? "said Dujnmoiul, looking up with more interest
than he had yet manifested.

'•Yes ; old Mrs. Tom ; a distant connection of our
fannly, I believe. And, by the wav, Drummond, there is
a pretty little girl in the case. I suppose that will interest
you more than the old woman."

" Pretty girls are an old story by this time," suid Drum-
mond, with a yawn.

'• Yes, with sucii a renowned lady-killer as you, no
doubt."

" I never did see ])ut one girl in the world worth the
trouble of loving," said Drummond, looking thoughtfully
into the water.

'' Ah I what a paragon she must have hvou. May I ask
what quarter of the globe has the honor of containing so
peerless a beauty ?"

y I never said «he was a beauty, mou ami. l^iit never
mind that. When do you expect to be ready for sea
again ?"

'' As soon as possible— in a few weeks, perhaps— for I
fear we'll all soon get tired of the loneliness of the
place."

'' You ought to be pretty well accustomed to its loneli-
ness by this time."

'' Not I, faith. It's now three years since I luive been
there."

" Is it possible ? 1 thought you Campbells were too
much attached to vour ancestral home to desert it so lon^-
as that." " '^

''Well, ifs a dreary place, and I have siK;ii an attach-
ment for a wild, exciting life, that J positively could not
endure it. I should die of stagnation. As for Sybil, my
wild, impulsive sister, she would now as soon think of en-
tering a convent as passing her life there."

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

Ill

** Yet you said it was by partly licr request you wero
goinpf there now."

•* Yes ; she expressed a wisli to show you the phice." A
sliglit llusli of pU^isure colored the clear face of Druni-
mond. ** I don't know what's got into Sybil lately,"' con-
tinued her brother. '* I never saw a girl so clianged.
Siie used to be the craziest leap-over-tlie-moon nnidcap
that ever existed ; now she is growing as tame as — littlo
Ciiristie.''

Dnunmond's fine eyes were fixed keen\" on the frank,
0})en face of Captain Campbell ; but nothing was to bo
read there more than liis words contained. With a pecu-
liar smile he turned away and said, carelessly, '"And who
is this little Christie, to whom you refer ?''

*' She's tlie jirotcgce of the old lady on the island — fair
as the dream of an opium-eater, enchanting as a houri,
and with tiie voice of an angel."

'* Whew ! the bold Captain Campbell, the daring de-
scendant of (Juy the Fearless, has lost his heart at last ! "
laughed Willard Drummond.

" Not I,'' answered Cuy, carelessly. '^ I never yet saw
a wonnm who could touch r y heart, and, please heaven,
never will.''

*' Well, here's a wonder — a young nnm of three-and-
twenty, and never in love ! Do you expect mo to believe
sucli a fable, my good frieiul ?"

*"■ Ikdieve or not, as vou will, it is nevertheless true ! "

'' Wiiat I do you mean to say you have never felt the
touch of the grande i)assion — the slightest symptom of
that infectious disorder ?"

** ro(»h I boyish fanCiCS go for nothing. I have now and
then felt a queer sensation about the region of my heart
at sight of sundry faces at different times ; but as for be-
ing fatally and incorrigibly in love — never, on my honor !"

** Well, before you reach the age of thirty, you'll have
a different story to tell, or I'm mistaken !"

'^No; there is no danger, I fancy, unless, indeed." ho
added, iixing his eyes quizzically on Drummond's hand-
some face, ** I should happen to meet this little enchant-
ress you spoke of awhile ago."

A cloud passed over the brow of his companion ; but it
cleared away in a moment, as a quick, light footste}) was
heard approaching, and the next instant, Sybil Campbell,

THE MAGIC MIRROR.

■1

the hiiughty daughter of a hauglity race, stood bright,
dazzling and smiling before tliem.

No one ever looked onc<j in the face of Sybil Campbell
without turning to gaze again. Peerlessly beautiful as
she was, it was not lier beauty that would startle you, but
the look of wild power, of intense daring, of fieree pas-
sions, of unyielding energy^ of a will powerful for love or
hate, of a njiture loving, passionate, fiery, impulsive and
daring, yet gentle, winning and soft.

She might have been seventeen years of age — certainly
not more. In stature sIk^ was tall, and with a form regally
beautiful, splendidly developed, with a haughty grace
peculiarly her own. Her face was perfectly oval ; her
complexion, naturally olive, had beun tanned by sun and
wind to a rich, clear, gipsy ish darkness. Her hair, that
hung in a profusion of long curls, was of jetty blackness,
now flashing with sparks of light, and anon sw'mming in
lifpiid teiulerness. Her high, bold brow might have be-
come a crown — certainly it was regal in its pride and scorn.
Her mouth, which was the oidy voluptuous feature in her
face, was small, with full, ripe, red lips, rivaling in bloom
the deep crimson of her dark cheeks.

Her dress was like herself — odd and picturesque, con-
sisting of a short skirt of black silk, a bodice of crimson
velvet, with gilt buttons.

She held in one hand a black velvet hat, with a long
sweeping plume, swinging it gaily by the strings, as she
came toward them. She was a strange, wild-looking
creature, altogether ; yet what would first strike an ob-
server was her queenly air of pride, her lofty hauteur,
her almost unendurable arrogance. For lier unbending

firide, as well as for her surpassing beauty, the haughty
ittle lady had obtained even in childhood the title of
*" Queen of the Isle." And queenly she looked with her
noble brow, her flashing, glorious eyes, her dainty, curving
lips, her graceful, statuesque form — in every sense of the
word, *' a queen of noble natures crowning."

And Willard Drummond, passionate admirer of be^.uty
as he was, what thought he of this dazzling creature ?
He leaned negligently still against the talTrail, with his
eyes fixed on her sparkling, sun-bright face, noting every
look and gesture as one might gaze on sonie strange, beau-
tiful mind, half in fear, half in love, but wholly in adniira-

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

tion. Yes, he loved lier, or Vliought he did ; and gazing
with him on tlie moonlit v.aves, when the solemn stars
shone serenely above him, he had told her so, and slie had
believed him. And slie, wild, nntutorec'. child of nature,
wlio can tell the deep devotion, the incense passion, tlie
fiery, all-absorbing love for him tliat iilled her impulsive
young heart ?

" Love was to her impassioned soul
Not as witli others a mere part
Of her existence ; but the w hole —
The very life-breath of her heart."

As she advanced, Willard Drummond started up, say-
ing, gaily :

*' Welcome back, Miss Sybil. I thought the su!ilight
had deserted us altogetlier ; but you have brought it back
in your eyes.''

" How's your patient, Sybil ?" said Captain Campbell
— who, not being in love, found Mr. Drumniond's liigh-
flown compliments very tiresome sometimes.

" ]\[uch worse, I am afraid," she answered, in a pecu-
liarly musical voice. -'I do not tliink lie will live to see
the morrow's sun. His ravings are friglitful to hear —
some terrible crimes seem to be weighing him down as
much as disease."

" After all, the human soul is an awful possession for a
guilty man," said Captain Campbell, thoughtfully.
'' Things can be smoothed over during life, but when one
comes to die "

"They feel what a retributive justice is, I suppose,"
said Drummond, in his customarv careless tone: ''and
apropos to that, somebody will suffer terrible remorse after
X die. I am to be murdered, if there is any truth in
fortune-tcllins:."

lie spoke lightly, with a half smile ; hut Sybil's face
])aled involuntarily, as she exclaimed :

'•' Murdered, did you say ? Who could have predicted
anything so dreadful ? "

" An old astrologer, or enchanter, or wizard of some
kind in Germany, when 1 was thei'e. The affair seems so
improbable, so utterly absurd, in short, that I never liko
to allude to it."

THE MAGIC MIRROR. 15

'< You are not fool eiiougli to believe such uonseuse, I
hope, said Captaia Cani])bell.

;^I don't kno^v as it is nonsense. There are more
things in lieaven and earth tlian are dreamed of in
philosophy, you know."

'' Yes ; I was sure you would quote tliat— everv one
does when advancing some nbsurd (k>ctrine. But it's all
the greatest stuff, nevertheless."

'• But did lie tell you whom you wore to be "

Sybd stopped short ; even in jest slie coukl not m6-
nounce the word. ^

"-MurckTo.I by ? " said Willu.-d, quiotly finisliiui; the
sent^uee for her. '■ No, he told n,o n„il,i„g. 1 Taw it

" Saw it ! How ? r do not imderstand."

'; ^}\ "'« st"'-.V is lianlly worth relating, a„d ought not

to ho old ,n theprc-si-no. of sncl, H.k,.|,tiS as Cantrmi ( y

Can.pbol , ;' sukI i>r,unn,ond, rnnniny' his linoJrs li-ht y

through Ills ihu-k, glossy locks. ".-.'"-'y

"rieaven forbid I siionld wait to be inniotod bvit'"
said Captain Oainiibell, starting np. "J will ivliovo viu
of my presence, and allow you to entertain mv su ,eS
tio.s sister here with your awful dosliiiv, of Vhich slio
Will doublle.^i believe every word.-'

"I should be sorry to believe anvtliiiig so droadfiil "
said Sybil, gravely ; " but I do think -there are so, fe o'd
ones to whom the f iture has been revealed. I wish!
could meet them, and find out what it has in store for

XIX \^ a

angei like you:' ' """ ^' "°"""^' '""' ^''' ''"^ ^"

at hiTwor'fs'."'^'"' ""''"'^ ''''''' J"''''"' '"^■'^ ••"'^' "■'^""Pl'
"Do yon believe in omens?" .she said, hnighin-dv
-See how brightly and beautifully yonder moon is r i h g
^ow, If ,t reaches the arch of heaven unefciuled, I si latl
believe your prediction."

skv^'iml^H,''" '''°''' "/'""' "'"'"' l'"^^''^' athwart the
6kj, .md the moon was obscured in darkness

Invoinnfn -i ,"^'" '""" "^''^J''"' H'"' "t tl'« 'Iraul omen.
L^Sa'tSy!""^''' DnunmondX who, also, had

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

" Heaven avert the omen ! " she cried, with a shudder.
** Oil, Willard ! the unclouded moon grew dark even
while I spoke."

" And now the cloud is past, and it sails on brighter
than ever,'' he said, with a smile. " See, fairest Sybil, all
is calm and peaceful once more. My prediction will be
verified, after all."

She drew a deep breath, and looked so intensely relieved,
that he laughed. Sybil blushed vividly as slie said :

" I know you must think me weak and child isli ; but I
am superstitious by nature. Dreams, inspirations and
presentiments, that no one else tliinks of, are all vivid
realities to me. But you promised to tell me the German
wizard's prediction concerning your future; so, pray, go
on."

" AVell, let me see,'' said Willard Drummond, leaning
his head on his hand. '* It is no ^ three years ago that a
celebrated Egyptian fortune-teller visited the town in
Cermany where I resided. His fame soon spread far and
wide, and crowds of the credulous came from every part
to visit him. lie could not speak a word of any language
but his own : but he had an interpreter who did all the
talking necessary, which was very little.

" I was then at a celebrated university and, with two or
three of my fellow-students, resolved, one day, to visit the
wizard. Arrived at his house, we were shown into a large
room, and called up one by one into the presence of the
Egyptian.

" Our object in going was more for sport than anything
else ; but when we saw the first who was called — a wild,
reckless, young fellow, who feared nothing earthly — return
pale and serious, our mirth was at an end. One by one
the otliers were called, and all came back grave and
thoughtful. By some chance, I was the last.

'' I am not like you, bright Sybil, naturally supersti-
tious ; but I confess, when the interpreter ushered me into
the presence of this wizard, I felt a sort of chilly awe
creeping over me, lie was the most singular-looking
being I ever beheld. His face was exactly like one wlio
has been for some days dead — a sort of dark-greenish
white, with pale blue lips, and sharp Asiatic features. His
eyes, black, and, piercingly sharp, looked forth from two
deep caverns of sockets, and seemed the only living feature

THE MAGIC MIRROR.

in his ghastly face. There were cahlrons, and lizards, and
cross-bones, and tame serpents, and curious devices carved
on tlie walls, ceiling and lloor, like all other such places,
and the wliite, grinning skulls that were scattered about
formed a hideously revolting sight in tlnit darkened room.

'*The Egyptian stood before a smoking caldron and,
drawn up to his full height, his size appeared almost
colossal. His dress was a long, bhick robe, all woven over
with scorpions, and snakes, and other equally pleasing
objects, that seemed starting out dazzling white from tliis
dark background. Altogether, the room looked so like a
charnel house, and the wizard so like asui)ernatural being,
that I am not asnamed to own I felt myself growing
nervous as I looked around.

" The interpreter, who stood behind, opened the scene
by asking me my name, age, birthplace, and divers other
questions of a like nature, whicii lie wrote down iu some
sort of hieroglyphics and handed to the Egyptian. Then,
bidding me advance and keep my eyes fixed on the caldrou
and not speak a word, the interpreter left the room.

" My heart beat faster than was its wont as I approached
this wild being, and found myself completely alone with
him in this ghostly, weird place. lie took a handful of
what I imagined to be incense of some kind, and threw it
on the red, living coals, muttering some strange sounds iu
an nnknown tongue as he did so. Presently a cloud of
bmoke arose, dense, black and suffocating, filling the whole
room wiUi the gloom of Tartarus. Slowly, as endowed
with instinct, it lifted itself up and spread itself out before
me. And looking up, 1 beheld "

Willard Drummond paused, as if irresolute whether to
reveal the rest or not ; but Sybil grasped his arm, and iu
a voice that was fairly hoarse with intense excitement,
said : '•' Go on."

'^I saw," he continued, looking beyond her, as if
describing something then passing before him, " the
interior of a church thronged with people. Flowers were
strewn along the aisles, and I seemed to hear faintly the
grand cadences of atriumphahhymn. A clergyman, book
in hand, stood before a bridal pair, performing the mar-
riage ceremony. The features of the man of God are
indelibly impressed on my memory ; but the two who
stood before him had their backs toward me. For about

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

five seconds tlicy remained tlius stationary, and then it
began to grow more and more indistinct ; tlie forms grew
shadowy and undefined, and began to disappear. Just
before tliev vanished altouetlier, the faces of the wedded
pair turned for an instant toward me ; and in the bride-
groom, Sybil, 1 beheld myself. The va])or lifted and
lifted, until all was gone, and notliing was to be seen but
the black walls of the room, and tlie glowing, fiery coals
in the caldron.

*' Again the Egyptian threw the incense on the fire,
and again mumbled his unintelligible jargon. Again the
thick black smoke arose, filling the room, and again be-
came stationary, forming a shadowy panorama before me.
This time I saw a prison cell — dark, dismal and noisome.
A rough straw pallet stood on one side, and on the other
a pitclier of water and a loaf — orthodox prison fare from
time immemorial. On the ground, chained, as it were,
to the Avail, groveled a woman, in shining bridal robes,
lier long, midnight tresses trailing on the foul floor. No
words can describe to you the utter despair and mortal
anguish depicted in her crouching attitude. I stood
spellbound to the spot, unable to move, in breathlcos in-
terest. Then the scene began to fade away. The pro-
strate figure lifted its head, and I beheld the face of her
who, a moment before, seemed to stand beside me at the
altar. But no words of mine can describe to you the
mortal woe, the unutterable despair in that haggard but
beautiful face. Sybil ! Sybil ! it will liaunt me to my
dying day. I put out my hand as if to retain her, but iu
that instant all disnppeared."

Once more Willard Drummond paused ; this time he
was deadly pale, and his eyes were wild and excited.
Sybil stood nearliim, her great, black, mystic eyes dilated,
every trace of color fading from her face, leaving even
her iips as pale as death.

"The third time this strange enchanter went through
the same ceremony as before," continued he ; "and, as in
the previous cases, a new scene appeared before me ; now
the time appeared to be night ; and the place a dark,
lonesome wood. A furious storm of lightning and
thunder, and rain was raging, and the trees creaked and
bent in the fierce wind. On the ground lay the dead body
of a man, weltering in blood. A dark, crimson stream

THE MAGTC MIT^ROR.

I tlien it
'ins grew
r. Just
wed(]ed
lie brido-
ted und
seen but
'17 coals

tlio fire,
;'din tlie
:iain be-
bro me.
oisome.
10 otlier
re f j"om
't were,

robes,
r. No
mortal

stood
:tjs in-
le pro-
of lier
at tlie
)u tlie
rd but

o my
but iu

Tie he
cited,
a tod,
even

ough
as in

now
lark,

and

and
body
'earn

'.A

flowed from a great, friglitful gash in his head, from
wiiicii tile life sceiucd to luive just gone. As tlie white
face of the murdered man was upturned to the liglit— cut,
bloodv and disfigured as it was. Sybil — I recognized my-
self once more. As heaven hears me, I saw it as plainly as
J see youder ]>ale, fair moon now. A wiiite, ghostly form,
wlietiier of woman or spirit 1 know not. seemed hovering
ne;i.r, darting, as it were, in and out among the trees.
Even as T gazed it grow thin and slnulowy, until all was
gone again.

'• ]'\.)r the fourth and last time, the Egy})tian threw the
strange incense on tlie ^'re, and ' spoke the words of
power,' and a new vision met my horrified gaze. J seemed
to behold an immense concourse of })eoj)le, a vast mob,
swaying to and fro, in the wildest excitement. A low,
hoarse growl, as 01 distant thunder, ])ass(M| at intervals
through the vast crowd, and every eye was raised to an
object al)ove them. J looked up, too, and beheld u sight
that seemed freezing the very blood in my veins. Jt was
a scaffold, and standing on it, with the ignominious halter
around her white, beantiful neck, was sin; who had stood
beside me at the altar, whom I Inid seen chained in her
l)rison cell, doomed to die by the hand of the ])ul)lic hang-
man now. Iler beantiful hands were stretched out wildlv,
imploringly, to tlie crowd below, wlio only hooted her in
her agony and despair. The executioner led her to the
fa^^-.d drop, a great shont arose from the crowd, then all
faded away ; and, looking up as if from an appalling dream,
1 saw the interpreter beckoning me from the door. How
I reeled from the room, with throbbing brow and feverish
pulse, I know not. Evcrytliing seemed swimming around
me : Jind, in a state of the wildest excitement, 1 was
Imrried home by my companions. The next day the
Egvptian left the citv, and where he went after 1 never
heard. Such was the glimpse of the future I beheld. It
was manv months after before 1 completely recovered
from the shock I received. How to account for it. 1 do
not know. Certain 1 am that I beheld it, truly, as J have
told it in every particular — for the impression it made
npon meat the time was so powerful, tlijit everything con-
nected with it is indelibly engraven on my memory. It
may seem strange, absnrd, impossible ; but that 1 have
nothing to do with ; I only know 1 saw it, incredible as it

THE QUEKX OF THE ISLE

seems. But good heaven ! Sybil, dearest, yon are ill—
faintiiiJ^ ! "

l\ile, treinbliiig and excited, the once fearless Syl)il
Campbell clung to his arm, white with vague, siciveiiin;;
liorror. Sui)erHtitious to an unusual degree, an awful
presentiment liad clutched licr lieart, and, for a moment,
siie seemed dying in liis arms.

Sybil ! Sybil ! my dearest love ! " he said, in alarm,

((

'Mvhat is it?"

'"'Nothing — nothing," she answered, in a tremnlous
voice ; '* but, oh, Willard! do you believe tlie prediction?"

'* Strange, wild girl tliat you are ! lias this idle tale fright-
ened you so ?" smiling at her wild, dilated eyes.

If it should prove true," she said, covering her face,
with a shudder. " Willard, tell me — do you believe
it?"

*' My dark-eyed darling, how can I tell whether to be-
lieve it or not ? It has not come true, and there seems
no likelihood of its ever doing so. Do not think of it any
more ; if I had thought it would have unnerved you so, I
-would never have told vou."

" But, Willard, did any of his other predictions prove
true ? "

" I had rather not answer that question, Sybil, "he said,
while a cloud darkened for a moment hi^j fine face.

" You must tell me ! " she cried, stavting up, and look-
ing at him vith her large, lustrous eyes.

** Well, then — yes," said Drummond, re] ic^antly.
" Young Vaughn, one of those who accompanied me, saw
a funeral procession, and himself robed for the grave,
lying in the coffin. Five weeks after he was accidentally
shot."

She put up her arm in a wild, vrgue sort of a way, as if
to ward off some approaching danger.

" Oh, Willard ! this is dreadful— dreadful ! What if all
he predicted should come to pass ! "

*' Well, I should be obliged to do the best I could.
What will be, will be — you know. But I have no such fear.
Xonsense, Sybil ! A Campbell of the Isle trembling thus
at imaginary danger ! — the ghost of Guy the Fearless will
start from his grave, if he discovers it !"

The color came proudly back to her cheek at his banter-
ing words, as she said, more coldly and calmly :

are ill^

^ss Sybil
iokeiiin;r
Lii awful
iioiiient,

I alarm,

emu I on 3

etion?''

efriglit-

er face,
believe

r to be-
i seems
f it any
n\ so, I

3 prove

e said,

look-

antly.
3, saw
P'ave,
!i tally

as if

if all

3nld.

fear.

thns

will

iter-

TlIE MANIAC'S CURSE. 81

"■^For myself, I conld never tremble ; but for " She

paused and lier beautiful lip quivered.

" For me, then, my (U-ar love, those fears are," he said,
tenderly. '*A thousand thanks for this proof of your
love ; Init, believe me, the eause is oidy inui<^nnary. Why,
Sybil, I bad nearly forgotten all about tbe matter, until
your brother's renuirk to-night recalleil it to my memory.
Fromise me, now, that you will never think of it more-
much less speak of it."

'' Tell me one thing rnore, Willard, and I promise —
only one," said Sybil, laying her hand on his shoulder
and looking uj) in hij face earnestly, while her voice
trembled in spite of all her eiforts.

*' Well," he said, anxiously.

" Did you recognize the face of the person yon saw at
the altar, and who afterward died on the scaffold ?"

He was silent, and looked with a troubled eye over the
shining waters.

'^ Willard, dearest Willard ! tell me, have vou ever seeu
her ? "

'' Why will you question me thus, dearest Sybil ?"

"Answer me truly, Willard, on your honor."

*'Well, then, dearest, I have."

Sybil drew her breath quick and short, and held his
arm with a convulsive grasp.

" Who is she ? " she asked.

Willard turned, and looking steadily in her wild, search-
ing eves, replied, in a thrilling whisper;

" You, Sybil— you ! "

CHAPTER III.

THE maniac's curse.

" Her wretched brain pa ve way.

And slie becanie a wreo : at random driven,

Without one glimpse of leasou or of heaven."

—Lallah Rookh.

The schooner Evening Star lay at anchor in a little
rock-bound inlet, on th.e northei'u side of tlie island pre-
viously referred to. A boat had just put off from her,
containing Captain Guy Campbell, Mr. Willard Drum-
mond, Sybil Campbell, and the sick passenger, Richard

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

(jirovc. llo l;iy on a sort of iimttress, lialf supported by
(Jiiptiiin (.';impl)oll ; und in the pule, cold moonli^lit. looked
wan iiud eiiiii'3i}ited to i\ feiirful de^^ree. The features,
sharply detiruid, were like tliose of u skeleton, and thcdr
ghastly ri^ddity seemed like that of ji corpse, lint life, in-
tensely huniint]: life, shone in the wild, troubled eyes.
AVJllard J)runnnond and Syl)il sat talkini^ together in low
tones at the other end of the boat, fearful of disturbing
the dying man.

As the bojit touched tlio shore, Drnnimond leaped out,
and held out his hand to Sybil ; but the wild sea nyni}>h,
declining tlic needless aid, sprang liglitly out, and stood
beside bini.

The figure of a woman, who had been standing on a
rock watching their ap])roach, now came forward, exclaim-
ing delightedly :

" Laws-a-massey, Miss Sybil ! Who ever s'posed we'd
see you here again ? Where hev ycu been to this long
time ? "

''My dear Mrs. Tom !" said Sybil, smilingly holding

out her hand, *' I am delighted to see you. unere nave
I been is a troublesome question to answer, seeing that I
liave heen almost everywhere you could mention !"

'^ Laws, now ! hev you ^' 'Spect yon had nice times
sailin' round, though it does seem odd how you can stand
all the seasickness you must hev come through. 'Tain't
every young critter would do it. But then you alius was
ditferent from most young* folks. (Jemini ! how you've
growed, and how handsome you've got ! Jest as pooty as
a pictur ! and that, I s'pose is young jNLaster (Jny," con-
tinued the loquacious newcomer, eagerly, as the young
captain leaped lightly ashore.

Sybil nodded, and blushed slightly, as she encountered
the gaze of Drummond, who stood watching jMrs. 'J'om,
with a half smile of amusement on his fine face.

" M.'ister Guy !" said tlie officious Mrs. Tom. bustling
forward, 'S'ou hain't forgotten your old aunty, I hope?
My gracious I you've got as tall as a hop-pole ! Growed
out of my knowledge altogether ! "

" Wliy, Mrs. 'I'om ! is it possible ? " exclaimed Captain
Guy, catching her hand in his hearty grasp. '' Looking
as young and smart as ever, too ; and as fresh and breezy
as a May morning ! Ton my word, Fm delighted to see

THE ^[AXIAC'S CURSE.

>orfo(l by
t. lookod
fc.'ituri's,
11(1 Mioir
t life, in-
t'd cyos.

T ill \()\y

^tui'birig

■>o(l out,
nyjiij)!),
d stood

ii;t on a
xclaiiii-

fl we'd
is long

oldiiig
liHve
tJiat I

tijiios
stand
Fain't
s was
ou've
ty as
con-
oung

ered
Tom,

rling
)pe ?
• wed

tain
ing
ezy
see

vou looking so well ! JIow jiro pretty Christie and Master
'Carl ? "

*• Oh ! Christie is well enough, ajul pooiier than ever ;
and, what's more, she's as good as she's handsome. \U\t
(^'jirl — oh, Master (Juy I that there young limb'll break
my heart yet ! 1 h-in't tiie slightest doubt of it I All of
the tlirifless, good-l ")r-n«)thiiig lazy-hones "'

**OhI well, Mrs. Tom, he'll outgrow that. The best
thing you can do is to let me lake him to sea with me, tho
n(!Xt time 1 ,i,'o, and that will cure him of his laziness, if
anvthing will. In tlu; mean time, I have a patient for
yoii to take eare of, if ycni have no objeetion. lie can't
last much longer, [)(>or fellow, and you are a better nurse
than Sybil. What do you say, Mrs. 'lom ? Shall I have
him sent up to your house ? "

Mrs. Tom was a brown-faced, black-eyed, keen-looking,
wide-awake, gossiping little woman, of four feet high, with
a tongue that could, and did, say sharp things sometimes ;
but with a heart so warm and large (hat it is a wonder
how it ever found room in so small a body. However, 1
have been told, as a general thing, little people are by far,
cleverer and warmer-iiearled than their tall neighbors — as
if nature was anxious to atone for their shortened stature
bv frivinu: them a double allowance of lutart and brains.
Xursing was Mrs. Toms peculiar eleuKMit. Nothing de-
lighted her more than to get possession of a patient whom
slie could iloctor back to health. 15ut, unfortunately, this
desire of her heart was seldom gratillejl ; for both Carl and
Christie were so distressingly healthy that " yarb tea"
and *• chicken broth" were only thrown away upon them.
Her frequent visits to the mainland, however, all'orded her
an opportunity of physicking indiscriminately certain
unfortunate little wretches who Avere always having in-
iluenza, and measles, and whooping-cough, atid other little
complaints, too numerous to mention, and which Hed be-
fore Mrs. 4.'om's approach and the power of her *'yarb
tea." Of late, there had been a " plentiful scarcity " even
of these es(jape valves, so her eyes twinkled now with de-
light at the prospect of this godsend.

" Send him up ? Sartinly you will, ^faster Guy. I'll
take care of him. This here's the best road, up to the
side of the rocks ; 'tain't so rough as it is here."

*' Lift him up," said Captain Campbell, to the sailors

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

wlio nad rovvod thorn aslioro. "(JcMiily, boys," lie said,
as tlic sick man irroanod. " Don't hurt liim. Follow Mrs.

ri'

'J'oin (o lior cottaiio — Mint's tlto way. I'll bo down oarly
to-morrow to sec* him. Mrs. 'i'otn. Thiswiiy, Driimmoiid ;
follow mo. I'll ))i(l you ^oimI ini;hl, Mrs. Tom. Uomom-
bor mo to ('hrisiio." And (':i|)(;iin (';iinj>bt'Il spra!i;,Mip
Iho ro('i\S, foHowcMl by Syl)il and Drummond. in tho diroo
tion of (';unj)l)(»irs Cnst lo.

Mrs. Tom, with the rapidity wbi(di tbo two sturdy soa-
jnoii found it ilitlicult to follow, burdonod as thov woro,
>vali\od tow.'ird hor i'ott!i<;o.

Th(> homo of Mrs. Tom was a low, ono-story honso, oon-
sistinj^ of ono lari^o room and bodroojn, with a loft jd)ovo,
\vhoi"o all sorts of lumbor and ,<;;ir(K>n implomonts woro
thrown, and whon* MastiM' (';irl souiiht^ his ro})os(>, A
j;"ar(ion in front, with a woll-iifravolod ])ath, lod up to tho
front dot)r ;ind into t lio apiirtmont which sorvod as kitchen,
pnrlor, dininu-room and sic«>pin!L;-room for (Mirisli(^ ;iiid
]\Irs. Tom. 'i'ho furniture* \v;is of tho plainest dosci'ipt ion,
and s(>anty at that ; for Mrs. Tom was ]>oor, in spil(! of all
licr industry ; but, as mi<;ht oo oxpoctod frojii so thrifty a

^rh

liousowift\ ovorythinu- was iiko waxwork. I'lu; snnill dui-
mond-shapod panes in tho windows Hashed liko jewels in
tho moonlight, and tho Ihtors ami (diairs woro scrubbed as
>vhito as human hands c»,.v'ld make thom. lUdiind tho
house w;»s a lar^'o vouotablo iiarden, nominalH' cultivated
by Carl, but really by Mrs. Tom, ^vho jiroforrod doing tho
"Work herself, to watchino" hoi lazy nt^phew.

As tho men onterod with their l)urden. Mi's. Tom throw
0]>en tho bedroom door, and tho sicdv nnm was de{)osited
on tho bed. Tiiohts were brouuht by Carl, a round-fac{>d,
yellow-haired, sloepy-lookinii; youth of tifteen, with dull,
unmeaning" blue eyes, and a slow, indolent ^'ait — the very
opposite in every way to his brisk, bustliuijj little aunt.

*' l^e olT with you to bed ! " saitl .Mrs. Toju. " It's the
best place for any ono so lazy as you are. ('l(>ar out, iu)w ;
for I am going to sit up with this hero sick man, and want
quiet I

With ovidon* willingness, Carl shulUod oif, leaving Mrs.
Tom alone with hor patient.

Tho little woman api)roachod tho hod and looked at his
pinched, sallow features with an experioncod eye. It was
evident 10 her lie could not survive tho night.

THE MANIAC'S CURSE.

)Ilow Mrs.
'>\vn cjirly

Rcrnoni-

'ic (lirec-

"•'ly soji-
<\v were,

l.^(\ COFl-

's were
osp. A
> <() llio
itclicri,
lio and
■ij'tioii,
I' of uJl
inTiv a
ill (I'iji-
vcIh ill

'h!(1 ;i,S
Hi Mio
ivutod
li^' tlio

f Iirow
>siled
accd,
dull,
very
t

s (ho
\o\v ;
want

'■- Ill's

^vas

<' I wonder if ho, knows IiIh (Mid'H ho ncur at hand/' said
lyfrs. 'I'oni to liersclf. " llo ought to know, anyliow. I'll
tell him wlien he wakes, cause it's no use for nie liying
to do anything with him."

The man was not ar.eep. As slie Hj)oke ho opened liis
larg(\ wilddooking, hlack eyes, and gaze*! jiivwmd vacantly.

" Mister,'' hegaji Mrs. 'I'om, ** I don't know yourniiinf- ;
]>ut 'tain't no o(hls. Do you know how long you have to

1V(^ •

" How h)ng ? " said the man, h)oking at her with a ,'^a/c
so wihi. that, had M fs. 'I\»nj Ixien. the least, l)it m rvous, it
would have tcri'iliefl her heyond measure.

'* Not three hours," said Mi's. Tom, gra,vely.

A sort of wild horror overs[»read the face of the <lying
man.

''So soo!i ! — oh (Jod I — so soon !" ho murmui-ed, '^ and
with all un('()jif('ssed still. I ('anrn)t die with this crime
on liiy soul ! 1 must I'eveal the miserahle secret t.h;il, has
eaten away my vei-y lif<! !"

Mrs. Tom listened to this uncxr.ected outhurst in wonder
and ama/tMucnt.

" Listen ! " said the man, turning to Mrs. 'I'om, and
s})ea,king rapidly in his excdtennuit. *' One night, nhoiit
tliirteen years ago, as 1 was returning homo from my day's
hihor, I was overtaken l)y a violent storm. I was a con-
siderahle distance from home, and there was no house ne;ii-
whei'e I could j-enniin for iho night. It was intensely dark,
and 1 staggere(i hlindly along in thcdrenching rain, uTitil,
hy .'I siulden Hash of lightning, I chanced toe.-(ty tlie iMiins
of an old house that had long been deserted, 'i'hankful
even for this refuge from the storm, I entered it, and re-
treating into a corner, sat on an emptv box, waitinir for
the tempest to abate.

" Suddenlv I heai'd the sound of voices in an adioininrr
room, talking in low whispers, 'i'lnire were, at the time,
certain suspicious characters prowling about, and the nn-
expectcfl sound startle(l me. Still 1 fell they liiighl bo
weather-bound wavfai'Cfs, lik(j mvself ; but, before ioiniu'^'"
them, I thought it might be })riulentto di>eover who they
■\vero ; an<l I cautiously drew near tho wall to listen.

'' The partition dividing us was thin, and in th(.' lull of
tho storm 1 could catch here and there a few words of
their conversation.

1 \
1

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

iiji I

i I

" ' I tell you he killed himse]f,' said one. *I saw him.
He stubbed him to the heart with his knife.*

*' ' What does ho intend doing witli '

''Here a sudden riisli of wind and rain prevented me
from hearins: wliat followed.

*' * And serves the jade right, too/ were the next words
I heard. * She might have known what it was to rouse tlio
anger of tliat devil inearnate.'

" ' Wliere arc we to lind this fe'.low he wants ?' said the
second voice.

" * At M inton, on the coast ; half a mile from here. His
name's Dick (J rove. I know him.'

" I started in ahirm, as well I might, for the name was
mine.

*' ' How do you know he'll agree ? '

" ' li he doesn't/ said the first, with an oath that made
my blood run chili, ' a little cold steel will settle the busi-
ness. But tlie terms are easier than that ; he's to be well
paid for holding his tongue ; and, as he's a poor devil,
he'll do anything for money. Oh, he'll agree ; there's no
trouble about that.'

" The increasing noise of the storm now drowned their
voices altogether. I stood for ii moment rooted to the
ground with terror. That some terrible crime had been,
or was to be perpetrated, in which, by some means, I was
to be implicated, I plainly saw; and, my only idea now
was to escape. 1 started forward ; but as my unlucky fate
would have it, I stumbled in the darkness, and fell lieavily
to the grouiul, with a violence that shook the old house.

"I heard, as 1 lay, half stunned, an ejaculation of alarm
from the inner room, and quick footsteps approaching
where I lay. All was now up with me, so I scrambled to
my feet, just as two men, wearing black crape masks
over their faces, entered. Each carried pistols, and one
held a dark lantern, the light of which he flashed in my
face.

" * Wlio are you, sir?' fiercely exclaimed one; and I
saw him draw a knife from his bosom that made my blood
curdle.

" I essayed to answer, but my teeth chattered so with
terror that 1 could not utter a word.

*' * Ha I ' exclaimed the other, who all this time had been
holding the lanteru close to my face. ' This is the very

saw him.

'nted me

sfc words
ouse tliG

said the

e. His

01 e was

t made
e busi-
>e well
devil,
■e's no

their

the
been,

1 was
I now
' fate
avjly
ise.
iarm
hing
■d to
asks

one

d I
ood

'ith

3en

THE MANIAC'S CURSE.

fellow we were in search of. Your name is Richard

Grove ? '

'^ * Yes,' I managed to say, quaking with mortal fear.

'*^Yjii are a mason by trade, and live in Minton?'
asked, or rather attirined, my tierce questioner.

"' I re])lied in tiie atlirmative, for 1 saw there was no use
in attempting a lie.

" ' All right, Tom. Yon go for the carriage ; I will
take care of our friond here, until you return.'

" The one with the knife left the house, and the other,
draAving a pistol, the disagreeable click of which ma<le me
jump, sat down before me, keepiiig his eyes immovably
riveted on my face. I did not dare to move. I scarcely
dared to breathe, as I stood with r v eves fixed, as if fas-
ciliated, on the deadly weapon. Nearly ten minutes passed
thus in profound silence, when the sound of carriage
wheels was heard, and, the instant after, the man cmIIcmI
Tom entered, his mask off, but his hat pulled so down
over his eyes, and his coat collar turned up so far, that I
could see nothing but a pair of dark, sinister eyes.

" ' The carriage is here,' he said.

" ' Then, go on ; and you, my man, follow him — I will
walk behind.'

'' I did not venture to utter a word, and was about go-
ing out, when he called me back, exclaiming :

" ' I came near forgetting a very necessary precau-on.
Here, my good fellow, let me tie this bandage over your

cy Cb.

'' ' Why,' I asked.

** ' That you had better not know. And, hark ye, friend,
ask no questions. Least said, soonest mended. Move on,
Tom.'

^"Holding my hand to prevent me from falling, my
guide led me out. I felt myself assisted into a carriage
and placed in a seat. One of the men got in after mo and
closed the door ; the other luounted the box, and olf we
drove.

" 1 am quite sure they took me a long, roundabout way,
and went here and there, in various directions, and came
back to the same place again, to make me believe the dis-
tance was much longer than it really was. l^'or nearly an
hour we drove thus, and then the coach stopped, and I
was helped out. I knew I was on the shore, for 1 could

!■

THE qvmn OP TH^ ISLE.

wiiich w,,., pHs ,e7'-,. .,V«" 'I'^y assisted inS int, ., I !*

?,L'' ' ' 'J<'si"'nitioi, to the sii/i r '" ''»''' "» will, ^

t VO iioiu-d tOSSI.ILr tli„s i H J ''"" '""''' wc wore f , lu

"e t'n ", ^""•'-' ti; t"r:;f t,;:'-" 'i- i^oat'^tj;: '(

1'ic.e u tho bottom. AVifh n i i f'^^^'^vn forward on mv
"ft- Liie (larkiicss conlrl iw^ t ^ "''^^'^ -i con kl sop

f'.n-. :•:..£ ,;~s 3 i' a Si'.,s!

; >;iru 1. of water i„ ruy face ^/c / '^^ ^^' ^'^^^^^^^^ ^^ashi„^
yig m the room r in^i i ' ^ ^ ^'^^^"^ vvas a ]io-j,f ].. ^
lav thn ,7 1 V . ^ ^ooKcd around Ti,,. * '^ ourn-

J^'io S]o- If T,r..,,.i„ 7*^ to'i's'i m Jus side '

"•"■k je, sirrah ! have done wiH, n •

uone with this cowardly fool-

THE MANIAC'S CURSE.

md brcak-
't<^ H boat,
'J'be boat
Iroad fully
on with a
vore fully
iit struck

'■(J oil Jiiy

sio?i, the
^iid ihi'ii
reaclicd
' quarter
ity lock,
^('uiitioa
I'oiigh a
eriietl to
"1 open
he door

itl look
11 Id see
tlirujt
need a
y sub-
L'thijig

baud
tbhik

^frs.

sed at

"for

r my

ibing

)uru-

floor

bich

tb a
1 oil
at 1

30l-

orv> or, by boaven, yoii sliull sbare tlic same fate of liim
vou see before you. No matter wliat you see to-night,
speak not, nor ask any questions, under peril of instant
death. If you perform your duty faithfully, this sliall l)e
your reward.' As he spoke he displayed a purse Tilled up
M'ith bright, yellow guineas.

'* Ikfore I couKl reply, a shriek, that seemed to come
from below, resounded through the room ; a shriek so full
of wild horror, and anguish, and des{)air, that even my
companion gave a violent start, and stood as if listening
intently. As for me, my very life-blood seemed curdling
as the wild, piercing cries of agony came nearer and
nearer. A heavy footstep ascended the stairs, and I could
hear the sound of some body dragging up. Closer and
closer came those appalling screams, and a man entered,
masked likewise, dragging after him the convulsed form
of a young girl.

" To this dav I have never seen a more beautiful crea-
ture, notwithstanding her face was distorted with fear and
horror. As she entered her eyes fell on the form of the
dead man on the lloor. With supernatural strength she
broke from the man who held her, and bent for an instant
over the lifeless body. It sufticed to tell her that he was
quite dead ; and tiieu throwing up her white arms, she
fled around tlie room, shrieking as I never heard any liv-
ing being shriek before. Great heaven ! those awful cries
are ringing in my ears yet.

" The man who had led her in sprang forward and
caught her by both wrists. She struggled like one mad,
but even the unnatural strength of frenzy failed to
free her from his iron grasp. I could see her delicate
wrists grow black in tlie cruel grasp with which he held
her.

'' The man beside me said something in a foreign tongue
— 'French, I think — to wnicli the other nodded, without
speaking. My guide then went and unlocked a door at
the farther end of the apartment, from which he drew
forth a great heap of bricks and mortar, and all the im-
plements necessary for building a wall.

•'A light began to dawn upon me. The body of this
murdered man was to be walled up here.

'' My suspicion was correct. Making a sign for me to
assist him. the man raised the head, and not daring to

H ' :

! !■

I il

TIIJ^ QlTEm OF THE ISLE.

"'g ".. I.e tuV ea 1 "? t'.e massive o,.S doo, "Ztf
co'iiiii.'iiided mo f, „ "•' "'"' speaking f,,,- tim fi ""'^-

's^t^ }H»«S-;;, HP'S

' ^^^^^f« the door had been

THE MANIAC'S CURSE.

d it into
k closet
k walls,
not ro-
-for he

osoimd-
^'r each
t it was
but be-
, elasp-
LT from
sprang
S2)irit.
ied her
t hnvG

raven's
fcenial
dreu's

could
u like
1 her
tiered
lock-
inie,
sioii,

!lovo
,v iii-
|torn
Do

land

kod

Is as

\n a

:ot

he
pe-
en

was a wall of solid masonry, which her death cries could
never penetrate.

'' * It is well ! ' said he who a])]ieared to me the supe-
rior. ' (-live him the reward I told you of ! '
The other silently handed me the purse.
And now swear never to reveal what you have this
niyht seen, till your dying day 1 '

'• * I swear.' said I, for I dared not refuse.

*' ' That will do. Take him away I ' sai'' the speaker,
leaving the room.

'• ]\Iy guide blindfolded me as I had been before, and
led me out, locking the door on the awful secret.

"Aslhad been brought up, 1 was led to the beach.
The boat was in waiting, and I was taken away, landed,
convoyed into the carriage, which, for upward of half an
hour, drove around some circuitous route. Then I was
assisted out and left standing alone. I tore the bandage
from my eyes and looked around, but the carriage was
gone ; and I never heard or discovered aught more of the
events of that night.

*' From that day my peace of mind was gone. Years
passed, but it haunted me night and day, until I became
a morose and dreaded man. Then I traveled from land
to land, but nothing ever could banish from my ears that
woman's dying shrieks and despairing eyes.

" In Liverpool 1 fell ill. I felt 1 must die, and wanted
to come and get buried in my native land. Captain Camp-
bell brought me here ; and now that I have told all, I can
die in peace. In peace — never ! nerer until that woman's
face is gone ! Oh, God ! " he cried, raising himself up
■with a shriek, and pointing to the window, '^she is
there \"

AVith a scream almost as wild as his own, Mrs. Tom
started up and looked. A pale, wild, woful face, shrouded
in wild black hair, was glued for a moment to the glass,
and then was gone. Paralyzed with terror, Mrs. Tom
turned to the sick num. His jaw had dropped, his eyes
were protruding from their sockets, and he was dead.

; 1 1
) I,

) I

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLF

I I

CHAPTER IV.

THE HAUXTEI) ROOM.

liil'

I ^

Undeti the gnitlancc of young Guy Campbell, Wilhml
Drummond jind Sybil ascended the steep, rocky path lead-
ing to Campbell Lodge. Captain Guy bounded over the
rocks with the agility of a deer, while his two compan-
ions more leisurely followed.

'^Yonder is my island home, old Cami)bell Castle/' said
Sybil, as an abrupt turn in the rough road brought them
in full view of tiie old mansion-house. *^ It is nearly three
years now since I have seen it."

Both paused as if involuntarily to contemplate it.
Years and neglect had performed their jsual work of
destruction on the lodge. The windows were broken in
many places, and the great gate before the house hung
useless and fallen off its rusty hinges. The coarse, red
sandstone of which it had been origiiuiUy built was now
black with age and the many storms that had beaten
against it. No lights were to be seen, no smoke issued
from the tall chimneys, all looked black, gloomy and de-
serted. The swallows had built their nests in the eaves
and ruined gables, and even the tall, dark, spectral pines
that formed an avenue to the dilapidated gateway had a
forlorn and dismal look. In the pale, bright moonlight
the ruined homestead of the Campbells looked cold, bleak
and uninviting. Even the long, gloomy shadows from
the trees, as they lay on tlie grou'^d, seemed to the super-
stitious mind of Sybil like uneartlily hands waving them
away. She shuddered with a chill feeling of dread, and
clung closer to the arm of Drummond.

*' Quite a romantic-looking old place this," said the
young man, gayly. " Really charming in its gloomy
grandeur, and liighly suggestive of ghosts and rats and
other vermin of a like nature," while he inwardly mut-
tered, ''Dismal old hole; even Sybil's bright eyes can
hardly recompense me for burying myself alive in such a
rickety dungeon."

THE HAUNTED ROOM.

Willard
itli lead-
over the
conipaii-

le/' said
lit tliem
*ly tlireo

ilate it.
vork of
okeii ill
e hung'
I'se, red
as now
beaten
issued
md de-
eaves
1 pines
had a
)nliglit
bleak
from
super-
them
3, and

d the
oomy

3 and
mut-

s can

uch a

■4'

**It has not a very hospitable look, I must say," said its
young mistress, witii a smile ; '* but, in spite of its for-
bidding aspect, I hope we will bo able, by some means, to
make ^our stay here endurable."

*' A desert would seem a paradise to me, with you near
by," said Drummond, in his low, lover-like tones. *' My
only regret is that our stay here is destined to be so short."

The dark, bright face of the young island girl flushed
with pleasure : l)ut ere she could re[)ly the hall door was
thrown open, and Captain Campbell stood, hat in hand,
before them.

''Welcome to Campbell Castle," he said, w^th a gay
courtesy, stepping aside to let them enter.

** Thank you," said Drummond, bowing gravely, while
lie glanced with some curiosity around, to see if the in-
terior looked more inviting than the exterior.

^J'hey stood in a long, wide hall, high and spacious,
which the light of the llickering candle Captain Campbell
held strove in vain to illuminate. At the farther extrem-
ity a winding staircase rose up, and u]>, until it was lost
in the gloom above. Two wide, black doors Hanked the
hall on either side, and Captain Campbell threw open
that on the right saying :

*' This I have discovered, upon investigation, to be at
2)resent the only habitable apartment in the house. Woful
are the accounts I have received from worthy Aunt Moll
and her sou and heir Lemuel, of the state of the nhimncys.
The swallows have built their nests in the only one that
ever did draw respectably, and all the rest leak at such a
rate every time it rains tliat the lire is not only completely
extinguished, but the rooms filled with water."

''And what 'n the world are we to do, brother ?" asked
Sybil, in disnicty at this unpromising picture.

'^ Why, we must make the best we can of a bad bar-
gain. I have sent Lem — much against his will, I must
say, for the young man is disagreeably afflicted with lazi-
ness — to take the swallows' nests out of the chimney and
make a fire there, while Aunt Moll does all the other
etceterps necessary for receiving as its inmate Tier Majesty
the Queen of the Isle. Tlien, as there is but one other
habitable room in the house, Signer Drummond must
occupy it, although it has not the most pleasant reputatioL
in the world."

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

*' How is that ? " asked Drunimond, driiwing up a chair
and seating himself in front of tlic fire that, tliants to tiio
exertions of Captain Caniphell, was already burning
brightly on the liearth.

" Why, to tell tlio truth, Aunt Moll and her hopeful
son assert it to he haunted, as it niont probably is by
rats. If you are wiling to trust yourself to the ghost's
mercy, I can freely i)roniiso you safety from all other
dangers."

" Haunted ? liy Jove, that's capital ! I have been
■wishing all my life to see a 'boua-fide ghost, and lo ! tlio
time has come at last. lint what manner of ghost is it,
saith the legend — fair or foul, old or young, handsome or
liideous ? "

" On that point T am distressingly short of information.
Lem's description is rather vague. He describes it as
being * higlier than anything at all, with fire coming out of
its eyes, long hair reaching to the ground, and dressed
in white.' "

'* Of course ! " said Drummond. " Who ever heard of
a ghost that was not dressed in white ? Ton my honor,
I am quite enchanted at the opportunity of making the
acquaintance of its ghostship."

During this conversation Sybil had left the room ''on
hospitable thoughts intent," and now returned to announce
that supper was already i)rogressing rapidly — most welcome
news to our hungry gentlemen.

Sybil had taken off her hat, and now her raven curls fell
in heavy tresses to her waist. In the shadow tiiose glitter-
ing ringlets looked intensely black, but where the firelight
fell upon them a sort of red light shone through. As she
moved through the high, shadowy rooms, with the grace-
ful, airv motion that lent a charm to her commonest
action, AVillard Drummond, following her with his eyes,
felt a secret sense of exultation, as he thought this mag-
nificent creature was his, and his {done. This bright im-
passioned sea-nymph • this beautiful, radiant daughter
of a noble race ; this royal, though dowerless, island
queen, loved him above all created beings. Had she not
told him, as he whispered words of love, that he was
dearer to lier than all tlie world beside ? Some day he
would make her his wife, and take her with him to his
princely home in Virginia j and he thought, with new ex-

THE TIAUXTED ROOM.

P a chair

Ks to the

burning

hopeful
bly IS by
ghost's
all other

'Ve been
i lo ! the
:)st is it,
Isome or

'matioii.

es it as

gout of

dressed

leard of
honor,
ing the

m *'on
nounce
el CO me

rls fell
glitter-
relight
As she
grace-
nonest

eyes,

niag-
it ini-
ighter
island
le not
e was
ay ho

o his
w ex-

tiltation, of the sensation this glorious planet wo.ild nuiko
among tiie lesser stars of liis native State.

So tliought and argued Willard l/ruininond in tlie first
blush and delirium of love.

Ho ditl not stop to think that he had loved witli oven
more intensity onee before ; that he had raved ( ven in like
manner of another far less bright than this quciMily Syhil.
He did not slop to think that even so he might lovo

agani.

No. Kveiything was forgotten but the intoxieating
girl before him, with her sparkling faee, her glorious eyes
of jet, and her llasliing, sunbright hair.

From the rha}).so(ly of passion — from the seventh
heaven of his day dreams, he was at last recalled l)y the
voice of Sybil herself summoning him lo supper.

He looked u]) with a start, half inclined to be i>rovoke(l
at this sudden summons from his ideal world to the vul-
gar reality of su[)})er of hot cakes, tea and preserves.
But there sat Sybil at the head of the table', bright and
smiliiiiir — beautifving even the dull routine of the tea-table
with the charm of her presence. And then, too — now
that his airy vision was gone — Mr. AV'illard Drummond
began to recollect he was very hungry, and that ''dreams
and visions "' were, after all, very unsubstantial things,
compared witli the bread and butter of every-day life, de-
grading as the confession was.

Guy had already taken his place, so Willard took the
seat his young hostess }>ointed out to him, and the busi-
ness of the tea-table commenced. Wh:jn the meal was
over. Aunt IsloW cleared the table, and the two gathered
round the fire — for, though the weather was warm, the
great, nnaired room was chill enough to render the fire
pleasant.

By degrees — perhaps it was owing to the strange,
dreary loneliness of the place — the conversation turned
upon deserted houses, bold robberies, murders, and, by
natural consequence, npon ghosts. Willard and C'a])tain
Campbell seemed striving to outvie each other in telling
the most frightful tales, the latter taxing his innii^ination,
to invent them when the original failed to produce the
necessary degree of horror. Every one knows what a
strange fascination such ghostly legends have ; the hours
passed almost unnoticed, and it was only when the lire

lil

ill:

I Hi

TITE QUKKX OF TlIK ISLK.

burtiod low on tlu' licurth, ami tlio solitary cjindlo spnt-
tcrccl in the Hocki't hefoii! ^n>iMi( out, that our party
becaiuo aware of tlio latcncsf^ oi' tlio lioiir.

*MVl'1I, wc liiivo IxMMi proliluMy s|)('miiu<^ tlio ovoiiiuir,
I must say," said Captain ('amj)lM'll. risiiii,^ with a hi"u^h.
** You shouhl hav(! been in l)i'd an hour a<;o, Syl)il.
]h'n; ! Aunt Moll,'' he cried, p^oinix to the door. " JJring
lis lights, and show ^^r. l)runini()U(| to his room.''

Ho waited for a respons(\ but none eanu^ ; only the eelio
of his own voice sounded dolefully throui;h the hall.
*' Hallo ! Aunt Moll, I say — Lem, brini; candles,'' oiico
more called Captain Campbell. Again he waited for an
answer, and a<,^ain none came. "Confound it I" ho
muttered, turniiii;" away, " the sleepy-headed j)air havo
doubtless been in bed for the last three hours, and are as
sound asleep as the Seven Sleepers by this time."

"Never mind, (Juy," said Sybil, laughing at his rueful
face, " I'll go. Aunt ^loU and Lem are tired, doubtless,
•with their extraordinary exertions this evening, and it
"would be a pity to wake them."

She quitted the room as she spoke, in the direction of
the kitchen, in search of lights.

And presently she reappeared, and, announcing that
Aunt Moll was stretcdied out on her pallet before tho
kitchen lire, asleep, she took her light, and, bidding
them a smiling good-night, left them to seek her owu
room.

And Captain Campbell, taking a candle, preceded his
guest in tho direction of the '' haunted chamber."

AVillard Drummond entered and looked round. It was
a high, wide, spacious chamber, as were all in the house,
Tvith floors, doors and casements of dark polished oak,
black now with time and use. In the wide fireplace at
one end a fire had been burning all the evening, but only
the red, smoldering embers remained now. At the other
end of the room, o})posite the fire, was his bed, and be-
tween them, facing the door, was a deep, dormer window.
The room looked cheerful and pleasant, and, throwing
himself into an easy, old-fashioned armchair before the
fire, he exclaimed :

**Well. in spite of all the ghosts and hobgoblins that
ever walked at * noon of night,' I shall sleep here as
sound as a top until morning. Your ghost will have

THE IIAUXTEl) ROOM.

tho

owu

to pivc ino a ])rotty vigorous sluikiiif,' before uwuko,
T/hcn once I close my eyes on this mortal life.'*

'M'crliiips tile ghost, if in the least timorous, will not
iippejir to so undiinnted an individual as yourself ! (Jooil
ni;;hi." And, [)lacin<; the light on the table, Captain
Cjmipbell left tho room.

WillartTs first cart! was to lock the door securely, and
then I'art'lully examine the room. Tlu'ri' was no other
means of ingress but the one by which lie had entered,
and the room did not seem to communicate with any
otlu>r. The window was high above the ground anil
llrmly nailed down. Clearly, then, if the ghost entered
at all, it must assume its ghostly i)rerogative of coming
through the keyhole — for there was no other means by
which ghost or mortal could get in.

Satisfied with this, >Villard Drummond went to bed,
but, in spite of all his etforts, sleej) w<juld not come.
Vain were all his attempts to woo tin; drowsy god, ho
couhl only toss restlessly from side to siile, with that feel-
ing of irritation which want of sleep ])r()duces.

The moonlight, strejiining in through the window, filled
the room with siH'ery radiance. The silence of death
reigned around, unbroken even by the watch-dog's bark.
The dull, heavy roar of the waves, breaking on tlui slioro
like far-ofT thunder, was the only sound to be heard. And
at last, with this eerie, ghostly lullaby, AVillard Drum-
mond fell into a feverish sleep.

And slee[)ing, he dreamed, lie seemed wandering on
the verge of a precipice, treading a path so narrow and
precarious that a single false step would hurl him to
certain destruction down the unfathomable gulf below.
Where that path was to end he knew not, but a white-
robed siren, with shining, golden hair and smiling eyes
and lii)s, went before him and lured him on. An inwar<l
voice seemed whis[)ering him to beware, that the patli bo
was treading must end in death ; but tho smiling eves of
the golden-haired tempter were beaming upon him, and
the voice whispered in vain. Above every steep ci-ag. ag
lie passed, the wild, black eyes of Sybil seemed gleaming
with deadly hatred and fierce nuilignity on him ; but even
those dark, warning eyes could not tempt him back from
the road he was treading. Suddenly the siren vanished ;
iic sprang after her, and fell down, down, down into tho

il;';t

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

awful gulf below. A wild laugh rung out on the air, and
Sybil was bending above him, holding a glittering dagger
to liis heart, while her great, blank eyes burned like two
flames. He held out his hands for mercy, but slie only
mocked him with her deriding black eyes, and raised the
knife to plunge it into his heart. With a terror he awoke
to find it not all a dream.

An icy cold hand lay on his face. He s])rang np in bed
with a thrill of horror, to behold a white, wild face, with
vacant, nnearthly eyes and long, streaming hair, bending
over him. Paralyzed by the sudden apparition, he sat,
unable to move or speak, and er • ho could fully recover
his senses the ghostly visitant had gone. He sprang out
of bed and seized the door. It was locked as he had left
it, and, with his blood curdling, he stood rooted to the
floor.

Morally and physically Willard Drummond was brave ;
but this midnight visit from a supernatural being might
have chilled the blood of the most undaunted. Sleep was
now out of the question ; therefore, seating himself by the
window, he prepared to wait for the approach of morning.
The moon was already sinking beliind the western hori-
zon, bathing the placid river in its soft beams. The
morning star shone bright and serene in the cloudless,
blue sky ; and. gazing on the calm beauty without, the
young man's pulse ceased its feverish throbbings, and he
began striving to account for this ghostly visit by natural
means.

But he strove in vain. The door was firmly locked,
and there could be no secret passage through those strong,
oaken walls. Then he arose and carefully searched every
crevice in the room that could by any possibility be made
a hiding place of. Still in vain. The room contained
no living thing but himself. Morning was now growing
red in the e:ist, and, exhausted with watching, he threw
himself on the bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep,
from which ho did not awake until the sun was high in
the heavens.

He sprang hastily out of bed and proceeded to dress
himself. And now a new dilliculty arose. He felt he
would be questioned about the supernatunil visitors of the
haunted chamber, and he was at a loss how to answer. If
he related the event of the night, he dreaded the ridicule

THE MIDNIGHT CRY.

of the unbelieving Ciiptaiii Ctinipbell, who wonld assuredly
liiue'h at liiia I'or being conquered in spite of his boasting ;
and to be laughed at in the presence of Sybil was not to
be endured. If, on the otlier lumd, lie did not tell, ho
would be obliged to continue the occupaiit of the haunted
chamber while he remained on the island — a thing he had
not the slightest wish to do. His toilet was finished bo-
fore he could come to any conclusion ; and, still debating
the case, he descended the stairs and entered the sitting-
room they had occupied the night before.

sleep,

CHAPTER V

THE MIDNIGHT CRY.

"And when the niiclnipht hour is come,
A sound is hetii'd in yonder hall —
It rises lioiirseiy throut?li tlie slcy,
And vibrates u"er the mouldering wall."

In a former chapter we left Mrs. Tom in rather an ap-
palling situation.

Accustomed to the quiet, unexciting life of the lonely,
sea-girt isle, the events of the night had momentarily
torrilied her, albeit her nerves were none of the weakest.
The mysterious revelation of the dying man ; his tale of
night, and storm, and crime ; the wikl, ghostly face at the
window ; and, lastly, his sudden death, were quite enough
to thrill for an instant with terror even a stronger heart
than that of the solitary old widow.

For some moments Mrs. Tom sat still, gazing alternately
on the window and on the ghastly face of the dead man
before her, with a chill feeling of horror creeping over her.

Tlie sudden striking of the clock, as it chimed the hour
of eleven, aroused her at last from her trance of terror.
It wiis a sound of life, and it reassured iier.

Rising, she gathered courage to approach the window
cautiously and looked out. Nothing was to be seen but
the bright moonliglit, bathing rock and river in its silvery
light, lioyond she could see the huge, black pile of Canip-
bclTs Castle, casting its long, gloomy sb.adow over the
ground. Lights were still twinkling in Hie windows — a
sight as unusual as it was pleasant — and with renewed

rr^

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

confidence at tins sign of life, Mrs. Tom went to arouse
Carl to assist her to watch beside the dead.

"It's onpossiUe to sleep with a corpse in the house,"
thought Mrs. Tom, as she climbed up tlie ladder leading
to Carl's lofty dormitory; ''leastways, I couldn't sleep a
wink, thongli I do s'pose that there lazy sleepyhead of a
Carl could snore away just as soundly ef we was all dead
in a heap. I reckon I'll hcv an hour's work getting him
up. Here, you Carl I Carl ! Get up, I tell you !" Then
Mrs. Tom shook him lustily,

Tiie Rlee})or only replied by turning over with a grunt.

"Carl! Carl! Lor' sakes ! yon great, sleepy good-
for-nothing, open your eyes. I do b'lieve the last judg-
ment wouldn't wake yon, once you got a snorin'. Ef
rothin' else won't do, I'll try how you like this."

And jMrs. Tom caught the unfortunate Carl by the hair
and pulled it the wrong way until that ill-used youth sprang
upright with a roar that might have been heard half a
mile off.

" Thunder and lightning. Aunty ! do you want to kill
a feller ?" roared jVIaster Carl, in a rage.

" Hush, Carl ! Don't get mad, honey," said ]\[rs. Tom,
soothingly ; " I only want you to come tlown-stairs and set
up with me. That there sick man's dead."

"Dead ! " roi)eated Carl, staring with all his eyes.

"Yes, he's dead as can be ; and it's the most lonesome
thing in the world, settin' up alone with a corpse, so I
waked you up."

" Well, don't sit up with him, then," said Carl, with a
tremendous yawn. " If he's dead, he won't mind staying
alone all night, I suppose. Anyhow, I know I ain't going
to get up at this time of night, if he was dead twice over."
And Carl la^'^ down and composed himself for another nap.

lint Mrs. Tom vv'as resolved not to be disobeyed ; so,
dropping the pacific tone she had first a(iopted, she very
fcuimmarily snatched away sheets and quilts, pulled the
mattress from under him, and overset i)oor Carl on the
floor, from which she soon made him spring up with a
sound box on the ear.

" Xow then!" said the indignant old lady; " tell me
a'gin you won't, will ye ? Xow, look here ; ef you ain't
dressed and down-stairs in five minutes, I'll come back,
and this ain't no circumstance to what you'll get. Tell

THE MIDNIGHT CRY.

^^^

me you won't, indeed ! There's no telling what the im-
pidence of these scapegoats of boys'll come to, ef they
ain't minded in time," muttered the old lady to herself as
she descended the ladder.

Carl's toilet, thus unpleasantly hastened, was soon com-
plete, and he descended to the lower room with a very
sulky face, and grumbled inwardly at his l!ard fate in
bein'o" o-overned by so tyrannical a task-mistress.

" 1 don't see why the old fellar couldn't have died
somew'.cro else," inwardly muttered the ill-tre;'tod ^Ir.
]lenley. "A coming here and giving bother ! Keeping
a fellar from his sleep o' nights. It's downright mean."'

Taking possession of Mrs. Tom's rocking chair, while
the old lady bustled about, laying out the corpse as best
she could under the circumstances, Carl was once more soon
sound asleep. Then, when all was done she could do, Mrs.
Tom lay down on the hard wooden sofa, or '" settee " as she
called it, and, in spite of the presence of death, followed
her worthy nephew to the laiul of dreams.

Morning was far advanced before either awoke. ]\[rs.
Tom's first care was to send Carl up to the lodge, to in-
form its innuites of the death of the guest, aiul desire
Captain Campbell's immediate presence.

Immediately after breakfast the young captain hastened
to the cottage, while Sybil and Drummond went out for a
stroll around the island.

Mrs. Tom had been anxiously revolving in her mind
the singular story told her the nigh.t before, and resolved
to reveal it to Captain Campbell and learn his opinion
about it.

Accordingly, when he entered, Mrs. Tom — having first
taken the precaution of turning Carl out of doors — related
the story in su Instance as it had been told to her.

Captain Campbell listened in astonishment and in-
credulity.

" My dear nuidam," replied the young nnm gravely,
" the man, excited, half crazed, delirious as he was, must
have imagined it all. No such horrible thing could have
ever occurred in a Christian land."

" But he wasn't crazy," asserted Mrs. 'I'om, almost
angry at having the truth of the story doubted. " He
was just as sensible all through as you or I. lie wasn't
colirious a mite."

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

" Now, Mrs. Tom, it's not possible that, with all yunr
good sense, you can credit such an incredible tale."

^' But Master Guy, the man told it on his death-bed.
Think o'tluit."

'* And doubtless believed it, too ; but that does not
make it any more probable. 1 have heard of such cases
before. It is all owing to the imagination, my dear lady.
He luid fancied the story, and thougiit about it so long
that he had learned to believe in it liimself."

" Well, I don't know nothin' 'bout the 'niagination,
thank my heavenly Master," said Mrs. Tom, in a sort of
sullen unbelief ; *' but I do know, ef you was to talk to
this time to-morrow you couldn't make me believe dif-
ferently. I shouldn't wonder, now, ef you tried to make
me think the face I seed stuck at the winder was all 'mag-
ination, too."

''1 was just about to say so," said Guy, repressing a
smile. '^ It could be nothing else, you know. The hour
of night, the thrilling tale and the man's dying cry that
he saw her there would have made you imagine anything;
therefore "

But Mrs. Tom's wrath was rising. She had been in-
ward-j priding herself on the sensation her story would
create, and this fall to her hopes was more than she could
endure.

**It's no sich thing !" she cried, in a voice louder and
sharper than she was in the habit of using to any one but
the unfortunate Carl. *' I seen it all with my own two
blessed eyes, and nobody's goin' to make me believe it was
my 'magination whatever. 'Magination, indeed!" con-
tinued the old lady, in a tone of profound contempt.
*' Thank mv divine Master, 1 never was troubled with
'magination since the day I was born, and 'tain't likely I'd
begin now in my old age o' life. I allers had a great re-
spect for you, Master Guy ; l)ut I'm a poor, lone 'oman,
and can't stand to be onsulted by nobody. I hain't no
doubt you mean well, but I like to hev people b'lieve me
when I tell the truth. Scat, you hussy, afore I twist your
neck for you."

The latter part of this oration was addressed to Trot,
the mottled cat, and was accompanied by a kick, which
ejected that unoffending member of society out of doors
much quicker than was at all agreeable. Captain Camp-

■■■»-

■^

THE MIDNIGHT CRY.

8 not
cases
lady,
long

•1

bell, quite unprepared for this burst of eloquence, listened
in amazement, and seized the first opportunity, when
angry Mrs. Tom paused for breath, to humbly apologize
for his offense.

<' My dear Mrs. Tom," said the young captain, humbly,
*' I had nou the remotest intention of offending you, and
most deeply regret having done so. I have fallen into a
bad habit of late of doubting everything ; and, really, tliis
story appeared so inijirobablc that I think I may be pardoned
for not yielding it full credit on the spot. Come, now, my
dear madam,'' he continued, seeing the cloud still hang-
ing on Mrs. Tom's honest face, "let's be friends still, and
I promise for the future to believe everything you choose
to tell me, no matter what it is."

Good Mrs. Tom was not proof against the insinuating
tone of Master Guy, who had always been her favorite ; so
the cloud disappeared and her own cheery smile once
more beamed forth.

Having arranged that Lem should come down and pre-
pare a grave during the morning, Captain Campbell left
the cottage and went in search of Mr. Drummond and his
sister, to tell them what he had heard.

He found them down on the shore. Sybil stood on a
high cliff, her dress fluttering in the morning breeze, her
hat off, and her long, glittering, jetty tresses waving be-
hind her like a banner. The wind that came sweeping
across the waters had deepened the glow on her crimson
cheeks and lips and sent a living light into her glorioub
eyes.

Willard Drummond stood beneath, gazing at her as a
poet might gaze on the living realization of his most beau-
tiful dreams. Captain Campbell shrug,i;-ed his shoulders
expressively as he saw his impassioned glance, and thought
inwardlv of the confession he had once made to him of
there being but one woman in the world worth loving.

" Well, Sybil, one would think you were attitudinizing
for the stage," said Captain Campbell, dryly, as he ap-
proached.

Svbil L'vaghed gaily as she sprang down on the white,
level sands between her brotlier and lover.

" I was only looking out for a sail, which I failed to
discover," she replied.

'MVell, Campbell," said Drummond, "had your old

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

•i

Lidy clown below any important revelations to make, tluiu
slie sent for you in such haste this morning ? "

'' Not very imporUint to my eyes, though they are in
hers," replied the young captain. ''She wished to reveal
the dyijig deposition of our passenger, Richard Grove."

" And wl.'it had he to tell .^ Was I riglit in saying re-
morse for some ' unacted crime' preyed on him more than
mere illness ? "

'* Faith, Sybil, according to worthy ]\[rs. Tom, I be-
lieve you were. He succeeded in frightening that good,
but slightly credulous, old lady out of her wits."

*' Well ?" said Sybil, inquiringly.

Captain Campbell, condensing the story, gave them the
outline and principal facts in a few words. Both listened
with deep interest ; but when he spoke of the pale, liag-
gard face, with its dark, waving Iniir, glaring at them
through the window, Willard Drummond started violently
and turned pale. Sybil's eagle eyes were fixed on his face,
and she alone observed it.

'' And what does ^frs. Tom take this nocturnal visitor
to be ? " inquired Sybil. ''A mortal like herself, or a
spirit disembodied ? "

" Oh, a ghost, of course !" replied her brother. *' The
spirit, perhaps, of the wom'an walled up to perish in the
room with the murdered man ! Ugh ! the story altogether
is hideous enough to give one the nightmare ! And now
that you have learned all, I believe I'll go and send Leni
down to inter the body."

Captain Campbell sauntered away and the lovers were
alone.

' * And what do you think of this story, Willard ? " in-
quired Sybil.

" I cannot tell. Yesterday I would have joined your
brother in laughing at it, but to-day "

He paused.

'* And why not to-day ?" breathlessly inquired Sybil.

''Sybil, I do not wish to needlessly alarm you ; but last
night, as if to punish my presumption, I experienced
something very like a supernatural visit."

" Good heavens, Willard ! Then the story told by the
negro 3 is true ? "

" It certainly seems like it. Had any one else told me
what I experienced, I should think they were humbugging

:l» .

THE MIDXIOTIT CRY.

me ; but I cannot discredit what I saw with my own
what was tlio appearance of tlie noctiiral

eyes.

*' And
visitor ? "

** Exactly like the description ]Mrs. Tom gives of the
face that appeared at tlie window. White as that of tlio
dead, with darlc, streaming hair and wild, vacant, (hirk
eyes."

" Oh, Willard ! Can it be that — but no, it is impos-
sible. At what hour did this apparition appear ? ''

*' Between one and two, as near as I can judge.''

"Strange, strange! I, too, heard something dreadful
last night.''

'' Is it possible ? What was it, dearest Sybil ?"

"Listen. About midnight I was awakened by some-
thing that sounded like a heavy fall right outside my door,
followed by a groan so deep, so horrible, that the very
blood seemed freezing in my veins. Trembliug with
terror, I half rose to listen ; but all, for a time, wad still.
Trying to persuade myself I was only dreaming, I was
about to lie down again, when a shriek the most appalling
broke upon the air and died away in an agonized moan.
I dared not move ; I could not sleep, and I lay cowering
in superstitious horror until morning. With the bright
sunshine came renewed courage, and I feared to mention
what I had heard to my brother or you, lest I should be
laughed at, even as you feared the same. Willard, there
must be some horrible mystery here — some foul crime, I
fear, has at some time been perjietrated within those walls.
What if "

She paused.

"Well, Sybil ?" he said, inquiringly.

" Oh, Willard ! what if this house has been the scene
of that mystery the dying man spoke of ? 1 thought of it
from the first."

" Nonsense, Sybil ! What an idea ! " And yet he
looked disturbed himself as he spoke.

" How otherwise are we to account for those ghostly visit-
ings, those midnight apparitions and appalling shrieks ? "

"And yet nothing could induce your brother to adopt
your belief, lie would laugh at our credulity, were we
to tell him what we have seen and heard."

" Yes ; and perhaps I had better uot tell him, Willard.

-^m

11 ilil

THE QUEEN OF TEE ISLE.

i I

I ,1^

I will have your room changed, and my own likewise.
Even if tliey are less comfortable, they will be more en-
durable than to be disturbed by midnight specters."

" J3e it so, then, fairest Sybil," he said, gaily. And
turning, they walked together to the Lodge.

CHAPTER VL

"Off with the old love, and on with the new."

" Holy St. Francis ! what a clianpro is here !
Is Uusalie, whom tliou didst love so dear,
So soon foi'sakeu ? Youuf^ nien's love, then, lies
Not truly in tlieir hearts, but in their eyes."

" — Komeo and Juliet.

The following night passed without disturbance, either
earthly or ghostly, at Campbell's Lodge.

Early in the morning Captain Campbell wen! over to
the mainland on business. And Sybil, accompanied by
Drummond, went down to the cottage to visit Mrs. Tom.
There was an inward feeling of pleasure at Sybil's heart
when she learned Christie was away to the mainland on a
visit. Not that she doubted Willard ; but she remem-
bered Christie as a very pretty child, grown by this time,
doubtless, into a lovely girl, and it might not be altogether
safe to throw the gay man of the world into dangerous
society.

Toward noon, as they were sauntering along the sun-
shiny beach, she hanging on his arm, while he softly
whispered the words *' ladies lovr to hear," they espied a
boat advancing toward them. Sybil raised her telescope
to survey tlie newcomers.

" Rev. Mr. Mark Brantwell and wife," she exclaimed,
in tones of surprise and pleasure. " Guy has doubtless
called upon them and told them I was here."

*^ Friends of yours ?" asked Willard.

^' Yes ; the Episcopal clergyman of N , whom I have

known since my earliest childhood. But here they are."

The boat at this moment touched the shore, and Sybil,
disengaging her arm, ran down to meet them. Willard
irnre leisurely followed, just in time to see his lady love
folded in the arms of a gentleman who sprang from the
boat. The stranger vfas of middle age, married and a
clergyman ; yet, in spite of all, Mr. Drummond felt a

THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW.

sudden twinge of jealousy and anger at beholding the em-
brace. But the next moment jealousy, anger, every feel-
ing was swallowed up in intense astonishment, not un-
mingled with superstitious horror. For as the clergyman
turned round and Willard obtained a full view of his face,
he recognized the countenance of him he had seen years
before in tinit mystic vision at the Egyptian's.

For a moment lie stood regarding him, pale with wonder ;
and it was only when he heard the clear, ringing voice of
Captain Campbell, as he approached him, saying, with a
hearty slap on the shoulder :

**Why, Drummond man alive, what ails you? You
are as pale as a ghost," that he awoke from his trance of
surprise.

*' Are you ill ? " said Sybil, anxiously, as she approached,
leaning on the arm of Mrs. Brantwell.

*' A light headache — nothing more," said Willard, re-
covering himself by an effort; 'Clothing worth being
alarmed about," he added, seeing Sybil's still anxious
eyes.

" 'MVhy, Sybil, have you grown nervous and cowardly ? "
exclaimed Mr. Brantwell. *' You, who used to be as bold
and daring as a mountain eaglet ? ]U\t, perhaps," he
added, glancing meaningly at Willard, "it is only where
some very particular friend is concerned that your fear8
are thus easilv aroused."

Willard smiled slightly, while Sybil's dark face grew
crimson, as she hurried on with increased rapidity, draw-
ing her companion with her, and leaving the gentlemen
behind.

When they reached the Lodge Sybil left her brother
to entertain their guests, while she set about preparing
luncheon. When the meal was over Mrs. l^rantwell said :

*' And now. Miss Sybil, I have come to carry you off.
It is three years since I have iiad the pleasure of seeing
you, and I shall certainly take you with me now. Come,
no excuses — I will not heav one of them."

"But my dear Mrs. Brantwell " began Sybil.

"But my dear ^liss Campbell, yon must conio — do you
hear that ? Your brother can certainly do wiihout you
for a week."

"Yes, and glad to be rid of her, too," said the gallant
Captain Campbell.

.5
, ■■*»

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

! k

|i ,;!

Sybil stole a glance toward Drnmmoiid from under liei*
long eyelashes. He was sitting looking out of tlie window,
with an exceedingly dissjitisfied frown on liis brow. Mrs.
l^rantwell perceived the glance, and broke out [igain with
her usual bluntness :

''And as for that other gentlemen you are looking at,
Sybil, 1 am sure he will be generous enough to spare you
for a few days, as hv. will, in all probability, have enough
of you before long."

Again Sybil crimsoned and glanced reproachfully at
her plain-K[)oken friend, and jigain Air. Drummoud was
forced to smile, in spite of his ill humor, at the good lady's
brusque bluntness.

" You will have to come, you see, Miss Sybil," said Mr.
Brant well, laughing.

" Of course she will," added his brisk spouse; ** and,
upon my word, 1 think lam doing her a favor in taking
her from this lonesome island and letting her see a little
of civilized life at our hands ; though, from Sybil's looks,
I should sa/ she doesn't feel at all grateful for it."

" liuleed, Mrs. Brantwell, I do, but "

''There, there I I won't listen to another word." Aiid
Mrs. Brantwell, a tall, good-humored lady clapped her
hands over her ears. ''Guy, make this ungrateful sister
of yours hold her tongue and do as she is told."

" Come, Sybil, there is no help for it, you see," said
Guy. " Drummond and I will get along swimmingly
during your absence. He can keep his hand in in making
love to Aunt Moll, while I try my powers of persuasion
over ]\Irs. Tom."

Sybil laughed, and paused for a moment in thought.
She would infinitely have preferred remaining on the
ishmd with Willard, but it would never do to allow them
to think that was her reason ; and, after all, a week would
soon pass. Had Christie been home, no persuasions
could have induced her to go ; but in her absence there
was nothing to fear. Then, too, Willard, so long accus-
tomed to her presence, would miss her so much when she
was gone that, doubtless, his love would be increased
rather than diminished.

Involuntarily, while thinking of him, her eyes wandered
to where he stood. Again the sharp-sighted Mrs. Brant-
well observed it, and again she broke out impatiently :

And

said
liugly

■idered
rant-

THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW.

"Lord bless me ! Mr. Dnimmoiul, just turn round,
will you and tuU Syl)il she may go. Nothing earthly will
induce her to come till you give permission. I'm sure if
}ou were her father she couldn't be more afraid of dis-
pleasing your lordship."

'* Miss Cam})bell needs no permission of mine. I ara
only too happy to think she will have an opportunity of
enjoying herself so well," said Willard, with a grave bow.

** VV'ell, I'm sure that's a mercy to be thankful for.
Now, perhaps, you will come. Sybil," said the plain-spoken
lady, " and as for you, sir, I shall expect to see you at the
parsonage every day with Mr. (hiy."

'*! shall be mosthapj^y," said Willard, his face bright-
ening a little, while Sybil's eye's sparkled with anticipa-
tion.

" Well now, run and get ready," said Mrs Brantwell,
turning to Sybil.

Sybil soon reappeared, dressed for her journey. And
then, as the afternoon was far advanced, the whole party
descended to the beach. The adieux were spoken, the
boat pushed off, leaving the two young men alone on the
sands.

*' I must go over to Westbrook dockyard tliis afternoon,'*
said Guy, *' where the Evening Star is now lying. What
do you say to coming with me ? "

'' I prefer remaining here," said Willard, who had not
yet quite recovered his good humor, after what he was
pleased to call Sybil's desertion.

*' Well, then, I'll remain with you," said Guy, who was
the soul of frankness and good temper.

*' By no means ! " said Urummond, hastily. *'Do not
stay on my account. I have a slight headache Ptill, and
will retire to my room."

" But it seems hardly courteous to leave you altogether
alone."

*' Nonsense, my dear fellow ! I insist upon it. I hope
you do not think of standing on ceremony with me ! "

** So be it, then," said Captain Campbell, gaily, as he
sprang into his boat, pushed off, and shot like an arrow
out into the water.

Drawing a cigar from his pocket, Willard Drummond
lit it and proceeded to stroll up and down the beach, in no
very amiable frame of mind. He felt angry in spite of all.

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

' .''11

at Sybil's leaving him, and with this feeling would now
and then mingle another of profoutid amazement at the
exact resemblance this Mr. Brant\/ell bore to the face lio
had seen in that singular vision. Was the fell prediction
about to be verified ?

Lost in such tlioughts as tiiese, ho was suddenly startled
by a voice singing a wild, sweet song of the sea, in the
clearest and most deliglitful tones he had ever heard.
Surprised at the unexpected sound, he sprang up the rocka
in the direction from whence it camo and beheld a sight
that transfixed hirn with amaiement.

A young girl, l)eautiful as an angel, stood on an over-
hanging crag, witli one round, white arm resting liglitly
on the rocks, singing to herself as she gazed on the sparkling
waves. Her hair, of the palest golden hue, rose and fell in
the breeze, and flashed in the sunlight that rested like a
glory on her bright young head. Her complexion was daz-
zlingly fair, with rose-tinted cheeks, and full red lips —
like wet coral — and eyes large and bright, and blue as the
summer sky above her. Her figure was slight, but round
and voluptuous ; and there were passion, and fervor, and
wild enthusiasm in her look, as she stood like some ''tray
seraph, dropped from some stray cloud on the loii is-
land.

Willard Drummond stood immovable, drinking in, to in-
toxication, the bewildering draught of her beauty. She
was in every respect so very different from Sybil, tliat she
seemed to him the more charming from force of contrast.
Transfixed he stood — everything forgotten but this lovely
creature before him — when suddenly, like an inspiration,
came the remembrance of his singular dream, and of the
fatal siren with the golden hair. Strange that it should
have come back to him so vividly and painfully then !

The young girl's song ceased ; and turning, she leaped
lightly as a young deer from her airy perch, without per-
ceiving him who stood so intently regarding her. Leap-
ing from rock to rock, with a fleetness that awoke the sur-
prise of Willard, she reached the road and disappeared
within the cottage of Mrs. Tom.

Everything was forgotten now, but the one intense de-
sire of knowing m ho this radiant sea nymph was. Turn-
ing, therefore, into the path she had just taken, he ap-
proached the cottage and encountered Carl at the door.

!l!l

THE OLD LOVE AXT) THE NEW.

" Well, Master Henley, how arc you ? " said Willard,
carek'ssiy.

'* Htickiiirr tofrother,'* was ^faster Henley's roneiso and
de.scriptivL' answer.

"(ilad to hear it," said AVillard, repressiiii; a strong
ineiination to lanoli. '' Is Mrs. Tom within ?"

" Slie was when I let'L tho huuso," said Carl, who
seenieil determined not to commit hitnself.

*' Any one with her?"' a.i^ain in<|iiired the young gen-
tleman, lookini,'' as iiulifTerent as possihle.

'• No, nol)ody I " was the unoxp(>eted answer.

'' Wiiat I " exclaimed Wilhird surprised. ** I thought I
saw a yoiin;; lady enter a momcTit ago ! "

<' Oh I — (.'kristie, she's nobody/' said the gallant Mr.
Heidey.

" Ciiristie — "NFrs. Tom's niece — I thought she was
away ! '' exclaimed Willard.

" So she was, but I \\ ^ut for her this morning ; couldn't
he bothered doing her work and my own both, any longer,"
said Carl.

<^ I suppose I may go in ? *' said Willard, feeling n
sudden thrill of plcasur at the knowledge that this ra-
diant girl was an iidnibitant of the island.

" Yes, I suppose you may, if you like," said Carl, in a
to7ie of the utmost unconcern.

Thus kindly permitted, Willard advanced and rapped
at the door. It was opened by Mrs. Tom, whose surprise
was only equaled by her delight at being honored by this
unexpected visit. Near the window that overlooked tho
Lodge, stood the golden-haired vision of the beach. She
turned round with a quick, shy glance, and blushed
most enchantingly beneath the deep, dark eyes of tho
stranger.

'' My niece, Christie. Mr. Drummond," said ^Frs. Tom,
directing his attention to her with a wave of her hand ;
''she got back this mornin'. I allers find it powerful
lonesome here without Christie."

" J have no doubt of it," said Mr. Drummond, seating
himself; ''but I have had the pleasure of seeing Miss
Christie before."

"Where?" asked Christie, opening her blue eyes in
wonder.

** Down on the beach a few moments ago."

•i:*

11.

W: 1',

rilE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

*' Oh. yes !" And Cliristio ])liished, as she recollected
liow slie had been caught singing.

"Where's Mi^s Sybil and Master Guy ?" inquired Mrs.
Tom.

" Miss Sybil lias gone to X with tlie clergyman's

family, and will not return for a week ; and Captain
Campbell has gone to Westbrook, where liis vessel is un-
dergoing repairs. So I am left all alone, and came to pay
my respects to you."

"liien you'll stay and spend the evenin' ," said Mrs.
Tom, smiling comphicently.

Mr. Drummond professed his willingness, and the little
widow, deliglited at tlie condescension, set about prepar-
ing tea instantly, assisted by Christie, whose wild, sliy
ghiu'^es were bent on his face whenever siie fancied her-
self unobserved. Half pleased, half afraid of liim at first,
she was reserved and timi'l ; but as tliis wore off, he drew
her into conversation, and, to his sui'prise, found her in-
telligent and well educated. This Mrs. Tom accounted
for by saying she had gone to school for the last five years
at Westbrook — residing therewith tlie friend she had been
now visiting.

The evening passed away with the rapidity of magic.
Cliristie, after mucii solicitation, consented to sing for
him ; and if anything had been needed to fairly enchant
him, that sweet, clear voice would liave done it. Then,
too, Carl added to the general hilarity, by drawing out a
rusty jews-harp, and playing a favorite tune of liis own
composition. Xot once during the evening did Willard
think of Sybil ; her dark, resplendent face, and ,/ild, fierce
black eyes were forgotten for the golden locks and sweet,
fair face of Blue-eyed Christie — this dainty island
Peri.

'J'he hour for leaving came all too soon. As he rose, re-
luctantly, to go, he pressed the hand Christie extended to
his lips with such passionate ardor that tlie blood fluslied
to her very temples, but not with displeasure. Ere he left,
Mrs. Tom cordiallv invited him to visit her house while
he remained on the island — an invitation he was not loth
in accepting.

Christie stood at the window, watching liis tall, elegant
form, as he walked toward the castle in the bright, clear
moonlight.

THE HEART'S STRUGGLE.

5'^

" I like him, Cousin Christie, don^t you ? " said Carl,
when he had gone.

But Cousin Cliristie turned away witiiout reply ; long-
ing to lay her burning cheek on the pillow, and muse over
the new and delicious joy that was thrilling her whole
heart, and in her slumber to lie dreaming '• love's young-
dream.''

And Willard Drummond, forgetting his vows, forget-
ting Sybil, forgetting honor, forgetting all but this lovely
island maiden, sought his couch with but one uuiiie on his
heart and lips, " Christie, Christie 1"

CHAPTER VII.

THE heart's .STRUGCtLE.

" She loves, but knows not wliom she loves,

Nor what his ruoe, nor whence he came ;
Like one who nioets in Imlian fjroves

Some beauteous bird without a name,
Brout^ht by the last ambrosial breeze

To show his plunuiyre for a day

To wondering eyes, then wing away."

—Lallah Rookh.

Pale, feverish and unrefrcshed, after anight of restless
dreams, Willard Drummond arose from a vision of Christie
to hail a new day.

Passion and principle were at war already. Bound by
every pledge of love — by every vow — to Sybil, his whole
soul was steeped in this new, all-absorbing passion that
had taken possession of him. He had fancied he loved
her, until he beheld radiant, dazzling, bewildering Chris-
tie, and from that moment he could have yielded heaven
for her. Every feeling of his inmost heart and soul was
up in arms. Every feeling of honor bnde him fly from this
intoxicating siren, whose power he felt growiiig stronger
each moment over him ; but the voice of passion cried :
*' Remain — love her if you will. What right has Sybil to
stand between you and the heaven of your dreams ?" And,
like all who allow the struggle between right jind wrong
to wage its warfare in their bosom, Willard Drummond
Avas lost. For, with his hot, fervid, southern nature,
ivorldly considerations, former vows, reason, principle.

I !

II !

THE O.UEEN OF THE ISLE.

r I

' *

•;'-

i i'

' '■ A'

11 !fi.

iustice, even honor, were swept away like a wall of smoke
Defore the fierce impetuosity of passion.

With a head throbbing and pulse quick and feverish
witli the inward conflict, Willard descended to broakiast.

Captain Campbell stood in the sitting-room, awaiting hia
coming. With a courteous " good morning," he advanced
to meet him, but started back in surprise at beholding his
extreme pallor.

" My dear fellow ! " he exclaimed, in atone of solicitude,
*' you are ill — very ill, I am afraid. What in the world is
the matter ? '*

" Notliing. I had bad dreams and did not sleep well,"
said Drummond, with a forced smile. *' A cup of Aunt
Moll's excellent coffee will set me all right again."

*' I don't know about that," said Captain Campbell,
with his eyes fixed anxiously on his face. '' You are look-
ing terribly feverisli, and you were comi)laining of a
headache yesterday. 1 hope you are not going to be
ill."

*' I assure you it is nothing," said Willard, in a tone of
slight impatience. ''You are needlessly alarming your-
self. A bad night's rest is the cause of it all."

" Well, if it is not, I will have to call up Mrs. Tom to
nurse you till Sybil comes. And, by t.ie way, I regret ex-
ceedingly that I shall be obliged to leave you solitary and
alone tor some days. Important business, that cannot be
postponed, demands my immediate attention."

Willard's heart suddenly bounded — he would scarcely
have acknowledged to himself the reason — at the words.

*' It seems hardly courteous or liospitable to leave you
thus," continued the young captain ; "but I know you
will excuse me, my dear fellow, when I tell you it cannot
possibly be helped. "

*'0h, certainly — certainly!" interrupted Drummond,
cordially. " Go, by all means. I will get along well
enough in your absence. When do you leave ?"

'' Immediately after breakfast. It is an affair that can-
not be postponed. In fact, I will not have time even to
go and see Sybil ; but as you will probably be tliere during
the day, you can tell her. Perhaps you will come over to
the mainland witli nie ?"

** No, I think not," said Willard, with affected careless-
ness. " I may go during the course of the day."

THE HEART'S STRUGGLE. '

"But how? I will take the boat."

**0h ! with Carl Henley ; he has one, I believe.'

" Well, suit yourself. And now I'm off. Take care of
yourself, my boy, and an revoir."

'* Good-by," said AVillard, accompanying him to the
door ; " Aunt Moll and I will keep bachelor's hall till you
come back."

Captain Guy laughed and hurried down to the beach.

And, when he was gone, Willard arranged his slightly
disordered dress and disheveled locks, and, sauntering out,
almost mechanically took the road to the cottage.

It came in sight, at last — this little quaint old house,
that held all of heaven to him now.

" Shall I enter — shall I thrust myself into temptation ? "
was his inward thought. '' If I look again on this fairy
sylph, I am lost ! "

lie thought of Sybil, and her dark, bright, menacing
eyes arose before him, as if to warn him back.

'' For your honor's sake — for your life's sake — for your
sonFs sake — go not there ! " said the threatening voice of
conscience.

" And have I not a right to love whom I please ?
Why should I offer violence to myself in leaving this
bright encliantress for that dark, wild Amazon ? Go, go
and be happy," said passion.

And, as if to overthrow his last good resolution, the
image of Christie, radiant, dazzling and beautiful, as he
had beheld her first in the bright flush of the fading sun-
light, arose before him, and once again passion conquered.

He approached and entered the cottage.

Mrs. Tom sat near the window, spinning and singing to
herself. Willard's eyes wandered around in search of an-
other ; but bright Christie was not to be seen.

The widow arose, smilingly, to welcome her guest, and
placed a chair for him near herself. And still Willard 'a
eyes went wandering around the room.

''She will appear presently," bethought, not yet liking
to inquire for her.

" What a venerable-looking affair your wheel is, Mrs.
To!n," he said, surveying it, with its hard polished wood,
and bright brass rings.

'' Yes ; it's as old as the hills," said Mrs. Tom, resum-
ing her work ; " and's been in our family since the flood.

I' %

1 1

' f

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

1 think 1 spun on that there wheel all the yarn that makes
the socks, mittens and comforters for half the county
round ; besides making sheets, blankets and lots of other
tilings for ourselves," said Mrs. Tom, with conscious pride.

'^ You deserve a premium for industry, Mrs. Tom," said
Willard.

** Well, you may be jokin' now, and 1 dare say you are ;
bui; it's true, for all that. Many a true word is spoke in
jest, you know," said Mrs. Tom, as her wheel went mer-
rily round. " There ain't many women in this place, o'
my age and means, can do, or does do more work than me,
though I say it as liadn't oughter. I knit, and spin, and
sew, wash, brew, bake, sow, and reap, and fifty other
things too numerous to mention, besides. Carl, if I go
up there, I'll put an end to your lazin\ you idle, good-for-
nothing vagabone, you !" she added, ])reaking off in sud-
den wrath, as she espied Carl leaning on the spade with
which he sliould have been digging in tlie garden.

**You should make Carl do these tilings, ]\lrs. Tom,^
said Willard, still impatiently watching tlie door, and
wondering Avhy Christie did not come.

*^ Carl ?" said Mrs. Tom, with a sliort laugh. '' Lor'-
a-massey ! he ain't worth his salt ; that there's the laziest,
most worthless young scapegoat ever any living 'oman was
plagued with. I hain't a minute's peace with him night
nor day ; and if scolding was a mite of good, the Lord
knows he might have been a saint by this time, for he gets
enough of it."

AVillard laughed. And in such conversation tlie morn-
ing slipped away — very rapidly to ]\[rs. Tom, but each
moment an age to our impatient lover. For Christie w;is
absent still ; and a strange reluctance, for wliicli he could
not account, still prevented Willard from asking for her.
It was an inward sense of guilt that troubled liiin ; for,
feeling toward her as he did, he felt he had no riglit even
to mention her name.

At last, as in despair he arose to go, Mrs. Tom relieved
his mind.

'' Christie will be disappointed at not seeing you," said
the old lady, following him out ; " she went out berrying
to the woods this morning, jind hain't got home yet."

Willard started at the inforiuation ; and inwardly curs-
ing the folly that had detained him so many hours talking

THE HEART'S STRUGGLE.

to a foolish old woman, he darted off, with a rapidity that
quite amazed Mrs. Tom, in the direction of the pine woods.

'* VVliat a confounded fool I have been ! " he exclaimed,
savage!-', *' to stay tliere listening to the way to make
butter, and flannel, and ' yarb tea,' as if the old beldame
thought I was going to be somebody's housekeeper, or a
female doctross ; and all the time this enchanting little
blue-eyed witch was wandering alone, by herself. What
an opportuni!:y I have lost ! and now I suppose I may
searcii for an hour and not find her."

He turned iwi abrupt angle in the winding path, and
stilled a suchlen oxchimation of surprise and delight. For
thei'c before liim, reclining on the grass, with half veiled
eyes and soft, musing smile, sat the object of all his
thoughts, wishes and desires.

He paused for a moment to contemplate the picture be-
fore him ; for if (Miristie had seemed beautiful when he
iirst beheld her, oh ! doubly lovely did she appear now in
lier attitude of unstudied grace.

Her dress was a loose, light muslin robe, fitting to per-
fe(;tion her rounded waist and swelling bust. Her straw
hat lay on the ground beside her; and her golden, sun-
shiny hair lloated, with all its wealth of rippling ringlets,
round her ivory throat. How dazzlini>iv fair hooked that
smooth, snowy brow, contrasted with the full, crimson
lips and delicately flushed cheeks — iiow enchanting the
long, curved lashes, falling over the deep blue, loving
eyes — how beautiful that faultless form, that soft, gentle,
li;i,ppy smile of guileless girlhood. Wilhird Drummomrs
bi'eath came and went, quick and shoi-t, as he gazed, and
his dark eyes filled with a subdued lire.

He advanced toward her. His shadow falling on the
grass at her feet wus the first token she had of his coming.
With a quick, startled cry, she spriing to her feet in ter-
ror ; but when she saw who it was that stood before her,
she stopped short, while the color lluslied gloriously to
her roundeil cheeks. Her first impression was : lie has
read my thoughts in my face, and knows I was thinking
of him.

" Have 1 disturbed you, bright Christie ?" he asked,

coming nearer.

urs-

*' Oh, no i " she answered, blushingly. *•! was only
T/aiting to rest a little while before going home."

^ I'

I'
It-

I '2

THE QUEEK OF THE ISLE.

I ^

" And dreaming, I pi*rceived," said Willard ; *' may I
ask of what — of whom ? "

*' I wasn't dreaming," said Christie, innocently. *^I
was wide-awake all the time."

'* Daj-c'roaming, 1 mean," said Drummond, with a
smile. "Do you know, fairest Christie, I have been at
your cottage all the morning, waiting to see you ?"

*' To see me ?*' said Christie, with another quick, glad
blush.

'^ And not finding you there, I have come in search of
you," he continued.

"And found me," she said, laughing. *' If I had
known you were coming, I should have stayed at home."

" Perhaps it is better as it is, bright one ; for I have
found you alone. It is very pleasant to have found so
fair a companion oti this lonely isle."

"Yes, it is a lonely place," said Chris^'e, musingly;
"and yet I like it better than Westbrook, or any other
place I have ever been in. Only I would like always to
have a friend with me to talk to ; and that, you know, I
cannot have here. Aunt Tom is always too busy to go
out ; and Carl don't care about the trouble of talking,
much less that of walking, so I always have to go alone."

"And if he would go, I fancy Master Carl is hardly the
kind of companion Miss Christie would select," said Wil-
lard.

" Not if I could find any better," said Christie, with a
laugh ; " but I have grown so accustomed to being alone,
now, that I do not mind it at all, as I used to."

" And so you are perfectly happy here, fairest Christie,
reigning queen of this fairy isle ? "

"Ah, no! beautiful Miss Sybil is queen of the isle.
I am only her most loyal subject," said Christie, gaily ;
" you ought to know that, having paid her your alleg-
iance. "

" AVhat if I should say that the subject was more lovely
than the queen ?" said Willard, in a low voice, and in a
tone that brought the hot blood flushing to Christie's
face.

" I sliould say you were laughing at me, as, of course,
you would be. Certainly, no one would ever think of me
while Miss Sybil was near. Oh ! how I wish she would
always stay here, and then I would have a companion."

THE HEART'S STRUGGLE.

ourse,
of me
would
ion."

"Ah, bright one ! if I were in her place, what would I
not surrender for such a privilege ! "

'MVould you ?" siiid Christie, looking at him in un-
feigned surprise ; '' then why not stay ? I am sure I
should be glad to have you here always."

Tier innocent words, her enticing beauty, her childlike
candor were a strong temptation. For one moment he
was about to fall before her, to clasp her in his arms, to
hold her there forever, while he breathed forth his mad,
passionate love, and told her nothing on earth should ever
part them now. But again rose up before him the dark,
warning face of Sybil to allay the fever in his blood. It
seemed to him he could see her black, fierce eyes gleaming
on them through the trees — he could almost hear her
voice, shouting — " Traitor ! "

All unconscious of tlie struggle raging in his breast,
Christie stood leaning against a tree, her curved crimson
lips half parted — her blue eyes fixed on a cloud, drifting
slowly over the sky, little dreaming of the far darker
clouds gathering rapidly, now, over the horizon of her
life.

And still in Willard's heart went on the struggle. lie
dared not look at her as she stood before him — bright,
radiant, bewildering — lest the last lingering remains of
fidelity and honor should be swept away by the tierce im-
petuosity of passion in his unstable heart.

But his good angel was in the ascendant still, for at
that moment the voice of Carl was heard calling, loudly :

'^Christie ! Christie !"

" Here, Carl ! Here I am," she answered ; and in an-
otliei instant, honest Carl stood before thcin.

" Aunt Tom sent me looking for you," said the young
gentleman, rather sulkily; '-'and I've been tramping
through the woods this half hour, while you were taking
it easy here," said Carl, wiping the perspiration from his
hot brow.

" It was all my fault, my good Carl," said Willard, as
Christie hastily snatclied up her hat and basket and fled,
having a j\u.t terror of ^[rs. Tom's sharp tongue. *' Make
my excuses to your good aunt, and here is something for
yourself."

Carl's dull face brightened wonderfully as Willard drew
a gold piece from his pocket and pressed it into his hand,

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

and then turned hid steps slowly in tlie direction of Camp-
bell Castle, thinking all earthly happiness lay centered ia
the opposite direction.

Mrs. Tom's reproaches fell unheeded, for tlie first time,
on Christie's ear that day. She heard not a word of the
long lecture delivered with more tiian the good widow's
usual eloquence ; for she was thinking of another voice,
whose lowest tone had power already to thrill to the in-
nermost recesses of her heart. She loved without know-
ing it, without wishing to define the new, delicious feel-
ing filling her breast, only conscious she had never been
so happy before in her life, and longing for the time when
she should see him again. Ah ! well had it been for her
had they never met more.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE TlllUMI'II OF PASSION".

•' All other passions have their hour of thinking,
And hear the voice of reason. This alone
Sweeps the soul iu tempests ! "

" Well,'' said Aunt Moll, to her son and heir, Lem,
as he entered the long, high kitchen of Campbell's Lodge.
** 1 would like ter know what dat ar Master Drummin's
up ter ? I doesn't understan' dese yer new-fangled young
men 'tall. Fust he comes a-courtin' of our Miss Sybil,
and jes' as soon as her back's turned, he goes rite off an'
takes up wid dat ar Miss Chrissy. "

^''Tain't no business your'n, ole woman," said Lem,
gruffly. " I 'spec's as how Marse Drummin' knows what
he's about."

*^ Yes, honey ; but 'pears to me I ought to tell Miss
Sybil 'bout it. Ef he is her beau, he oughtn't to be takin'
up wid dat ar Miss Chrissy."

*M^etter let Miss Svbil look arter her own beau," re-
plied her dutiful son. '* How does ye know he's a-courtin'
Miss Chrissy ? "

" 'Cause I seed dem, chile — yes, I did — las' night, down
on de shore. De moon was sliinin' jes' as bright as a new
pan, an' I took dat ar litter o' kittens down to de shore to
Urown dem, wlien I seed Marse Drummin' a-walkin' along

THE TRIUMPH OF PA8SI0X.

down

a new

ore to

along

wid Miss Chri.ssy, aiul lio had his head st()0])ed down, jes'
so ■' — and Aunt Moll ducki-d hor woolly head to illustrate
it — "an' was whispcrin' soft stuff, jes' as folks do when
dey'ro in love."

'" Well, what don ? '' asked rioni, ;xrowinj^ interested.

*^ Well, dey come up an' seed ine, in eoui'se, an' lor', lor !
I jos' wish you seed de look Marse Drunimin' f]i;ive nie.
Toared as ef he'd 'a' liked to knijcked my ole head oiT.
l^iit I warn't afeared, 'deed I wa'n't, chile ; so I jes' stood
still and drapped a curtsey, an' Miss Chrissy she got red
rite up to de roots oh her hair. ' (iood evenin', marse
and young miss,' sez 1 ; 'dc n't he skeered ; I only wants
to drown deso 'ere little kitLcns,' sez I, for I thought as I
might he perlite, jes' as well as not.

*' ' Oh, how does yer do, Aunt Moll ? ' sez Miss Chrissy,
a-laughing' and blushin' ; * how is Lem and yer rheumatiz,
dese times ? '

" ' T'a!ik you, honey,' sez I, ' dey's pretty well, bof
ob dem.^ An' den Marse Drummin' ho pulled her arm
rite troo his'n, and marched her off wid him ; an' den I
pitched de kittens rite in de water an' come home."

" Well, dat ar warn't much," said the skeptical Lem.
" Dey might bo walkin' on de beach but dat ain't by no
means courtin'. Marse Drummin' walks wid her 'cause
Miss Sybil's gone, an he ain't got nobody else to talk to."

'•^ 'Cisely so, 'diile ; but dat ain't all ; " said Aunt Moll.
** Dis berry morning, as I was passin' troo de hall, de sit-
tin'-room door was open, and I heered voices a-talkin'
dere ; so I listened and peeked in, an' dar was Marse
Drummin', rampin' up and down, a-talking' to hisself."

"Well, dat ain't nothin', either,'' said the still contra-
dictory Lem. " I've hearn dat ar Carl talk to hisself,
when Miss Tom sent him out to work, an' he ain't in love
wid no one."

" But listen, honey, and don't you be puttin' me out
so, 'cause 'tain't 'spectf ul — 'deed it ain't," said Aunt Moll,
getting slightly indignant. " As I was sayin', I clapt
my ear to de door, an' I heered him savin' jes' as plain as
nothin' 'tall — ' Oh, dischanting, onwildering Chrissy ! ef
I had nebber met you, I miglit yet be happy ! ' Dar,
what he say dat for, ef he wa'nt in lub ? "

This last was a settler. Lem felt that his mother had
the best of the argument, and unwilling to seem defeated,

I '^

ll f 1:

f ;1 f

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

lie went out, leaving tlie old lady to enjoy her triumph iin-
in term J) ted.

Three days had f)assed since the departure of Sybil, and
certainly Willard's conduct seemed to juslily Aunt Moll's
suspicions. Unable to l)reak tiie tlirall wliieii bound him,
wishing, yet unable to tly from the spell o( the enchantress,
he lingered still by her side. 'I'here were shame, dishonor,
sin, in remaining ; but oh ! there were death, misery and
desolation in going All worldly considerations, her un-
known birth, her obscure connections, her lowly rank,
were swe[)t away like wtdls of cobweb before the tierce tor-
rent of passion that overwhelmed, conquered every other
feeling in its impetuous tide.

And she loved him, this angel of beauty, this fairy
princess of the isle — he could see it in the quick flush of
joy at his approach, the quick, burning glances shot from
her beautiful eyes, more quickly averted when ti)ey met
his — her low impassioned tones, her bright, beautiful
blushes. There was joy ; there was rapture in tho
thought ; and yet, unless he forgot honor, vows, all that
should have been sacred, what did this love avail ?

And so, like a tempest-tossed bark on a tempest-tossed
sea, he strove with passion and honor, love and remorse,
right and wrong.

Once only, fearing lest her suspicions might be aroused
by his absence, he liad visited Sybil, whose rapturous
greeting and confiding love made him feel far more of a
villain than ever. He looked forward with dread to the
period of her return, fearing for the discovery of his
falsity ; but, more than all, fearing for the effects of he:*
fierce wrath on Christie, knowing well what must be the
strength of Sybil's lion passions when nnchained.

And so, when Mrs. Brantwell proposed that Sybil slionld
remain with her another week, instead of returning to the
dreary isle, instead of feeling irritated now, he backed
the proposal, saying that perhaps it would be better for
her to do so, more especially during her brother's absence.

And Sybil, in her deep love and woman's trust, sus-
pecting nothing, fearing nothing, consented, to the inward
joy and sincere relief of her false lover.

Resolving to visit her frequently, and so allay any sus-
picions that his absence might give rise to, Willard Drum-
mond returned to the island and to— Christie, yielding

THE TRIUMPH OF PASSIOX.

iHsed
rou3
of a

io t]\e
•f his
i her

le the

lionld
^0 the
bcked
^r for
seiice.
sus-
iward

|y sus-
irum-
jlding

liimself witliout furtlier eifort to the witching spoil of he?
love.

Mrs. Tom suspected notliiiig of tlie coiitniband courting
carried on under hor very eyes. It was the most nuLunil
tiling in the world, she th()iii;lit, that, in the ulLsi'iice of
Sybil and Jier brother, the young man shonhl spend whole
days witli them ; for it was not pleasiint having no one to
talk to but a couple of negroes, as slie very well knew.
Then it was not to be wondered at that lie preferred talk-
ing and walking with Christie to any of the rest ; for she
was *' book Tarned," like himself, which neilhcr she nor
Carl was. She did wonder a little, sometimes, and said as
much to Christie, why he should stay on the island at all
in the absence of the other.

"But I si'ppose," was always her conclusion, ^Mt'a
because its Miss Sybil's home, and for her sake ho stays
there until she comes."

But Christie, though she only blushed and was silent,
was of a different opinion — one that she would scarcely
own to her own heart. As to his being in love with Chris-
tie, Mrs. Tom would have scouted the idea with scorn
and unbelief, had she heard it. Every circumstance was
gainst such a conclusion. Ue was rich, highly connected,
and proud as a prince of the blood ; she was poor, un-
known, and, compared with him, uneducated, liosides,
in the good widow's opinion, she was a child in feeling,
as she certainly was in years, scarcely knowing the mean-
ing of the word love.

Ah ! she had been till he came, and his fervid, impas-
sioned words, his burning glances, his thrilling touch had
swept away the glamour of childhood and simplicity and
revealed to her the passionate woman's heart within her.
His words, his looks, his tones were all new revelations to
the artless island maiden — changing lier, as if by magic,
from a child to a woman. She revered him as the em-
bodiment of all that was brave, generous and noble ;
worshiped him as a god, and loved him with all the
atfection of her fresh young heart, with all the ardor of a
first deep love.

As yet she know not whether that love was returned ;
for, unfaithful as he was in thought to Sybil, passion liad
not yet so totally conquered his reason as to make him sin
iu words. He liad never said, *' Christie, I love you;*'

■i

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

!i i

but ah I how often had Lis eyes said this and mnch more ;
and how long would even this slight barrier stand before
the fiery impetuosity of unstable youth ?

And so that day i)assed, and the next, and the next,
and the next ; Jiiul with every passing hour the temptation
grew stronger and harder to be resisted. Matters must
come to a crisis now or never. Sybil, in a day or two, would
be home, and this wild frenzy of his could be hidden no
longer. H she should come, as matters stood now, all
v.ould be lost.

And thus, torn between conflicting emotions, Willard
sought Christie on the day before Sybil was expected
home, with the determination of bringing this struggle
to an end then and there.

It was a glorious August afternoon. The island wore
its brightest dress of green, and nestled in the blue shin-
ing river like an emerald set in sapphire. The birds in
the deep pine forest were filling the air with their melody,
and the odor of the wild roses came floating softly on the
summer breeze.

But Willard Drummoud was in no mood to admire
the beauties of nature. The morning had been spent
in pacing up and down his room hesitating, resolving,
doubting, wishing, yet undecided still. For when duty
and principle would appear for a moment victorious, the
waving, golden liair, the blue, beautiful eyes and gentle,
loving face of Christie would rise before him, scattering
all his good resolutions to the winds. And mingled with
this there was a sort of superstitious foreboding of evil to
come. He thought of his dream, and of the yellow-haired
siren luring him on to destruction ; and of Sybil, fiery
daughter of a fiery race, fierce, vindictive and implacable
in her wrongs.

*' Oh, that I had never met this dark, passionate girl !"
he murmured, distractedly, " who now stands between
me and the heaven of my dreams ; or would that I had
seen this beautiful, enchanting Christie first ! Oh, for
that angel as my wife ! And but for those fatal vows once
made to Sybil, she might be mine. I was mad, crazed, to
mistake my fancy for that dark, wild-eyed girl for love !
And now, for that one mistake, am I to be wretched for
life ? Shall I gave up this beautiful, radiant creature who
loves me for one I care for no longer ? No; the struggle

THE TRIUMPH OF PASSION.

ore ;
3fore

next,
ation
must
\rould
111 no
V, all

illurd
jected
'uggle

wore
5 sliiu-
rds in
lelody,
on

the

admire

spent
olving,
duty
us, the
gentle,
ttering

d with
evil to

haired
I, fiery

lacable

girl!"

|)etween

I had

)h, for

^s once

ized, to

pr love !

Ihed for

lire who

Struggle

is past. Christie sliiiU be my bride, and I will brave tlie
worst tliat may follow ! ''

Ho set his teeth iiard, and, as if fearing second reflection
might make him change his mind, he left the house and
hurried out to meet Christie.

Down on the shore, under the shade of an overhanging
willow, he knew Christie had a favorite seat, wiiure, on
pleasant days, she used to take iiur work. Here lie was
sure of finding her, and in that direction he bent his
steps.

She sat sewing under tlic shade of tlie drooping willow,
singing softly to herself, and looking like some sylvan god-
dess of a sylvan s(M3ne ! or some beautiful sea-nymph just
risen from her grotto of coral and crysttd.

Radiant and bewildering were the smile and blush M'ith
which she welcomed him — a smile and blush that might
have been found too strong even for more jjotent princi])lcs
than his.

He seated himself beside her with a look of moody
abstraction, all unusual -.vith him, watching her covertly
from under his eyelashes as she bent smiling and happy
over her work.

For a time Christie chatted gayly on various common-
place matters, but at last, catching her tone from his, she,
too, grew silent and thoughtful. She bent lower over her
work, wondering if she had olfended him, and involun-
tarily sighed.

He heard it and said :

*' And wherefore that sigh, Christie ? Are you un-
happy ? "

" No, not unhappy ; but troubled."

"And why should you be troubled, bright one ? What
can there be to grieve one so fair ? "

*'I — I — feared I had offended you/' she answered,
timidly. " You appear out of spirits.*'

*' You offend me, gentle one — you, who never offended
any one in your life ? No, no ; it is not that."

" Then you are unhappy," she said, shyly.

*' Yes ; I am miserable — wretched ! " he cried, vehe-
mently. *' I wish to heaven I had never been born ! "

'* ! Mr. Drummond, what has happened ? " she cried,
laying her hand on his and looking up wistfully in his
face.

i'. "Il

.■

i i

' I.

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

Iler touch, lier tone, lior look, swept away every re-
nuiining trace of fidelity, lie forgot everything lie sliould
liave remembered — his vows, his honor, his truth — and
saw nothing but tlie briglit, radiiint, bewildering vision
before him. In an instant he was on his knoes at her
feet, exclaiming, with impassioned vehemence ;

'' Chrisue ! C'luistie ! my life, my dream, my liope, I
love you. See, I am at your feet, where my heart, my
name, my fortune long have been. AVitli my whole heart
und soul and lifi; and being, I love you with a love
stronger than d(^utli or the grave. All tlie devotion and
hopes of my life I offer vou, if you can only say you love
me."

lie was ])ale{ind panting ; his eyes were lierceand burn-
ing ; his tones low, thrilling and passionate.

Trembling, slirinking, blushing, yet with a deep, in-
tense, fervent joy tlirilling througii all her heart and
being, Cliristie listened. The blood swept in torrents to
her face, neck and bosom, wliieh rose and fell with her
ra})id breathing. Slie dared not look up to meet his
ardent, burning gaze.

" Christie, Christie ! niy love, ray life ! look up — speak
— answer me — tell me tliat you love me ! ''

Still no reply, only those downcast eyes^ d^^epest blushes
and (piick, hurried breathing.

"^ Si)eak ! s})eak ! my beautiful love I only one word
from those sweet lips, but one touch ot your dear hand to
tell me I may live ! " ho cried, growing more wild and im-
passioned.

With a low, glad cry of intense iov she buried her blush-
mg face on liis shoulder.

** Thanks I my heart's tlninks for this, sweetest, love-
liest Christie I" he cried, with exultant joy, pressing her
yielding form to liis bouiiding he;iit. '• My life, with all
its hopes, energies and ambitions, shall be devoted to but
one purpose now — that of rewar(iing you for your price-
less love."

"Oh! Mr. Drunimond, your love is all the reward I
ask ! " she said, m the deep, t^arnest voice of perfect trust.

" Not Mr. Drunimond now, sweetest CliTistie. I am
Willard to you now and forever. Let me always hear that
rnime in music from your lips, and earth has no higher
boon in store for me.''

THE TRIUMPH OF TASSIOX.

, lovc-
Hg her

to but
price-

Iward I

trust.
1 am
hiir that
higher

*'V>\\t, oh I can you love me tlius — me, a poor, litflo,
nameless, uncultured girl, while you are rieh, distin-
guished and higldy eonneeted ? Oh I Willard, will you
not some day repent this choice — you who might win the
highest aiul fairest in the land ? ''

"■ Iicpcnt ? Never ! never I Perish my heart if it ever
admit of any love hut thine ; palsied be my arm if it ever
encircle any form but this ; accursed be my li})S if they
ever perjure the words I have spoken now ; lost forever be
my soul when it is false to thee !^' he cried, with passion-
ate vehemence.

** Oh ! Willard, dearest, liush ! I do not doubt you—
heaven forbid ! 1 should die if I thought you could be
false to inc."

" Speak not of death ; it is not for such as you, bright,
beautiful Chr'stie. And now only one thing is wanting
to make me the happiest of men."

She lifted her radiant face with a look of earnest inquiry.

" Christie, one little word from you, and ere the sun
rises on another day my joy will be complete — my cup of
earthly hap})iness will be tilled to the brim."

Still the same earnest, anxious gaze.

*' Dearest love, you will not refuse ? It will be but a
small matter to you, and will make me supremely
blessed."

'• And that ? "' she inquired, Avonderingly.

" Brightest Christie, be my bride — my wife ! " he cried,
folding her closer in his arms and speaking in a thrilling
whisper.

Again the eloquent blood swept 'ver her stainless neck
and bosom, but she did not reply.

'' You will not refuse me, my own Christie, this last
greatest favor ? Comply now — to-day, for if the present
op})ortunity passes it may never occur again."

*' ]5ut how — how can we be wedded here ? " she said,
shyly, lifting her eyes to his impiissioned ones and drop-
ping them in brightest blushes.

" Christie, yonder lies a boat ; it is three hours to sun-
set ; long before that time we can reach Westport ; there
we can find a clergyman, and there you can become my
own for life I "

" Bnt it is soon — so sudden," she faltered ; ''and Aunt
Tom— she will never consent."

fr;

": ' ■! I

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

*' She would not consent anyway, fairest Christie. She
would say you were too young — too fur in social position
beneath me. Slie would not believe my intentions honor-
able. In sliort, dearest, she would raise a thousand ob-
jections, and the end would be that we would be parted
forever."

*'01i ! Willard, it would not be so bad as that; if you
explained it all to her 1 think she would consent. Aunt
Tom is good and kind, and loves me and would do any-
thing to make me happy."

" That may be, brightest Christie ; but that very love
she has for you, and her wish to make you liappy, would
cause her to hesitate. For she would repeat the old,
senseless saying : ' Marry in haste and repent at leisure,'
and think the best way to make us both happy would
be to postpone our marriage for years to come."

" But this secret marriage, it seems wrong, sinful.
Oh ! Willard, my soul revolts from it ! If I could only
tell Aunt Tom ! " cried Christie, imploringly.

''When the proper time comes, dearest love, she shall
know, and all the world shall behold my beautiful bride.
But until then you must have confidence in me and wait.

" But, oh ! I have such a presentiment of what may
follow, Willard — such a cloud seems to enshroud this
secret marriage that my very soul shrinks from it in
fear."

" Christie," he said, drawing back, and speaking in a
deeply offended tone, "you do not love me ! "

She raised her bright, beautiful eyes, so full of love
and devotion, but did not speak. Ko words could have
told such a tale of perfect, intense love as did that quick,
eloquent glance.

" You do not love me ! " he went on, in the same deeply
hurl tone ; " you have no confidence in me, no trust, no
faith. I have given you my reasons, good and valid to
any one else, but of no avail with you. If you cared for
me you would consent to wait with perfect trust in my
love ; but I see you will not trust me. Be it so ; there
remains nothing for me to do but to leave you forever."

" Oh ! Willard ! " was all she could say, as her voice
was choked in tears.

" I thought I had found an artless, loving, trusting
girl," he went ou, with increased bitterness ; " but 1 have

THE VISIOX OF THE ISLE.

this
t in

in a

found one who will not yield in the slightest iota lest she
compromise herself in Lhc eyes of the world, who fears
what it will say of her more than she loves me. Farewell,
Christie I we have met for the last time. Since you care
for vour aunt more than me, I leave vou to her."

He arose coldly and hauglitily to go.

'' Oh, Willard ! do not leave me ! '' was her passionate
cry. " I will do anything, be anything, you ask, only do
not leave me in anger ! "

^MVill you be my wife ?"

" Yes f"

" To-n'ight ? "

" Oh, yes ; to-night and forever ! "

'•' ]\[y own gentle love!" he whispered, pressing her
fondly in his arms, "will you go and get ready, and re-
turn to me hero in a quarter of an hour ? "

" But what shall I sav to Aunt Tom — how account for
my absence ? "

" Leave that to me, dearest. Li a few minutes I will
follow you to the cottage and ask her to let you take a
sail with me on the river by moonlight ; she will not re-
fuse me."

"As you will," said Christie, turning toward her home,
while Willard — triumphant, exulting and dizzy with joy —
descended to the beach to prepare the boat.

CHAPTER IX.

eeply
t, no
lid to
d for

TTIE VISIOX OF THE ISLE.

*' But soft ; behold ! lo, there it conies afrain !
I'll cross it. though it blast iii<'. Stay, illusion 1
If thou hast any sound, or use a voice.
Speak to me ! "

TIAMLET

Fickle fortuiu^, that often favors the wrong and erring,
certainly smiled on the lovers that day. For scarcely liad
Christie entered the house when Mrs. Tom came bustling
out, in deep distress, saying, in heart-rending toiu's :

" What is to be done ? This five-and-forty year, rain
or shine, Fve had a cuj) o' tea for breakfast ; and now
there ain't a grain in the house. I jest know, as well as

i:r

•yo

THE QUEEN OP THE ISLE.

if somebody told me, that I won't be fit for iiothin' to-
morrow, when I ain't got a cup o' tea for my breakfast ;
and tliere's no u.se tryin' to nnike tliat there good-for-
iiothin' Carl go for any to-niglit. It allei-H was my luck
to liave tlie most dreadfiilo.st bad luck, but I never thouglit
things wouhl come to sicli a pass as this. Scat ! you
hussy ! '' And Mrs. Tom gave tlie cat a kick, which wa3
her usual way of winding up an address.

*' Aunt Tom," said Christie, ^' let me go."

*^ You ! Are you crazy ? IIow are you goin' to go .'* "

*^ ]\Ir. Drummond is going over to Westport this eve-
ning, and lie wanted me to go with him/' said Cliristie,
turning away to hide a rising blush. ''I can easily get it
there."

" So you can," said IMrs. Tom, considering, '^ but will
Mr. Drummond return early ?"

*' Yes," said Cliristie ; " he lias .some slight business to
transact, and then he is coming imniedijitely liomc. The
sail will be jdeasant by moonlight, and I'd like to go."

" Well, go then ; and don't be gone any longer than
you can help. Cet two poun's of hyson at 3Ir. Ginger's."

*' Yes, ma'am," said Christie, taking the money and
putting on her hat and shawl in a trembling, agitated sort
of way that at any otiier time !!\[rs. Tom must have noticed.

She hurried out, and on her way met Willard coming
up to the house.

'* Well, has Mrs. Tom given you permission ? " he
usked, in pleased surprise.

Christie related her errand.

^'' The gods favor us " he cried, gaily. '•' See, Christie !
the sun is api)roacliing the west, and before it dies out of
tlie sky you will be what heaven lias destined you for —
my wife ! "

'' And to be that for an hour is bliss enough to re})ay a
whole life of misery," she said, with heartfelt earnestness.

^^ With Tny own Christie ! Will I ever be able to re])ay
you for this grace, this greatest eartldy blessing that
heaven could bestow upon me ?" he said, fervently.

" The knowledge of your love more than repays me ;
for I have made no sacrifice," she said in a low tone.

They had no\v reached the boat. He handed her in,
pushed olf the boat, took the oars and rowed away.

But other eyes they dreamed not of were upon them.

■I
I

tiiess.

tluit

me ;

»r in,

Dliem.

THE VISION OF THE ISLE.

Erom one of the windows of tlie high cliamhers of Camp-
bell's Lodge Aunt ^loll and her son Lem wore taking ob-
servations.

*' Dar dcy go ! — off a sailin*. What will ]\[iss Sybil say
to dat ? " observed the scandalized and indignant Aunfc
Moll.

'Mioin' out sailin' doesn't signify nothin'. Dey young
gemblum wants somebody to talk to as ho rows."

^' 'Tain't right," said Aunt Moll, with an oracular shake
of her head; "dar's sumfin wrong, somewhere. Don't
b'lieve ^liss Sibyl would 'prove of it, nohow ; dese yer
young men ain't to be trusted, nowadays."

'^ It's nat'ral, Marse Drummin' would get tired o' one
gal — mos' young men do — and take up wid annoder, for a
change. I'd do it myself," concluded Lem, in a pom])ous
tone.

" You woukl ! " said his mother, in high dudgeon ;
'' as if any gal 'd look at you, you brack fool ! Marnc
Drummin' will get hisself inter [i hornets' nest, if lie
trilles wid de 'fections ob Miss Sybil. I's come to de di-
clusion to conform Miss Sybil ob his goings-on, soon ag
ebber she arrives. Dar ! "

And having thus settled the matter to her own entire
satisfaction, Aunt Moll descended to the kitchen and soon
forgot all sublunarv thinofs in the celestial bliss of smoking
a short, dirty pipe, as black and stumpy as herself.

Meantime the erring young pair were swiftly skimming
over the bright waters in the direction of Westport. The
labor of rowing precluded the possibility of conversation,
and both were silent and thoughtful. Urged on bv his
intense desire of completing what he had so successfully
begun — urged on, perhaps, by fate, the boat seemed fairly
to fly over the sparkling, suTi-bright waves.

Ere the last ray of sunlight had faded from the sky the
boat touched the opposite shore ; and, drawing Christie's
arm within his own. Willard set o.f rapidly in the direc-
tion of the town of Westport.

And, having reached it. he led Christie in the direction
of a little, obscure Methodist chapel, while he loft her to
seek for a license and the clergvman.

in a short time he returned with both. Without un-
necessary inquiries the clergyman hastened through tiie
marriage ceremony, and in a few moments the passion-

: j!

1^ I

j!' '•
il

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

blinded young couple were man and wife. Then, hastily
paying the clergyman his fee, AVillard led his bride from
the church.

" My bride ! my wife ! my own forever now ! " lie cried,
with sudden, passion ate exultation, folding her to his heart.

JUit just then, with a sharp, piercing cry of thrilling
horror, Christie sprang back, frightfully pale — with di-
hiting eyes and choking breath, gasping, stifling, suffoca-
ting.

'' In the name of heaven, what is the matter, my own
Christie ?" he cried, in wonder and alarm.

But, pressing her hands over her heart, she sank dizzily
on the churcli steps, pale, gasping, trembling, horror-
stricken still.

"Christie! Christie! dearest love! what is it?" he
said, anxiously, encircling her with his arm.

" Oh ! the doom — the doom ! " she said, shudderingly,
hiding her face in his arm.

" What doom ? Of what are you speaking, sweet wife ? "
he inquired, in increasing anxiety.

She rose now, and passed her hand over her brow, as if
to clear away a mist. Then, seeing liis pale, troubled
face, she recovered herself and forced a smile.

" Dearest Christie, what was it ?" he anxiouslv asked.

" Oh, Willard ! you will laugh at me ! but I felt it ail, I
saw it all so plainly," she said, in a weeping voice.

" Saw what — felt what ? I do not understand," he
said puzzled by her look and words.

'* Those eyes I those eyes ! and that fierce grasp on my
throat, and the keen knife ! Ah, heaven ! I feel it jet."
And she shuddered convulsively.

" Are you raving, Christie ? In heaven's name, what
eyes, what knife, are you speaking of?" he said, begin-
ning to think she had lost her reason.

"Oh, Willard ! Willard ! just as you folded me in your
arms and called nio your wife, Sybil Campbell's tierce,
wild, black eyes arose before me, glaring on me like burn-
ing coals, and then I felt two strong hands clutch my
throat and a knife plunged into my breast ! 0, saints in
heaven ! it rises before me yet ! "

"Christie, you are mad!" he said, vehemently; but
the ashen paleness that overspread his face told the sud-
den shock the name of Sybil had given him.

THE VISION OF THE ISLE.

'hat

jrce,

luni-

iiiy

Is ill

but
Isud-

In all the terror, horror and momentary frenzy of that
instant, tlie fear of his displeasure eon(|uered every otlior
feeling in her breast. Siiaking oif, witli an effort, the
creeping dread that was palsying every nerve, she clung
to his arm with renewed contidence, and said, with a deep
bre.'ith of relief :

'^ I believe I was, for the moment, Willard ; but that
has passed now. You are not angry with me, dearest
AVillard ?" she said, anxiously, observing the cloud tluit
still overspread his fine face.

** Angry ? Xot at all," he said, gravely. ^*Only »,orry
and surprised to think you should give way to such ex-
traordinary delusions."

'' Oh, Wilhird ! it was not a delusion ! I saw it all as
plainly iis I see you now. Oh, those dreadful, dreadful
eyes ! they will haunt me to my dying day I ''

" Do not think of it again, my own love, and do not
look so wild," he said sootliingly. " Come, let us be
going ; the moon will soon rise, and it will be late before
we reach the isle."

*'And Aunt Tom will be anxious," said Christie.
*'And that reminds me of her commission, which 1 had
nearly forgotten. When wc reach the store, you can wait
outside. 1 will join you in a moment."

The moon was just rising when they set sail for the isle,
which Christie had left a child ami to which she was re-
turning a wife. Ah I where was their better angel in
that dark moment of nuidness and temptation ?

The soft, bright moonlight was lighting up the isle with
its calm, pale rays when they reuched it. The cry of the
whippoorwill and katydid from the neighboring forest
mingled with the soft, dreamy murmur of the waves on
the shore, is the sweetest music that ever was heard.

Tempted by the beauty of the night, our lovers pro-
longed their sti'oll over the beach. At length, as it began
to grow late, Christie, fearing Mrs. Tom or Carl might
come out to watch for her coming, persuaded Willard to
let her return.

They walked up the rocky, romantic path, whispering
those low and often foolish things so sweet to lovers' ears
when coming from the lips of the loved one. A light
still twinkled in the widow's cottage, casting a long, thin
line of yellov/ light far over the lonely road. But no other

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

sifjrn cl life was visible. Christie's ))lne eves were bent on
the groiiiul, und Wi I lard's stately bead was bent above
ber, when su(blenly, looking up, be bebekl u sight whieb
froze the blood in bis veins.

P'rom the dai'k, mystic pine woods a white-robed fiirnro
came floating toward them. One glance sufiiced to tell
liiin it was the strange vision that had bent over him ji
few nights before. There were the same hollow, rayless
eyes, the s;ime wild, sti'eaming black hair, the same
gliastly, corpse-like face, with its fixed look of unutterable
woe.

It was coming stcnidily toward them, tbis awful phan-
tom. Willard stood fixed, rooted to the ground, gazing
as if fascirnited on the appalling specter. His next
thougbt was for Christie. He glanced toward ber to see
lier face blanched to the hue of death, her eyes dilating in
horror, fixed, frozen, unable to speak a word, one band
raised, and one flickering linger pointing to tbe dread
being approaching.

Neither could move nor speak. Still tbe phantom
floated on until it stood before them, face to face. For
an instant it paused, with its hollow eyes glaring npon
them ; then, with an awful cry of " ^lurdered ! Mur-
dered ! " that pealed through the dim old woods, it threw
np both its arms, and with a shrill, piercing, agonizing
sbriek, fled away and was bidden among the beetling
rocks.

Tbe hand that grasped Willard's arm was growing
weaker and weaker ; there was a low moan, and he turned
in time to catch the senseless form of his child-wife in his
arms.

The wild, unearthly scream had startled Mrs. Tom.
Alarmed and wondering, she cautiously opened the door
and went out. And there she saw Willard Drummond
with the senseless form of Christie in his arms.

ONE OF FORTUNE'S SMILES.

CHAPTER X.

lid

ONE OF FORTUNE S SMILES.

Captain Guy Campbell sat in the parlor of tlie
*' WesLbi'ook House," as the Ihimiiig, gilt signboard aii-
iiouuced, his heels elevated on the window sill, liis cliair
tipped siil)lirnely back, a cigar in iiis mouth, and a news-
paper in his hand. Many people were passing in and out,
some 3f whom he greeted with a nod, others with a brief
salutation, while he still went on with his reading and
smoking. Tliere seemed to be nothing very exciting in
tlie paper, judging by Captain Cam])beirs suppressed
yawns ; and he was about to throw it aside as worthless,
when a ])aragrapii cauglit his eye, and brought him to his
feet as suddenly as though those members were furnished
with steel springs.

The paragraph was brief, and ran thus :

''If Mark Campbell, Esq., of Campbell Isle, is still
alive, he is earnestly requested to call immediately at the

office of C. Ringdon, attorney-at-law, No. IG street,

Westport. In case of his death, his heirs should reply.

C. RlNCJDON.''

"Now, what in the name of Neptune and all his scaly
court can this mean ? " ejaculated the amazed Captain
Campbell.

''Sliould be happy to inform you," said a voice behind
him, " only I don't know what you're talking about."

Captain Campbell turned round, and saw a fashionably
dressed young man who had just entered, standing beside
him.

"Ah, Stafford, how are you ?" he said, extending his
hand; "happy to see you. What in the world brought
you here ? the very last person I ever expected to see in
this quarter of the globe."

"Well," said Stafford, leisurelv seating himself. "I
came down here, nominally, to transact some business

i' n '

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

! ',

;

for the governor ; but the fact is, I lieard the Evening
Star had arrived, and J wanted to pay my devoirs to
Her Majesty, the Queen of tlie Isle. How is pretty Lady
Sybil ? "

"' Very well, and at present on a visit to the Rev. ^^r.
lirantwelFs. lint look at this advertisement, here, in the
Westport Herald ; wliat the deuce do you make of it ? "

Stafford took tlie paper and carelessly glanced over the
lines.

'' Faith, I don^t know. Somebody's left you a legacy,
perhaps."

" Fooh ! what a notion ! Who under the sun is there
to leave a legacy to me ? The Campbells are all as poor
as Job's turkey."

*'Well, there's your mother's relations — tlie Eyres.
Old Richard Eyre, the New York banker is a millionaire
worth more huTidred thousand dollars than I would under-
take to count. He might have died aiul left you his
money."

^' And leave his own family without ! A likely story ! "
said Captain Campbell.

'' My dear fellow, he had no family, except a wife, and
she had been dead for many years. You may be certain
he has left you his heir."

*' ]?y Jove ! if it should prove to be true, that would be
a streak of good luck. But it cannot be. Dame Fortune
would never bestow on a Campbell any such friendly
smile. They always were an impoverished race, and
always will be, I believe."

" Don't be too confident. Strange things happen some-
times. For instance, I saw something very strange a night
or two ago."

•'^Yes"? what is it?"

'^ "Well, you see, about dark I was wandering about the
shore, enjoying a cigar and the beauty of the evening, and
ruminating whether it wouldn't be advisable to take a boat
and go over and see Her Adorable Majesty Queen Sybil.
Most likely my cogitation would have ended in my going,
only — unfortunately — there was no boat to be seen. I
was about to turn away in despair, when I suddenly espied
a boat containing two persons land at some distance below
where I stood. One was a young fellow, tall and good-
looking — with a certain air of aristocratic hauteur aboufe

it ii^i

ONE OF FOKTUXF/S SMILES.

lit

the
id
)iit

[ed

low

)d-

him tliat told nio lie was not to bo intorfored with. But
his companion ! O yu <j^o(ls and litth' ILsIil's I what u per-
f(!ct little sylpii she wa.s I Sucli a miraculous rombinatioii
of blue eyo.s, yellow curls, snowy complexion, pink cheeks,
ant] red, kissable lips, it never was my _i;ood fortune to
encounter before. Jiut what struck me most forcibly, was
her resemblance to some one 1 had seen before ; and after
puzzling" myself for a long time, J at length discovered
she was the very image of pretty little Ciiristie, of the
isle."

'' Christie ! oh, pooh ! it couldn't liave been she," said
Captain Campbell, with an uneasy start.

"Of course, it couldn't have been she with so dainty a
knight us that, but it was most confoundedly like her, or
Avhat she was wiien I saw her last — four years ago ; though
1 dare say she has greatly clianged since then."

''Well, what was there so strange about a handsome
fellow and a pretty girl landing on tlie beach, to interest
tiie nonchalant Will StalTord ? " asked Captain Camp-
bell.

" Listen — I haven't got to tlie strange part of my story
yet. They walked u\) tlie beach to the road, and I could
see the girl was terrified and excited, while he tried to
soothe and quiet her. My curiosity was aroused ; for,
'pon my soul, Campbell, I never saw a lovelier little crea-
ture : and with a sort of idea they were up to some mis-
cliief, I followed them. It was nearly dark, and they hur-
ried on so fast tliey did not notice me, and I tracked them
into one of the most obscure streets of the town, and saw
them enter a little secluded, Methodist mecting-liouse."

'' Well ? " said the auditor.

'' Well, sir, the fellow left her there and went oil. I
crept softly in, and in the oljscurity iiid behind a post,
determined to see tlie end. Diirk as it was, I could see
she trembled with inward emotion, and crouched down in
her seat, with her face hidden in her hands, as if terror,
remorse, sorrow, or some other feeling was weighing down
her heart."

" Wonder the gay Will Stafford did not approach and
offer her consolation," said the young cajjtiiin drvly.

''By Jove! I felt like doing it," said Mr. Stafford, in
all sincerity ; " but I wanted to see what was up, for I
knew now all could not be quite right. Presently the

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

iff

ii '

young man cuino biKik, and witli him a minister. All was
clear a.s stars at noonday, now — tliis was a runaway mattdi,
a (dandostiiui marrijiiji! — somothiiiij: whicdi is always intor-
csting to fast you ni( men like mysoll'. TIk! lia|)iiy pair
stood up In'foru tlio cicrn-yMnin, and tho twain were soon
mado one ilcsh. My ears wouM liavi; run themselves into
points in order to hear the better, but 1 listened in vain.
The minister muml)led over thee(!rumony so confoundetlly
low that 1 could not hear a sijiiiic woivl — not even the
names of tiio parti(\s, which I was particularly anxious to
find out. 1 su})posc it was all ri^dit, however, for I saw
the clei'UTmau p(A-ket tho fee, and the youui,' man, tuck-
ini,' little Jilue-eyes umler his arm, walked oil' ; and faith,
I'd oiven a trille to have stood in liis jtlacc. 1 followed,
nob beiug ambitions to be locked np all ni<^lit, even in so
holy a })lace as a church. Just as 1 went out, 1 heard tho
most awful shriek I ever want to hear again, {iiul tliero
the bride stood like one suildeidy turned to stone, while
tlio briilegroom w;.s trying to console her. What scared
her I don't know, but certainly I never saw a more ter-
rified look on any face than was on hers. Not wishing to
bo seen, I drew back, and in a few minutes they started
on. I followed them as before, and saw the girl stop for a
moment in a grocery store, while lie waited outside. Theu
they went down to the beach ; lie handed her into the boat,
pushed off, a?ul they were gone — leaving me to rub my eyes
and wonder whether I was sleeping or waking. Now what
do you think of this wedding on the sly, without friends,
or witnesses, or anything in the usual line ? "

'* Well, really, 1 cannot say ; such things do not interest
me as deeply as they do you. Perhaps it^s the AVestbrook
fashion."

** No ; there's something wrong. He was evidently of
a rank superior to the girl. I could tell that, both by
their dress, and air, and general appearance. I would
like to get to the bottom of this mystery."

" Than why not see the minister, who married them,
and find out from him ?"

'* Well, for sundry reasons. First, I didn't see his face,
and wouldn't know him if I stumbled over him. Second,
it looks so like a rascally, low-l)rcd trick, this tracking
them and playing the spy, that I should be ashamed to
tell any one of it, but so old a friend as you."

i' -'111

ONE OF FOUTUXE'S SMILKS.

3St

ok
of

lid

im,

50,

Ing
to

** Well, tlien, never mind tliin inysterluus couple jiny
iiioru," siiid ('i4)tiiiu Cunijibt'll, im[)iit iciilly ; ''but tell mo
Avliiit I luid better do jil)()iit this udvert iscmeiit."

•' Why, K'> i^'"l ^^^ ^J'i'"^ -^li'- ^' liiii^^dou, iittoriiey-at-
];i\v, iit ouce, that's all ; I'll go witli you ; it's not teu
luiiiutea walk from hero."

*' But if it sliouhl prove to be a humbug ? ** said Captain
Caiupljell, as he salli^Ml fortii arm in ai'in with StalTord.

"Then tlirash C. Hingdon, attorney-at-law, witliin an
inch of his life,'' said his pacific friend; "it's tlie only
balm for a wounded mind I know of."

Captain Cami)l>ell laughed ; ami the conversation turned
on various matters as they walked on.

In a short lime they reached tho ollice of ('. Kingdon —
a dingy-looking old house, with his natne over the door in
exceeditigly dingy lettei's.

Mr. Kingdon, a siiar[), slirewd-looking little man, sat
alone in his ollice when they entered, lie pushed up his
spectacles, and surveyed them keenly as they came in.

'' You, I presume, are the C. liingdon mentioned in
this advertisement?" said Captain Cam])b(dl, handing
liim the paper, and pointing to the advertisement.

" I am, sir. Can you give nie any information concern-
ing the parties in question ?"

''Faith! he ought to, being tho principal party in
question himself," interposed Stafford.

" How, sir ? are you a relative of these Campbells of the
Isle ? " asked the attorney.

'' Yes ; the son of the Mark Campbell mentioned
there."

"Ah! Are there any more of you? Is your father
living ?"

"No, he lias been dead these four years ; and there are
no more of us, as you are pleased to term it, but one
sister. May I ask what this affair is all aljout ?"

" Certainly, Mr. Campbell. You are aware, perhaps,
you liad an uncle in Xew Y''ork, Mr. Richard Eyre, the
banker ? "

"I knew it; wasn't I just saying the old gentleman
was at the bottom of it ?" said Stafford, giving Ca[)tain
Campbell a dig in the ribs.

" I am aware of that fact, sir ; he was my mother's only
brother."

THE QUEEX OF THE IbLE.

*^ Exactly. Well, he is doiul."

" Indeed ! " said the young man, gravely.

" Yes, sir ; and having no heirs of his own, he has left
his whole fortune to be divided equally between his sister's
children. The sum is enormous ; and 1 beg leave to con-
gratulate you on your good fortune. I do not knov^ the
exact amount, and for furtlier particulars it will be neces-
sary for you to visit Xew York, where the lawyer who drew
up your uncle's will resides. Here is his address. All you
have to do is to prove your identity, settle a few prelim-
inaries and take immediate possession of your fortune.
Excuse me, gentlemen, I am very busy, and witli your
permission will bid you good morning." And the little
attorney bowed them politely out.

" Well, this is a streak of good luck ! " exclaimed Staf-
ford. *' Upon my word, Campbell, you must have been
born with a silver spoon in your mouth. I suppose you
will start instantly for Xew York ? "

'* Not instantly, my dear Stafford. I must go and in-
form Sybil of our good fortune. Dear, noble girl ! for her
sake I am truly thankful for this."

" Of course, you ought to be ; not many men are
blessed witli sucli a sister as that radiant, glorious Sybil.
Have you any objection to my accompanying you ? "

" Deliglited to have you, my dear fellow. Suppose we
start now ; we will be at Brantwell's before dark."

'^ Just as you please, my dear sir. I suppose it will be
' a sight for sair ecu ' to see Her Majesty the Queen of the
Isle, again."

A carriage was soon in readiness, and our two friends
started to impart this sudden glim2:)se of fortune's sunshine
to Sybil.

It was dark when tliey reached the parsonage — a hand-
some and rather imposing-looking mansion — and were
ushered into the drawing-room by a neat-looking little
maid. Sybil and j\lrs. J^rantwell were seated alone, ^h\
Brantwell having gone to see a sick parishoner.

Sybil joyfully hailed her brotlier, and smilingly greeted
his companion, who was an old friend and secret admirer.
Poor Will Stalford I The impressions the child Sybil had
formerly made on his heart time had hardly obliterated;
but that radiant smile, those glorious eyes and bewitching
glances totally finished him.

Ill'

ONE OF FORTUNE'S SMILES.

11*.

Good Mrs. Brantwell welcomed her guests with her
usual hearty manner and jolly little laugh. lUit when she
heard of the i.nexpccted good fortune of Sybil and her
brother, her rapturous deliglit knew no bounds.

"Just think of it I " she exclaimed, *' my handsomo
Sybil an heiress ! Oh ! won't she create a furor now ?
Young, rich and beautiful ! Sybil ! Sybil ! what an en-
viable fate is yours ! "

Sybil's cheeks Hushed, and her eyes brightened, as she
thought of Wilhird. For his sake she rejoiced over this
new-found fortune. Often and bitterly had she secretly
regretted, and her pride revolted at the idea of becoming
the bride of one so far her superior in wealth and fortune.
But now she was his equal ! there was trium})h, joy; ex-
ultation in the thought. Ilis aristocratic frieiuls could
not look down on her now — could not despise lier for her
poverty. Look down on her — a Campbell of the Isle ! hi
other days, who would have dared to do so and live ? lUit
times had changed since those days ; ;uid people looked
more now to dollars and dimes than to blood or noble
ancestry. Now she had both ; she was his equal in wealth,
as she was infinitely his superior in every noble quality,
a)id the triumpliant thought sent the blood careering to
her crimson cheek, her red, glowing lips ; and the dark,
southern eyes of jet lit up magnificently with pride, lovo,
and exultation. This fortune of hers she would cast at
his feet, with her passionate devotion, as she had already
cast heart and life, and being and soul.

*' What are you thinking of, Sybil?" said Captain
Campbell, after watching her a few moments, with a smile.
'' Your cheeks and eyes are blazing, your face illumined, as
it were, with an inward light of joy and triumph. Surely
you do not care as much as this for wealth I"

"Pooh! I know what it's all about," broke in Mrs.
Brantwell, in her customary- matter-of-fact manner.
'■ She's thinking tluit good-looking Mr. Drummond will
nave a richer bride than he bargained for. Isn't that so,
Sybil ? "

Sybil started from her reverie, and blushed deeply at
finding her thoughts thus interpreted. Stafford turned
pale, as he watched her glowing face ; and the conviction
came home to him for the first time, that Sylnl ('ampbell's
rare beauty was appreciated by other eyes than his.

-5^

[*i^

1 ::•

:■ ■ i
i

li f

I r

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

" By the way, when was Drummond here ? " asked
CapUiiu Campbell.

^' Day before yesterday — wasn't it, Sybil ? He doesn't
visit ns vei'v often — not half so often as so devoted a lover
should. Oh, you needn't try to annihilate me with those
flashing- eyos of yours, my lady. I'm not a young gentle-
man, thank goo([ness ! and am proof against even those
bright, angry glances. To bo sure, tlie young man may
liave some plausible excuse : but it seems to me, if I wa«
in his place, I'd stick to you like a chestnut burr, for fear
you might slip through my lingers. Poor, dear Mr.
Brantwell was twice as attentive in his courting dajs,
and I never had any beauty worth mentioning," said Mrs.
Brantwell, with her usual jolly laugh.

^' I don't know about that, my dear lady," said Guy,
gayly. " If I was a marrying man, I'd sooner bend my
knees to you than half the young girls I know. Only I've
an immense respect for Mr. Brantwell, there is no telling
what I might bo tempted to do."

" Don't be too confident, Master Ouy," said the good-
humored lady. "1 wouldn't have anything to do with
such a graceless young villain as you, for any considera-
tion ; though, for the sake of sound morality and good
taste, I should hope you wouldn't fall in love with me.
And here comes Mr. Brantwell himself, who wouldn't
approve of it, by any means."

At this moment the good clergyman entered, and warmly
greeted his guests.

In a few words his wife told liim of this astonishing
good fortune. Mr. Brantwell always took matters very
coolly — a circumstance which sometimes provoked his
more excitable lady, as on the present occasion — he mei*ely
elevated his eyebrows slightly in token of surprise, and
SJiid :

'indeed!"

'' Yes, indeed ! " responded his wife, irreverently mim-
icking his tone, '' and one would think fortunes were in
the habit of pouring into people's hands as they walked,
by the way you take it."

" Well, where is the use of flying off at a tangent, at
everything," retorted her spouse, '^ as you do ? I suppose,
captain, you will start for Xew York immediately ?"

" Yes, to-morrow morning."

•■,

THE STORM— THE WRECK.

** And as Sybil may be wanted, you had belter take lier,
too," said Mr. Brant well.

*' Verv true, I never thought of it before. Can vou be
ready, SVbil ?"

Sybil thoui^'lit of Drunnnond, and asked, rather hesita-
tingly. " How long will you be gone ? ''

'* About a week — or two or three at tlie farthest.''

"Now, Sybil," broke in ^Irs. l)rantwell, wlio seemed
to possess tlie faculty of reading |)('op1e's tlionglits, '• never
mind Mr. Drummond. Til break tlie news of your ab-
sence to him in the gentlest man!ier possible. Your for-
tune is of more impoi'tance just now than his lordsliif),
who, no doubt, will foUov you when he hears where you

are.

There was no use getting angry with the good-humored
old lady, so Sybil smiled, and promised to be ready betimea
next morning.

And early the following day the brother and sister set
out for New York.

CHAPTER XL

!ry

[lis

,iid

|m-

)d,

at
ise,

THE STORM — THE WRECK.

" Tlia strife of fiends is in tlie battliiif^ clouds,
Tlie glare of hell is in these sulphurous lightuings ;
This is uo earthly storm."

—Bertram.

It was two days after the departure of Sybil ere Willard
Drummond visited the parsonage again.

And then he heard of her departure with real surprise
and affected concern ; but he did not follow her to New
York, as Mrs. Brantwell had prophesied.

His passion for Christie was yet too new — the novelty Inid
not worn oil — the joy of knowing she was his wife, his
own indisputable property, had not yet abated, as it would
do some day, as it must do ; for such quick, herce, pas-
sionate, seliish love could not last. As suddenly, as com-
pletely as it had come, so must it die ; for he was not one
of those who, in loving once, love for a lifetime. Christie
was, and so was Sybil ; but in each, that love, despised or
neglected, would produce different results. Christie would
have folded her hands, drooped, faded and perhaps died

:?"

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

t '

5 *

I f

of a broken heiirt, but Sybil would rise m.'ijestic with the
strength of her wrongs, and hurl to destruction all those
who had acted a part in lier downfall. Something of all
this would at times Hit through W'illard Diunnmond's
mind ; and once came the ungenerous tiiought that per-
haps, after all, it would have been better had he never
seen Campbell's Isle. But one srnilo from Christie, one
fond caress from her gentle arms, and all this was forgotten,
and all tlie M'orld was a;jain bounded for him bv its wave-
washed shore.

So the days of Sybil's absence were wearing away, and
Willard still lingered a willing captive. Even Mrs. TomV:
eyes were beginning to be opened co tlie fact that there
must be something more than met the eye in those long,
solitary rambles — those moonlight walks and sails the
young cou})le Avere so fond of. Aunt Moll had long been
throwing out suiidry mysterious hints which Mrs. Tom —
who disliked gossiping — [)aid no attention to ; but now
she began to think that, after all, it might be more pru-
dent to keep this gay young man of pleasure a little
oftener from Christie. So, one day, she surprised Christie
by a sound scolding on her '^ goin' vander-prowlin' through
the woods at all hours, when she ought to be at home doing
her work," and i)ositively forbidding her going out again
for a week. Cliristie listened in dutiful silence but prom-
ised nothing ; and in spite of all j\[rs. Tom's watching, met
AVillard as often as ever. For that young gentleman would
visit the cotta2:e each dav ; and the little widow was alto-
getlier too hospitable to hint tliat he came oftener than was
exactly desirable. And so there was nothing to do, but
to hope that Miss Sybil would soon return to the isle, and
look after her lover herself, for Mrs. Tom was growing
tired of it. Besides, she really liked the youth exceedingly,
aiul would have thought him a paragon of perfection if he
only would be less attentive to Christie.

And Christie, the shy little child-wife, had gone on
dreaminix '"love's vouna: dream," and never thinkins: how
terrible one day would be her awakening.

Since their bridal niglit the mysterious phantom had
never been seen ; and botli were beginning to hope it had
been only an illusion of a heated imagination. Mr.
Drummond liad accounted for the terrifvino; shriek and

si O

Christie's fainting fit in some ingenious way of his own

,•<•*

THE STORM— THE WRECK,

liad
had

>W11

that quite satisfied tlie old lady and lulled to sleep any
suspicions she might have conceived.

One evening, as Willard set out to keep an appointment
■with Christie, lie observed Lem stainling, or, rather sit-
ting perciied on a linil) of a giant pine tree, shading his
eyes with his hands, and looking anxiously out to sea.

'' Well, my boy, what has caught your attention in that
direction ? — wild geese ?"

"'Xo, nnissa," said Lem, solemnly. " I see a sail."

" Well, a.xd what of that ?'' said Mr. ])rummond. '^ A
sail is not such an unusual sight here, is it ? "

'' But dare's a storm brewin', an' if de Lord ain't took
special charge oh dat vessel de fust Ian' it nuikes will be
Davy Jones' locker," said Lem.

'' A storm, you blockhead I " exclaimed Drummond.
" There is not a cloud in the skv."

'^Jes'look ober dar, nuissa, and see dat black cloud,
'bout de size o' your hand."

'^ Well!" said Willard.

" Pretty soou dat will be all ober de sky, and den we'll
Inib a faring squall. De trees tell de wind's risin' already ;
and you needn't be s'prised ef to-morrow morn in' you sees
de ruins o' dat vessel si)read all ober de shore ! "

And Lem, with a doleful shake of his head, descended
from his perch, and sought the house.

Ere the hour had passed, Lem's prognostications proved
true. The heavens rapidly darkened, as dense, black,
threatening clouds rolled over them ; the sea became of
an inky hue, crested with white, ghastly looking foam, as
it heaved and groaned, like a "strong heart in strong
agony." The wind rose, and crashed, with terrific force,
through the woods, bending strong trees, like reeds, be-
fore its might.

*' Lor' sakes, how it blows I " said Mrs. Tom, as she
blustered in and out. ''I 'clare to nnm, it 'most took me
right off my feet. I ain't heerd sich a, wind these five
year come Christmas, and them two shi})S were wrecked
right out from the shore, and every soul perished. Dear,
dear, with a sight it was next day, when all the drownded
corpses was washed ashore I It was the most awfullest
sight I ever seed. Carl, don't sit layin' there in the corner
all night, toastin' your shins like a singed cat. Get up
and pick the pin-feathers out of that fowl."

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THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

" I lieard Lcm saying tliere was a ohip in view about an
hour ago,'* said Driinimond, rising.

"Lord a' massy upon tliem, tlien," said Mrs. Tom;
*' for, if they touch the sliore, they'll every one go to the
bottom ! "

'^Oh, dreadful !" said Christie, turning pale witli pity
and horror.

'* It's goin' to be an awful night I Just listen to the wind
roarin' through tlie trees, and tluit rain I 1 never heard
the waves boomin' on tlie beacli as tliey're doin' now. that
a wreck didn't foller. It's a blessin' Captain (iuy and .Miss
Sybil ain't on the sea tiiis dreadful night. AVhen they
wore anay, F used to think of tliem in every storm. Lord
preserve us I look at that ! " And, with a piercing shriek,
tlie startled Mrs. Tom sprang back.

A fierce gust of wind, tlireateni?ig to l)ring down the
roof about their iieads ; a tempestuous dash of rain, as if
tlie fioodgates of heaven had opened for a second deluge;
a blaze oi' blue, livid lightning, as though the whole firma-
ment was one sheet of ilame ; a crash of thunder as
though heaven and earth were rending asunder.

With a wild cry of terror, Christie sprang up. pale,
trembling, horror-struck. Carl crouched into a ball in a
remote corner. ISIeither dared to speak or move.

Mrs. Tom, forgetting her first involuntary alarm, sprang
to close the shutters, and make fast the doors. And
Willaril, amai'ied at the suddenness with which the storm
liad arisen, buttoned up his coat, prejiaratory to starting
for the Lodge ere it should further increase in violence.

"Oh, do not go — do not leave us!" cried Christie,
springing forward, and pale, wild, teri'or-stricken, cling-
ing to him, scarcely conscious of what she did.

" Dearest love, do not tremble so ; there is no dnnger,"
he whispered, encouragingl} encircling her slight waist
with his arm.

Mrs. Tom, turning suddenly round and beholding them
in this position, in spite of her panic was scandalized and
indignant.

"' Lor' a' massy 'pon us ! child, sit down — no, kneel
down, and say your })rayers. You ought to be ashamed
of yourself to do sich a thing. ?dr. Drummond. I'd be
'bliged to you not to keep your arm 'round her tliat way ;
it doesn't look right, nor, likewise, respectable."

ii J, ■ ,.

THE STORM— THE WRECK.

m
id

But here Mrs. Tom's words were abruptly cut short ;
for ticross tlie stormy, ragiu^i,' sen, liigli above the roar and
slirieking of the storm, poaletl the minute gun of a ship
in distress, like an agonized cry for lielp.

*' God be merciful ! Listen to that I '' exchiimed Mrs.
Tom, turning pale.

Anotiier tierce, tempestuous burst of wind and rain ;
anotlier blinding ghire of sul])hin'ous lightning ; another
appalling peal of deafening thiimU'r reiil the air. And
then again boomed the minute gun over the s(\*i.

'* Something must bo done ; something shall be done !"
cried Willanl, excited beyond emhiraiiee at tlit^ thought of
so numy perishing almost within a dozen rods of where lie
stood. " Carl, my boy, come with me and, with the as-
sistance of Lem, we mav be able to save some of those
perishing wretches."

**lt's too wet ! " said a terrified voice from the corner,
>.is its owner crouched into a still sinaller l)all.

But ."Mrs. Tom — who never forgot the practical, no
matter what her alarm might be — went over and, taking
the unfortunate youth by both ears, lifted him, with a
jerk, to his feet.

With a howl of paiii, Carl extricat(Ml himself from her
hands, and clapped both his own i)alnis over the injured
members.

'^ Now, go this mijiute, and get your hat ami overcoat,
and go out with jMr. Drummond, and do wdiatever you
can. And if he goes layin' round, Mr. Drummond. just
give him a blow 'longsideo' the head, and nuike him know
he's got to mind you. Come, be quick I "

Carl, whose di'ead of the storm was far inferior to his
dread of Mi's. Tom, donned his coat and hat with amazing
alacrity — having tied the latter under his chin, with a red
handkerchief, to keep it on — stood ready to depart", wip-
ing the tears from his eyes, first with the cufT of one
sleeve, and then v/ith the oilier.

Wilbird cast one look at Christie, who liad sunk on the
floor, her face hidden in her lap; and then turned to de-
part, followed by the unwilling Carl. The blinding gust
of wind and rain that met them in the face nearly drove
them back ; but, bending to the storm, they resolutely
plunged on ; :ind it required all the strength of Mrs. Tom
to close the door after them.

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THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

The storm seemed increasing in fury. The wind
howled, raged and shrieked ; the waves thundered with
terrific force over the rocks ; the thunder roared, peal
upon peal, shaking the very island to its center ; the
ligiitning alone lit up for an instant, with its blue, vivid
glare, the pitchy darkness ; and then the crash of the
strong trees in the neighboring forest, as they were vio-
lentl*, torn up by the roots, all mingled together in awful
discord.

]iut, above all, the minute gun came wailing once more
over the sea.

The two plunging so blindly through the storm, hastened
on as if winged at that saddest of sounds. And, after
tumbling, slipping, falling, rising and hurrying on again,
they reached the ohl Lodge at last.

A light was burning in the kitclion. ])Oth rushed in
there — wet, dripping and half blinded by the storm.
Aunt Moll was on her knees in tlu^ middle of the iloor,
rocking backward and forward, and ])raying aloud in an
agony of terror and apprehension ; and J^eni was walking
up and down, groaning and praying at intervals with his
mother.

'• Oh, good Lord ! I's bin a drefful sinner, I is ; but if
you'll only spare me jcs' a little while longer, I 'tends to
do better. Oh, do spare me ! I ain't ready to go. Meed
and Meed I ain't. Please do, good Lor', an' I'll nebber do
nothin' sinful again. Oh ! what a streak o' lightnin' dat
ar was ! Oh, Lemuel I kneel down, or ye old mammy'U
be took away in a Hash o' lightnin' like T.ijah was."

And in an agony of fear Lem tramped up and down the
long kitchen, quaking at every fresh clap 'jf thunder.

"Come, cease that caterwauling !" said Drummond,
as he burst in upon them, dripi)ing like a sea god ; '* and
you, Lem, get your coat, and come with us down to the
beach, and see if Ave cannot save some poor unfortunates
from death and destruction."

'''Deed, Master Drummin', honey, I dassent. I's
'feared to go out," said Lem, his teeth chattering like a
pnir of castanets.

''You black villain ! if you are not ready in ten minutes,
I'll thrash you till you are not able to stir I " exclaimed
Willard, catching and shaking him furiously.

Too terrified by the young man's fierce tone to resist.

THE STORM— THE WRECK.

s
a

[s,

it.

Lem drew on his hat and coat ; and, shaking like one in
an ague-fit, followed them out into the night and dark-
ness and storm.

Once more over the tempest-tossed waves rolled tho
mournful voice of the minute gun like a dying cry.

"My God! this is maddening!" exclaimed Willard.
rushing to the beach like one demented ; " to think they
should perish thus, within reach of us almost, while we
are here in safety. Carl, where is your botit ? 1 will
venture out and see if I cannot save some one, at least."

*'0h, Marse Drummin ! for de dear Lord's sake don't
risk it !" cried Lem, in an agony of terror. " Xo boat
could live two minutes in dem waves."

"You couldn't launch the boat in these breakers," said
Carl, " much less pull if you were in her."

" And they must perish before our very eyes ! Heaven
of heavens ! this is awful ! "

Again he listened for the gun, but it came no more. Its
voice was silenced in storm and death.

" They have gone down I " said Carl ; " the sigiuil gun
will fire no more."

" God have mercy on their souls ! " said AVillard,
solemnly, lifting his hat.

" Amen ! " said Lem, whose fear seemed swallowed up
in awe.

" We may soon look out for the bodies," said Carl,
straining his eyes over the black, seething waves.

Even as he spoke, by the blinding light of a glare of
lightning they beheld two bodies, lashed to a spar, tiirown
violently on the sands near them. All sprang forward and
drew them up beyond the reach of the waves.

"Unfasten this rope," said Carl, "and we will bring
them ujj to the house. Perhaps they may not be drowned
yet."

" One's a woman," said Lem, as he cut the lashing.
" I can carry her, I reckon, while you two tote the man
'long,"

"Go on, then," said Willard ; " up to Mrs. Tom's.
Be quick ! "

Bearing with the utmost difficulty, their wot and ap-
parently lifeless burdens in their arms, they reached the
cottage of the widow, anrl deposited the senseless forms
before the fire. Then, leaving them to her charge and

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

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that of Cliristio, they (Icsccndod once more to the hoarh,
to rescue jiny other unfortuu.'ite who migh' jirovidentially
be w;i.sh(!d usliorc.

Towiird midnight the storm ;ib:it('d, iiiid the king of tlio
tempests sullenly began to call off liis liosts. TJie dense,
bbick clouds slowly rolled back, the lightning ceased to
flash, and tiie thunder only growled in the distance. Tho
wind aljated and the rain fell more slowly I but though
they waited until morning dawned, no more bodies v/ero
w.'ifted to their feet.

The next day's light showed a scene of ruin .and death.
The beach was strewn in every direction with fragnuMitg
of the broken ship, and some half-dozen dead bodies lay
scattered on the saiuls. All were cold and dead I and, sad
and disap[)ointed, our tired and drenched watchers turned
away.

Before going to the Lodge Willard visited the cottago
and learned that the rescued on(>s were both alive and
might recovei'. And, grateful to have been tlie means of
saving even two of the unfortumites, he sought his own
couch, to dream of wrecks and drowned men till noon-
day.

CHAPTER XIL

sybil's RETURN" TO THE ISLE.

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" Tlien* is a slmdow in her eye,
A lauguor in lier fniiiie !
Yet rouse her spirits, and she'll glow
With Passion's fiercest llame."

— T. W. H.

It was late in the afternoon of the following day when
Willard Drummond left the Lodge for Mrs. Tom's cottage.
Curiosity to see the rescued ones prompted tho visit as
mucli as any feeling, and he walked along rapidly, view-
ing the scene of desolation which the preceding night'a
tempest had left.

The cottage door was open to admit the pleasant sun-
shine, and Willard paused for a moment to view the scene
before he entered.

Mrs. Tom went bustling about the room in her usual
breezy, chirruping way, talking incessantly, but in sub-

it- I.

SYBIL'S RETUUX TO THE ISLE.

13
V-

dncd ton«^, as tlKHii^'li alVaid of disturbiii';" some one.
C'iiristie sat near llu; window, bonding ovlt her suwino-,
looldng pale still, ai'UT the tc^rror and exeitoment of llio
previous ni^^'lit. J>ut Willanl's eyes did not lini^er a nio-
luent on her ; thev wei-e lixed, as if i'aseinated, on iin-
other, who lay back in Mrs. Tom's iirmcliair, i)roi)pe(l up
with the pillows.

It Wius the woman, or rather the f;irl, he had saved.
"What was there in that }>ale younu; face to make him start
go vehemently, while the blood riisheil in a crimson torrent
to his very temples ? He only saw a sniMll, slii:lit fi^aiire;
short, cri-sp, golden curls clustcrinii* over a I'ound, white,
polished foi-ehcad ; bri.Lcht, sancy, ^n'ay eyes, lialf veiled
now under the h)n^, silken eyelashes I'cstinn- on the peiirly
clieek ; a little I'osebud mouth, and a nose deeidi'dly re-
trousse. It was not a wonderfully pretty face : but there
"was something bi'ight, pitjuant, oriuiiial and cliiirmijig
ubont it — sonujthing (hiring, didiant ami high-spirited, as
you could see even in its j)allor and hmguor. She might
have been sixteen, though she scarcely h)oked so old as
that.

She lay back now, with her little while hands folded
listlessly on her lap — her veiled eyes lixed u])on them with
a dreamy, abstracted look, as of one whose thoughts are
fiir awav — rei)lvino* low and hinjjfuidlv to Mi's. 'i'oni's
ceaseless questioning. And Willard Drummond, paleimd
excited, leaned against the door-]>ost, gazing upon her
like ono who cannot believe his senses.

Suddenly Christie raised her eyes from her work, and
uttered an ejaculation as she es})ied him. lie could linger
no longer; and, like one who walks in his sleej) he passed
in.

The clear, dark eyes of the little lady in the chair were
raised as he entered, and iixed, with a look of complete
amazement on his face. Her dark eyes dilated — her li[)S
parted in surprise as she made an ell'ort to rise from her
chair and then sank back exhausted.

" Willard Drummond I" broke in surprise from her
lips.

^' Laura I'' he exclaimed.

And he was by her side; in an instant, holding her hand
in his and gazing in her eyes with a look that would have
aroused Sybil's jealousy had she been present, but which

^„^. \^J

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

only puzzled Christie, who, with Mrs. Tom, looked on in
astonislimont.

" Wlio ill the world would have expected to meet you
here ? " said the lady, recovering first from a moment's
embarrassed sileiu^e : '* certainly tlie last spot on eartli I
should ever look for tlie gay, plejisure-loving Willard
Drummond. So, sir, I presume you have been ' taking the
world e;isy ' here in this enchanted isle, wliile your poor,
deluded friends were laboring under the conviction you
were improving your mind — wliich needed improving,
goodness knows — by foreign travel ? Pretty conduct,
Mr. Drummond, I must say ! "

" Oh, Laura ! Laura ! how little did I dream last nighfc
you were in that fatal ship ! " he exclaimed, passion-
ately.

*' Ugh ! yes; wasn't it awful?" said the young girl
with a sliudder. *' I'll never get the horrid sights and
sounds of tiiat dreadful night out of my mind while I
live. Oil I to have heard the screams and cries and
prayers and blasphemies of the drowning crew mingling
with the fearful storm was appalling. Holy saints ! I
hear them yet ! "

Witli a convulsive shudder she liid her face in her
hands.

'' Thank heaven, your life was saved at least !" said
Drummond, with fervor.

'* Yes ; our escape was little less than miraculous. I
remember some one making me fast to a floating spar as
the ship struck ; then the waves swept furiously over me
and I remember no more until I awoke and found kind
friends dialing my hands and temjiles. Was it you v/ho
saved me, Willard ? "

*' Not exactly. The waves washed you ashore, and my
part of it was merely to have you conveyed up here. But
liow little did I dream then that Laura Britton was so

near.

** Laura Courtney, if yc: please Mr. Drummond," she
said quietly, " I have had the honor of changing my name
since 1 saw you last."

*' And you have married Edgar Courtney ! Oh, L:iura !
Jjaura !" he said, reproachfully.

" Ilor eyes flashed as she faced suddenly round and said,
onarpiy ;

. ^'

SYBIL'S RETURX TO THE ISLE.

** Yes ; I have murried him ; and, Mr. Drummond,
don't you dare to speak of him in that tone again. 1 will
not endure it. No ; not if you had saved my life a duzeu
times ! "

The angry blood fluslied to her pale cheek, and she
jerked her hand angrily away from his grasp.

Wilhird bit his lip till it hied, to keep down his rising
anger, while Christie and Mrs. Tom still sat staring in in-
creasing amazement.

There was a long disagreeable pause, broken at lart by
Mrs. Courtney's saying, in her usual quick, abrupt way ;

"There! you need not get mad, now, Wilhird. Have
you forgotten that no one used ever to get angry at any-
thing said by 'Madcap Laura ?^ Come, don't speak so
of Mr. Courtney again, and I'll forgive you ; there's
my hjind on it. I cannot forget that we are old friends."

A sliadow crossed Wilhird's face as he bent over the
little hand she extended.

"lias your — has Mr. Courtney been saved ? " he asked,
in a subdued tone.

" Yes ; the waves washed us both ashore together ;
but something struck him on the head, and he is unable
to rise. I suppose you are puzzling your brains now to
know what brought us to this quarter of the globe ? "

" I confesL'^ I have some curiosity on that point."

"Well, you see," said little ^Irs. Courtney, adjusting
herself more comfortably in her chair ; " we went on a
bridal tour to New York, and on our way home Edgar
thought he would call at Westport, where he had busi-
ness of some kind. All the way we liad fine weather until
the journey was near its end ; and then the storm arose
in which we so nearly perished. But, Wilhird, what under
the sun can have driven you here ? "

Wilhird colored as he met her keen glance.

" Well, I came with a friend of mine, a certain Captain
Campbell, who owns a residence here, ami I am for the
present his guest, though unexpected l)usiness for a time
called him away. Anything for a change, you know,"
he added laughing, "and this island is not quite devoid
of attraction."

"By no means," said Mrs. Courtney, glancing demurely
at Christie. " I certainly admire your good taste in say-
ing so. Once here, with such a divinity as this, I can

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THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

ejisily uccount for the attracLioii tliut binds yon, most
ii{;<:lo of men, licre," shu luldt'd, in a lower tone.

*• Pshaw ! Laura," he said, striving to iiide by a Inn^^h
tlie giiilLy bhish that lingered still on his faee, ''von
surely do not tiiiiik I have forgotten vou so soon ?^'

" if it were any one else 1 would not, but yon — oh !
you never woubl be true to any onci banger tlian a niontli.
Talk about woman's (lekleness I I'm sure the wind never
was half so changeabl(> as you.''

" Yes ; yon gave me great enconragenicnt to be true to
yon," he ansvrcred with sonie bitterness.

" Did I ?" said Mrs. Co'n-tney. with a yawn. "Well,
I know r was a horrid little simpleton once, but I've
grown old and wise now. And if it's all the same to you,
Mr. Drummond, I'll leave yon now. I feel tired and luilf
sick yet, after hist night."

She arose and went into the room with a wcarv, tired
air.

" So yon know her ? " said Mrs. Tom. '' Who'd ever
thought it I So that tall, dark-looking fellow with all
the whiskers and mustaches is her husband ! I 'clare to
mim if it ain't scandalous the way gals will get married
afore they're out o' short frocks and pantalets ! I just
■wish I hnd a darter — no I mean if I had i\ 1. "ter — I'd like
to see her tryin' to get nuirried at snch an m.-liristian age."

Christie turned scarlet and bent lower over her work.

Willard stood leaning with one arm on the mantel;:>iece,
gazing thoughtfully into the fire.

"■What did you say her name was?" inquired Mrs.
Tom, sitting down, and beginning to reel off yarn.

]\rrs. Edgar Courtney, now ; slie was Laura Britton

when I last met her," he said, as if half speaking to hi

If.

S'pose you've known her a long time ? " continued
Mrs. Tom.

" Yes ; we were children together," he replied, in the
same dreamy tone.

And her husband— known him long ?" pursued Mrs.
Tom.

" Yes ; I know him for a cruel, jealous, passionate
tyrant!" said Willard, starting up so suddenly and
fiercely that Mrs. Tom dropped the ball she was winding
and sprang back.

SYBIL'S RETURN TO THE ISLE.

[on

im-

the

irs.

ate
md

*'Well, you needn't make such a fuss about it I " vslio
ey.cliiinied, vecos'eriug lierself, and iniliguantly resuming
lier work. *' Scaring a body out o' tlieir wils for notliin' !
I 'spose slie knowed all that afore she took him."

*'Pray pardon my vehemence, Mrs. 'i'om/'suid Willard,
recovering himself by an elfort, as he saw Christie's trou-
bled gaze fixed on his face ; "' I forgot myself for a mo-
ment. But tins patient of yours, this Mr. CourtJiey, may
need a doctor. 1 am going over to Westport to-niglit, and
if you wish I will l)ring one to-morrow."

''It would be better," said .Mrs. Tom, thoughtfully.
*' He's got a tremenjous cut right in his head. I did
what I could for him ; but, of cour.-" a body would feel
more satisfied if they had a reg'lar doctor."

*' If 1 were ill, Mrs. Tom, I would trust to you in
preference to any doctor ever warranted to kill or cure,"
said Willard, us he took his hat to go.

''Mrs. Tom smiled benignly at the compliment — quite
delighted at this acknowledgment of her skill.

And an hour after Willard and Lem were on tlieir way
to Westport.

What were Willard Drummond's thoughts as, sitting
silently in the stem of the boat, lie watched the dancing
waves flash and sparkle in the sunlight? Very dilTtirent
from those lie had indulged in not long siiu^e, when, on
one eventful night, he and Christie liad crossed it to-
gether. This Laura Courtney, with her piquant face and
pert, saucy manners, had first won his boyish hojirt. lie
had raved and vowed and implored at hur feet, but she
only laughed at him and his passion, and now she had no
more power over his heart than if she had never existed.
Might it not be the same with those he had loved since ?
"Was not his passion for Christie beginning to grow cold
already ? Would it not grow colder every day ? And in
the hot ardor of his love he had made this little, obs(Miro,
uneducated, shy child his wife. Wliy, oh, why had lie
not waited ? And now that the deed was forever irrepar-
able, where was this to end ?

They reacned Westport before dark ; and Lem, having
landed him, set oil for the island again, promising to
return for him in the morning. 1'he moon was just
rising above the pine trees wlien he reached home ;
and; on entering the house, the first object he beheld

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THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

was his young mistress in close conversation with hip
mother.

" Lor' snkos, Miss Sybil ! you here ?" was Lem's first
ejaculation.

" Yes, Lem ; and glad to be home again," she answered,
gaily. *' Aunt Moll tells me you have just been taking
Mr. Drummond over to Westport."

"So 1 hev ; but I'm to go for him early to-morrow
mornin'. 'Spect ef he'd knowed you was a-comin' he'd
stayed hero."

" Humph ! " said Aunt Moll, dubiously.

'' Did he seem lonely during my — during our absence ? "
asked Sybil.

" Lonesome ? 'Deed he didn't, honey ; he was in fust-
rate spirits all de time."

**Ah!" said Sybil, a shadow fdling over her face;
"he spent his time in fishing and shooting, I suppose, and
snaring birds ? "

" Snarin' birds ? Yes ; an' caught one, too," said Aunt
Moll, in a tone that spoke volumes.

" Caught one ? Wliat do you mean, Aunt Moll ? I
don't understand," said Sybil.

" Miss Sybil, don't listen to her. She's allers got some
nonsense to tell," interrupted Lem, casting an angry and
warning glance toward his mother.

But now that the opportunity she had so long waited
for had come, the old woman's tongue was not to be
stopped.

"It's all fur yer good, chile, 'deed it is ; an' I 'siders
it my duty to warn you, honey, dat Massa Drummond
ain't to be 'pended on. Dar ! "

*' Aunt Moll, what do you mean ? Speak, and tell me
what you are hinting at. What has Mr. Drummond
done ? " asked Sybil, growing very pale.

"Well, chile, 'stead o' stayin' here an' thinking ob you,
as he'd orter, he's been prowlin' all hours o' de night,
round de island wid dat ar Miss Chrissy — making lub to
her, I'll be bound."

" What ? " cried Sybil, in a tone that made the old
woman leap to her feet, as she sprang forward and caught
her by the arm. " Dare you insinuate such a thing ? I
tell you he could not and he would not — he dare not
prove false to me ! "

i .'4i|'m:'i

SYBIL'S RETURN TO THE ISLE.

ted
be

lers

roil,
jht,
I to

old
not

"Miss Sybil, honey! for de Lord's sake, don't look at
mo wid such wild eyes. I 'spec's she's 'witched hirn. I
can't 'count for it no other way," said Aunt Moll, trem-
bling before the awful wrath of tho.se blazing eyes. '* I
on'y says what I knows, lie's allele time talkin' 'bout her
to liisself when he's 'lone."

'' It cannot be true ; he dare not deceive me ! '' almost
shrieked Svbil. *' What proof have you of this ? Speak !
speak I

" Miss Sybil, honey, you may 'sassinate me ef you's a
mind to ; but I's tellin' de trufe. Sence eber you left,
dey ain't a minute a[)art. Dcy've sailed in de riber after
night, an' gone trampin' in de woods in de day time ; an'
I's heerd him callin' her his ' dear Chrissy ' when he's 'lone.
I knows, chile, 'taint pleasant nor likewise 'greeable for
you to hear dis ; but I talks for your good, honev — 'deed
I does."

]5ut no^ the iir.st fierce gust of passion was over, and,
pale and tottering, Sybil leaned against the chimneypiece
— her arm on the mantel, her head ])owed upon it, shud-
dering, sinking, collapsed. All his neglect, that had
puzzled her so long, was accounted f(jr now. She was for-
gotten — deserted for this island girl !"

So long she remained in that fixed, rigid attitude that
Aunt Moll began to grow alarmed, and she was on the
point of commencing a consoling speech beginning with
"Miss Sybil, honey," when '.he young girl lifted her
head and asked, in a hollow 'rOice :

"' Is this — this girl in the island still ? "

"Yes, chile ; ob course she is — down to Miss Tom's."

For a moment longer Sybil stood, gazing steadily before
her with those wild, fierce, burning eye& ; her face per-
fectly colorless, save that two dark-purple spots blazed in
and out upon it like burning coals ; her teeth set ; her
hands clenched. All the humiliation, the shanje, the
agony of being deserted, rushed; like a burning torrent,
through her mind. And with it canie a fierce, demoniacal
hatred of her idol and a deadly wish to be avenged.

Starting suddenly up she fled up the stair, through the
long, unlighted hall, out of the front door, and took the
path leading to Mrs. Tom's. The bright moonlight lit
all around \yith a pale, radiant glory. And, standing near
a rock, commanding an extensive view of the sea, Christie

If!

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

stood, enjoying tlie beauty of tlio niglit, wlieu suddenly a
fierce gnisp was laid on her shoulder and she looked up.
Her vision was realized. Sybil Campbell stood glaring
upon her with fierce, wild, black eyes, like an aroused
tigress preparing to spring.

CIIAPTEU XIII.

THE MKHTING.

•;.

■1

if. ■,:

It ''

|; ''

ih\^

riiou mayst liold a serpptit by the tongue,
A chafed lion by tlie iiKJital paw,
A fastiiij; tiK»'r safor by the tooth
Than cross this lovo of niiiio 1 "

TrfmuliN' , paralyzed, shrinking with terror and super-
stitiouii awe, as she recollected her vision, Christie stood
quailing before that dark, passionate glance.

And glaring upon her with a hatred and jealousy that for
the time "swept her soul in tempests,'' and insjjired her
with a momentary frenzy, Sybil stood transfixing her with
those wild, fierce eyes. With one glance she took in all
her rival's extraordinary beauty, far surpassing even what
she feared ; and the sight, to her passionate heart, was
like oil poured upon flame.

"So !" she hissed, at length, through her closed teeth,
** pretty Mistress Christie has found a lover during my
absence. Girl, take care ! You have begun a dangerous
game, but the end has not come !"

Her words broke the spell of terror that held Christie
dumb. And now, noticing her disordered attire, and
wild, disheveled hair, she said, in surprise and entreaty :

" Miss Sybil, what has happened ? What Juive I done ?
I did not know you were on the ishind. "

" No, I am aware of that," said Sybil, with a hard,
bitter laugh. " Oli, it is a wondrous pity I should have
come so soon to spoil the sport. You and your dainty
lover thought yourselves secure — thought Sybil Campbell
far away ! But again I say to you, beware ! for 'twere
better for you to tamper with a lioness robbed of her
young than with tlie passions of this beating, throbbing
heart ! "

She looked like some priestess of doom pronouncing woes
upon all mankind as she stood there, with her long,

THE MEETING.

itio
Liul

irct.
ave
iitv

)eU
tore

lier

loes

black, strcaminfT hair, lier wild, burninjij, passionato eyes,
liLT faro wliitc, rii^nd and ghastly, save wliero the two
purple spots still hlaziid in and out ou either eheck.

♦* Oh, Miss Sybil — dear Miss Sybil ! what have I done ?
Oil, 1 never, never 'ncant to otVcnd you, or stand in your
path ; as h<'ave!i hears nie, 1 did not I Tell me. oidy tell
me in what 1 have onVnded, and 1 will never do it aicain I"
said ("hristie. (daspinj^ her hands in increasing terror and
childlik(5 simplicity.

'* What have you done ? Have you really the clTrontery
to stand there and ask me such a question ?"

'' Miss Sybil, 1 do not know — indeed, indeed I do not
know!'' excdaimed Christie, earnestly.

In all the storm of anger and jealousy that raged in her
soul, a look of superb scorn curled the li[)s of Sybil.

** You do not know I Oh, wondrous innocence ! angelic
simplicity ! Must 1 despise you as well as hate you !
Listen, then, since 1 must speak my shame, and answer
me truly as you hope for salvation. Promise "

I promise

? •''

" Swear to answer me truly, by all you hold dear ou
earth ! by your hopes of heaven ! "

" I swear ! Oh, Sybil, speak ! " cried Christie, wrought
up to an agony of terror and excitement by her wild words.

** Then — and may heaven's heaviest curse fall upon him
if I coniecture truly — has Willard Drummond dared to
speak of love to you ? "

Pale, trembling, terror-stricken, Christie's tongue clove
to the roof of her mouth ; had her life depcnided ou it, no
sound could have escaped her quivering lips.

*' Speak and tell me ! Speak, for I must know — I have
a right to know I " cried Sybil, grasping her arm, and set-
ting her teeth hard to keep down the tempest of passion
that was sweeping through her soul.

*' Oh, spare me — spare me ! " wailed Christie, lifting up
her pleading hand.

'* Death, girl ! Must I tear the truth from your false
lieart ! Tell me truly, has he dared to speak of love, and
have you dared to listen to him ? Heavens ! will you speak
before I am tempted to murder you ? *'

Oh, do not ask me — do not ask me ! " cried Christie, in
a dying tone, as, trembling, fainting, she sank at the feet
of her terrible foe.

100

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

iil

} M

With her liiiiuls clenched until the nails sank into tho
quivering llesh, iier teeth set liard, lier deep, labored breatli-
ing, her passion-convulsed face, she looked more like an
enraged pythoness tiian a frail girl learning for the first
time lier lover's inlidelity.

She re(|uired no further proof now. Ho wliom she
would have trusted with her soul's salvation Avas false.
And, oh ! ulnit is there more terrible in this world than to
learn that one whom we love and trust Inis proven untrue.

Sybil had loved assbe had done everything else, madly ;
had trusted blindly ; had worshiped idolatrously, adoring
man instead of God ; and now this awakening was doubly
terrible. Had Christie been in her place, she would have
wept and sobbed in the utter abajidon of sorrow ; but her
grief would have been nothing in comparison to the dry,
burning despair in those wild, black eyes.

Now that she had learned the worst, her fiery and tem-
pestuous fierceness passed away, and there fell a great calm
— a calm all the more terrific after her late storm of
passion.

**And so I am forsaken," she said, in a deep, hollow
voice, " and for her — this pretty, blue-eyed baby. I, whom
he promised to love through life, and beyond death.
Saints in heaven ! shall he do this and live ? "

^' You ?" said Christie, lifting her pale, terrified face.
" And did he promise to love you, too ?"

" Yes ; learn it, and let it whelm your soul in shame.
Before he saw you, before he knew you, he loved me ; and
I was to be his wife. Yes, weep, and wail, iind sob ; your
tears shall no. soon dry. You have caused him to forget
his vows, his honor, his plighted faith, his promised love
to me, and you must pay the penalty."

'' Oh, I never knew it — I never knew it ! " wailed
Christie, wringing her hands.

'^ And as he has been false to me, so likewise will he be
false to you. You are the cause of this treachery, of his
broken vows, his perjured soul ; you are the cause of all ;
and think you such love can be blessed ? "

" Forgive me ! Oh, Sybil, forgive me ! " wailed Christie,
in a fainting voice.

" May God never forgive me if I do ! " cried Sybil, with
impassioned vehemence. " Think you, girl, I am one to
be won by tears and protestations ? Faugh ! you should

TIIK MEETING.

101

have thought of all this when you listoiiod to his unlawful
love."

♦* Oh, I (lid not know ! As heaven hears me. Tdid not
know ! I would have died sooner than listened to him,
had I known ! "

'' Prove it,'' said Sybil, with a sudden gleam in her dark
eyes.

'* How — how ? Only say how I shall redeem my error !
Let me know how I nniy atotie ! "

** Atone I — you?'' said Sybil, with a withering sneer.
'^ I tell you, girl, if your life could ho prolonged for a
thousand years, and every seeond of that time spent in
torture, you could iu)t atone for the wrong you have done
mo. liut nuikc sucli expiation as you can — prove at least
that there is some truth in your words.''

"Oh, Svbil, I would willingly die, if I could redeem my

fault : "

" Your death would not redeem it. What is your paltry
life to me ? Neither do I require it — the sacrifice 1 would
have you make is easier. Cive him up !"

" Oh ! anything but that ! Sybil, that is worse than
death ! " said the stricken child-bride, in a fainting
voice.

" Did you not say you would atone ? — prove it now — give
him up — it is my right, and I demand it. Promise."

** Oh, Icanjiot I — I cannot !" moaned Christie, shrink-
ing down, down, as though she would never rise again.

** And this is your repentance — this your atonement for
what you have done?" said Sybil, ste])ping back, and re-
garding her with superb scorn. ''This, then, is the end
of all your fine promises ! Girl, I tell you, you dare not —
it is at your peril you see him more. My claim is above
yours. I warn, I insist, I demand that you give him up.
It is my right, and you shall do it. What are you, little
reptile, that you should stand in the path of Sybil Camp-
bell ? "

"I am his wife," arose to the lips of Christie. That
little sentence she well knew would have silenced Sybil's
claim forever ; but she remembered her promise in time,
and was silent.

" Rise, girl ; don't cower there at my feet," said Sybil,
stepping back in bitter contempt. " It is y<nir [jlace, it is
true ; but his love has ennobled you, since it has raised you

■ii

I /'

1 1,

' li./!i

f II i; '

4 .1 >l

102

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

to tho rank of my rival. Am I to understand you promise
your L'oniinclion witli liini is jit an end ?"

*' MisH Sybil, I cannot. I love liiin I" And, ])ale and
sad, Christie rose and stood before her.

The l)laze, the dark, scor('liin<,% flaniing glance from
those eyes of lire mij^ht have killed her.

** And you dare to say this to mo ?" she snid, or rather
hissed, through her tijrhtly clenched teelh. " Audacious
girl, do you not fear that 1 will strike you dead where you
stand ?"

Ajjjain Christie thought of her vision, and tremblin^r,
terrified, fainting, she clung to a rock for support, unable
to speak. With all the iiery, long-sluniberijig ])assion of
her lion-heart aroused, tho fierce, dark girl before her
looked des[)('rate enough for anytliing.

"Promise!" she said, in a hollow voice, coming nearer,
and raising her arm, as if to accomplisli her words.

*^ I cannot ! Oh, Miss Sybil, I cannot ! " faltered the
almost fainting Christie.

" Promise ! " again cried Sybil, glaring upon licr with
her wild, dark eyes.

" 1 cannot ! " still wailed Christie, pressing her hand
over her heart.

*' Promise, or die ! '' exclaimed the mad girl, grasping
her by tho arm in a vise-like grip.

*'l cannot — I would sooner die !" said Christie, as, un-
able to stand, she again sank at the feet of lier vindictive
foe.

For a moment it seemed as though the threat would be
accomplished, as Sybil stood over her like one turned to
stone. But the next instant, releasing her hold, she
hurled her from her ; and as if fleeing from temptation, fled
down the rocks, over tho rough path toward the Lodge,
and sank, fainting and exhausted, on the sitting-room
floor.

An hour after Aunt Moll entered, and, beholding the
prostrate form of Sybil, with its streaming hair, lying prone
on the floor, grew alarmed, and coming over, she shook her
gently, saying :

** Miss Sybil, is yer sick ? Come, git up now, like a
good chile, 'fore you catch your def o' cold, a-lyin' on do
bare floor. Deed, honey, 'tain't right for young people
to heave derselves into de draft, dis way."

THE MEETING.

103

But Aunt Moll wont through ;ill tlu? phases — ** comFurind-
ing, I'xhoriiiig " — in vain, ller young mistress neither
moved nor stirred.

"Now, Miss Sy[)il. do git u]) — please do. I)e .iord
knows I'ri 'I'raid you'll cotch de rhumaliz in yer l»onos.
Most oiiconirorlal)lest t'ing as ever was ; *sj)('ci:dly 'fore a
rain storm, wluai ehery j'int feels as if deru was forty hun-
dred cross-cut saws a-going t'rough it. C'ojne, chile — conu^
git up, an' let ver ole mammy ondrcss you, an' put yer to
bed."

And Aunt Moll shook the supposed sleeper gently.

Sybil lifted her head, und half rose, disclosing a faco so
pale and haggard, a form so sunken und collaj»sed, that
Aunt Moll started back in terror.

"• What on airthdo nnitterin you. Miss Sybil ? 1 c'lai'O
to man, if yon ain't almost skeered me out o' my wits, sure
'null' ! Js yer sick, chile ?"

*" Yes, sick ut heart I — sick at heart !'' said Sybil, in a
despairing voice.

** 1 knowed somefin' was do matter wid yer. Well, git
up like a good chile, and let mc git some catnip tea for you ;
it's de best cure in de world for sich com})laints.''

'"' Oh, Aunt ^[oll, leave me ! My illness is l)eyond your
art. Neither poppy, nor mandragon can ev((r medicine
me to that sweet sleep I once slept beneath this roof."

" Now, chile, don't say so," said Aunt Moll, tonched by
her hopeless tone. *' Folks ain't tuk so sudden as all dat,
you know. I ain't got no ])oppy nor mandnigoon ; but
catnip tea is jes' as good, cordin' to my May o'thinkin.' An'
when you take a good night's res', you'll be all well in de
mornin' — please de Lor'."

" Rest ? Kest ? When shall I rest again ? Aunt Moll,
leave me. I want to be alone."

" 'Deed, Miss Sybil, I dar'sn't do it — 'twon't do to Icab
you here in de draf, all alone. Let me lielp you to bed, an'
make de catnip tea, an' vou'll be better to-morrow, sure."

"Oh, this heart— this' heart I "

" Yes, chile, I knows ; I 'spects it's de cramps you'se got,
an' I 'vises of you to get up. Come, honey, come." And
Aunt Moll put her arm coaxingly round her young lady's
neck, and attempted to lift her up.

" Oh, Aunt Moll ! if you only knew my affliction !
What matters it whether 1 die or not, since I have nothing

ft;
■I'

I !

IN'

■J It

■I'..':

104

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

more to live for ? I might .is well die now as live ; fortho
living (Icjith of a loveless life."

*' You imistn't talk so, Miss Sybil ; 'taiu't right, nor like-
wise 'spet'tful to (le Lord, who sends us cranups, as well as
healf, soiuetitnes. 'Tis ra'lly 'stonishin', de way you takes
on 'bout it."

"Aunt Moll, I am not bodily ill — only wronged, suf-
fering, despairing, deceived, broken-hearted almost," said
Sybil, looking straight before her, with a lixed, anguished
look.

'* Dear heart ! don't take on so 'bout it. I's real sorry,
J is."

And good Aunt Moll passed her luiTid gently and caress-
ingly over the glossy, dark lo(d\s of the young girl.

"Oh! (here is nothing but falschoo(l and treacliery in
this world ! I, win, loved and trusted so much, to be now
decu^Ived ! 1 would h;»ve staked my life, my soul, my
lio[)es of heaven on his hdelity ! And now, this awaken-
ing from my blissful, delusive dream is worse than death.
Oh, Aunt Moll, my dear old friend, is there any one who
really loves me in this world but you ? "

And, wholly overcome, Sybil's strong despair gave way
to a passionate burst of tears.

Since Sybil had been a child, Aunt JNloll never remem-
bered to have seen her weep before ; and now, in her
quaint, teiuler manner, she strove to soothe iier grief.
]iut still the young girl wept and sobbed with wild vehe-
mei;ce, until nature was relieved ; then she looked up,
calmer and far less despairing than before.

" .Vunt Moll, "she said, suddenly, "what time does Lem
go over to Westport to-morrow ?"

" !/efore noon, honey."

" 'i hen tell him to be ready to take me to N before

he goes for him ! And now, Aunt Moll, I will follow your
advice, and retire."

"But won't you take the catnip tea, chile ?" ])ersisted
the old woman, who had some vague idea of the all-po-vrr-
ful virtues of the herb.

" No, no, tluuik you ; I do not need it."

" But it'll do you good, chile ; you'll feel more comfort-
able for it."

" Comfort ! comfort ! Can anything ever restore com-
fort here ? " And she struck her breast with her hand.

JEALOUSY.

105

*^ Yc8, honey ; do catnip tea."

''CJootl night, Aunt >loll." And Sybil flitted, like a
Blnidow, up the long stuircase, and disappeared in the
gloom beyond.

CHAPTER XIV.

JE.VLO'JBY.

5in

"TrifU's, li«lit as air.
Art! to tilt' Jmilons coiiflrniiition strong?
As proulH of holy writ."

— Othello.

Thk next morning, Sybil macio bor appearance in tbo
sitting-room, })ale, wun and haggard, as thougli bIio had
spent a sleepless night. Jiut she appeared calm. Wiiat-
ever course slie bad determined to pursue stiemed fully
settled, and now siie was cidm ; but it was liive tlie calm-
ness of a slee[)ing volcano, from whinli lire and flame,
hurling destruction on all, might at any moment burst
forth.

Answerir.g gravely all Aunt Moll's anxious inquiries
after bor health, she seated herself at tlu; breakfast table,
but touched nothing, save a cup of hotcolToe. And, after
this slight refreshment, she put oji her Juit and maiitle,
and descended to the Ixsacb, where Lem, with the \xnit,
was already awaiting her (;oming.

Seating herself, she wrap[)ed her mantle closely around
licr, and, fixing her eyes steadily on the dancing wiives,
the journey was ])erformed in stern silence. Two hours

brought them to iN ; and, leaving her there, Lem s(;t

out for Westport, to meet Drummond. Arrived there,
he found that young gentleman, acc-ompanied by Cjiptain
C'am})bell, and a florid, bald-heiuled old man, who proved
to be the surgeon.

On their way, Willard explained to them how the
wounded man and his wife had been savi'd from the wreck.
And when they reached the island, ("a])taii' ('ampbell, un-
conscious that his sister was gone, hastened to tin; liodgc,
while Willard accompanied the surgeon to the cottage of
]\L's. Tom.

As they entered, Christie, who, in spite of her hidden

■:. 11

1''.

106

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

r I'.

grief, was busily employed as usual, looked hastily up,
and turned, if possible, a siiade paler than before.

Mrs. Courtney sat listlessly turni?ig over the leaves of a
novel, with a "terribly boied" look on her pretty face;
while op[)osite her, supported by pillows, on Mi-s. Tom's
wooden sofa, lay her wounded hr.sbaiicl, whose eyes never
for a moment wandered from his wife's face.

He was a nnm of thirty, at least, and would have been
handsome, but for his ghastly pallor, and a certain sour,
querulous, suspicious ex})ression his face wore. His com-
plexion, naturally dark, had fa<lea tO a sickly yellow, look-
ing almost white in contrast with his black hair, and thick,
black whiskers and mustache. But it was the expression
of his face tluit was [)articularly un])repossessing — in the
thin, compressed lips, and watchful, cunning eyes, you
could read suspicion, distrust, and doubt. Two things
would have struck you instantly, had you seen liim sitting
there — one was his passionate love for his wife ; the other,
a slumbering fire of iealous\, that the faintest breath
might have fanned in*^o a never-dying flame.

They formed a striking contrast as they sat there — she
so pretty, careless, saucy and iiulitferent : he so haggard
with illness, and witn that watchful, distrustful look on
his face. And yet it had been a love match — he loved
her to idolatry, and she, rejecting perhaps worthier suit-
ors, at the age of sixteen had run away from school, and
eloped with Edgar Courtney. Willai'd Drummoiul had
been among the rejected ones. Before the honeymoon
was over, the wild girl had found she had married a
jealous, exacting tyrant, who hated every man on whom
she smiled, and would have kept her locked up where no
eye but his own could ever rest upon her, had he dared.
At first, little Laura submitted to his caprices, because
she loved him, or thought she did ; but, as he grew more
and more exacting, this love died wholly away — and the
little bride awoke one morning, in disnuiy, to find che had
made a lifelong mistake. Still she was too good and
generous to strive to lay the blame on him for taking
advantage of her youth and romantic impulse to fly with
him, and would have lau2:hed and danced on as merrily
as ever with him through life, without letting him know
it, had not his own conduct brought on the denouement.
He continued to be tyrannical ; Laura, naturally proud

on
loved
biiit-
and
bad
loon
d a
horn
le no
red.
luse
lore
the
had
and
idng
Ivith '
•rily
Inow
lent.
loud

JEALOUSY.

107

and high-spirited, grew at length very tired of his absnrd
fancies and ^vishes, and vowed she would no longer be a
" meek, submi.'-sive wife." But, though inwardly despis-
ing him herself she would allow no one else to speak slight-
ingly of him, as her first interview with Willard Drum-
mond proves. And all the previous night she had liovered
over his bedside, anticipating his every want with the
most tender and vigilant care ; and it was only when, tlie
next morn, he found himself able to get up, that she had
resumed her accustomed air of careless inditferencc to
himself and his wishes. Had he been more generous and
less supicious — had lie had faith in his young wife, she
would have loved him, anr. been his alone ; but had he
really wished to make her hate him, he could not iuive
taken a surer plan to bring about such a result than the
one he did.

All this long digression is necessary, taat too much
blame nuiy not be thrown upon the shoulders of the poor
little girl-bride for her reckless conduct, and the awful
catastrophe that followed.

When Willard and the doctor entered, Christie, who Inid
anxiously waited for this opportunity, seeing Mrs. Tom
busily engaged, touched her husband on the arm, and,
whispering '' Follow me,'" left the house.

He unhcsitatin2:lv oheved, and overtook her near the
end of the garden, where, pale and troubled, she stood
leaning against a tree.

^' Well, Christie, what is it ?" he asked, in surprise.

*' Willard," she said, lifting her reproachful eyes to his
face, " Sybil Campbell was here last night ! "

'MY ell I'' lie said, stai'ting, and coloring deeply.

" Oh, Willard ! she told me all — liow you had deceived
her, and deceived me ! Oh, Willard I how could you do
so?"

'' Deceived her ? — deceived you ? I do not understand,
Christie," he said, coldly.

'' Oh, Willard ! you do ! You promised to love only her
— to marry her ; yet you deceived her, and married me ! "

'' Well, a moment ago, you said 1 deceived you, like-
wise. And how, I pray you, madam ? Go on," he said,
with a sneer.

*' You made me your wife while pledged to another !"

''Which, doubless, causes you a great deal of sorrc

?! i

t i!

■ 1"* -■('.

108

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

he said, in a tone of slight piqne, for tliougli his passion
for Christie was dying away, he could not endure the
thought, as yet, of her forgetting him !

*' Oil, Willard ! you know being your wife is the great-
est happiness on earth for me ; but wlien 1 saw her, last
night, so wild, passionate and despairing, I felt as if I
could have died for very shame, to think I had been the
cause of her misery I "

** Then she did seem despairing ! " he said, while his
face flushed.

"Oh, yes! almost crazed, mad, frenzied. Her eyes
seemed killing me ! "

*' Who could have told her ? — not you ? " he exclaimed,
suddenly.

" Oil, no — no ! I do not know how she heard it ; but
she knew all."

*' What ! our marriage, and all?" he cried, starting
up, and speaking in a tone that made Christie start
back.

*' No ; she did not know that. But "

" You did not dare to tell her ? " he said, almost
threateningly.

" Oh ! wliy will you speak to me in that tone, dearest
Willard ? I did not mean to reproach you."

'^ It is very like it, however," he said, bitterly.

'* But may I not tell her, Willard ? She wanted me to
give you up ; and I thought she would have killed me be-
cause I refused. I fear she may come again ; and, indeed,
such another interview would kill me ! If she knew all,
she would desist. Oh, Willard, dearest ! will you not tell
her — or may I not tell her ? "

'*Not for the world — not for ten thousand worlds!
Would you ruin me, Christie ? " he exclaimed, impetu-
ously.

'' Ruin yon, Willard ? " she said faintly.

" My worldly prospects, I mean. My — oh, the thing is
impossible ! " he said, vehemently. " I will not hear of
it for a moment."

" But you promised," she began, in a choking voice.

"And will koep that promise when the proper time
comes. At present it is impossible — utterly impossible, I
tell you. You must have faith in me, and wait, Christie ! "

!Faith I Was he worthy of it ? The thought arose in

JEALOUSY.

109

;ed,
all,
tell

Ids !
)tu-

'of

ime
I

the mind of Christie, to be instantly banished, as slio
heroically kept back her rising tears, and strove to say, in
a calm voice :

'MV^ait ! But for how long? Willard, this secrecy is
dreadful ; this dece[)tion weighs on my heart like lead I "

** I do not know ; I cannot tell. How often have I
said, when the })i'oper time comes, when I may safely
avow it, all shall be revealed. Christie, you are selfisli —
you have no consideration for any one but yourself. Jf I
loved you better than Miss Campbell, you should be the
last one to reproach me with it. Take care that mniiy
such scenes as this do not banish that love altogether I "

llis deeply offended tone sent the coldness of death to
the very heart of Christie. She had not meant to anger
him ; and now he was deeply displeased. lie had iicver
looked or spoken to her so before. And, totally overcome,
she covered her face with her hands and wept aloud.

He was not proof against her tears. All the old tender-
ness returned at the sight, and, going over, he removed
her hands, saying gently :

" My dearest love, forgive me. I was vexed, surprised,
grieved, and in the wrong. Look up, little wife. Lift
those blue eyes, and say you forgive me ! "

Before she could reply, a footstep was heard approach-
ing, and she had only time to bestow on him one look of
love and pardon, and dart away, ere Captain Campbell
came in view.

"Well, Drumriond, what says the doctor about your
patient ? " he demanded, as he came up.

" I have not seen him since he went in. But here he
comes, to answer for himself."

At this moment the doctor made his appearance, and
Willard propounded the inquiry.

" Oh, it's nothing serious, sir ! He'll be better in a
day or two," replied the doctor. " Meantime, how am I
to get home ? "

*' My servant is down on the shore, waiting to take you
over," said Captain Campbell.

*'ril attend you down, doctor," said Willard, taking
the old gentleman's arm.

"And as I reign king, undisputed, here, I suppose it
will be only a polite attention to visit my wounded sub-
ject/' said Captain Campbell, approaching the cottage.

rr^

ill I

' SI

li? f

fill

SI !

110

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

On entering he was presented by Mrs. Tom to her gnests.

Equally surprised and pleased to find so pretty and
piquant a little lady in Mrs. Courtney, the young captain
took a seat beside h<;r, and entered foi'thwith into conver-
sation. Mr. Courtney scowled at the handsome young
captain from uiuler his black eyebrows, but said notliing.

And Mrs. Courtney, who was delighted by tlie agreeable
and gentlemanly newcomer, flung aside her novel, forgot
her ennui, and laughed and chatted with a volubility that
amazed and deliglited her companion, who immediately
entered into a war of it, words and repartee, during wliicli
the time sped rapidly away.

Mrs. Tom was the only auditor, however, who seemed
in the least to enjoy tlieir smart sayings and sharp, witty
retorts ; for Carl, under the unfailing eye of his aunt,
was groaning in spirit as he sat plucking fowls with a
haste and energy that brought great drops of perspiration
to his brow, hearing, every t.'me he ventured to look up,
a shrill '*You, Carl!" that instantly set him to work
again with renewed vigor. Christie, pale, silent and
thoughtful, bent over her sewing near the window, and Mr.
Courtney's scowl grew every moment darker and darker.

At last, after two delightful hours, Captain Campbell
arose, reluctantly, to go, saying :

" My sister will doubtless be here in a day or two, Mrs.
Courtney, and then you must become our guest. Mean-
time, 1 shall be delighted to show you my island home,
and assist in every way I can to make the time of your
stay pass as pleasantly as possible."

Mr. Courtney's midnight brows grew black as a thunder
cloud, and blacker, if possible, as his wife gaily replied :

*' Thank you, sir. Nothing could give me more pleas-
ure ; so, to-morrow I shall, with your permission, take an
inventory of your enchanting isle."

" Shall you, madain ? " interrupted her husband, be-
tween his teeth. ^' We shall see about that ! "

All the rest of the evening Mr. Courtney was just as
silent, sulky and sour as he knew how to be, which is say-
ing a good deal. And that night, after they had retired
to the inner room which Mrs. Tom had vacated to their
use, he took her to task in the following manner :

" Pray, madam, may I ask what business you had giving
that fellow any such promises as you did ? "

JEALOUSY.

Ill

liider
lied :
^leas-
:e an

be-

5t as
sav-
ored
;lieir

Iving

Now, Mrs. Courtney had seen her liusband*s groundless
jealousy all the eveiiiiig, and had been excessively annoyed
thereby, fearing Captain Campbell might observe it, too,
and wonder at it. Therefore, feeling justly indignant, she
cooly replied :

" Because, sir, it was my good pleasure to do so,"

** Indeed ! " — and the dark brow foreboded a storm —
" indeed, Mrs. Courtney ! And is it your intention to go
roaming with this fellow alone through the island to-
morrow ? "

" Most assuredly, Mr. Courtney. How astonishingly
clever you are at guessing ! "

" Madam, you shall not go."

" Sir, I shall go ! " said the lady, imitating his tone ex-
actly.

" Have you no respect for yourself, madam — none for
me, your husband ? '

" Not the least, sir."

"It will be on your peril if you go."

" No it won't — it'll be on my feet."

'* Silence, madam I" he thundered, grinding his teeth
with rage. *' Do not dare to be impertinent or you will
repent it."

" Mr. Courtney, allow me to observe the inmates of this
house are trying to sleep. IIow they will succeed if you
go on in that manner is a question easily answered," said
Mrs. Courtney, sitting down with most provoking cool-
ness, and beginning to unlace her boots.

" Mrs. Courtney, I command you not to go with this
man to-morrow ! "

** Mr. Courtney, you may command till you are black
in the face ; but I've promised and I'll go !" said his re-
bellious spouse.

He half sprang up from the bed in which he was lying,
his eyes fairly scintillating with rage.

" Would you dare disgrace me in this way ? " he said,
in a voice hoarse with passion.

*' Disgrace you ? Disgrace a fiddlestick ! Are you
losing all the little sense you ever had, Mr. Courtney ? "
said his wife, now really indignant.

*^ Are vou reallv smitten with — do you love this man ?"
he asked, in a hoarse, fierce whisper; keeping his gleam-
ing black eyes still fixed on her face.

k:\:

.ip

113

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

For a moment a flash of intense anger shot from the
eyes of Mrs. Courtney; then, as if the absurdiuy of tlie
question overcame every other feeling, she threw lierself
back in her chair and broke out in a hearty peal of
laughter.

The action might have dispersed his absurd doubts ; but
as nothing can convince jealous souls, he even looked upon
this as another proof of her guilt ; and, raising liiniself
up in his bed, he grasped her arm, while he again hissed :

'' Do you love him ? "

*'Mr. Courtney, don^t bother me," said his polite
spouse, indignantly shaking olf his hand ; ^' and don't
make a greater simpleton of yourself than nature made
you. Love him, indeed ! I've had enough of love for
one while, I can tell you. I found it dose enough the hist
time I was fool enough to try it, and now that I've got
nicely over it, nobody'll catch me at it again."

This was a most unfortunate speech, for Courtney's fear,
day and night, was lest his wife should cease to love him.
He closed his teeth with a snap and fell back on his pillow
with a sepulchral moan.

There was a pause, during which Mrs. Courtney leisurely
combed out her curls and Mr. Courtney lay with knit
brows and deep, labored breathing. At length he turned
over and said huskily :

*' Laura!"

*' Well ? " said Laura, going on with her combing and
brushing.

" You won't go out to-morrow ? "

*' Won't I ? That's all you know about it, then."

" It's my wish you should stay."

** And it's my wish to go."

** Then you will go ? "

'* Most decidedly. And now, Mr. Courtney, hold your
tongue, for I'm going to sleep."

lie clenched his teeth with impotent rage, and his
jealous soul shone forth hideously from his glittering eyes.
And, angry and indignant, Mrs. Courtney went asleep,
muttering :

^' I vow to Cupid you shall have some cause for jealousy,
my wise lord and master. Pity to have you jealous for
nothing ; so, handsome Captain Campbell, look out, for I
mean to flirt like fury.

SELF-TORTURE.

113

CHAPTER XV.

SELF-TOUTUKE.

and

your

his
leyes.
pleep,

msy,
18 for
[or I

" And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness on the brain."

— COLERIDOK.

That night of deej st woe to tlio passionate heart of
Sybil had beon spent in pacing up and down lier room,
now liurling fierce, bitter maledictions on the liead of him
who had deceived her, and on this puny girl for whose
sake she had been thrown aside ; then in breathing wild,
passionate vows of vengeance for the wrong, the deep
humiliation, that had been done her, and anon throwing
herself upon the floor in a convulsive fit of weeping. Then
another mood would come, when she would forget all but the
blissful days of the past, and all her despised love and
tenderness would flood back to her soul, and her very
heart would cry out to be with him again. And then
would come the thought that this could never, never be
again ; and she would spring up with blazing eyes, her
very tears seemingly turned to sparks of fire.

And mingled with all these stormy passions was an
undercurrent of deepest shame, of bitter humiliation, of
wounded self-love and humbled pride. That she, the de-
scendant of a haughty Highland clan, the daughter of a
princely race, should be forgotten for one so far beneath
her in every way was a disgrace that sent the blood tin-
gling to her pale cheeks and made her clench her hands in
impotent despair.

So passed the night.

With morning came a calmer mood. The necessity of
adopting some line of conduct that would bring matters
to a speedy denouement soothed for the time her frenzied
brain. No one must know as yet of her desertion. She
felt as though she could die sooner than survive the
shame of such a discovery. Neither could she stay on
the island. Her time for meeting her betrayer had not
come ; but it was at hand, and then — The flame that

114

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

leaped like forked lightning from her bhick eyes, the deep
smile that curled her lips, better than words spoke tho
rest.

Leaning her head on her hand she thought intently.
She would return to the parsonage, and remain there
until her future course was decided upon. She could
easily feign some plausible pretext for leaving the island,
and good Mrs. Brantwell, she knew, would be but too
happy to have her.

And, in pursuance of this rosoiutioii, she went, early
Die following morning, back to N .

Mrs. Brantwell, as Sybil anticipated, met lier with a
joyful welcome, and announced her resolution of giving a
party a few evenings after in her welcome. Sybil, in her
present state of mind, would have shrunk from appearing
in public ; but as she could not do so without offending
and surprising her hostess, and perhaps arousing her sus-
picions she made no resistance to the plan.

" And you know, my dear," said Mrs. Brantwell, '' now
that you are an heiress, it is time that you should come
out. Next winter yon must go to New York and spend
the gay season there ; for, of course, you are quite too
young to think of being married yet. I do not believe,
for my part, in this new fashion of marrying girls before
they are out of their bibs and tuckers, and have them
settle down into old women before they are five and
twenty. So, my dear, just politely inform Mr. Drum-
mond that he must await your ladyship's sovereign
pleasure ; and if he rebels, as of course he will, give him
to understand he is not your lord and master yet, and you
intend doing as you please. Men need to be put down,
you know, my dear ; it does them good and takes the
nonsense out of them." And Mrs. Brantwell laughed her
jolly little laugh.

Sybil averted her head to conceal the de. dly paleness of
her face.

** And now, Sybil," continued the good old lady, '* I
want you to go with me to the Island. Guy has told me
of a lady and gentleman who were saved from the wreck
and are stopping at that cottage, and I wish to invite
them here to-morrow. So go and get ready."

excuse me, I had rather not |
r face averted.

Sybil, still keeping

SELF-TORTURE.

115

me
'eck
Tite

»9

"Not go! Wiiai, now, Mistross Sybil? 'I'liis is cor-
taiiilv soFiK'lluii.u^ new," said tlie astoni.shod old lady.

*' I liavo a — JK-adafdic, and would prefer lying <lown,"
said Sybil, without turniu;^ round.

'' Oh, in that ease 1 suppose I must go alone. I'll send
I5etty up with some vincLiar to bat lie your hea<l before I
go," said the unsuspecting lady of the mansion, as she
left the room to dre-s for the journey.

Captain Campbell, who Avas waiting for hei* on the
shore, aeoompanied her to Mrs. '^Fom's and presented her
to pretty litth; Mrs. Cor.i Lney, "who took (;aptive almost
instantly the good lady's heart, as she did tliat of most
other people, and promptly areeptcd the invitation, to
the manifest annoyajice of her husband.

]\[r. Courtney, thougli still quite weak and ailing, re-
solved also upon going, to watch his wife, under the con-
viction that her S(jle intent and purpose in going was to
jueet Captain Campbell.

And Willard Di'ummond, who was present, likewise
received and accepted her invitation. AVhat liis motive
in going could be, knowing Sybil would be there, it would
be hard to divine.

The evening for the party came, and at an early hour
the drawing-iOom of the parsonage was all ablaze with
lights. Carriage after carriage rolled up to the door, and
bevy after bevy of fair hidies, elega.ntly dressed, flocked,
like bright-plumaged birds, through the brilliant rooms,
a!ul carried on gay flirtations with their friends in broad-
cloth.

Mrs. Brantv,'ell, magnificent in black velvet, stood near
the door to receive her guests. But every eye was fixed
wonderingly, admiringly, on Sybil, who moved with the
step of an empress through the throng.

Surprisingly beautiful slie looked, with her crisp, shin-
ing curls of jet, shading on either side the burning crim-
son cheeks, lier splendid Syrian eyes emitting a vivid
streaming light, her rich dark robe of sheeny satin ftdlmg
with classic elegance from her rounded waist ; but the
lisfht in her eves was the tire of fever — the "low on her
cheeks the blaze of excitement, for the hour she had
waited for had come, and Willard Drummond would
stand arraigned before tier that night.

Mrs. Courtney, bright, piquant, bewitching, divided

iT-

lit

li'

116

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

the honors and ml miration of tlie evening with Sybil.
Her liiisband, i)jile, ghastly, haggard with illness, and
EnfTering the tortures of a mind diseased, moved like a
specter, silent, gloomy and watchful, through the merry
throng. And Captain Campbell, elated, handsome and
courteous, was there, too, the recipient of many a bo-
witching glance from the bright eyes i)resent.

The conipiiny were all assembled, chatting, laughing,
flirting, all but one. Sybil stood in the midst of a gay
group, the *' bright particular star " of the evening, carry-
ing on a spirited conversation, hut ever and anon lier eyes
would wander to the door with fierce impatience. Why
did he not come ?

Edgar Courtney, standing gloomily by himself, was
enduring the torments of a lost soul. His wife, knowing
he was unequal to the effort, had endeavored to persuade
him to stay ; but this he ascribed to the wish of being
alone with Captain Campbell. Then she offered to remain
with him, and this, also, he refused, thinking, with strange
self-torture, some evil design lay beneath. He would
come — he would watch her ; and Mrs. Courtney's high
spirit arose, and she proudly and angrily resolved to act
just as she pleased, and flirt just as desperately as ever
she could. She had told him she did not love him — she
had gone, in defiance ot his express command, in com-
pany with Captain Campbell, walking through the island ;
and from this slight foundation Mr. Courtney judged
his wife had fallen in love with Captain Campbell.
"Where his wife was concerned, the man was a mono-
maniac.

And now he saw them before him, she leaning on his
arm ; her head bent, as with downcast eyes and smiling
lips she listened to his low words. He gnashed his teeth
and glared upon them like a madman. At that moment
his face was like that of a demon.

There was no dancing. Mr. Brantwell was a clergyman
and did not approve of it ; but there was music, and, as
if to excite his jealous soul to madness. Captain Campbell
led Laura to the piano, and hung over her, while she
glanced slyly at him from under her long locks, and sang:
*' Oh, had we some bright little isle of our own," as
though every word was meant for him alone.

Loud and long was the applause which followed. And

SELF-TORTURE.

117

then Captain Campbell led her to a seat and took aiiotlnT
heHi<ie her, and this low conversation was resumed.

Full of jealous rage the self-tortured Court lu'y watehed
them, until, at the end of a!i hour or so, lie saw Captain
Campbell rise and leave her alone for a moment. Theti
going over, and seeing all were too much engiiged by some
one who was si 'ging to notice him, lutgraspeil her liereely
by the arm, saying in a ho;irse whis[)cr :

*' >radam, do vou mean to drive me mad ? "

*'No need ; you arc that already," said Mrs. Courttiey,
startled out of a reverie she had fallen into, but instantly
remembering to bo ])rovoking."

" liy heavens ! 1 shall make you repent (Lis conduct.'*

*' llusii-sh I You mustn't speak so loud, my dear."

'*]\lrs. Courtney, will you tell me what you mean by
permitting the attentions of this puppy ? " he said, elonch-
ing his teeth to keep down his passion.

" I'uppy I I am sur})rised at your want of taste, Mr.
Courtnev I lie's as handsome as A])ollo !"

*' Ah-ii!"

It was like a groan from a sepulcher, that deep, hollow
aspiration from his labored chest, lie looked really a
pitiable object as he sat there, white, ghastly and rigid.
It touched with remorse his wife's hcjirt ; and, laying her
hand on his arm, she said, more seriously :

" Edgar, don't be absurd ! Positively you are as jealous
as a Turk. I wish to goodness you wouldn't make your-
self ridiculous this way ! "

" Laura, come away."

*' Come away ! Where ? "

*' Out of this — any place — to the island again."

"Nonsense, Mr. Courtney ! What an idea ! I haven'fc
the slightest intention of going away these two hours ! It
is very pleasant here ! "

" liOrd, I am miserable in it ! "

''That's because, like little Jack Horner, you 'sit in
the corner,' instead of mingling with the rest. I've seen
some of the people looking at you as if they thought you
were crazy."

"I shall be if you continue this conduct mucli longer.'*

No one could look in the pale, haggard face and doubt
the truth of his words. But Mrs. Courtney lost all
patience.

,.J^

118

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

" What, in the name of all the saints, have I done ?"
she burst out, angrily. " My own husband sits up like
a living automaton in a dark corner, and pays no more at-
tention than if there wasn't such a pretty little person as
Mrs. Courtney in existence ; and because another gentle-
man, who has better taste, and doesn't wish to see me
pining to death in solitude, pays me a few trifling atten-
tions here, you come making as much fuss as if I was
going to elope with him to-morrow. I declare I will, too,
if you don't let me alone."

** You will !" And the hollow eyes glared like those
of a maniac , even the taunting little wife quailed before it.

'' Ugh ! * Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! '
what a look that was ! Really Mr. Courtney, you are a
ghoul, a vampire — a vandal, a Goth ! You'll scare the
life out of me some day, if you don't take care. I wish to
mercy you could be a little more reasonable, and not make
such a goose of yourself ! " said Mrs. Courtney, edging
away from him.

" Take care, madam ; it is not safe to trifle with me !"

" Well, who in the name of mercy is trifling with you ?
Not I, I'm sure. AnH now, Mr Courtney, here comes
Captain Campbell ; and do — for goodness' sake — drop this
subject, and don't make a laughing-stock of yourself and
me, too< What under the sun would the man think, if
he heard you ? "

*'Do not fear, Mrs. Courtney; I will not interrupt
your t^te-a-tete with the g. ilant captain," said her hus-
band, rising, with a ghastly smile. *' I leave you to his
care, satisfied you will make the best possible use of your
time."

*' That I will," said his irritated spouse, turning her
back, indignantly, to him, and greeting Captain Campbell
with her brightest smile.

Tlius, in tliat scene of gaiety, there were at least two
tempest-tossed, jealous, passionate hearts — Edgar Court-
ney and Sybil Campbell.

All the evening she had watched the door with burning,
feverish impatience. Why, oh ! why did he not come ?

Her heart was swelling, throbbing, as if it would escape
from its frail tenement ; she was growing wild, mad, with
impatience and excitement. And yet, in spite of all her
watching, he had entered unobserved by her.

P>J

FALSEHOOD AND DECEIT.

119

< i

At last, wrought up to an uncontrollable pitch of ex-
citement that was be,<;inninp^ to betray itself in every
feverisli action, she lied from the crowd tliat surrounded
her, only anxious to be alone — feeliuix half crazed with
her throbbiui^ head and brow. A conservatory, cool,
shady and deserlei'i, wa?; near. ]lither slu^ went, and,
pushing o})en the door, entered. A man stood revealed
under the light of the chandelier. With a suppressed cry
of mingled surprise and fierce joy, she stepped back, and
Svbil and her false lover stood lace to face.

CHAPTER XVI.

FALSEHOOD AND DECEIT.

" Ah I what a tangled web to weave,
When first we practise to deceive.'"

—Scott.

There was a moment's profound silence, while they
stood tliere confronting each other.

Witli a face perfectly white, with b^'^zing eyes and rigid
lips, Sybil, majestic in her wrongs, stood erect before him,
her form drawn up to its fullest height, her head thrown
back, her pale face looking unnaturally white in contrast
with her dark hair, like some tragic queen in her festal
robes. All his fah^ehood, treachery and deceit — all her
own wrongs, her slighted love, her deep humiliation,
rushed in a burning torrent through her mind, filling her
heart and soul with one consuming longing for vengeance,
until she seemed to tower above him, regal in her woman's
scorn and hate.

And he, knowing his guilt, feeling, too, tliat she knew
it, he momentarily quailed before the dark, fierce glance
bent upon him. It was but for a moment, and then all
his self-possession and graceful ease of mainier returned,
mingled with a feeling of intense admiration for the darkly
beautiful girl before him.

He had never seen her before, save in her odd, gvpsyish
dress ; but now, in her rich, elegant robes, she looked
another being. And with it came another rcelation.
Underlying all his short-lived passion for Christie was
still the old affection for this queenly Sybil. He had

13 <

120

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

wooed her as a dowerless bride, but now she stood before
him the heiress to a princely fortune, equal to his own.
Willard Drummond was ambitious. He knew this beauty
and heiress would be sought for now by the best men
of the day, and he felt what a proud triumph it would be
to bear her off from all.

"Yes," he said inwardly, "this beautiful Sybil, this
regal Queen of the Isle, shall still be mine. I iuive com-
menced a desperate game, but the end is not yet ! "

And all this had passed througii the minds of both in
far less time than it has taken me to describe it.

Drummond was the first to break the silence, which
was growing embarrassing

'' My own Sybil," he said, advancing, and attempting
to take her hand " I began to fear we were destined
never to meet more. Has this new freak of Dame Fortune
made you forget all your old friends ?"

" Back, sir ! " she thundered, in a terrible vjice. '^Do
you dare io speak to me like this ! Oh, man ! false and
perjured ! Does not your craven soul shrink to the dust
before the woman you have wronged ?"

"Sybil, you are nuid !" he cried, impetuously.

"Mad ! Oh, would to heaven I were ! Tlien, perhaps,
this achins^ heart would not suffer the tortures that it
does. Mad ? It would be well for you if I were ; but I
am sane enough yet to live for vengeance on you."

" Sybil ! Sybil ! you rave. In heaven's name, what
have i done ?"

" Done ! oh, falsest of the false ! Hjive you the brazen
effrontery to stand before me and ask such a question as
that ? Done ! That which a lifetime can never rej)air.
May heaven's worst curses light on you fur what you iiave
<lone !"

He almost shrank before that white, terrible face, that
corrugated brow, those lightning eyes, those white, cold
lips, that mingled look of hatred and utter desolation her
beautiful countenance wore.

He had expected passionate reproaches, vehement ac-
cusations, but nothing like this. Yet he knew, he felt he
<leserved it all ; never had his crime a])peared to him in
such glaring colors before. But outwardly he still showed
no sign of guilt, only grave surprise and offended pride.

"Miss Campbell," he said, folding his arms coldly.

FALSEHOOD AND DECEIT.

121

ur.
live

ac-
he
in

ved

**you are crazed. Wiieii you recover your senses, perhaps
yoii will deign an explanation of your conduct. At i)resent
you will excuse me if 1 put an end to this interview — it is
too painful to be prolonged."

lie turned, as if to leave her, bui she sprang forward
a'd intercepted him.

'* Dare to leave me !" she cried, passionately. *' Never
shall you qui*^ this room until you hear the vengeance
a Campbell can take for a wrong Und deadly insult.
Crazed, am I ? Oh, you will find out, to your cost, there
is method in my nuidness, before Jiis interview ends.
You find it [)ainful, do you ! lla ! ha ! take care you do
not find it more so before we part ! "

Slie pusiied tlie thick, clustering, black hair back off
her brow, and laughed a wild, 'utLor laugh.

'Miood heavens I she looks as though she really wero
mad I " thought Willard, with a shudder at that hollow,
nnearthly laugh. '' I always knew her to be a wild, fiery,
pM.ssionate girl, but I never dreamed of anytliing like this.
What, in her frenzy, may she not dare to do ? — for verily,
slie comes of a daring race. Oh, Ciiristie ! Christie !
what a storm of passion have I raised for your sake !"

*' So I can make you start and shrink already!" ex-
claimed Sybil, with fierce exultation. "Oh, you will find
out what it is to drive Sybil Campbell to desperation I So
you tliouglit you could make me your plaything for an
hour, and then throw me aside for the first new face you
encountered. Oh, potent, wise and farseeing Willard
Drummond ! what a judge of character thou art I "

Her bitter mockery was worse than her first fierce out-
burst of passion, aiul there was a terrible menace lurking
yet in her gleaming black eyes.

But Willard stood looking on, still unmoved, only
amazed, as he stood, with one hand resting lightly on the
table, looking her full in the eye with cold iuiuteur.

That concentrated gaze liad on her the effect of mes-
merism. Her mood changed, and she broke forth in a
strain of passionate solemnity :

'^ Oh, my soul I was it for this I poured out such price-
less treasures of love nt this man's feet ? Was it for this
I forgot God to worship him ? Was it for this that I
would have given my soul to perdition that his might be
saved ? Was it for this I would have devoted my life.

iiwMm )■

\n ■)

ft ■;

122

THE QUEEN OF THE JSLE.

with a,ll its bi^ii liopo jiiid aspirations, all tliat I was, all
that I might ]>ccoriio, to make liini hapjiy ? Was it for
tliis tluit I t!ioii<;"]it of hini day uiu1 iii;j:lit, sleepin;^' and
waking ? Was it for a rciturii like this that I would have
given my voi'y life blood to ireo him from all pain ? Oh,
this heart — this heart I Oh, my lost faith I my blasted
hopes ! my ruined life ! Wealth, and youth, and beauty
were gifted to me, but what are they worth, when all is
desolation here ? "

She struck lier breast with her clenched hand, and
dropping into a scat, her arms fell upon the table, and
her grief-ljouHMi young head dropped heavily upon them.

The dead silence that for an instant followed her vehe-
ment outburst was like a sudden lull in a furious storm
when the >;|)irit of the tempest pauses for a moment and
breaks foril in redoubled furv.

"Sybil!"

Soft, low a!id gentle, like oil poured upon troubled
waves, came the voice of Willard Drummond to her pas-
sion-tossed heart, that voice which, in spite of all, was
still dearer to her than all the world betides.

Only a convulsive shiver, a fierce graspiiig of her breast,
as though she would tear from it the unspeakable gnawing
of her agony, but no reply.

" Dearest Svbil 1"

Ho came over, and, folding her in his arms, bent over
her till his face rested on her silken hair.

"Oh, Willard I" she cried, looking suddenly np, and
speaking in a tone of piercing anguish, " why did you de-
ceive me so ? "

" Sybil, speak and tell me what you mean. As heaven
hears me, I have not deceived you. I love you still as I
have always loved you ! '^

" Oh, if I might believe it !" she said, dashing back the
falling hair off her pallid brow, "if I dared to dream that
you s})oke the truth. But no, no!'' she cried, springing
up and freeing herself from iiis clasp. " It is ftilse — it ia
false as your own false heart ! Listen, and let the name
blight v<>u where vou stand — what of Christie ?"

Her mcmuMiig eyes were glaring upon him, as though
she would read his very soul ; Ijut, prepared for hor
question, he neither started nor betrayed the slightest
emotion.

'Ui

FALSEHOOD AND DECEIT.

123

*' Christie, the island girl — what of her?" he asked,
qnietly.

" What of her ? Man ! man ! you will drive me mad.
Do you not love her ? "

*' Love her ! that little, uncultured child ! Sybil, you
have lost your reason," he said, in a tone of well-fei.ii^ned
snrprise and indignation. '* What drove such an absurd
thought into your head ? "

*' Oh, she told me so — she told me so," wailed Sybil,
pressing her hands to her throbbing temples.

'^ Impossible ! you must have dreamed it, Sybil. She
never could have told you anything like that."

" She did ; and I could have slain her where she stood
for the words ; but she said them. And, Willard Drum-
mond, do not deny it. It is true ! "

*' It is n't true," he answered, boldly, though, for the
first time during the interview, his dark cheeks grew
crimson with shame.

*Mt is true — it must be. She would not have said it
else. Oh, there was truth in her face as she spoke, and
there is guilt in yours now. Willard Drummond, take
care ! 1 am desperate, and it is at your peril that you
dare to trifle with me now."

*' And so you believe this island girl rather than me!
Be it so, Sybil ; if you have no more faitli in me tliun this,
it is better that we never see each other more," he said,
in a deeply offended tone.

'' And do you tell me, really and truly, that you never
wavered in your allegiance to me — never for a moment
thouglit of ajiy one else — never for one second gave another
the place in your heart I should have occupied — never
was false to your vows, to your honor, to me ? "

"Never, Sybil."

'SS wear it."

*' I swear ! "

"Oh ! which aui I to believe? Oh, Willard ! if yon
are deceiving me now, may heaven's worst vengeance fall
upon you ! Do not on your soul's peril dare to speak
falsely to me ; for it were better for you to trifle with the
lightning's chain than with this aroused heart."

" Still doubting ! have you lost all faith in me, Sybil ?"
he asked, reproaclvfully.

" Would to heaven 1 had never had occasion to doubt I

124

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

But your own actions are all against you. Why f'.id you
so continually seek her society while on the island ?
How are your long rambles together, your moonlight sails,
your solitary interviews to be explained ! "

" Very easily. Your brotlier left me — you were absent,
and I was alone on the island, and society is a necessity
of my nature. You would not have me spend the day
■with your old negress, or her son, Mrs. Tom, or the nephew.
The child, Christie, was bright, intelligent aiul sociable ;
she pleased and interested me, and in my walks through
the island, we frequently met. I was fond of sailing, so
was she ; and what so natural as that I should some-
times ask her to accompany me ? "

" Plausible, but why did you not seek me ? I was not
far distant from you, a good part of the time, and would
have been more than delighted to see you every day."

" Well, if I must confess it, Sybil, 1 was somewhat
piqued that you should have gone away at all, and I wished
to let you know it by my absence. Perhaps it was very
unreasonable on my part, but loving you as devotedly as I
did, I felt your abrupt absence far more than you are dis-
posed to give me credit for."

''But, when alone, why were you ever talking of
Christie ? If she had not been continually in your thoughts,
her name would not have been so frequently on vour
lips."

'' Still jealous. Oh, Sybil, hard to be convinced ! I
did not talk of her."

" You did ; for Aunt Moll heard you."

'^ Saints and angels ! was ever man in the dilemma I
am in ? Even an old, half-deaf negress is believed sooner
than I ! Sybil, I never talk to myself. Aunt Moll has
seen me with this island girl — whom I wish to heaven I
had never met — and has fancied, perhaps, 1 spoke of her.
Oh, Sybil ! Sybil ! by your dark, doubting look, I see
you are unbelieving still. What shall I do, or say, to con-

vince you

'' Oh ! I do not know ! I do not know ! Heaven direct
me !" said Sybil, pacing up and down ; '' I want to be-
lieve you, but I cannot get rid of those doubts. Willard,
once our faith in those we love and trust is shaken, it is
very hard to be renewed. There were truth and earnest-
ness iu that girl's eyes, when she spoke — more, there was.

I as

see

Ird,
is
?st-
raa

FALSEHOOD AND DECEIT.

125

love for yon. Whether or not you love, or have loved her,
one thing is certain, you have taught her to love you."

*' I have not tauglit her, Sybil, nor am I to blame for her
childish fancies. Even if she does care for me, which is
doubtful, it is a sisterly atlcction — notiiiug more."

** I am not blind, Wilhird ; it was no sisterly affection
I read in those soft, pleading eyes — it was strong, unchang-
ing, undvinglove ! Oh, Willard ! what if you are deceiving
us both ? " .

** Sybil, this is too much. I will not endure those
doubts. You do not love me as you say you do, or you
would have more faitli in me. If you believe I could so
forget my vows to you, my honor, my plighted faith, for
this little artless child, then it were better we should
forever part, than live in doubt ami jealousy. Do you
think I could endure these constant recriminations, these
stormy scenes, these violent outbursts of passion ? Sybil,
it is beneath you to stoop to the mean, low passion of
jealousy. I thought you had too much pride and self-
respect to think any one, how beautiful and enirancing
soever, could surpass you. And certainly you pay a very
poor compliment to my taste, in supposing I could fall in
love with an illiterate, uneducated child of fifteen, simply
because she has a passably pretty face. Sybil, you are sur-
passingly beautiful, and I have to-night seen gentlemen
who, I am sure, were fascinated by you, hovering the whole
evening by your side, while you seemed to have eyes and
ears for no one but them, yet it never once entered my
mind to doubt you, or be in the slightest degree jealous."

"Yes — yes ; I talked and laughed with them,' but oh !
if you had known how every thought and feeling of ray
whole heart, and soul and mind were with you all the
time ! — if you had but dreamed of the insufferable agony
at my heart all the while, you would have felt how little
cause you could have had for jealousy."

"I knew nothing of this, Sybil; and yet not for one
fraction of a second did the slightest, faintest doubt of
you enter my mind. Oh, Sybil — Sybil ! when will you
have faith like this in me ? '

^' Now — forever ! Oh, Willard I I must believe, I do
believe, and I will never doubt you more," said Sybil, her
beautiful face growing radiant with new hope ; " if I
judged you rashly, at least I have atoned for it ; for never

ill III <

:lliil«

126

THE QUEEN" 01 THE ISLE.

while you live can you dream of all I have endured for
your sake. Oh, Willard ! with your cool nature, and
calmly pulsating heart, you can never form any idea of
the passionate heart throbhing here, of the liery hlood
that has descended to nie from a fiery race. Oh, AVillard I
for all my unjust doubts and susi)icions and accusati' iis,
can you ever forgive me ? "

lie had borne her frenzied outbursts of passion, her
Ijitter, withering sarcasm, her utter woe and desolation
calmly enough, but now her renewed hopes and trust and
confidence, pierced to his very lie;irt. lie felt the blood
rush to liis very tem])les, but her head was bent on his
shoulder and she did not observe it. llow intensely in
that moment did hs des})ise himself and this necessity of
Iving, whi(;h his own fault had created ! Without think-
ing of the guilt, as a gentleman he felt himself degraded
by a falsehood — something which ho had never hitherto
stained his lips with. And yet, in the last hour how low
ho had sunk ! A'erily, in that moment he felt '' the way
of the transgressor is hard."

But Sybil Campbell, loving and hating alike with utter
abandon — going from one extreme to the other, without
knowing what a medium meant — knew nothing of the
thoughts that set the heart she prized, even above her
hopes of heaven, beating so tumultuously against her
own. Casting all doubt to the winds, resolving she would
not believe him guilty — the delicious joy of knowing and
believing she was still beloved filled her heart. And so
for the present she gave herself wholly up to this new hap-
piness. But how long was this delicious joy destined to
last ?

•;; '':\ 'i

1,1

1 '

A LULL BEFORE TUE TEMPEST.

127

ip-

CHAPTER XVIL

A LULL 15i:f()ui: the tkmpest.

" Wo hold our greyhound in our hand,

Our falcon on our kIovc ;
But whcni shall we find loasli or baud
For dauio that loves to rove t "

—Scott.

"Now, my dear Mrs. Courtney, you really must not
think of goini,^ back to the island anymore. Sybil is going
to remain witii me for a week or two longer, and you })osi-
tively must stay, for let me tell you, 1 have taken a des-
perate fancy to you during the last few hours. Tlien,
too, Sybil, poor child I has seemed ill and out of spirits
for tlie past few days — and the presence of your lively little
ladyship M'ill tend to restore her to cheerfulness again.
So, Mrs. Courtney, you will just consider it settled ; and
yourself and husband must remain my guests for the
present."

The company were already dispersing, and ^Irs. Court-
ney, on going to take leave of her hostess, had listened to
the above harangue.

'' But, Mr. Courtney " she began, rather hesitatingly.

'^ He will not object, my dear I "' broke in Mrs. Ih-ant-
well, who was comfortably reposing in a large armchair.
*' He is looking ill yet, and I don't believe his wound has
been half attended to. Just go and tell him that I sny
ho must stav. I would go iiivself. op.lv there is a crowd
here waiting to take their leave and make their adieux.
Mrs. C nirtney, it's not possible? — yon do not hesitate.
What ^.irthly attraction can there be for you in that
dretiry little isle ? "

" Oh, Mrs. Brantwell I it's not that ; indeed I shall be
delighted to accept your kind offer; but ]\Ir. Courtney is
sometimes so queer, and has such strange notions about
intruding on people, that I do not know "

" Intrude I Xonsense ! interrupted Mrs. Brantwell.

*' I'm sure there's nobody in this world as fond of society
as I am. I'd always have the house full of young people

'\ l>

128

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

if I could. There, now, run away, like a good litte woman,
and tell your husband tliat I positively will not hear of his
going. Come, he olf ; here is Mr. StiilTord waiting to bid
ine good-by, und I never care to kec]) a young gentleman
waiting — especiially such a good-looking one ; though I
don't know whjit >[r. lirantwell wouhl say about that!"
And Mrs. Brantwcll gave Laura a facetious poke in the
ribs, and went olf intoono of her mellow laughs.

Liwardly delighted at Mrs. l^rantwell's invitation, which
gave promise of much pleasure, Laura went in search of
her husband, fully determined to accept it, whether that
unreasonable individual liked it or not.

She found him waiting for her in the anteroom, all
ready for starting.

"What has delayed you so long?" he asked, sharply.
*' I have been waiting here this half hour. I have sent
one of the servants to hire a cub to take us over to AVest-
port — where for the j^rcscnt we can engtige lodgings
instead of returning to Cami>»ljeirs Lsle — a place I
never want to see again. Come, make haste and get
ready."

" There's no occasion, for I'm not going to leave."

*^Not going to leave ! What do you mean, madam ?"
he asked, still more sharply.

*' What I say. Are you really crazy enough, Mr.
Courtney, to think I would undertake a ten hours' ride
over to Westport, after being up all night ? Catch me at
it I I have too much regard for my good looks to under-
take any such journey."

" Ah ! you wish to return to the island ! " ho said, set-
ting his teeth hard. " Captain Campbell, of course, will
accotnpany you !"

*'How provoking ! Every Avord I say is converted into
food for jealousy. No, I don't want to go back to the
island. I'm going to spend a week here with Mrs.
Brantwcll."

" You shall not stay here. You shall come with me to
Westport."

** Shall I, indeed ! They'll have sharp eyes who will see
me in Westport for another week, at least. Come, Edgar,
have sense, and stay here for a few davs."

" Will Captain Campbell be here ? ''

** Captain Campbell again ! Oh, grant mc patience !

'J »

into

the

llrs.

le to

see
I2ar,

ice

A LULL BEFORE THE TEMPEST.

129

How do I know wliether he will be liero c not ? — I'm sure
I lioj)e lie umy, if it'n oiily to drive yoii crazy ; for of all
the absurd, jculous old tyrai ..s thiit ever lived, you're the
worst. I declare, Mr. Courtney, you'i i)rovokc a saiut;
and I do wish — Saint Laura forgive lue — that you were
safely in heaven. There now I "

'• Tak(^ care, nia<hini !" he said, hoar>c]y ; '\your ^ocxX
wishes are pi'eruature. Old tyrant as i am, I may live
long enough to make you repent this language."

"Take care of what? I'm not afraid of you, Edgar
Courtney ! '' she said, with Hashing eyes. " Don't threat-
en, or you nniy drive me to say things I should be sorry
for afterward.''

'H)nce for all — will you come with me to Westport ?"

** Once for all— no '."

" Madam, f command you ! "

** Command jiway ; I sha'n't budge a step ! "

*' Mrs. Courtney, do you dare to brave my authority ? '*

'* Your authority I It isn't the first time 1 have braved
it."

" Take care that it is the last I " he hissed, with gleam-
ing eyes.

" Ugh ! Don't look at mo that way," said Laura, shud-
dering involuntarily at his unearthly look and tone. ''I
declare, if you're not enough to scare a person into the
fever and ague ! What a scowl ! Edgar Courtney, you're
worse than Nero, lleliogabulus, Mohammed, and all those
other nasty old fellows, melted into one. Now I've made
up my mind to stay here with ]Mrs. l^rantwell, whether
you like it or not ; and you may do as you please, for all
I care. Allow me to wish you good night, and a pleasant
journey to Westport." And turning abruptly round, the
indignant little lady quitted the room, leaving her spouse
to his own not very pleasant reflections.

The company by this time had nearly all departed.
Drummond, hat in hand, stood near tlie window, talking
in low tones to Sybil, whose face was now bright, radiant,
unclouded. Mr. and ^Irs. Brantwell were still holding a
parting conversation with some of their friends, among
whom stood young Stafford, watching Mr. Drummond
with a ferocious glance. Captain Campbell stood by him-
self, evidently waiting for his friend to accompany him to
the isle.

130

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

As Mrs. Courtiiuy cntured, Ik; approiiclicd liur, saying,
with ii siiiilo :

" Well, Mrs. Courtney, iiro you not going to return with
us to the ishiiid ?''

" Xo, I tiiink not," said Liiuru. *' I have arocptod our
kind lioatt'ss' invitation to nMiiain with lier a week.'

'• Well, 1 liavc no doubt you will find it ijk'asiintcr than
our loncsoinc! islo, though we ])oor unfortu nates loft hidiind
-will fiiul it doubly dreary, now that it is deprived of your
bright presence."

"Flatterer — ilattery ! I don't believe I'll ever be missed.
You must remember me to good Mrs. Tom, her i)retty
iiieeo, Christie, and that ill-treated youth, Mr. Carl
Henley."

''Your liumblc servant liears but to obey. But, my
dear Mrs. Courtney, you must not desert us altogether.
"Will you not visit the island some day in the course of the
week ? "

"Perhaps I may; indeed, it's very likely I sluill. I
want to see i\[rs. Tom before I start for home ; so, if I can
prevail on Miss Campbell to accompany me, your island
will be ))lessed with my ' bi-ight presence' once more."

" A blessing for which we shall be duly grateful," said
Captain Campbell, gaily ; "so just name the day I shall
have the happiness of coming lor you, and I shall safely
convey you, "over the sea in my fairy bai'k.'"

" Why, Captain Campbell, how distressingly poetical you
are getting I" said Laura, laughing. "Well, let's see.
This is Tuesday, isn't it ? Then, I think, I will go on
Thursday — day after to-morrow."

"Very well ; on that day I shall have the happiness of
coming for you. Until then, adieu."

" Good-by, Captain Campbell," said Mrs. Courtney,
holding out her hand.

As she spoke, a slight noise behind her made her turn
abruptly round ; and she almost slirieked aloud, as she be-
hold her husband — white, ghastly and haggard — standing,
like a galvanized cor})se, by her side, lie had entered
unobserved, and approached them in time to hear their
last words — to hear them make an appointment.

What other proof of her guilt did he require ? His
worst suspicions were, of course, confirmed. Oh ! terrible
was the look his face wore at that moment ! Without a

A LULL IJKFORE TIIK TKMPi:S'L\

I'M

Ley,

urn
be-

red
icir

His
ible
.t %

word, hu tiiriic'd away and walked to tlic rariliur cud of tlio

room.

Startled, sliockecl and sick with nmU'lined !i}>|)rehensioii,
Laura livmed a,i;";iiiisi the taljh; for sii[)})ort. Captain
(,';uu|)hr!r,i eyes followed the jealous husband, with a look
that s;iid plainly as words : " What does all this mean ? "

*' Vou are ill, Mrs. C ourtuey," he said, noticing with
alarm her sudden faintnuss- ** Allow nio to ring for a

•J •>

glass of water ?

'* Xo, no! It is nothing," she snid, passing her hand
across her brow, as if to dispel a misL. " .Nothing what-
ever," she ad»led, rising, and forcing a smile, as she saw
his anxious look. " lOxcuso me. (iood-night."

She hastened away : and Ca})tain Campbell, after a
moment's won<b'ring [)ause, approaclu'd the spot where
Wilbird and Sybil stood, and touching him on the shoulder,
said, somewhat impatiently :

*' Come, Drnmmond, it's time we were oil', if we go at
all. Even as it is, it will be sunrise before we reach tho
island."

In spite of all her elTorts, a cloud fell on SybiFs sunny
brow at his words. The (b^non of doubt was not yet
wholly exo"oised. The island I — the name grated harsldy
on her ear, for Christie was there.

Willard Drummond saw it, and his resolution was taken.
He felt it would not do to return to the island just now.

"1 regret having kept you waiting,'' he said, gravely ;
*' but I do not intend going to the island just yet.''

A radiant glance from Sybil's beautiful eyes repaid him
for the words. But Captain Campbell was amazed.

"Not return I Why, what's in your head now, Drnm-
mond ? Where are you going ?" he asked in surprise.

" For the present, I shall stay here.''

" Here, at Mr. Brantwell's ?'"

" Xo ; in tho village.-"

'' Tired of Campbell's Isle already— eh ? I knew how it
would be. Well, I suppose I'll have to submit to keep
bachelor's hall alone for a day, 0/ two, and then I siiall
return to Westport to see after my bonny bark. As tho
Courtneys stay, likewise, I shall have to go alone ; so
au revoir. "

And Captain Campbell, after exchanging a word with
his hostess, left the house to return to Campbell Lodge.

li I

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

The few remaining guests by this time had gone ; and
Wilhird J)rummond also took his departure. And tlieu
Sybil took lier night lami^, and retired to her room to
dream of her new-found happiness.

Laura Courtney sat alone, on a sofa, in a remote corner ;
her head on her hand — her brows knit in painful thought.
This fierce Jealousy of her husband's was growing insutfer-
able ; she felt she could not endure it much longer. Every
^v( ^d, every look, every action was warped aud distorted
by his jealous imagination into another proof of her guilt.
And she painfully felt that this absurd jealousy must soon
be apparent to every one — an almost unendurable thought ;
for, in spite of all her levity aad apparent ind'iference, the
little girl-wife possessed too much pride and telf-respect to
carelessly submit to such a bitter humiliation.

'^ I wish I knew what to do," she thought. " If I sub-
mit to all his whims and caprices, it will only make matters
worse. Kothingcan remove this deep-rooted passion, and
the yoke he will lay on my neck will become unbearable.
Oh f I was mad — crazed — ever to marry him ! Every one
who knew him told mo how it would be ; that he was
tyrannical, jealous, exacting and passionate ; but I only
laughed at them, and deemed him perfection. IIow I
could ever have loved him, I'm sure I don't know ; for he
hasn't a single lovable quality in him. However, it's too
late to think of all this now ; I want to forget the past al-
together, if I can, and my folly with it. Good gracious !
what an awful look was on his face that time when I turned
round ! Perhaps, after all, I had better not go to the
island. The man's a monomaniac ou this point, and it
won't do to drive him to desperation."

She bent her forehead on her hand, and remained for a
few moments lost in troubled thought.

•'No, I shall not go; but I will not give him the tri-
umph of knowing it. He shall not think I am afraid of
him and that he has humbled me at last," she said, half
alond, as she raised her head proudly. *" I will avoid
Captain Campbell, too, as much as possible, if I can do so
without attracting attention. Ileigho ! what it is to

Edgar

have a jealous husband! I wonder where
Perhaps he has gone to Westport, and left me here."

" Prithee, why so sad ?" said the jovial voice of Mrs.
Brantwell, breaking in at this moment on her reverie.

tri-

A LULL BEFORE THE TE^fPEST.

133

''You are looking as tloleful a:^ if sonic near relation had
just been hanged for sheep stealing. Come, I can't allow
any one in my lioiise to wear so doleful a face. Don't
indulge in the blues, my dear, or you need never exjiect
to wax fat and portly, as I am. Come, let me sec you
smile, now.

'' Oh, Mrs. Brantwell I who could bo sad in your sun-
shiny i)resence ?" said Laura, smiling as brigiitly as even
the good old lady could wish ; ** but really, 1 wasn't out of
si)irits, oidy dreadfully sleepy." And an immense yawn
confirmed the truth of her words.

"}\o w«)nder ; it's four o'clock, so you had better retire.
Jenny will show you to your room."

" Did you see — h;is Mr. Courtney " began Laura,

hesitatingly, as she rose.

*^Mr. Courtney went to bed a quarter of an liour ago,
my dear. And here's Jenny, now, with your lamj).
Goodnight, love!" And kissing her, ^L's. Hrantwell
consigned her to the charge of a neat mulatto girl, who
appeared with a light at the door.

Laura followed lier up-stairs to the door of her apnrt-
ment. And here .Jenny handed her the light, dropped a
courtesy and disap[>eared.

Mrs. Courtney opened tlie door and entered. It was a
neat, pretty little room, with white curtains on the win-
dows, and white dimity hangings on the bed : a wjin-hued
carpet on the lloor, and a cozy armchair beside the win-
dow. Mr. Courtney sat on the bed. still dressed in his
evening costume — his arm resting on the snowy ])illows,
and his face bowed upon it. His dark elf locks fell
heavily over the Avliite pillows, and he lay jis motionless as
though death had stilled forever lus wildlv throbbinii' heart.

lie looked up as his wife entered, and dashed back his
long, dark hair. Laura really felt for him — the wretched
victim of his own turbulent passion — bill pity and sympathy
she knew would be alike misunderstood by him, if mani-
fested ; pnd even, perhaps, be adding fuel to the flames
raging in his breast.

*' Oh ! you are here, are you?" she said, setting her
lamp on the toilet stand, and throwing herself languidly
in the armchair. *' I tliought yon luid gone to Westport."

*' And left you to flirt with your new lover I lla ! ha I
You thought so, did you ? "

wr?

134

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

What a goblin laugh it was ! Laura shivered involun-
tarily, but she would not abate one jot of her defiant sar-
casm.

*' Yes ; I saw you playing the eavesdropper," she said,
as she began taking off her collar and bracelets ; ** it is
just what I expected of you. You did it so expertly one
would think you had been taking lessons all your life in
listening at keyholes. Perhaps you have learned from
some hotel waiter or lady's maid."

" By heavens I I will strangle you I " he exclaimed,
roused to madness by her taunting tone. And he sprang
to his feet, glaring upon her as though he would fulfill his
threat.

** Come, Mr. Courtney, be calm, or I shall be under
the painful necessity of going down-stairs and inquiring
where the nearest lunatic asylum is located. Don't rave
now, or try to transfix me with your flashing glances. I
am not in the slightest degree afraid of you, Mr. Court-
ney."

And Mrs. Courtney drew her little form up to its full
height, and looked with cool contempt in his face.

^' Madam ! if you go to the island, I swear by heaven,
and all its hosts, it will be the dearest night's work you
have ever done."

*' Hem ! Why don't you swear by the other place ?
you are likely to know more about it some day than you
will ever know of heaven."

"Silence!" he shouted, in a fierce voice. *'I repeat
it ; if you keep this appointment with Captain Campbell,
you shall repent for it in dust and ashes ! "

For a moment lie stood perfectly paralyzed, foaming at
the mouth like a wild beast. Even the audacious Mrs.
Courtnoy trembled beforo the terrible pitch of passion she
had daringly excited, ind with it came another feeling,
apprehension for her personal safety. S]>ringing to her
feet, she darted past him, reached the door, and said :

** Mr. Courtney, your disagreeable temper renders it
necessary for me to leave you to solitude, which is said to
be excellent for cross people. Hoping you will have re-
covered your usual good temper before we meet again,
allow me to wish you good night."

He darted toward her, but she was gone, slamming the
door after her, and was down the stairs in a twinkling.

THE TEMPEST

335

She knew he would not dare to follow her ; and reaching
the durk, deserted parlor, she threw herself on a lounge,
and burst into a passionate flood of tears. In that mo-
ment, she fairly hated her husband.

But when the household assembled next morning, little
Mrs. Courtney looked as bright and smiling and breezy as
ever, and met her })ale, sour-visaged husband with her
customary careless unconcern. He. too. was calm ; bufc
it was a delusive lull in the storm — the treacherous peace
of the sleei)ing volcano — the menacin,^ quiet of a savage
seeking revenge — a calm more to be dreaded than his
former fierce outbursts of passion.

CHAPTER XVIU.

AU my fond love thus do I blow to heaven ;

' Tis iioue.

Arise, black ven.^eance, from thy hollow cell :

Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne

To tyraimnus hate :' Swell, bosom, with thy fraught,

For 'tis of uspicks' tongues."

—Othello.

Inwardly congratulating himself on his successful
interview with Sybil. Willard Drummond sought his rooms
to lay his plans for the future.

Sybil must be his wife, and that soon — love, and pride,
and ambition all demanded it. It would be such a triumph,
to carry oil this beauty and heiress — ihis brilliant star, who
would so ])roudly nnd gloriously eclipse tlie lesser lights
of Sew York and Washington. And vet, thouo-h his
darker angel ])ronipt,ed lliis, he involuntarily shrank from
the crime. What was to be done witli Christie ? What
would she do, when she heard of his marriage ? Poor,
deceived little Christie ! his heart smote him to think he
liad forgotten her already.

He did not fear her much ; it was not that which made
him hesitate. There was not a particle of revenge in her
disposition. ^leek, timid and yielding, he knew if he com-
manded her to be silent — saying his lienor, his happiness
compelled him to actashe did — she would fold her hands
across her lowly bosom, and die, if need he, and • ' niake
no sign.'' No, he did not fear her, hut he feared himself.
There was a fierce struggle going on in his breast. Once

'■■■!!

13G

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

there had been before. Then it was between honor and
pussion ; now, it was between pity and ambition. How
could he tell his loving child-bride that she would never
see him more — that he had deceived her, and was to marrv
another ! And on the other hand, after his interview with
8ybil the previous night, it was absolutely impossible to
pursue any other course. Christie might suffer — die, if
she would ; but Sybil Campbell — this regal, beautiful
heiress, thistranscendently lovely Queen of the Isle — must
bo his wife. His wife ! Could she be that while Christie
lived ? Kis brain was in a whirl, as he paced up and
down, still revolving the question : *^ What next ? — what
next ? " ^

Unable to answer it, he threw himself on his bed, only
to live over again the past few weeks in feverish dreams.

It was near noon when he awoke ; and with a head but
slightly clearer than it had been the preceding night, he
set out for the parsonage.

"There is no other course for it," ravi his thoughts on
the way, ''but to see Christie, and tell her all. But how
to see her ! Sybil's jealousy is not dead, but sleeping ;
and if I visit the isle, it nniy break out in new fury. I
must write a note to Christie., and send it to the island
Wiii'. some one — Lem or Carl — and appoint a meeting,
after niglit, nnknown to every one. Yes, tliat is what
must be done. Poor Christie ! poor Christie ! Villain
that I am, to wrong you so ! but the hand of destiny is
upon me, driving me on. How is all this to end ? — in woe
for some of us, ii the Egyptian's prediction comes true.
Well, I am in the hands of fate, and must accomplish her
ends, come what may."

He found Sybil alone in the drawing-room, when he
entered. Mis. Courtney and Mrs. Brantwell were con-
versing in tlie sitting-room, while Mr. Courtney sat silently
in the depths of an elbow-chair, and scowled at them over
the top of a book.

Sybil's welcome was most cordial, and they were soon
eng:i»2:ed in aiii mated conversation.

Once, as if by accident, during the conversation he
8aid ;

'' I have left some things I need on the island, which I
suppose I must soon go after."

*' If you mention it to Guy, he will send Lem over with

THE TEMPEST.

137

them/' said Sybil, with an involuntary coldness in her
tone.

" Jealous still — I knew it," was his inward cornniont.

*' r presume you do not intend visiting the Lodge your-
self ?" lie asked, after a pause.

" No ; the island luis few attractions for me, now. I
ix-ally would not care much if I never saw it again," sho
answered brieily.

And there tlie subject dropped.

That evening, when Willard returned to liis hotel, ho
sat down and indited tlie following note, without date or
superscription, to Christie :

" Dearest : For some reasons which I will explain when
we meet, 1 cannot visit you during the day. Meet me to-
night, on the beach below the cottage, any time before
midnight."

Lest it should by any chance fall into other hands than
those for whom it was intended, he had omitted his name
— knowing, besides, that it was not necessary, since the
person to whom he would deliver it would tell Christie
who had sent it.

Folding it up, he put it in his pocket, knowing tliat

either Lem or Carl would in all probability visit N

during the day, and he could seize the first opportunity
of handing it to either unobserved.

And thus determined by his devoted attention to lull
her slightest doubt to rest, he set out early the following
morning for tlie parsonage.

This was Thursday — tlie day on which Mrs. Courtney
had promised to visit the isle.

The day dawned clear and beautiful, and as the family
at the Braiitwell mansion assembled round the breakfast
table, little did they dream of the appalling tragedy with
which it was destined to close.

Sybil and her lover sat in their favorite seat in the re-
cess, formed by a deep bay window, talking in low, lover-
like tones.

Good Mrs. Brantwell had encased her large proportions
in a rocking-chair, and was swaying backward and for-
v:ard, plying her knitting needles, and trying to find some
one to talk to — a somewhat diflicult task ; for ]\lr. Court-
nev, sitting in sullen silence, answered coldlv and liriefly,
vviiile his eyes continually followed his wife, who was

js ;■

138

THE QUEEN or THE ISLE.

fluttering in jind out in a restless, breezy sort of way, look-
ing every few nionienls out of tlie Avindow, and starti'ig
violently whenever tlie door opened, ller husband saw
it, and said to himself :

'^Slieis looking for her lover, and is watching impa-
tiently for liis coming. This is the morning he promised
to take her to the isle."

And liis eyes Jissumed such a wild, maniac glare, that
Mrs. ]5rantwell, looking up suddenly from her work,
uttered a stifled scream," as she exclaimed :

** Gracious me ! JVlr. Courtney, are you ill ? You look
like a gliost — worse than any ghost, I declare. I knew your
wound was not perfectly healed. You had better retire
and lie down.''

*' Thank you, madam, I am perfectly well,'' he answered,
in a hollow tone that belied his words.

Laura, absorbed by her own thoughts, had not heard
this brief conversation. Yes, she was watching for Cap-
tain Campbell, with a nervous restlessness she could not
control, but with a far different object from that which her
husband supposed. She wanted to see him for a moment
before he entered, to tell him she coidd not go with him
to the island, and to beg of him not to allude to the sub-
ject in the presence of the others. If he did, she knew
her husband's jealousy would be apparent to all — a humili-
ation she wished to postpone as long as possible.

Therefore, Avhen at last siie espied him coming, she flew
down the stairs, and flushed, eager, palpitating, met him
in the hall.

*' Really, Mrs. Courtney, '^ he said, smiling at her haste,
** I hope I have not kept you waiting."

"No, no," she answered, eagerly; "I wanted to tell
you. Captain Campbell, that I cannot go."

''Xo?" he said, looking somewhat disappointed.
''Then perhaps you will come to-morrow ?"

'* Neither to-morrow, nor ever. I cannot explain now,
but I wanted to tell you this before you met the others.
Don't say anything about this np-stairs ; and if my con-
duct appears strange, set it down to woman's fickleness,
to eccentricity, to anything you like."

She did not venture to look up, but he saw the burning
fli^sh that swept over her face, and for the first time
guessed the secret of her husband's gloom.

THE TEMPEST.

139

ted.

ers.
;on-

ess,

*^ My dear Mrs. Courtney," he said, gently, " tlicre is
no explanation or apology needed. 1 intended sotting out
for Wostport to-morrow ; but now, since you v. ill not go,
1 will start this afternoon. You will most probably be
gone before I return ; and so, besides the formal adieu I
shall bid you up-stairs, let me say farewell now. Should
we never meet again, I hope you will sometimes think of
nie as a friend."

lie pressed her haiul, and passed np-stairs, while Laura
ran to hide lier burning cheeks in the solitude of her
own room.

Tiie dark, fierce glance of hatred which Mr. Courtney
bestowed upon the captain as he entered confirmed him
in his opinion. Pitying Laura, while he despis<'d her
husband, he determined to positively neglect lier rather
than give him further cause of jealousy.

" You have left Lem waiting on the beach," said Sybil,
some half hour after his entrance. " Is lie to wait for
you there ? "

" By ,io\Q ! I forgot all about liim. I ought to have
gone down and told him to return. 1 must go now," said
Captain Campbell, starting up.

*• No ; ring the bell, and I will send Jenny down to tell
him," said Mrs. Brantwell.

''Never mind, I'll go," said Drummond, rising sud-
deidy, as ho thought what an excellent opportunity this
would bo to deliver his note. " I must be vit any way,
and I can just take the beach in my way."

'* Very well," said the young captain, resuming his
seat. '*' Tell him I won't need his services, and he may
return home."

Making his adieu, Drummond hastened out and went
down to the beach, where Lem sat patiently sunning him-
self on a log, and waiting for his master's return.

" Lem," said Druinmond, as he reached him, *' you are
to go back to the island without waiting for Cai)tain
Campbell."

" Yes, massa," said the obedient Lem, starting up.

'^ And, Lem, I want you to do me a service.

*' Berry well — I's willin'."

'' I want you to carry a note from. me to Miss Christie."

"Yes, sar," replied Lem, inwardly wondering what the
** ole 'oman " would say to this, if she heard it.

^!!

140

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

''You are to give it to no one but herself — neitlier to
Mrs. Tom nor Curl ; and you must not let any one else
see you giving it, eitlier. VVliy, wliere the deuce can it
be ? — I surely liuve not lost it ?"

All this time he had been searching in his pockets, but
the note was nowliere to be found. Jle felt in his vest
pocket, where he had placed it, then in his coat pocket,
then back again to his vest. AH in vain. The note was

gone.

*'l must have dropped it on the way, confound it !"
he muttered, angrily. "What if any one should find it ?
But, luckily, if they do, there is no clue by whicii they
will discover mo to be the writer. Well, 1 must write
another, that is all.''

He took a pencil from his pocket, tore a leaf out of his
tablet, and wrote a few lines. Then he consigned them
to Lem, with the caution :

" Be sure you do not lose it, nor let any one see you
deliver it. And this is for your trouble — and silence.
You understand ?"

*' Sartin, marse," said Lem, rolling up his eyes with a
volume of meaning ; and he pocketed with unfeigned de-
light the silver coin. " I'se duni', and nobody '11 see me
givin' Miss Christie dis — cotch a weasel asleep. '^

*' All right, then — push off," said Drummond, as with
a mind intensely relieved, he sprang up the bank, while
liis messenger set off for the island.

Meanwhile we must return to the parsonage.

Scarcely had Drummond gone, when Mrs. Courtney
entered, and took the seat he had just vacated, beside
Sybil. Noticing Captain Campbell only by a grave bow
— for the watchful eyes of her husband were upon her —
she entered into a low-toned conversation with Sybil.

" Ah ! she is growing careful ; that is a bad sign. I
must watch them more closely, now that they have be-
come guarded,'' thought Mr. Courtney, setting his teeth
hard.

And, while the captain remained, every word, every
look, every tone was watched, and perverted by the
jealous husband. Captain Campbell treated him with
cool contempt, and scarcely noticed him at all ; but Laura
watched him constantly from under her long eyelashes,
anxious and alarmed, as she noticed his ghastly face.

THE TEMPEST.

141

es,

*< Oh ! I wish Captain Campbell would go — I wish he
would go," thought Laura, looking uneasily out of the
window. " Heaven help Edgar I the man is mad ! "

Did some sweet instinct tell him her wish ? lie rose
that instant, to take his leave.

*^ And — oh ! by tiie way, Sybil," he said, suddenly, as
he was departing, " I came near forgetting I had an
epistle for you. This is it, I believe," he added, drawing
a note from his pocket, and going over to where she and
Laura sat.

"For me?" said Sybil, opening it. "Who from, I
wonder ? "

" Little Christie gave it to me as I was going."

"Christie?" cried Sybil, in a voice that made them
start, as her eyes ran eagerly over the lines. They were
as follows :

*' Dear Miss Sybil : I did not tell you all that night.
I have thought since I should have done so. When next
you visit the island, I shall reveal to you my secret ; for I
feel you have a right to know.

"Christie."

Pale with many emotions, Sybil leaned for a moment
against the window, without speaking.

" Well, Sybil, what awful revelation doea that tiny note
contain, to alarm jrou so ? " he asked, in surprise.

" Guy," she said, impetuously starting up. ** I must
visit the island to-day."

"The island ! Nonsense, Sybil ! " broke in Mrs. Brant-
well.

" I must — I must ! My business there will not admit
of delay. I must go ! "

"Why, what's wrong ? They seemed all well when I
left," said her brother, still more surprised.

Feeling it would not do to excite a curiosity she could
not satisfy, Sybil controlled her emotions, and said, more
calmly :

" They are well enough. It is not that ; but circum-
stances render it necessary I should go there to-day. Who
will take me over ? "

" If you wait for an hour or two, Carl Henley will be
here. I heard Mrs. Tom saying he would visit N to-

I !-^

HB I

fe I

],:

142

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

night, for things she wanted. If you must go, ho will take
you wlieu l»e returns."

" Very well ; I suppose that must do," said Sybil, con-
trolling her burning impatience by a great effort, as sho
hastily left tlie room.

And Captain Campbell, having made his adieux, also
departed, followed by Mrs. Brantwcll. Laura kept her
seat by tiie window, while her husband still scowled
gloomily from under his midnight brow.

"Well, this is certain^- pleasant," thought MrSo Court-
ney. '* What a prize I have drawn in the great matri-
monial lottery, to be sure. Ugh ! I declare, he looks
like a ghoul — a death's head — an ogre — a — I don't know
what, as he sits tliere, glaring at me in that hideous way.
Tliat man will be the death of me yet, I'm sure. Posi-
tively I must have committed some awful crime some time
or other, to be punished with such a husband. His mouth
looks as if it had been shut, and bolted, and locked, and
the key forever lost. I wonder if he could open it. I'll
see.

*' Ml . Courtney ! " she said, facing round.

An i> articulate "Well !" came growlingly forth from
the compressed mouth.

" Look pleasant, can't you ? I declare, the very sight
of you is enough to make one's blood run cold ! "

*' You would rather look at the gallant Captain Camp-
bell, perhaps ! " he said, with an evil sneer.

" Yes, I would then — there ! You don't see him wear-
ing such a diabolical, savage, cut-throat look as you do. I
wish to mercy you'd take him for a model, and not make
such a fright of yourself. I'm positively ashamed to pre-
sent you as my husband, of late — you have got to be such
a hideous-looking creature ! "

He gazed at her without speaking, until a circle of white
flamed around his eyes. And now that Laura's by no
means angelic temper was roused, there is no telling what
she would not have said, had not Mrs. Brantwell's voice
been heard at that moment at the head of the stairs,
calling :

'* Mrs. Courtney — Mrs. Courtney, I want you a mo-
ment."

Mrs. Courtney hastened from the room, and Mr. Court-
ney was left alone with his evil passions.

THE TEMPKST.

143

As she rose from licr scut, his eyu fell on somethini( like
a note iiiidcr her chair. lAkv. ji tiifer pouncinuj on hh pr^y,
ho sprang upon it, .seized it, o])eued it, read it, and crushed
it, convulsively, in liis huiid.

It was Willard Druniinond's lost note.

" This is hers ; she has droppeil it. lie <.':ave it to lier I "
said the unhappy man, his face growing' absolutely appal-
ling in its ghastly palloi-. '* Oh, 1 see it all — I see ii all !
1'liey dare not meet in da\ t iiiie, antl she will meet him
this night f>n Mk^ ido. My (iod ! 1 shall go mad ! Dis-
honored, disuraeed forever ! and hy the woman 1 have
loved so mailly. And she laughed, nioeked, and taunted
me to my fa(;e, with this in her possession I "

ilo ground his teeth, to kee{) hack the terrific groans
that were raising their way up tiirough his tortured heart.

And as if si'ut by an evil demon, Laura entert^d at that
moment, laughing merrily at some jest she had left he-
hind.

lie stood with his back to her, as if locdving ont of the
window.

'• And is this tlio woman I have loved — this vilest of her
sex, who dare laugh with such a crime in her soul I I
know now— oh! I know now why she did not go to the
island with him to-day. She thought to blind me, and
make me think she was not going at all, that I might bo
lulled into security, (lod's curses light on them both !"
came through his (deiiched teeth.

Little dreaming of the thoughts that were passing
through his mind, Laura — ever the creature of impulse —
forgetting her momentary anger, went over, and, laying
her hand on his arm, said :

'*' Come, Mr. Courtney, throw off this gloom, and he a
little as you used to be. There is no occasion for all this
anger, for I am not going to tlie island at all. You see I
have even given up my own sv.eet will to please you ; so
I think I deserve something in return for being so good.
])ou't ir'

He turned, and slie almost shrieked aloud at the awful
face she belield.

" Edgar I oh, Edgar I Great heaven ! do not look so
wild. I never meant to make vou so angrv. I will not
go — indeed, I will not go. Only speak to me, and not
wear that dreadful look ! "

144

THE QUEEiS OF THE ISLE.

Aiul, pjile, irembrn^, find terrified, she clung to his arm.
With iin Jiwfiil iiiidedictitjn, he hurhul lior from him, and
sent her reeling across tlie room. She struck against the
shar[) edge of tiie table, and fell to the ground, lier face
covered with blood.

But he he(Mi('<l her not. Seizing his hat and cloak, he
rushed from the house, as if driven by ten thousand furies.
And his face upturned to tiic light, was the face of a
demon.

Three hours later, a boat containing two persons put oft
for Camp'beirs Jsle. One wjis ;i rough iisher boy, half
sim})]eton — iialf idiot; the other a tall, dark man, wiio
sat in the stern, his hat drjiwn far down over his brow, the
collar of his cloak turned up, leaving nothing to be seen
but a pair of wild, black, nniniac eyes, that glared like
live coals with the lires of madness.

CHAPTER XIX

THAT DAY.

" The day is lowerinp:, stilly black
Sleeps the still wave."

*' Really, Sybil, my love, you are getting -^ a raost
singular girl. Two or three days ago you were all in the
dismals ; then, after the party, you got as amiable and
bright as a June morning ; and scarcely had you promised
to stay with me here for an indefinite length of time, and
I was congratulating myself on having secured you here,
when Guy brings you a tiny note from this little blue-eyed
island girl, Christie, and lo ! you arc off on the wing again,
and I am left to go moping about like a poor old hen
turkey with the distemper."

" But, my dear Mrs. 15rantwell," said Sybil, **you liave
Mrs. Courtney, who is twice as agreeable and lively a com-
panion as I am. It's a moral impossibility for you to go
moping around, as you say, when she is here."

*'0h, yes," said Mrs. Brantwell, "that's all very fine,
without being in the least consoling. I want you. Mrs.
Courtney's very lively and all that, I know ; but I invited
her here as much to keep you in spirits as anything else,
and now you fly off and leave us for my pains."

** I am very sorry, Mrs. Brantwell, to disturb your

THAT DAY.

145

amnsoTiieiits," said Syl)il, jl^tjivoIv ; *' but when I tell 3011
lliis jilTair i.s of tlie utmost iniportjinco to mo, and tliat my
lia})j>inc'sd, in a mcasiiro, (IojxmuIs iipitn my ^'oiii<;, I am
suru you will witii<liMw your ol)jc<!tions."

" V«»ur happiness ? Now, Syhil Camphell, I would just
like to kuow wiiat this island ;^^irl has irot to i\o witii your
happiness?'' said .Mrs. Hiantwell, I'oldiu^^ lier fat hunds
aiul looi\iu_!^' into Sy))irs face.

*' More than you would over think, perhaps — more than
I onee ever dreamed myself sin; wouhl have," said Syhd,
while a cloud fell over l)er hrow. '' Hut enough of this.
1 cannot exphiin further at present. The amount of it is
I nuist go to-night."

Aiul SyijiTs face assumed that look of steady decision it
could SOU', jtimes wear.

'* Hum})h ! Particularly mysterious all this. When do
you return ? "

''Tiuit depe ids ni)on circumstances. To-morrow, per-
haps."

*' Sybil, do you know what I think ? " said Mrs. Brant-
well, with such abrupt suddenness that the young girl
started.

'* Jso, indeed ; I do not pretend to divination," she said,
with a smile.

^' Shall I tell you?"

*' If you please. I am all attention."

''And you will not be angry with your old friend, who
talks for your good."

''Of course not. What in the world is this preface
about?"

And Sybil's large eyes were fixed surprisedly and un-
easily on the fair, llorid face of the matron.

"Well, then, Sybil, it's my opinion you're jealous of
some one,'^ said the old lady, with the air of one who had
nuule a discovery.

Sybil's dark face flushed and then grew very pale.

" And that's a very miserable feeling, my dear," said
IVIrs. Brantwell, composedly, " and also very foolish. No
sensible person ever gives way to it, because they only
bestow their aifections on those in whom they can place
implicit trust. Now, I hope you liave too much good
sense to fancy Mr. Drummond can care for any one in this
world more than you."

14G

TUF, QUKKN OF TlIF ISLF.

Sybil Silt wiMi lior fac-' averted ujul iiuido no reply.

*' I had too lii^li an opinion of yon, Sybil," went on tho
old l:uU% very <;ravoly, "to think yon could stooj) to !)0
jcMJons of any ont«. nnioh less an ij»si<»MirK'ant Utile ^irl
like tliis Christie. Don't, be ani;ry, my h>ve, I am talking
for yonr i;()od. y\n(l, indeed, yon have not the Bli^htest
eanso to fear a rival ; for, p;o wliere yon wi'l you cannot
iiiid one more pc'crh'ssly Ix'auliful tlian y()iir.s(>lf. 1 don't
say this to make yon vain — fhon^di I know yon. my (jueenly
darliui;-, could never be vain — but it is to inspire you with
i'onihience. (.yonu>, my dear ehihl, shake olf this feeling
that is unworthy of you. Mr. Dri'.nnnond, 1 feel assured,
has never for an instatit wavered in his fidelity to you.''

"Who said I was j.»!alous?'' said Sybil, passioiuiteiy.
** I am not. lie dare iu)t be false to me. Let him try it
at his peril. He knows 1 am not one to be trifled with."

" Why, my dear, your very velienu;nee convinees me of
"what 1 only susp^ eted before. I am afraid you will be
very unhappy, Sybil, if you indulge in sucdi feelings.
You ought to try and cultivate a more trusting spirit, my
dear; withoiit perfect faith in the person we love there
can be no happiness."

'' 1 do trust! J do trust ! I will trust I " said Sybil,
cleiudiing her snudl hand as though she would in like
mnniuM* shut out all doubt from her heart. "• lint, oh,
where we love, the faintest symptom of distrust i^ mad-
ness."

" Where Ave love truly wo feel no distrust, Sybil."

''Oh, you do not know. Do 1 not love truly ? Have
1 nt>t staked life and heart and happiness on him, and
yet

'' You doubt."

''>«o, ut) — not now. 1 did doubt, but that time has
gone," said Sybil, with a sort of incoherence.

•'Then wherefore thfs visit to the isle, Sybil ':*" said
Mrs. l^rantwell, lixing her eyes searehingly on her face.

Uefore Sybil could reply a souml, as if of a lieavy fall
belov , reached their ears.

" What can tluit be ? '' said Mrs. l^rantweir, starting up.

''It sounds like some one falling," said Sybil, listening,
breathlessly. " 1 will go down aiul see.'

She Hew down the long staircase, followed by Mrs.
Brantwell, And, on entering the room, there they found

TTFAT DAY.

147

lias

Mrs. Conrtney lying .slmisuIchs on tho floor, Iier face tlol-
ugod witii hlood.

"■ (Jreut licavcMH ! what lia.s liaj)])oiio(l ? " sjiid Syl)il,
turning faint und sick at tlie sight.

"Oh, 1 know," said Mrs. Urantwcll. wihlly, as she
Imrricfd forward and raised the sh-iKh^r, prostrate form.
*M)h, that demon of jcahtusy ! how many souls id it des-
tincii [() torture ? Syljil, ph'ase ling lh(! hell."

" I'ut what (h)es this mvuu ? I do not nndersland,"
said Sybil, as she; olicycd.

" Why, this poor tdiiid's Inishaiid is '-razy with jealousy
— I liave observ<'d it, though she tliongiit, I (ii(| not."

"Heaven i)t! merciful ! he cannot have struck her!"
said Syl)il, white with horror.

" Oil, I do ]iot know; l)ut jeido'isy will mak(^ a man
do anything — commit murder ; it has done it before now,
and will again. .Fetmy," she said, as the mulatto servant
entered, " tell 'I'om to go instantly for the doctor, and
th(;n come back and help me to carry this poor lady up-
stairs."

The alarmed girl flew to o})ey ; and, after despatching
the boy for the doctor, hurried back and aided Mrs.
J5rantwcll in conveying the slight form of Mrs. Courtney
to her room.

Then, with some tepid water, she waslied ofT the blood
and disclosed a deep gash right above the eye, which con-
tinued bleeding so i)rofusely as to awaken fears for her
life.

"Oh, 1 fear she will bleed to death ! Would that the
doctor were here!" said Mrs. IJrantwell, wringing her
ininds in deepest distress.

"And liere he is," said Sybil, as at that niomcTit the
doctor hastily entered.

After examining the wound the doctor pronounced it
dangerous, hut not fatal, Jind soon succeeded in stopping
the bleeding. And then the dark eyes of Laura opened
wildly, antf wandered with a vague, frightened look around.
"My poor child, what has hapi)encd ? " said Mrs!
Brantwell, bending over her, and parting the bright, dis-
ordered hair off her pale brow.

"Where is he?" she said, grasping Mrs. Brantwells
arm convulsively.

"Who, love ?" said Mrs. Brantwell, gently.

ift

148

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

SHH'

9B^Bh

1t| kIiiSS^

*' Oh, he — Mr. Courtney?" she said, in the same
frightened whisper.

" He ia gone dear. Did lie strike you ? "

**0h, no ! — no ! no !" slie cried, wihlly.

''I fell and
I am going

struck against something. Oh, my head !
crazy, I think."

** Hush, love ; you must not excite yourself. Lie still
and do not talk."

** I have been very wicked — very rash," she said ; " but
I did not mean it. Oh ! I never meant it — I never —
never meant it ! " she moaned, pressing her hands over
her heart.

'* My dearest child, I know it ; but it will hurt you to
talk so much,"

" Yes, yes ; I always did talk thoughtlessly, and it has
driven him mad. Oh ! I loved him once, and 1 have driven
him mad now," she cried, wringing her pale fingers.

Mrs. Brantwell looked at the puzzled doctor in deepest
distress.

*' Give her this ; it will compose her," said that gentle-
man, who could not tell what to make of all this.

** Drink this, love ; it will soothe you," said that good
lady, raising the poor, wounded head of the young wife
and holding the cup to her lips.

With the passive obedience of a child she complied, and
fell on her pillo\v. And gradually the wild, frenzied ex-
pression left her face, and she fell into a deep slumber.

** And now she must be kept very quiet," said the
doctor, as he took his hat and gloves. '' There is not the
slightest danger if she is not allowed to excite herself and
is carefully nursed, which I know she will be with Mrs.
Brantwell. Repeat the medicine when she wakes, and I
will call again to-morrow."

And the doctor bowed himself out, while Mrs. Brant-
well sat down beside the poor, pale sleeper, fanning her
gently and watching her while she slept.

Sybil, seeing her presence was not necessary, went down
to the parlor, where she found Willard Drummond await-
ing her. She started in alarm, for his countenance was
grave and deeply troubled.

" Why, Willard, what has happened ? " she asked, hur-
riedly, quick to take the alarm where he was concerned.

** Sybil," he said, slowly, ** I am obliged to leave you."

THAT DAY.

149

same

She tnriiod deadly pale, and lier large, dark eyes wore
fixed on bis face in agonized inquiry.

'^Scarce an honr ago 1 received a letter from home,'*
he went on, '^saying that my father was at the point of
death, and if I ever wished to see him again I must hasten
there imnicdiately. 1 have not a moment to lose. I start
instantly : but lirst 1 have come to take leave of you."

The news came so suddenly that for a moment she
seemed stunned.

" When do you return ?" she said in a voice faint with
emotion.

" Soon, I hope ; but I cannot as yet tell. Farewell,
my own dearest love; believe me, I will return to you as
soon as may be."

*' And you w'U write ?" she said, burying her face in
his shoulder.

" Certainly, Sybil, that will bo my first care. Remem-
ber me to our friends, and explain to them the cause of
this abrui)t departure. And now once more, adieu."

He pressed her to his heart and then quitted the house,
and, mounting his horse, rode rapidly away

Once he i)aused ami looked anxiously in the direction
of the isle. Ite thought of Christie receiving his note,
and waiting for him in vain at their lovely trysting place.

*'What will she think of my absence?" he mused;
*' for I know, poor faithful child, she will await my com-
ing there until morning dawns. What cause will she
assign for my not keeping my ap])ointment ? Well, 1
cannot help it. I dare not wait until morning, and she
will hear to-morrow whyl was absent."

And he rode on, never thinking whether Christie was
destined to live to see that eventful morrow dawn.

When he was gone, Sybil sat for a few moments with a
a feelinii; of utter desolation. She knew he was not to bo
gone long ; but it was their first parting, save the few
days she was absent in New York, and there was a dreary
sense of loneliness — a passionate longing to be with him,
to never leave him — fillijig her heart. With her hands
lying upon the table, and her head drop{)ed upon them,
she remained wdioUv nnconscious of the fliuht of time
until the entrance of Mrs. Brantwell aroused lier.

She lifted her head and tried to listen, as the good old
lady spoke of Laura.

150

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

** Slie li;is lijid ji quiol, sloop, jiiul now appears much
bctior. Hut how pale you are, Syl)il ! Aro you goiui^ to
l)u ill, too ?"

" No, 1 jini (piito well ; only it gavo ine such a Hlio(3k, it
was so sudden," said Sybil, pre.s.sin<^ her hands to iior
throbbino" brow.

" Yes ; I don't wonder at it," said ]\Irs. Brantwell,
tliinking the slionk she alluded to was the sudden sight of
Laur:!. " I came (olook for a sponge, and must go back
to Mrs. Courtney now.'^

She left the room, and Sybil went to the window and
looked out.

The afternoon wms w:ining — the sun was slowly sinking
toward the west, and Sybil saw, with some concern, that ii
dark, dense cloud was rising.

" There is a storm coming, and ]ierh!ips there may bo
no boat from the island, after all," she said, anxiously.
'' How can [ wait until to-mori(»w ? "

l^ut, even while she spoke, she es})ied the well-known
form of Carl Henley apjiroaehing the house.

Sybil si>rang to the bell and rang a peal that presently
brought .lenny.

'*,)enny, run down to the door and tell the boy you will
sec ])assing to come np here immediately," she said ex-
citedly.

denny disappeared, and soon returned with IVfaster
Carl, looking considerably amazed, not to say frightened,
at this unexpected sumn-.ons.

'* Carl, what time do you return to the island ?" asked
Sybil.

" Right off, soon's ever I get some tea and sugar and
coiTee and starch and things for Aunt Tom."

*' Will you take me over when you are going, Carl ?"

*' Yes'm, if you'll not be long getting ready ; 'cause
tbere's a storm a-comin', an^ no nuitter how hard 1 pull,
it'll be d.'U'k afore we get there." said Carl.

" I will be ready in live minutes, and wait for you on the
beach. 'J'hat will do," said Sybil, rising, to close the in-
terview.

Carl hurried out to fullil his commissions for Mrs. Tom,
and Sybil went to her room to dress and to take leave of
Mrs. Brantwell.

" Self-willed— self-willed ! " said the good old lady,

WHAT CAME NEXT.

151

Rorrowfully, .'is slie kissiMl licr. '^ W(!ll, ^ood-by, my love,
ivi'int'iiihrr I sliull expect you I);i('k to-morrow."

" And I sliiill ('.I'l'tjiiuly try not to (li.sapjxtiiit you," sjiid
Syl)il, ii.s slio quitted tlio room.

SliC! took lier \v:iy to the Iteiieh. \vlier(^ slio wjih soon
joined by Carl, wiio, mutteriiiii;' nn in;irtieubite Homc^lhin^
jibout Inivin;,^ ;i "stunner of ji st(nMn pretty soon," [)usbod
(AY and took th(^ oars, jind under liis ])rfictis('d hands the
hoat was soon Hying like u bird througii the sparkling
wt ves.

CHAPTER XX.

WTFAT CAMK NHXT.

" Aiul (III tlio miili)it;Iit air uroso
Tliat Hwt'iil (lyiti;: cry,
Tliiit <'r|i(M'i| llifon;,'li the loiioly liouse,
Vlliratiii^j to till' slcy."

The sky was rapidly dai-kening. The wind came wail-
ing witli a low, menaeirig sound over tho waters, 'i'he
sun sank rcnl, jiery and threateuing in tho far west, and
tlio s(3:irod water fowl went skimming over the tioublod
face of the bay, sending full, wild shrieks, as if to her.'dd
the coming storm. The darkened sea heaved and tossed
as if struggling with an inward foe, and the little boat
(piivered in evciT joint as it Hew over the glassy waves.

Sybil's eyes kindled as they surveyed the grand but ter-
rible beaut,y of the S(!ene. On the east, as far as the eye
eould see, spread out th(^ boundless, te?upestuous ocean;
on the west stretched a long line of coast, forming a sort
of semi-circle, lost ou on(^ side in the dense primeval forest
that as yet the woodman's ax had not desecrated, and on
the other jutting out in a wild, rocky promontory.
On the south was the island, which they were now ap-
proa(diing, looking a mere dark Fpeek in the vast and
mighty deep.

'^ If we don't Inive a screamer of a storm to-night, you
may say 1 don't know nothing 'bout the weather," said
Carl, pausing for a moment to wipe the perspiration off
his lieated brow, a.nd glance at the troubled face of the
deep, and darkening face of tlie sky — *'snch a one as we
ain't liad since the night me and Mr. Drummond and

1 <l-v

TIIM QUEKN OF THE ISLE.

TjOiu saved tlio man aiul woman wliat was washed ashore
from the wreck."

'* 'V\u\t Wits an awful ni<i[lit," said Syl)il, still keeping
hor kindliiijj^ eye lixed on the jjjloomy j^raiuleur of the sea
and sky, " but iiow splendid, jjow mai^nilieent, liow ^lori-
ons til is prospect is ! Oil ! I love a storm I 1 lov(^ tiie
<:;rand jubilee of the earth, when sea and wind and li^lit-
nini;; and storm all Join in the glorious hymn of the tem-
])est. Oh ! the niglils that I hav(^ spcntoii sea when noth-
ing was to be seen but the l)laek i>all of the heavens above,
rent every instant by forked lightning, wliile the crash of
the thniuler and the roar of the wind and waves mingled
together in the sublime refrain, and our ship went driving
on as if mad. Oh ! for those nights again I when my
very sonl was inspired by the nns[)eakable gloi'y of the
scene."

ller wild eyes shoncand Hashed lik<^ stars, and her cheeks
ilushed with ihe impetuosity with wiiich she s])oke. She
was not addressing Carl — she was not thinking of him ;
she did not even s(>e him ; her whole soul and heart and
mind were lilled with the ])resent scene and the remem-
briince of those she had beheld.

Carl stareil for an inst:int. at the wild girl, wondering if
she had goue mail, but Svbil recovered from her niomeii-
tary trance and asked quietly :

'* Oo you think we will reach the island before the storm
bursts ? "

*' Yes ; 1 guess so. We'll be there in 'bont ton minutes
now. Oh I by granny, here it comes."

A low. sullen rumbling, the herald of the coming storm,
M'as heard, and two large, heavy drops of rain fell ])atter-
ing on the thwart.

" Lor' sakes ! ef the squall comes now, we^ll go to the
])ottom for s:irtin," said Carl, pulling with t!ie energv of
desperation, iintil the perspiration stood in great glob-
ules on his brow.

But the storm, as if in pity for that frail bark and its
inmates, held up a few moments longer, and (-ari uttered
a yell of triumph as lie sliot into a little natural harbor,
sheltered by overhanging rocKs, immediately below the
Lodge.

'* Let the storm come ! " he cried, waving his cap in ex-
ultation, *• we're all rigiit as a trivet now."

r^'

■3t

WHAT CAME NliXT.

153

And as ho spoke his last words were lost in the roar of
the wind and se:i.

Safe and sheltered as it was in tlie little eove, tlie boat
quivered for an instiint like a reed in tlnj Ijhist before the
lii-sL furious crash of tlie storm. Had it burst uj)()ii tiieni
a fow nioMients sooner they wouhl instantaneously havo
been swaiujK'd. lUit Carl, bendin*; before the furious
gale, drove his stanch litlle craft ashore in triuin}»h, and
S])raii<^ out, followed by Sybil.

'IMie rain was falling heavily, and the wind blew so furi-
ously, driving it in her face, tiuit for tlie first nionicnt she
shrank back and was foi'ced to grasp a projcc^ting rock to
prevent herself from being blown backward. 'I'lic next
instant her dauntless spirit returned, and, raising her head,
she shook the rain from her drip|»ing hxtks and .sj)rang up
the rocks with I lie fearless agility of a young moniilain
kid until slu; stood at the door of Campbell's Lodge, her
ancestral home.

All the front of the house was dark and cheerless — for
Aunt !Moll never visited the front chambers when the
family was absent. Pushing open the hall door, which was
never locketl, Sybil, accustomed to the way, from ciirliest
childhood, passed through the hall to the door leading to
the kitchen, while the old house shook to its center and
every window rattled in the furious blast of the storm.
The very chimneys shook as though they would fall and
annihilate them, when Sybil o})ened tlie door, and, wet,
drip{)ing like a niernuud rising from the sea foam, stood
before her two astonished servants.

There W'as a bright lire roaring cheerily up the wide
chimney ; for, summer or winter, Aunt Moll insisted on
having a fire, .vud over this the affrighted old woman
crouched, mumbling strange prayers and invocations for
mercy, and fairly gray with terror. licm, little less alarmed,
sat in a remote corner, keeping his eyes tightly shut to
ex(dude the blinding glare of tlie vivid flashes of iightning.
At the sudden and st;irtling opening of the door boUi looked
np and beheld their young mistress, whom thcv sup-
posed safe at the parsonage, standing before tliem, her
wild, black hair streaming in disorder down her back.
Aunt Moll uttered a piercing shriek, and, springing to
her feet, rushed over and threw herself into Lem's arms
with the cry :

154

TlIK QTTKKX OF TUK ISLK.

'^ All, it.'rt SI c:<)s' ! it's a j^os' ! Oli, Ijcm ! sabe yor poor
olo iiiiuldcr I It 's our vouiii;- missus' gos'." Ami, tcrror-
Kl.rickt'u, Auul Moll cluiii;- slirickiiiL:^ to Loni, wlio stood,
un;il)l(' to si)e;ik, liis ti'cl li cluittcriui^ with (error.

Tho sccTKMVMSi SO ri(li(Mtl()us — Aunt Moll's lorror and
LcMu's fri«rl>t<MU'(| I'aco atul distciHlcd cyohjills — tliat^ Sybil,
throwini; herself into a seat, oould scarcely refrain from
lauiiliter.

At this Aunl^Ioll ee:ised her shrieks and looked n]),
a]id Tjimu looked at her in utter hewildcM'menl.

" It's our young .Miss Sybil herself, " venture<l Leni at
hisl.

" Why, of course it, is," snid Sybil, as soon as she could,
speak for biughttM-. " ('ome. Aunt Moll, I'm no nior(» of
a, i^bost than you are yourself. Don't look so terribly
af.'aid of me."

" Miss Sybil, is it you ?" snid Aunt ^l«dl, be*]^inning
cautiously to apjiroach and eyin.i;' her askance. " Well,
I 'dare to a'racious, if 1 didn't t'ink 't\v:is your gos'. Miss
Sybil," said Aunt Moll, drawing a (b'e]> breath. " What
could take you out sich a stormy night ? "

'• Carl Henley's boat brought me Ihm-c ; 1 wanted to see
>ou ami jjcm. Aunt Moll. And now, Lem, o-o and make a
lire in my bedroom to air it ; I am going to stay liere all
niii'ht."

'' S'pect you'll have to. Should like to know who could
go out ag'in dis night. Lor' a massy sakes I jist listen
to dat, Avill yer r' " said Aunt Moll, trembling and
shrinking, as aniUher furious blast made the old house
shake.

*^ Yes, it's a terrible niirht : heaven ^rant there mav be
no wrecks on the coast," said Sybil, thoughtfully.

''An' now, honev, when de tire's made in ver room,vev
must o-o up and take otf'n ver wet clothes, else \ou'll catch
your dv\X o' cole. An' I'll get yer supper, 'cause yer mus
"be hungry," said Aunt Moll, approaching the lireplace.

l^ut at that instant a vivid Hash of lightning blazed
down the wide chimnev, and old Moll sprang back with a
yell.

"■ Lor' ! who ebber did see de like o* dat ? S'pect it
fought it had me dat time, but 1 ain't cotched vet !"said
the old woman, quaking in terror.

*• Oh, don't mind, Aunt Moll ; I do not care for any-

WHAT (;A.MK NKXT.

155

ycr
itch

*t it
5uid

*:'4

1
it'')"'

-■■a

t
1

tliiii<;," fiiiid Syl)il ; '' and here comus Limii, so I will go to
my room."

'•'Oil, Miss Sybil, ni;iy I i;o, too ? 'Deed an' Mftnl, I is
'fe;irt'(l to stay \\v\'v !" siiid Aunt Moll, in t ruinblini; tonrs,
us slio iist('ii('(i to the ^o:l^iIl<^^ liowlin;^, shrii'kin;^ of tlitj
wild storni wil.lioiit.

♦* (Jcrtiiiiily, Aunt Moll ; if yon think yon will beany
safer with inc, yon uro welcome t(^ come. But your I rust
Bhould be plaecMJ in a Iliij^her i'owei'. lie who rnles the
storni alone ean hel]) you," said Sybil, gravely.

" Yes, NFiss Sy!)il, I knows all dat, an' 1 does trus' in
I'rovidenee ; I,.;^, '[)ears like I'd feel safer i^f I was with
you. Seems like de danger wouldn't bv. so near, noi' so
drelTul," said Aunt Afoll ; '' an' i allers was awfully akecreil
liglitnm .

** Very well ; eomo then,'' said Sybil.

And Aunt Moll, glad of the |)ermission, lit a eandhjjind
preceded Sybil through the hall and up the polished oaken
stairs at a shutlling trot — leaving Ijcm, nuich against his
will, sole possessor of the kitclien.

There was a bi'ight lire biirnijig in the hearth, which
the dam]), unused rooms required, I'endering tin; flicker-
ing tallow candle superlluoiis.

" Now, where are you going to sleep, Aunt Moll ?"
sai<^ Sybil.

'• Here on de floor, lioney ; I'll bring in do mattress an'
spread it liere afore dc lire."

Sybil assented to this arrangement ; and, lifting the
blind, seattMl herself by the window to wat(di the storm.
But Aunt Moll, coming in, lield up her hands in speech-
less terror at her hardihood.

'* Settin' at de winder, an' it a-lightnin' ! "shocxclaimod.
'' ]\liss Sybil, honey, dat's do mos' recklesses' t'ing to do
as eber was. Put down de curtain, chile, an' go to bed ;
it's a-tenipin' o' de Lor', dat ar."

" Tlierii's no (buigcr. Aunt ^roll," said Sybil; 'Mt is
just as safe here as in bed."

" ]^[\l it ain't, chile ; yon doesn't know. It's wrong
and likewise sinful to sit down ;i-lookin' atdcstorm," pc--
sisted the old woman.

But Sybil without l)ayiiig the sliglilest atf-ention, slill
sat gazing out ; whih; Aunt ^loll from entreating took to
scoldiug, which was likewise unheeded. J'ut at hist —

156

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

** Hold your tongno, Aunt Moll,'* stiid her young mis-
tress, ini})jitiently facing rouiul, tired of heuring the giir-
rulous old woniun. And at this unprecedented rebuke
Aunt Moll lay down before the lire in mortified silence.

Though burning with feverish im^)jiticnce to meet
Christie and learn what meaning lay couched in lier mys-
terious note, Svbil found herself forced to wait until morn-
ing. The storm seemed steadily increasing, the wind
raved wildly, sliaking every beam in the old house, and
the booming of the sea on the rocks was deafening.

Perhaps it was the wildly shrieking tempest, the ap-
palling crash of the angry elements, l)ut an unaccount-
able dejjression weighed on fSybil's spirits — a creeping
feeling of horror that no effort could shake off. She
strove to rouse herself — to reason herself out of the super-
stitious dread that was overwhelming her, but in vain.
A nameless terror had clutched her heart and would not
relax its hold.

And so the liours wore on and midnight approached.
And the storm without seemed to have shrieked and roared
and worn itself hoarse, and was at last relapsing into sullen
silence. U'he lire on the hearth was burning low and cast-
ing wild and fantastic shadows through the gloomy room.
Aunt Moll lay in that deep deathlike sleep which only those
of her race enjoy, and her deej) breathing sounded plainly
through the room. Exhausted with the excitement of the
storm and her own thoughts, Sybil rose and prepared her-
self for bed — hoping to lose in sleep the strange feeling
that was overpowering her. She lay down, but she wooed
the drowsy god in vain. Sleep would not come at her call.

A deathlike silence reigned within the old house, while
the storm without was still sullenly grumbling. It was
near midnight, and Sybil lay with her liands clasped over
her forehead, when suddenly she heard the front door burst
violently open ; and through the silent house arose the
wild, terrific, appalling shriek of '' Murder ! "

THAT NIGUT.

167

inis-

CHAPTER XXI.

THAT NHillT.

"Como madness ! coino with me, senseless Jenth I
I ciuinot siifTer this. Here, roclty wiill,
Scatter these bniins, or tlull them ! "

-De Mentfoiid.

About an hour before tlie storm burst u])on the island
Ed^ar Courtney, tlie victim of his own diabolical passions,
reached it, unseen and unobserved.

" You -will await niv return here," he said, as lie was
moving away. " I must be back in X before morning."

'' Don't know Mjout that," said the boy who had taken
him over ; '^ there's an awful storm rising ; but if you ain't
a-feared to venture I ain't."

Mr. Courtney glanced at the dark, sullen sky, but what
was the storm without compared with the storm within ?
Leave the island he must before morning, so he replied :

''I must go back, let it storm as it wilL You can re-
main here, sluiltered under these rooks, till I come back."

And, wrapping his cloak around him, he moved swiftly
away and concealed himself behind some overhanging trees
to await the result.

The spot where he stood commanded a view of the sea
on all sides. And, therefore, when, in the deepening gloom,
some hours after, he saw a boat ai)proach the isle contain-
ing the form of a woman, he had not a single doubt as to
who that woman was.

Oh, the demoniac look that his face wore at that instant !

His face upturned to the bleak light was that of a fiend.

Blinded by his passions, he did not observe, as in a

calmer moment he miglit have done, even in the gloom, the

difference between tliis tall figure and that of his wife.

He only saw a woman landing on the isle, springing up
the rocks and disappearing in the darkness ; and who
but Laura would have ventured to the isle that stormy
night ?

When the night fell in more than Egyi)tian darkness,
accompanied by wind and lightning and rain, he made his

168

THE QUEEX OF THE TSLE.

wjiy blindly throii^^h it nil to the trystinc^ phioo ; and, sliol-
turod behind ji I'lifiidly rock, lie crounlicd down like a
panther wailini;" for its j)rey.

'* She will ii()t('<)jn(! in this Htortn — she cannot; yon will
wait in vain,'' said the voice of reason, tryin,:,^ faintly to
make itself heai'd.

" Slio will conic I — she will !" said jealousv ; '* she has
braved the storm to come to the island, and thon^h iiro
shonid fall from heavrn she will keep her tryst. Wait !
wait I and you will have your revenge."

And the demon voice conquered.

Meantime, how went the night in the widow's cot ?

AVhen wet, dri[)ping, soaked through, Carl reached the
cottaue, his first care was to change his wet clothes and
seat himself at the table, where a smoking supper awaited
him.

Mrs. Tom held up her hands in wonder and amazement
when she heard that Sybil had braved all tliat furious
storm to come to the isle.

" The girl must be clean crazy ! " she ejacnlated, *' to
venture on the stormy sea in such a night. I do wonder,
thouii^h, what broufjjht Miss Svbil here to-nisjht."

'' Dunno," said Carl, speaking with his mouth full of
griddle cake ; ''she was talking sort o' crazy in the boat.
S'pect she thought that Mr. Drummond was here."

Cliristie, whose white fingers were, as usual, living busily
as slie plied her needle, suddenly fluslied to the temples,
anil then grew paler than before. She knew what had
brought Sybil to the island, though she had hardly fancied
she would have ventured out in such a storm.

'' Oh ! 1 wish it had been clear to-night," she thougiit,
lifting her head and listeniiig anxiously to the howling
tempest.

Lem, true to his ])romise, had faithfully delivered Drum-
mond's note to Christie unobserved. But would he como
in all this storm ?

Some vague rumor had reached her ear that Miss Camp-
bell, the beauty and heiress, was soon to be the bride of
Willard Drummond. She did not believe it — it was too
monstrous, too dreadful — the bare possibility of such a

THAT NIGHT.

169

((

ill of
boat.

nsily
)les,
had
ncied

;imp-
11 of
too
cli a

tiling \v:i8 m^ulllL'Ilill.!^^ IJiit Sybil lovecl him, iind ini;^ht
clicrisii lioix'S lliut cnuM never \)v rt'iiliztul ; and ("liri.sLio
felt it lier duty, des})it(3 iier promise, to put an end to all
tiiesc liopos oueo and forever by jirooiainiing tiieir luarriai^'e.
Therefore, she had seiz«'d the llrsl (tpj)<)i'lunity and sent
the note before meuti<»ned by (.'aptaiu Campbt 11.

By this time Carl Henley liad despaLched his supjier ;
and, lai)oriny under a vague impression tluit some one
■would i)e in presently to carry him otf by foree, as Mr.
Drummond had done on a previous occ^assion, he made a
liasly exit up the la<lder to bed, lirinly resolving not to go
out again, tliough AunlT'om should pull every hair out of
liis head.

And wheu he was gone Mrs. Tom, having secured the
windows anil doors, drew uplier wiu^el and sat down to s[)in.
And (Jiiristie, with cheeks Hushed and eyes bright with
anxiety autl impatience, sewed on in silence, replying
vaguely and at random to the stream of talk kept up by
]Mrs. T(jm.

There were many anxious thoughts ])assing through the
mind of the young girl. Why had Willard been absent for
so long a time — why had he appointed this s,trange mid-
night meeting — would he venture on the sea in.nigiit and
storm ? And if ho came, what would his visit and note
portend ? His matuur Jnid changed fo of late that, in
Sjiite of herself, the conviction tlnit he already repented of
his hasty nuirriage forced itself upon her with a pang like
the ])itterness of death.

" Oh, I might have known I" was her inward cry, ^' that
he, so rich, so handsome, possessing tlie love of one so
beautiful as Sybil Campbell, could never be content with
poor little mo. Oh, 1 might have known he would tire of
me ; but I was crazed, ;uid believed all he told me. Sonn>
thing vrarned me it would sooner or later come to this ;
but now that it has come, it does not make it anv easier to
bear."

•' Well," said the voice of Mrs. Tom, at this instant
breakiiig upon her rev«'rie — as she stopped lier wheel with
a jerk, and looked sharply into Christie's face — '' I would
like to know what's got into you to-night ? Here I've
asked vou three blessed times to hand me that there gownd,
an' you don't mind me no more tlian if I -was the cat.
S'pose it's the latest fashion not to answer your elders

III ■

it ,,

IGO

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

wlien they speak to you. "What is tlie matter with the
gal ? "

" I didn't hoar yon," faltered Christio, turning scarlet ;
*' Tuy liead aches. Please excuse me. .1 didn't mean to
offend."

'' Better go to bed, then, if your head aches. Time we
was all in bed for that matter. No use settin' up a-wastin,
of candles wl/en we can get up airly in the morning jist as
well: Gemini! Iioav it blows," said ^Nfrs. 'I'om, as she
slipped the bands off her wheel and carried it over to its
accustomed corner.

Clad of the permission, Christie arose and began arrang-
inir her bed in the wooden settle in the kitchen, where she
slept. And Mrs. Tom, who preferred sleeping by herself,
sought her own couch, where, by the combined effects of
a light heart and a clear conscience, slie was soon in the land
of dreams. Relieved of the presence of the inquisitive old
lady, Christie wrapped liersolf in her mantle, tied on her
liood and softly opened the door. The storm was at its
height, and the sudden entrance of a rush of wind and rain
sent all the loose articles lying about whirling through the
room.

It was awful to venture out in such a storm ; but had
the tempest raged twice as wildly the faithful, loving child-
wife would have braved it all to meet him she loved. Ex-
erting all her strength she closed the door after her with-
out arousing the sleepers, and quitted the house she was
destined never to enter more !

On — through the falling rain, the driving wind, the vivid
lightning — she plunged, making her way blindly through
it all. it was well she knew the road she was traversing,
and could pursue her way as well at midnight as at noon-
day, or she had never been .^-ble to follow that tortuous,
winding, rocky path.

lUit, shrinking and blinded by the rain, at times she was
forced to stop and cover her face in her mantle ; and anon,
as some more furious blast would have whirled her away as
though she had been a feather, she grasped some project-
ing rock or tree to prevent herself from being blown over
the crags ; but she toiled on to her destination.

" Will he be there ? " she said wildly. " Oh, if after all
he should not come ! To seems madness for me to expect
him in such a storm ; but if he should, it would never do

THAT NIGHT.

161

for me to be absent. Ob, saints in beaven, wliat liglit-
ning ! " sbe said, as, pale witb terror, sbe bid ber face in
ber bands.

But tbere was no time to pause — even now be migbt be
waiting for lier on tlie beacb ; and still on tlirougb nigbt
and rain and storm sbe pressed until at List, drenched,
dripping and totally exhausted, sbe gained the wet, slippery
beach.

Half dead witb cold and exbanstion, slie sank on a rock
and cowered bcneatb the pitiless blast. The dull booming
of the waves sent a thrill of nameless awe and horror into
ber very soul.

She could not long sit tliere exposed to tbe peltings of
tbe storm ; so, wrapping ber mantle still more closely
arou'id ber, sbe rose with a sbiver and strove to i)ierce
tbrougb tbe thick darkness in searcli of that loved
form.

In vain ! Tbe gloom of Hades could not be deeper than
tbat wbicb enveloped every object. But at tbat instant
tbere came a tlasli of lightning, illuminating for a single
moment, witb a blue, unearthly glare, the bleak, slippery
shingle, and revealing the black, heaving sea, with its
foam-crested billows. Nothing more I As far as she
could strain ber eyes, no living thing but berself stood on
tbe sbore.

" Ob, why does be not come ? " wjis ber beart's agonized
cry ; *'docs be not know, in spite of storm and tempest, I
am awaitins: him here I"

Another tlasli of lightning ! revealing tbe dark, deserted
beacb, the wildly sbrieki\g ocean, and a pair of gleaming,
serpent-like eyes, watching from behind a rock — revealing
tbe sligbt, delicate form of a female standing alone on the
sbore.

"Oh, be will not come! I know it! Shall I stay
bere longer, or shall I go home ?" thougbt Christie, in an
agony of doubt.

Still another blue, lurid blaze of flame ! And now,
looking up, sbe uttered a cry of joy ; for tbe tall figure of
a man, wrapped in a cloak, was seen descending the rocks,
coming toward ber.

"Ob, be is bere ! be is bere!"was ber joyful cry.
" Dearest, dearest Willard ! I knew yon would come!"
And, springing forward, sbe tbrew herself into bis arms.

•ii

162

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

strange

He did not speak — he did not move — only he drew a
step back and folded his arms over his breast.

*• Dearest Wilhird ! I feared you would not come ; but
oh, 1 am so ghid you are with me once more ! " And her
encircling arms chisped him closer, wliile her sunny liead
sank on his breast.

With the storm within and the storm without, he heard
not, heeded not, the name of Wilhird. But another flash
of heaven's fire showed him a sliglit, slender form, with
the shining golden hair of his faithless wife.

And now, for the first time, she noticed his
silence, and lifted her sweet face in surprise, saying

'' Wliat is the matter ? Why do you not speak to me ?
What have I done ? Oh, I am so sorry if I have angered
you. What, what have I done ? Oh, indeed, I love you
more than life ! "

His teeth closed together with a galvanic snap, his eyes
were like two living coals set in a ghastly skull, and his
hand clutched sometliiug within the folds of his cloak
with a convulsive grasp.

And still she clung to him, and still he maintained that
strange silence.

*' Tell me what I have done ! Speak to me or I shall
die ! " she cried out in anguish and terror. *' Oh, indeed,
I love you better than any one in the world ! I would
die sooner than offend you."

^' Die then," fairly shrieked the maddened man ; " die,
since your own lips have proclaimed your guilt ! " And,
clutching her fiercely by the throat, he plunged the hid-
den knife into her side.

One piercing, terrific shriek, and she sank writhing,
quivering at his foot in mortal agony. And the wretched
maniac above her, unable to move or think, with distend-
ing eyeballs, glazing eyes — his ghastly face like that of
the <lead — his trembling hands rod with her life blood —
stood rooted to the ground, caring not, feeling not the
furious storm now.

Was she dead ? Would that wild, appalling shriek be
repeated ? He listened, palsied with horror. Naught
met his ear but the shrieking of the wnrring elements.

Just at that instant tliore came a blaze of lightning, as
though heaven and earth were on fire, and he beheld that
little, childlike form lying stiff and rigid at his feet, the

THAT NIGHT.

163

Id—

the

Ight

as
Ihut
the

head fallen back, tlie blue lips parted, as if from them
the quivering ccul luid taken its flight ; the arms lying
limp and lifeless by her side ; the bright, golden hair half
shading the cold, beautiful face on which the pitiless rain
wildly beat.

All his jealousy, his hatred, passed away with that
pitiful sight ; and the passionate love, the adoring wor-
ship his heart had once felt for her returned like a swell-
ing flood. The memory of the time when she had left
home and friends and all to fly with him — when she had
first been his loved and loving bride — bright, hap])y and
beautiful — came back in overwhelming force. And now
she was dead — dead by his hand !

'* Oh, my God I my God ! what have I done ? Oh,
my wife ! my wife ! my beautiful, murdered Laura ! Oh,
what have I done ? My love, speak — look up I live for
me once more ! Oh, she is dead, and I am her mur-
derer ! " And with a shriek of agony the wretched man
fell prone on his face beside her.

}3ut now there came another sound more terrible than
all else. Swollen by the heavy rain, the sea was rising on
the island.

With the roar of a beast of prey the furious waves lasli-
ing themselves into foam, ruslied upon the shore. It re-
called the miserable assassin from his frenzy of despair ;
arid, with the instinct of self-preservation that never
deserts us wliile life remains, he seized the cold, stark
form and flew wildly up the beach.

But just then — had the infernal regions yielded up their
hosts to pursue him ? — a human form, wearing the figure
of a woman, revealed by the quick flashes of lightning,
came flying toward him, lier uncovered hair streaming in
the gale — her wild eyes glaring with the fires of madness.

Her eyes fell upon him and his bleeding burden at the
same instant ; and, throwing up her arms, with a picr(;ing
cry of " Murder ! murder ! " that pealed high above the
raging of the storm, she fled in the direction of Oanjp-
bell's Lodge.

That appalling cry, that awful apparition, drove the
last spark of reason from his maddening brain. With a
perfect yell of tei'ror he flung his lifeless burden on the
rocks and fled, as if pursued by the avenger of blood,
from the spot.

1 1

prPT"

■ ' ' t

!'!;

'■ i -

\i I

164

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

CHAPTER XXII.

NEXT MOKXIXG.

" Between the enacting of a dreadful deed
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like the phantasma of a hideous dream."

—Shakespeare.

With blood on liis hands, with liorror, insanity and
wildest woe in his eyes ; and, oh, worse, far worse ! witii
the dreadful mark of Cain branded indelibly on his brow,
the wretched man fled — hating himself, his crime, the
earth and heaven — only longing to fly far away, where
human eyes would never more behold him, clutching his
breast with his pale, talon-like fingers, as if to tear hence
liis insufferable agony and remorse.

On he went — flying over rocks, and chasms, and up-
rooted trees — on, on, still on, unable to stop. The waves
were wildly, madly cannonading against the banks, as if
they would tear their way to where he stood and boldly
engulf him ; but he heard nothing, save that ujiearthly
cry of " Murder ! " saw nothing but the cold, still face
and lifeless form of his murdered wife.

Panting, tottering, exhausted, he fell heavily at last
on the ground — shuddering, gasping, collapsed. The
deafening roar of the waves still rising and booming on
the beach, the crash of the thunder, the wild discord of
the raging elements were serenest music, compared with
the tumult, the terror and tlie unspeakable horror filling
his soul. 'MVhat have I done? — wliat have I done?"
was the cry that still rived its way up through his tor-
tured heart. And the wind and waves, in their terrific
uproar, seemed answering the cry with '^Murder! mur-
der ! "

Midnight approached, and the storm began to abate,
the rain ceased to fall, and the mighty waters began sul-
lenly retreating from the shore.

But still the stricken man lay prone on tlie ground,
dead to everything above, around, about him, with that
gnawing, unutterable remorse at his heart.

NEXT MORNING.

165

■1 '

Another hour waned. The clouds rolled away, the
lightning had ceased, the wind abated its fury, and the
troubled, heaving waves were slowly calming down.
And suddenly froin behind a cloud broke forth the moon
— brightly, gloriously, grandly shedding htr soft, silvery
radiance over sea and land.

For the first time the murderer ventured to look up.
Morning was near at hand, and must not find him at the
scene of the tragedy.

''What is to be done next?" was the thought that
arose through all the distracting rush of grief, horror
and remorse. '' She will be missed ; and if 1 j)m found

here, I will be taken for the murderer and "' And a

shuddering spasm closed the sentence.

He rose to his feet, but tottered so he could hardly
walk ; and, as if horrified by some uncontrollable impulse,
took the road leading to the beach.

lie reached the spot where, in his wild impulse of terror,
he had dropped the body ; but far beyond that the waves
had risen, and the lifeless form was gone — swept away by
the boiling waters.

A groan, so deep and hollow that it seemed rending
his very heart, broke from his lips at the sight — his mur-
dered Laura had found a grave in the boundless sea.

A footstep behind met his ear, and in terror he turned
to fly ; but seeing only the half-witted boy who had
brought him over, he restrained himself and stood still.

Even through the dull mist of his clouded brain the
ghastly face before him struck terror to the boy's soul.
And well it might ; for with that white, deathlike face,
branded with a look of unutterable horror ; those ashen
lips ; sunken, colhipsed cheeks ; glazing eyes, shudder-
ing form and trembling hands, he looked like a corpse
galvanized for a. moine.it into a hideous semblance of life.

The words he had been about to say died away on the
boy's lips ; and with distended mouth, and eyes all agapo
with surprise and fear, he stared at him in stupid bewilder-
ment.

" Well ? " came at length from Courtney's lips, in a
voice so hollow that it seemed to issue from an empty
coffin.

''What's the matter?" said the boy, "frightened by
the storm ? "

lll-i

166

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

morning breaks ? " he

" What do you want ? " again came in deep, husky
tones from his livid lips.

'* Wliy, you said you wanted to get back afore morning,
and I reckon we can start now. The sea runs pretty high
yet, but I guess there ain't no danger."

Like a man in u, dream, Courtney passed his hand across
his brow, as though to clear away a cloud. Again self-
preservation, " the first law of nature," rose before him,
overcoming every other feeling. His eyes wandered me-
chanically to the fatal spot, and he turned away witli a
shudder.

*' Can we reach N before

asked.

*' I reckon so," was the answer, " if we start now."

'' Do you think there is any danger ? "

" Don't think there is ; you'll be apt to be seasick,
though," siud the boy ; " waves run pooty high ; bnt what
makes you speak so hoarse and look so scared, as if you'd
seed a ghost ? P'r'aps you did, too ; they say there's one
up in that old house there."

'* Let us go," said Courtney, unheeding his words, as
he folded his cloak closer around him, and started in the
direction of the boat.

The boy shuffled after him to where the boat now lay
high and dry on the strand, requiring the united efforts
of both to launch her into the water.

'^ Precious hard time I had of it all night in the
storm," said the lud, as he took the oars; *'got
soaked right through ; and, by golly ! if there wasn't
some thunder ! I never wants to be out such a night
again."

The boat was pitching and tossing wildly on the heaving
waves, threatening each moment to capsize ; but Courtney,
lost to all sense of personal danger, sat striving to dispel
the cloud of horror and remorse from his mind, and
answer the momentous question: **What is to be done
next ?" His wife would assuredly be missed. How was
her sudden disappearance to be accounted for ? It seemed
probable that none but Captain Campbell knew of her in-
tended visit to tlie isle, save the boy who had brougiit her
over ; and, in waiting on the dark, dangerous beach, in
such a wild tempest — with the advancing tide rising on
the shore — what would be more natural than that she had

NEXT MORNING.

107

been accidentally overtaken and swept away by the rapid
rising of the waves ?

The mist was passing away from his mind, liis burning
fever of excitement was abated by the cool sea breeze, and
every faculty, preternaturally sharpened by the fear of
being discovered as a murderer, was at work. Of the
stupid lad who had brought him to the island he felt no
fear. Before the coming day's sun had set he would, in
all probability, have forgotten all about it, and none else
knew of the visit. He would endeavor to hide all traces
of guilt, and be the most zealous in the search after the
lost one. Perhaps, too, suspicion might fasten on Captain
Campbell, and then how amply would he be revenged !
He thought of the note appointing the meeting, and felt
in his pockets for it, but it was gone. No matter ; so
that he himself was not criminated, it mattered not.

Then came another thought : How was he to account
for his absence during the night ? It seemed scarcely
probable that his wife had told any of the inmates of the
parsonage of their angry parting and his brutal blow —
she had too much pride for that —and they could easily be
made to believe that sudden business had called him away.
Doubtless, they would think it strange he had not told
them before going ; but as he had already acquired a
character for eccentricity from his gloomy reserve, it would
readily be set down to that. He had business at Wcstport
— he would go there — remain for some hours, and return
to N before night.

His plans, thus rapidly arranged, he proceeded to carry
immediately into execution. Lifting liis head he said,
briefly :

" I have changed my mind. I will not go to Newport.
Take me to Westport."

Regarding him for a moment with his customary vacant
stare, the boy, without a word, turned the boat in the
direction indicated.

The rising sun was reddening the orient before they
reached Westport. And Edgar Courtney, having paid the
bov, dismissed him, and sauntered about the town until
the business of the day would begin.

Gradually the streets began to fill ; men on their way
to their daily labor passed him in groups, now and then
stopping to gaze in wonder at the tall, muffled figure,

rr^

r ■

fi '

168

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

pacing through the streets as though lie were hastening
for life or death. He noticed this scrutiny at last, and
slackened his rapid strides, muttering inwardly :

*^ This will never do. I must not allow my feelings to
carry me away thus. I must be calm, or I may be sus-
pected. Nothing but coolness will save me now.''

Turning down the collar of his cloak, and pushing up
his hat, that the cool morning air might fan his feverish
brow, he turned in the direction of the Westport House.

The door had just been opened, and the rooms had that
dreary, uncomfortable look large lonely rooms always wear
in the gray dawn of the morning. A yawning waiter, half
asleep, passed him, staring with lack-luster eyes, as though
he had seen a ghost, and a slipshod, frizzle-headed
chamber-maid uttered a faint scream as her eyes fell on
his haggard face and v/et garments.

" Let me have a private room immediately," was his
command to the waiter.

**Yes, sir; this way, sir," said the man, recovering
from his surprise at the entrance of so strange-looking an
individual.

He ushered him into a neat, comfortably furnished
room, and Courtney threw himself into a chair, and said :

'^ Light a fire here, and bring me up a cigar and a cup
of strong coffee."

'*A fire, sir ?" said the waiter, surprised at such a
demand in summer.

*' Yes, sir, a fire ; did I not speak plainly enough ?"
said Courtney, in a tone that sent the man hastily from
the room.

With his garments soaked through, he began to feel
cold and chilled ; though in the fever of his mind, up to
the present, he had not observed it. A fire was soon
kindled, and spreading his cloak and outer clothes before
it to dry, he threw himself on his bed to try and lose the
maddening recollection of the past night in sleep.

Totally exhausted by fatigue and excitement, he suc-
ceeded at last, but only to react over again in his dreams
the catastrophe of tlie preceding hours. Again he saw
the lifeless form of his murdered wife Ivin^ stark and
rigid at his feet ; then would flit before his horror-stricken
gaze the ghostly apparition of the isle, with its wild,
terrific shriek of " Murder ! " then the gallows, the coffin,

I !

NEXT MORNING.

169

the hangman, with all the fearful paraphernalia of the
felon's death, would rise in ghastly array before his dis-
torted imagination ; he could feel the very rope encircling
his neck, and by some strange contradiction, his wife,
bright, beautiful and happy as he had first known her,
stood smilingly adjusting it, and stranger still, he folt no
Bur])rise at seeing her there ; he heard the fatal signal
given, the drop sliding from beneath his feet, and with a
shriek of terror he sprang up out of bed, tlie cold per-
spiration starting out from every pore.

*^ Great heaven ! am I never to lose tlie recollection of
that last fearful night, and my more awful crime ? Oh,
for the fabled waters of Jjctho to drown recollection !
Must I forever go through the world with this mark of
Cain — this red-hot brand of murd(>r on my face as well as
on my soul ? Saints in heaven I should this dream j)rove
true ! "

The guilty man paused, while his whole frame shook
and his teeth chattered as though he had the ague.

''And yet it need not, unless this paltry cowardice of
mine betrays me," he again cried, starting wildly up tind
pacing through the room. " Jlow many murderers walk
in the open sunshine, in the broad face of day, through
the very heart of our most crowded cities, with impunity I
It only requires nerve, couraue, boldness, to face the
worst, and I can defy Satan liimself and all his hosts.
Others have committed murder before me without any
provocation to excuse them, and it troubled them not.
Why, then, should I, who only acted in vindication of my
wounded honor ? — and if ever murder is excusable, surely
it was in my case. AVhy should I tremble, and shrink
from my very shadow ? Courage, coward soul ! These
dreams and phantoms of a disordered brain will ])ass away
w^itli time. When this affair in some degree blows over, I
will hasten to London — to Paris, and in the excitement
and turmoil of a great city forget the miserable past.
Courage, Edgar Courtney ! Thou hast begun a des})erate
game, and all thy boldness is required to carry thee
through ! Yes, I will })ut a bold face on it, and dare the
worst. And now, Satan — for on thee alone dare I call
now — help me in this extremity, if never thou didst help
me before ! "

He paused before the glass with clenched hands and

170

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

ii.

) ,

I '

; ')!'

M I

Mi 1

1:-!

teeth, and almost sturtcMl to see the wild, fierce look his
gliustly face wore. IJi.s long elf locks fell in wild dis-
order over his face and neck, and adtled to the haggard
pallor of his countenance.

"This craven face will never do," he said; *' I must
compose it. And this disheveled hair must not Ining thug
disordered. Shii used to twine it round her fingers once,"
he said, the look of agonizing sorrow and remorse coming
back ; " init that time long ago |)Mssed away. I must not
think oT it more — let me ojily think of this man for whose
love she forgot she was already a wife.^'

The thought did bring a sort of fierce composure.
Brushing back the heavy black hair off his face and brow,
he threw on his now dry cloak, lit one of the cigars that
lay on the table, and then rang a peal that presently
brought up one of the servants. When the man entered
Coiirlney was lying back in tlie pillowy depths of a
lounging chair, ins feet extended to the fire, looking as ho
sinoked, or rather trying to look, tlie very picture of non-
chalance. It was a miserable failure after all — as tho
wildly gleaming eyes still testified.

*' Breakfast," he said, briefly, to the bowing waiter.

" Yes, sir — what will you please to have, sir ?"

*' Anything — coffee — waffles. I don't care what, only
be quick I "

The man disappeared, and presently returned with
fragrant coffee, delicious waffles and eggs.

Courtney seated himself at the table, and drank cup
after cup of the strong coffee ; but the first morsel he
attempted to swallow seemed to choke him.

The grateful beverage soothed his excited nerves more
speedily than all his reasoning and philosophy had done.

Drawing out his watch and perceiving it was after ten,
he arose, put on his hat, and having settled his bill, was
about to leave the house, when he was suddenly con-
fronted by Captain Guy Campbell, who came running up
the outer steps, laughing at something that had occurred
outside.

For one moment the guilty soul of Courtney quailed be-
fore the bold, bright glance of the young captain's eye.
For one moment only ; the next, he looked up and met
his gaze with one of deep, sullen hate.

Touching his hat coldly, the young captain passed on,

NEXT MORNING.

171

anil Courtney emerged into the Htrcei, isl] his fierce hatred
and jealousy returning uith fourfold hitlerness at the
thought of the contrast between tlicni — he himself so
ghastly, so pallid, so haggard, and this lover of his dead
wife so handsome, dashing and careless.

*^ Heaven's worse curses forever light upon him!'' he
liisscd, liercoly. "That he — he who has caused me to do
what I have done — should be ha})})y, llattercd and beloved,
while I, whom he drove to madness, should be doomed to
a life of torture I They tell us of hell ; though J doubted
its existence once, I do so no longer, for 1 feel already
some of its torments."

And any one seeing the demoniiic look his face wore,
would not have doubted liis words at tluit instant. En-
tering a livery stable, he hired a horse and gig, and imme-
diately started in the direction of Newport.

He dreaded the coming scone, and the false part ho
would have to act in it ; and yet, as if impelled by some in-
ward power, over which he luid no control, he whipped
and lashed the liorse in a sort of frenzy of impatience to be
there. On he Hew, his horse foaming and rooking with
sweat — houses, people, streets, passing with the velocity
of a dream, and yet all too slow for the burning, numiac
impatience that was consuming him.

He reached N , and consigning his panting horse to

the care of an innkeeper, within half a mile of the par-
sonage, he set out for it at a rapid walk. Ten minutes
brought him to it, and in spite of his haste, he paused, as
its sober, gray front and green window shutters rose before
him, while a vague thrill of nameless terror shot through
him.

It was no time to hesitate now ; the worst must be faced
at once. Drawing his breath in hard, he approaidied the
door and rang.

The summons was answered by Jenny. As he passed
into the hall, he encountered ]\trs. I>riintwell coming down
stairs. That good lady's i)leasant, cheery face wore a look
of unusual gravity as she greeted him, that for a moment
startled him out of his composure.

** It is my wish to see my wife, madam," he managed to
say, while every word seemed choking him.

*' Your wife is in the parlor, Mr. Courtney," said Mrs.
Brantwell, gravely, as she held open the door for him to

179

THE QUKEX OF THE ISLE.

enter — ascribing liis cvitlont agitation to a far ilifTercnt
cause.

For one moment, liin wild mjiniac eyes were riveted upon
her witii a lool< that actually terrified tlie good minister's
wife. Keeling unsteadily, us tliough he had been auddeidy
Btruck a violent blow, ho passed lier and entered the
parlor.

And there before him on the sofa, supported by pillows,
lier little pale face looking out from its masses of lloating,
golden Jiair, with a look of beseeeliing entreaty to ))v for-
given, Ijiy she whom lie supposed buried forever under the
wild waves. For an instant, he stood paralyzed, speecli-
less, with ashen face ami <lilatinfj ^'ves. And then thehisfc
glimpse of hope jind reason lied ; and with a terrific cry
that froze the life blood of the hearers, the wretched nnm
fell senseless on the floor.

CIIAPTKJl XXIII.

MORNIXG IN THE IST.AXD.

" And she was {rone, and yet tliey breathed,
Hut not the breath of human life —
A serpent round eacli heart was wreathed,
And stung tlieir every thought to strife'"

—Byron.

And how dawned that morn on CampbelTs Lodge ?
How on the widow's cot ?

With that appalling shriek that most terrible of all
cries, that unearthly scream of "'Murder!" ringing in
her ears, Sybil sprang from her sleepless couch, and
while her very lieart thrilled with horror, waited for what
was to come next.

Through the lonely, silent old house it echoed and re-
echoed like a knell of doom, but it was not repeated. She
could hear the wild wind rushing through the open door,
awakening strange, ghostly noises through the high, empty
rooms, but nothing else.

What had happened ? What was to be done ? Was it
only fancy ? Had she been dreaming, and was that cry of
*' Murder ! " only a delusion after all ?

"No, it could not be ; for just as she was beginning to
think it was only the effect of fancy, she distinctly heard

MORNING IN tup: ISLAND.

173

footsteps flying up the stairs — a light, fleet step that panscd
at her own door.

There it li!ilt(Ml, and Sybil's lieart stood still. It was but
for an instatit, then tiic same piercing cry of *' Murder I "
rang througli the lonely house once more, the (juick, ligh!:
footstep fled down the loiig, winding staircase a.Lrain, ])a.ssed
tiirougli tlie eciioiiig hall l)elo\v, and tiien the large, heavy
front door was slammed to with a violence thai made tho
old house shake, and all was again })rofoundly still.

in one instant, all tho wild, ghostlv legends she had
ever heard of the old numsion rushed through Sybil's mind.
Heaven of heavens ! could this be the spirit of some mur-
dered victim, returning from its bloody grave to seek for
retribution on its murderer ? Sybil Campbell, naturally
brave, and come of a daring race, was yet, as we know, super-
stitious ; and the terror that mortal man could never havo
inspired, tilled her very soul at the thought. Shaking as
with an ague lit, for an instant she crouched upon tho
floor, her face liidden in her hands, while memory recalled
the tale she had once heard of a woman stabbed by
one of her dark, tierce forefathers in that very house, whoso
restless spirit (the legend ran) came when the storm was
wildest, and the furious tempest at its height, from her
troubled tomb among the heaving waves, to pronounce
woe on her murderer and on his descendants.

How long she sat, she knew not ; but the sound of tho
old clock below, striking in deep, sonorous tones, that
echoed startlingly througli the silent house, ''One ! Two !
Three ! " recalled her once more to life.

That earthly sound brought her once more to herself.
She raised her head and looked wildly around. Aunt .Moll
lay near her, breathing heavily, and sleeping the deep,
dreamless, deathlike sleep that seems peculiar to the chil-
dren of Africa. The consciousness of companionship —
even though that companion was but a poor, helpless, old
negress — brought renewed courage. Rising, and half
ashamed of her superstitious fears, she walked to the win-
dow and looked out.

The storm had passed away, and the moon was shining
brightly, lighting up with her calm, pale radiance what
had so lately been p scene of deepest darkness and wildest
storm. Her eyes wandered over the island ; all there was
still and serene. From theuce they strayed out over the

{■

174

THK QIM^KN OK TUK ISI.K.

houiullesM s(\'». iin«l su<](l(Mily vrslct] on ;m ohjcci IIimI ItMii-
isluMl all l\>ars of supernal mal visitoi's. and bronghl wil li
il a new alarm.

ll \va^ a liital a lM>a< (lial had ('\id<MitIy ju^l |>nl o(T
from lluM^li\ and \vas ra|MtlIy disappcarin,", in 1Im> di^-
lan(M\

ll h(dd ImiI I\v<> |>(>rs<>nM slic conld s(m> thai — l)ul wlial,
nu^uil I his n\idnii:hl vi^it. in darknrsM nnd slorin. lo
that hniidy ish^ : What IcrrihlcMlccd. nnih'r cover of ni;^h(,
and t(Mnp<>';|. had Immmi ]>erp(>l ralcMl ihis ni",ht ?

S\\o oan-'Jit herh)-(>ath (pii<dv and short, hnl tn>\v !hat,
sh(^ fi\)r(Ml onlyoarihly dan<vers ami carlhlv foes. ther(»
i\'uno\vilh t liis diseovtM'V a (h>ep hroathof relief. Sonio
ono iniu'hl si ill i>(M'nn(N>a](>d in the honsi* — somt* om> who
in«lnlu«M! in tlu^ popular helief that iherc^ was money eon-
(H\d(Ml in it S(>mowhere, Tlnu'e was m> time to hesilale ;
the house nin-:! h(> sean^hiMl. liCm must h(» aroused to
assist in il. llesh^pt in t h(M>p]>osiUMvine" of t luHuiiidiui;',
ami snpp(>sirii:' any omMohe (M>ne(^aled in theemptv rooms,
tlu^ joni'n(>y was a lia/ardous om* ; hut. it oonhj in)t. ho
avi-iidc^l. Syhil urow <|n"ito oalm in lht» faeiM^f this uvw
danj:<M'. ami stooping, she shook .Vuut Moll hy llie shoulder
to arouse^ inM\

A d(H^p ernnt. as the v«leeper turned over and fell inio a
deeper s!(^(^p than l^efi^'e. rewarded luu' (^xtM'tions.

*' .Vunt Moll. wak(^ ! Wake, 1 say ! TIumm^ arc* p(M)ph)
in t he li(V(iS(\" said S\hil. in an anxious whisper, as sho
jihook her uhu-e viohmtly than h«M'or(\ " ()h. heavcMis !
what shall 1 (\o ? Aunt Moll, wakt^ ! w.ake ! Do you want
to bo murdered in vour hed ? " cried Syhil. pivino: lu>r ji
shake that might have aroused the seven sltH^piU's,

" Uar. Lem — dar ! Pon't shake y(M' old mammy, (hit's
a good ehile : "tain'l 'speetful. nor likewise — " here tho
sleeper \vent otV. muttering an ineo;n]>rehensihlo somo-
thiniT. ami still, still "far wi(h\"

There was no time
to wake A'lnt Moll.

to 1

ose

-it was fruitless labor sookinir

Seizing a lamp, she nastily struc

'k a

lieht.and hastened out into tlu^ windy hall, iiausing for
an instant nt theheatl of tho h>ng. bhudv staircase, to listen
ore sho ventiired further.

Tho silence of the grave still reigned. Xothing mot
her oar bnt tho faint echo of her own liglit footsto|

IS.

Like a shadov, she iiitted down the dark, ciieerless

MOUNIJSKi IN 'IMIK IS(.ANI).

175

3
10

III

BtMlrcMMc, tliroii^li lliolowor liull inloMio kitclicii, jirxHioro

Tlic Milv<"r r?i()(Mi wmm rxtiirini; ft flood of lirrlif- tliroiifli
ilic (wo |o\v-ciirl !iiiH'<l wjimIowm, juhI n'ndrriiiK Mm' lli'd.cr-
in^ IjiMip Mil [MM II ijoiiM, I'lvcryt 'dri^^ mI ood prrrisid y jih if luid
(loiio I lie II i:; 111, I If < fori" ; (dijiir^ ,*md l;il»l(' wfrc in f ficir |il;ifrH,
Hiid l)!id Fiol Immmi dishirlicd ; m few rrd cofils still ^dowcd
like li<MTO <'v<"M ,'Miiid I lie dfirkiK'i-'.M <»f Mm- •^ti'mI. hl.ick,
y.'iwnitiL!; (diiiniicv il. wmh cviflcnt. fluii iif> ono li;id lifcn
iiilrndin/.,' Imm'(\

I'lisliiiiL;' o|H>ii I ho doi.i' |o;idi!i!.( direct Iv rtorii I lie k if ''liofi
info licni'M Micciiinir-rooin, kIio cnfcrrd if,, jind ,^tood fMsido
liim. Slio (Mnild iiof, s[i!iro fiiiio f,o fry fo /iroiisf! hirjj hy
oi'din.'ii'y nioiinn, so s(>i/,in<^^ u iiiri';o pil.oluT of fold wafer
ilmt, hIooiI noar, slip iniccrfMnoiiioiiKly dasliod if, in lii^ fa-c,
(liMMndiini^ liirn ('oni[»lcl('ly.

Tlio sliof'k aroused liirii, as it, well niiidil, ; a.nd, nt,fei-in((
i\ fearfnl yell of ininn^led r;ii:;(> find terror, Ijem HJi.f holt,
iijirifj^lit in bed, nna,l)le t,o <li,^l in^misli ariyt-hin^ for tlio
light, of t.lic hiniii that Hushed direef,ly in his eye.s.

"Oh !" was his first, ejaenlalioii ; " I's L,'wino for to ho
^SMSsiJial e<l 'f hoiit. a, rninil.'s warniri' I "

" liiish, hush, liCin ! for heaven's sake! If, i,^ only I,
your mistress I" said Syldl, piitfin;^^ one lil,t,lo white ha,nd
over his hufj^o, hhiek month. " (fel, up and dress yoiirKfdf
UH (|ui(d\ly as possihio, juid join me in tin; kitohon, whoro
J will wait until yon eomi!. '

And wif-hont waitins^ for the host of rpieHtions she saw
liovenni^ on his lips, Sybil j)fiss('(| out to the kitrdieri to
■\vjiit for him.

With tooth clKiltcrin^, gray and gasi)ing with torror,
liom proceodod, with trcimhling lini^'erH, fo draw on his
clothes. Without waiting to mako a very olahorate toilet,
he i)assod out to the kit<d! 3ri, wIhto Sybil stood waiting in
a, fever of irn[)atienee.

"Miss Sybil!" he exehiimeil, in trembliriL' tonn:),
*Mvha,t's liapiieruMl ? l* we a"' ;'";'. ino for Lo be killed or
anything ? ''

*' Hush ! No, F liopo not. lint— i)e Kilent now — [
greatly fear there ar(? nuin ef»ncealed in the houne somf>
where. Hush, I tell you ! " she repeated, with a flash of
her bright eye that arrested the (^xelaniation of terror on
Leiu's lips. '* This is no time for idle exclamations. I

176

THE QUEEN OF HIE ISLE.

only say I think there may be men here ; if tliereare, your
noise will only reveal where we are ; if there are not, then
there is no occasioji for your terror. Come, follow me ;
we m.ust soj!,rcli the liouse. "

'' Oh, Miss Sybil, Ts afeard ! 'Deed, de Lord knows I's
afeard ! " said poor Leni, in shivering tones.

" Chut, sir ! do you think } ou will be any safer here ?
Come, give over your fears, and follow me," said Sybil, as
she turned toward the hall once more.

'' Oh, Miss Syl)il, don't wenture ! We'll be all 'sassin-
ated if you do ! "

And poor Lem wrung his hands in mortal terror ; wh e
Sybil hastened from room to room, but, as may be antici-
pated, finding no one.

" What can this mean?" she thought. ''There was
certainly some one here to-night, and yet I find everything
undisturbed. This is most strange ; they must have gone,
too, for the house is perfectly still. Oh, what could that
cry of ' Murder ! ' have meant ! That voice and that
light, quick step belonged to a woman, most certainly ; yet
what woman would venture out in sucii a storm ? The
girl Christie would not come ; she is too timid : neither
was it her voice. What — what can it all mean ? "

Suddenly the recollection of the Uiidnight visitor, the
fair, pale woman with the dark, wnld hair and eyes, who
had bent over the couch of Willard Drummond the first
night he had spent in the Lodge, came over her. It must
have been that same supernatural visitant ; and Sybil grew
for an instant faint and sick at the thought.

Further search in the house was fruitless ; but her im-
patience would not ponnit her to wait until morning to
investigate further. Returning to the kitchen, where
Lem was on his knees, alternately groaning, praying and
bemoaning his hard fate, she commanded him to get his
hat and come out with her, to see if any traces of in-
truders could be found on the island.

In vain did Lem begin expostulating ; Sybil cut it short
by threatening him witii her brother's future vengeance if
he did not instantly obey. There was no help for it ; and
trembling in every limb, the frightened darky followed his
imperious mistress from the house.

AH without was so calm and peaceful — all the more
calm and peaceful, contrasted with the wild uproar of

MORNING IN THE ISLAND.

177

i ' >i

tlie storm a few hours before — that it seemed like sacrilege
even to think of deeds of violence in snc'.i a spot. A deli-
cious odor from the distant pine forest tilled the air, and
the litful sighing of the wind among the trees, and the
dull booming of the waves on the shore, alone broke the
silence of early morning. Tlie moonlight, obscured now
and then by fitful clouds, brightly illumined their way,
but nothing betrayed tiio presence of others save them-
selves on the isle that night.

Sybil took tiie path leading in the direction from which
the boat had sta ted, but there the waves were breaking
with tlie same monotonous tramp, giving no indication of
any one having been tiiere. The "tide had now receded
sufTiciently to allow Sybil to walk around tlie beach ; and,
tempted by the calm beauty of the night, and feeling a
sense of security in the open air, she strolled on until she
reached tlie spot where Courtney, in his first moment of
alarm, had dropped the body of Christie.

Something caught her eye at some distance further up,
fluttering from a prickly thorn bush, evidently a fragment
of a dress. Feeling as if she had at last fouiul some clue,
she approached the spot and found it to be a white mus-
lin handkerchief, but almost saturated with blood !

A sensation of horror came over Sybil. Had there really
been a murder committed there that night ? Shrinking
from touching it, she was about leaving the spot when,
near one corner, free from the horrible stains that covered
the rest, her eye fell on something like a name or initials.
Taking the corner with the tips of her fingers, she be-
held, marked in full, the name " Christina."

It was hers, then, Christie's. Wluat could have brought
it there ? Had anything happened to her ?

'' Oh, impossible," thought Sybil. '^ Who is there in
the world to wliom she is of the slightest importance, liv-
ing or dead, except, indeed, to me ? Wilhvrd has gone ;
she is, in all probability, safely asleep in yonder cottage,
and I am only torturing mvself by useless fears. I will
return to the Lodge and leave to-morrow to unravel this
mystery."

So saying, to the great satisfaction of her attendjint,
who had all this time been cautiously walking behind her,
looking fearfully at every tree and rock, and fancying an
assassin in their very shadows, Sybil turned slowly towurd

■•\ I

i- !

178

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

the old hall. On their way they passed the cottage of
Mrs. Tom. All was perfecLly quiet there ; and, mystified
and uneasy still, Sybil sought her room once more, to won-
der and speculate upon the events of the niglit until the
morning should dawn.

•JP 3fC T* T» "P 'T*

The bustling little widow, Mrs. Tom — like all those who
seem to have letist occasion for it — wiis in tlie habit of get-
ting up vei'y early in the morning, to the serious annoy-
ance of young ]\Ir. Henley, who preferred to let the sun
rise without impei'tinently staring at him as he did so.
Christie, too, would just as soon not be awakened from
some rosy dream at daylight by the shrill voice of the old
lady ; but Aunt Tom's word was law, and when she culled
there was no such word as disobey. The little widow
was quite aware of their disinclination for early rising ;
therefore, great was her amazement, upon going to
the outer room, to find Christie absent, the bed made,
the door unlocked, giving evidence of her being up and
out.

'^ Well ! "' ejaculated Mrs. Tom, '' what won't come to
pass ? Next tiling, I s'pose, will be Carl offering to wash
the dishes without bein' told. Shouldn't wonder if he was
up and off this niornin', too. Fust time I ever knew
Christie to git up 'thout bein' told. Here you, Carl !
Carl ! " shrieked Mrs. Tom, going to the foot of the ladder
and looking up through the trap.

A sound she was well accustomed to, something be-
tween a snort and a groan, was Mr. Henley's answer.

" Hurry up, there, ef ye don't want me to go up and
help ye," called Mrs. Tom, ''ef I do, ye'll wish ye had got
np 'thout my help, that's all. I'll dress you, I reckon."

Now, as this was a formula Mrs. Tom had repeated
every morning for some ton years, without ever being
known to vary it in the least, Carl was too well accus-
tomed to it to venture to disobey. Accordingly, he s})rang
up and began dressing in all haste, considering he was half
asleep during the performance, ^^rs. Tom, meanwhile,
set about kindling a fire and preparing breakfast, a meal
which was usually over before the sun was up.

"Where's Christie?" was Carl's first question upon
reaching the kitchen, as he glanced in the direction of the

MORXIXG IN THE ISLAND.

179

rilf
(-III

settee, where, every morning, about this hour, lie was ac-
customed to see her making her bed.

'•'Up and gatlioring sea moss an lioiir ago, I'll be
bound," ^^plied Mrs. Tom, '■' same as you would do if you
wasn't the most sliil'tless young vagabones on the face of
the airth ! I hope now this will be a warning to you for
the futer. 'IMiink o' all the sea moss and berries and
n.aniiiosic and sich you could have i-aLliered everv morn-
in' 'fore this time, of you was worth your salt, l^ut it
al'ays was my luck, ever since 1 was born, to be phigued
witii a set o' the laziest, most good-for-nothing bein's as I
saw upon the face of the airth ! Stand outo' my way, will
\ou, ef you don't want to brjak my neck ?"

Trot, the unfortunate cat, came iji, as usual, for the
latter part of this outburst of elorpieuce, emphasized by a
vigorous kick.

'•' Lor' sakes, Aunt Tom ! " exclaimed Master Carl,
roused to something like indignation by this unexpected
harangue. '"You don't want a feller to get up in the
middle of the night, do you ? By granny, it's too bad, no
matter how early a, feller gets up, you always think he
ought to 2:et up earlier still. S'pose you'll be waking me
'bout midnight to gather maninosies, pretty soon, ugh ? "

Most of tliis reply was delivered pitinissimo — that being
the most prudent tone — and, accordingly, did not reach
Mrs. Tom's ears, who was blustering out and in, sharp and
breezy as the goddess of morning, bringing in wood and
water and beginning to knead biscuit.

'•'Yes, grumble," said the Jictive little woman. ''I
never knew you doing anything else, cf you was told to
work. Pity if a great, big. lazy fellow like you can't get
up as airly as Christie, a deliky young gal, too I See her,
up and out while you was snorin' away like a pig up there ;
you ought to be 'shamed o' yourself."

'' I say, Aunt Tom," said Carl, looking up with as much
interest as his usually expressionless face could assume,
" was she out a little 'fore twelve, when it was a-storiuin'
so."

'* 'Fore twelve ? " said Mrs. Tom, in a higli key. as she
imagined her dutiful nephew was making fun of her ;
"look here, now, vou Carl, ef \ hadn't mv h;mds in tliisi
dough I'd box your ears till you wouldn't ask me such a,
question agin."

180

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

I i

" Now, Aunt Tom," said Carl, in a whimpering tone,
it's too bad, so it is ; a fellar can't say nothing you don't
get mad at. If it wa'n't Christie 'twas Miss Sybil ! I saw
some woman or otiier out ^bout midnight, running like
mad through the storm ; an" what's more, I heerd her,
too."

" My conscience ! " ejaculated Mrs. Tom, lifting up her
floury hands in holy horror ; " my conscience ! how that
there boy does lie ! Carl Henley, do you mean to tell me
that you was out in tluit storm last night, and saw Miss
Sybil ?"

'' No ; 1 wa'n't out myself," said ]\rr. Henley, tearing
the comb fiercely through his tow locks in liis deep in-
digmition at having his veracity aiul reason both doubted.
*' iUit I seen wliat I saw, for all that. S'pose you ha'n't
forgotten. Aunt Tom, that there's a pane of glass broken
out of one of tlie windows up-stairs, with your old bonnet
stuck through it. Well," said Carl, in a slightly subdued
tone, " your old bonnet got blown out with the wind last
night, and the fust thing woke me was the rain a-beating
into my face. So I jumped up to fix it, and just as I got
to the window there came such a Hash of lightning as I
never seen afore. Blamed if I thought I wasn't a goner I
Everything, for nigh onto ten minutes, was considerably
clearer nor day ! and just then I seen a woman flyin'
through the storm, like as if all creation was after her ;
and as she passed the house I heard her singout * Mother ! '
or ' ]\rurder ! ' — I don't know which. I was pretty con-
siderably scared, though I did think it was only Miss
Sybil, for slie had long black hair a-flying beliind lier, jist
like hers. When the flash went away I couldn't see noth-
uig, for it was as dark as all outdoors, and tliough I was
scared of the storm, I wanted to see if it was jMiss Sybil,
and I stood there waiting for the next, but when it came
she was gone.

^' My sakes ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tom, whose deepest in-
terest was, for the moment, arrested, '*' what did vou do
then?"

** Well, then," said Carl, in a lower key as though sorry
his story had not a more thrilling sequel. '' I got tired
of settin' up, so I laid down and went asleep. Who do
you s'pose it was, Aunt Tom ?"

** 1 don't think it was anybody. S'pose folks is fools to

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MORXING m THE ISLAND.

181

run out in sich a storm as that tliere ? I know Wia^ Sybil
has queer notions sometimes, but slie lias more sense, I
reckon, nor to go out phihindering tlirough the rain.''

" Well, it must have been somei)0(]y," said Carl, with a
sort of dogged resolution. " I know 1 seen a woman run-
ning like a house afire through all the wind jind rain."

'* Xo, you didn't," said Aunt'J'om, shortly, " 'twas only
a touch of nightmare ; so don't bother mo any more about
it.^'

Thus ignominiously silenced, Carl proceeded lazily to
assist in the iyreparation of breakfast, which he would
greatly have preferred discussing, if left to himself, to
getting ready.

The coffee and biscuits were smoking at length on the
table, but Christie did not make her appearance.

*' Very stnmge," said Mrs. 'I'om ; '' don't see what in
the world keeps the gal. Here it is going on to seven
o'clock, and my work a-standing while we're waiting for
her. Carl, jest run out and see ef you can see her."

Carl started on his mission, but soon returned, announc-
ing that notliing was to be seen of her.

'^Then there's no use a-waiting any longer," said I^Lrs.
Tom. '' Set down ; maybe she's gone to the Lodge to
breakfast with Miss Sybil."

The meal was over ; the service cleared away. Carl set
out to weed the garden ; Mrs. Tom sat down to her wheel.
But still Christie came not.

" Very strange," observed "Siva. Tom at last, begin-
ning to grow uneasy. " Ten o'clock, and Christie not here
yet. My stars I I wonder ef anything can hev happened
to her ? I've noticed she's been kind o' silent and pin in*
away for the last two or three days. I hope nothin's
happened to her. Oh, liere she is now. Xo, 'tain't
neither ; it's Miss Sybil."

The little widow arose and came smiling and cheery to
the door to welcome her guest.

'^ Well, Miss Sybil, I'm glad to see you. Walk in and
sit down. I thought when vou and Master (Juv came
home from furrin parts you'd stay comfortably in the
island ; but, 'stead o' that, we never see you no more nor
if you was in Cauada or Rooshia, or any other outlandish
place. How's the captain and that ^Ir. Drummond ?''

"They were both very well when I saw them last," said

182

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

Sybil, smiling slightly, as she took the pi'offered seat,
from whicli Mrs. Tom had been whisking some invisible
particles of dust with her apron. '' I hope you have been
qr'.uO well yourself, Mrs. Tom ?"

"Oh, tol-bul," said Mrs. Tom, complacently. "Fact
is, you know, I ha'n't no time to be sick ; it's only rich
folks, what's well olf, can afford to indulge in sickness.
So you've had a great fortune left you. Miss Sybil, I've
hearn tell."

" Yes ; Guy and I have received a legacy."

" Well, the Lord never does forget his critters ; and
every now and then something's allers sure to ha])pen.
Vve allers remarked that myself. J s'pose you don't in-
tend to stay here much longer. Miss Sybil ? "

" I rather think not. We w'll leave you to keep the
island, Mrs. Tom. ]3ut where i? your niece this morning ?
I do not sec her."

"She went out this morning before any of us was up,
and hasn't come back yet. I'm getting rale onasy," said
Mrs. Tom, anxiously getting up and going to the door.
"I thought she had gone to see you."

Sybil gave a sudden start and grew deadly pale as she
thought of the handkerchief, the wild cry of murder and
the men leaving tlie island during the night. A terrible
presentiment flashed across her mind, and, sic^k and dizzy,
she fell back in her chair and passed her hand over her
heart.

" My gracious. Miss Sybil ! what's the matter ? Are
you sick ? " said Mrs. Tom, turning suddenly and seeing
with alarm the sudden paleness of tlie young lady. " Here's
some camphire ; smell of it, or ye'll faint."

"Thank you, I do not require it." said Sybil, rising,
with an effort, and striving to be calm. " Have you any
idea what time Christie left the house ? "

"Not the slightest idee; 'cause I was asleep at the
time. Carl says — though there's no puttin' confidence in
him — that soniewhere's 'bout midnight, he seed a woman
runnin' through tlie storm, aii'l singin' out 'Murder!'
But in course he was dreaming; there couldn't hev bin
any sicli thing."

"Oh, merciful heaven ! then it was no dehision on my
part, since I heard it, too. Oh, this is dreadful ! " said
Sybil, wringing her hands.

MORXING IN TTIE ISLAND.

183

" Miss Sybil, what's luippened ? " siiid Mrs. Tom, grow-
ing very pale.

*' Oil, Mrs. Tom I lloavon help yon ! Christie ! "

" Christie ! what of her ?" crieil Mrs. Tom, grasping a
chair, to steady herself.

''Oil, Mrs. Tom! mnst I tell yon? Christie has. I
fear, gone ont last night in the storm, and — oh, heaven ! ''
said Sybil, sinking into a eliair, with a eonvnlsive shndder.

''And what. Miss Sybil ? Tell me, qniek I >\'as she
swept away in the stoi'm ? *' said ^Irs. Tom, striving to
strangle her trembling tones.

" Oh, worse — worse ! I fear ; still worse I" said Sybil,
wildly.

"Oh, my soul! what has hapj^ened ? Oh, Christie!
dear Christie I where are you ?"

" Ciiristio has, 1 fear, been waylaid and ''

"Murdered? Oh, my God!" exclaimed Mrs. Tom,
falling back in her chair, and covering her face with her
hands.

There was a moment's awful silence. Then Mrs. Tom
who (no matter what the emergency) never allowed her
ever practicjd mind to bo long overclouded, dnjpped her
hands from before her face, and, though she was fright-
fnlly 2)ale, said, in a voice whoso lirmness astonished
Sybil :

" What makes you think so, Sybil ? My poor little
Christie had not an enemy in the world I''

"Oh ! she had — she had ! " cried Sybil, thinking with
bitter remorse, how intensely she herself had hated her.

" Who was it ?" said Mrs. I^om, starting up. "No one
but a monster could have hurted one hair of her gentle
head !" Miss Sybil, who do you think has done it ?

" I do not know — as heaven hears me, I do not know \'*
said Sybil, recovering herself.

"What makes you think she was murdered ?" said Mrs.
Tom, who by this time had recovered all her custoiuary
composure, and now fixed her piercing eyes keenly on
Sybil's face.

" Last night I, too, like your nephew, heard the crv of
* Murder !'" said Sybil, shuddering at the recollection;
"and, early this morning. I discovered, in a l)ush down
near the shore, a pocket handkerchief, stained with blood,
and marked with her name ! "

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184

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

J I

, '* Where is tlic liaiul kerchief ? "

** It is there still ; 1 did not touch it."

** Come, tlien, and show me the place!" said Mrs.
Tom — a sudden passionate outburst oi* sorrow breaking
through all tlie composure she was endeavoring to assume.

Without exchiinging a word, they hurried to the spot,
where the ghastly handkerchief still lluttered in the
breeze.

" Oh ! it is hers I" exclaimed Mrs. Tom. '' 1'hey have
inurdered her on the beach, and the tide has swei)t her
tiway. Oh, Christie ! Christie ! " And, bowing her face
in her hands for the first time, she wept passionately.

There was a long pause, brokon only by Mrs. Tom's
convulsive sobs. Sybil stood wrestling with her own
bitter thoughts, not daring to break in upon her grief by
any useless words of comfort.

At last Mrs. Tom looked up, her tears seemingly
changed to sparks of fire.

" Who has done this ? You know ! " she said, gloomily,
laying her hand on Sybil's arm.

*' Heaven be merciful ! I do not."

*' Have you no idea ? — is there no clue ? Speak ; for
if there is law or justice in the land, those who have done
this deed shall suffer I "

*^ The only clue is one so slight, that even now I do not
know whether I really saw it, or dreamed that I did," said
Sybil, hesitatingly.

'^ Speak ! and tell me what it is. I must know ! " said
Mrs. Tom, with a sort of grim vengeance.

** Then listen. Last night after the moon arose — some
two hours, I should judge, after 1 heard that cry of
'Murder!' — on going to the window to look out, I per-
ceived a boat push off from the shore, containing the
forms of two men ; but so speedily did they vanish from
sight that I had barely time to catch the dark outline of
their figures ; as it all passed so quickly, J am still half
disposed to believe it the elfect of fancy."

" No boat could reach the island in the storm last
night," said Mrs. Tom, still keeping her gloomy eyes fixed
on Sybil's face.

"i know that ; and that is the principal reason I have
for thinking what I saw may be the effect of fancy. And
yet — and yet some one must have been here, else how are

CHRISTIE.

185

Tve to acconnt for tlie coinmitting of the deed ? And
what could hiive induced Cliristic to go out in sueii u
storm, and ut such an hour ? "

" I do not know ; it is all Avraj^ped in mystery," said
Mrs. Tom, taking the handkerchief and turning awuy ;
*' hut I'll find it out — I'll discover the murderers, if I
should spend my whole life in sei^kiug for them myself I '*

" What do you meun to do ?" said Syhil, tmxiously.

^' To hev the islaiul searched tin? iirst thing. 1 suppose
you will let Lem come and help ? ''

" Of course. IJut wouhl it not ho a better ]dan to go

over to N immediately and i«nforiu the authorities, and

let them investigate the matter ?"

"' Carl shall take mc right over," said Mrs. Tom.

'• I will accompany you," said Sybil ; '' we may both bo
needed to give testimony."

Half an hour later, the boat containing Carl, Mrs. '^Pom
and Sybil, was dancing over the water, in the dii'ection of

!N , to electrify the community by the announcement

of the atrocious deed.

13ut where, meantime, was Christie ? Had she really,
as they so readily supposed, found a grave beneath tho
v/iid waves ? "

CHAPTER XXIV.

CHKISTIE.

Then she took up the burden of life aj^ain,

Saying only ' It might huve ItetMi/

Alas 1 for them both and alas For us all

A\'ho vainly tlie dreams of hope recall,

Fur of all sad words of lip or pen,

The saddest are these, ' it might have been.' "

-Whittier.

With the cold rain falling on her face, tho colder wind
fanning her brow, Christie awoke from that deep swoon
that had been mistaken for death.

She opened her eyes, and gazed vacantly around, but all
was dark a J Erebus. There was a roaring sound, as of
many waters in her ears — a vague, dull sense of some
av/fiil calamity — a heavy, suffocating feeling in her clicst
— a misty consciousness of some one supporting her head.
Dark and dreary was the night around, but darker and

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186

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

drearier lay the heart in her bosom. Memory made a
faint effort to regain its power, to recall some dreadful
woe that 2")resscd like a leaden weiglit on lier bosom, but
in vain. Only that dull aching at her lieart.. only some
past unutterable sornnv — that was all.

Bodily as well as mentaliv, everv facuUv w.»s prostrated.
She made an effort to s])eak, to ask what had napix'ued,
to know where she was ; but her lij)3 moved in vain ; no
word came forth. She strove to rise, but at the first faint
motion, a sudden pani^, like a daL'^.ircr thrust, pierced her
breast, and she fell bacdv in a deadly swoon once more.

Wlien next siiO awoke to consciousiu'ss, she foinid her-
self lying in a bed, with the bright sunsliine lying in broad
pat(;hes on the floor. Memory had not yet resumed its
throne, and of that last dreadful .light she was mercifully
prevented from recalling anything. She strove \n vain
to collect her thoughts, nothing could be remembered ;
oidy that strange adnng — that vague, unspeakaJjle weight
that lay on her heart still.

She cast her eyes, in a sort of languid amaze, about tho
room where she lay, with a dreamy wonder how she had
come there. She saw indistinctly, as we see things in a
dream, a small, square room, with a rough, uncarpetcd
floor ; two chairs, a small table, and various articles of
Avearing apparel hanging around the walls. A little stand,
on which lay bottles, linen bandages, and a glass tilled
with some sort of dark li([uid stood near the head of the
bed on which she lav. At the foot of the bed was a smidl,
square window, covered with a dark paper blind, but
through which the sunlight peeped here and there in
chinks. All was ])r<)f()undly still. She could hear tho
ilies bu:^zing and droning as they Hew over her head, she
could hear what she fancied must be trees waving gently
in the wind with a low, soothing sound, inexpressibly
sweet ; and like a wearied child she closed her eyes, and
fell into a deep slumber.

Aga.in slie awoke ; and now she knew it must bo
night. Some one had evidently been in the room while
she slept ; for tho curtain had been rolled up from the
window, and the moonlight came softly and brightly in.
She could see, without moving, the tall, dark trees beyond ;
and she knew she must be in the forest. Once more her
eyes Avandered round the room ; and reason now made a

CHRISTIE.

187

terrible effort to resume its powers. Where was she ?
What had hjippened ? Who had brouglit her hero ? As
her mind began to clear, and (Consciousness to return,
question after question rose to her lips. She closed lier
evus, and struggled to recall the past. (Tradually tlie
brolcen links in the chain of memory began to reunite.
She recalled the note lie had sent her, tiiat appointed their
meeting on the beacli — that night of storm and tempest
through which slie had gone to meetliim — that meeting —
and then, with a pang sharper than death, came tlie
terrible recollection of his plunging the knife into her
side.

She could think no further, the 'ecollection of that
dreadful moment seemed driving her mad. She made an
effort to rise, to cry out ; but just then a hand was laid
soothingly on her foreliead, and a voice mot her ear, saying :

"(rently, gently, my child. Thee must not get up.
Here, lie still and diink this."

Some one — she could not tell WiU'tlier it were man or
woman — was bending over her, and holding the glass to
her lips. Too weak to resist, slie drank it off, and almost
instantaneously 1!ell into a lieep sleep.

Days, weeks, passed by before consciousness returned
again. During all that time she had a vague idea of
talking, raving wildly, incoherently to Willard — im])loring
him not to kill her, and she would never reveal their
marriage ; and then shrieking ah»ud as thougli again she
felt the steel entering her bosom. Sometimes, too, she
fancied Sybil standiug before her, with, iier wild, bla(;k,
menacing eyes, as she liad been the last tiuie she saw her,
and once again would she clas}) lier little pale hands
and piteously implore her to spare her. Anon her mood
would change, and she would sjieak in low, sul)dued tones
of Mrs. Tom and Carl, and strive to rise from bed, saying
wildly, she '* must go liome to Aunt Tom.'' And then,
falling back exhausted, she would vairuelv see a kind face
bending over her, a hand Jiolding a cooling drink to her lips,
or wetting and arranging the bandages on her wound.
This, too, like the rest, would pass, and life and thought
would again for a time be blotted out.

But one bright, golden August after:ioon, the blue eyes
Opened, no longer wild with the fires of fever, but calm
and serene once more. A naturally strong constitution,

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188

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

united with youth, uTi(i skilful thongli rough uursiug,
liiid triumphed at hisl over her long and dangerous ill-
ness.

Weak as an infant, unable to move hand or foot, pale,
thin and spiritual as a siuidow, she eanie hack to life oiieo
more. Her feet had stood on the threshohl of the valley
of the shadow of death ; but they were not permitted to
pass therein ; and the soft eyes looked forth from tho
little wan face with the liiiht of reason acrain.

It was a glorious suinmer evening. From the window
at her feet she could see the tall trees orowued with sun-
sliine, that fell like a glory on her pale, transparent brow.
Through the oi)en door came lloatingin the delicious odor
of llowers, and the sweet, wild songs of the birds, breathing
of ])eaee and holy calm.

While she yet lay, with her little wan hands lying
listL^ssly on tl e quilt, the gentle quiet of the sylvan scene
stealing into her heart, too weak even to think, she heard a
footstep beside her, a hand lightly arranging her pillows,
and then a voice, one of the kindest Christie had ever
lieard, saying :

" How does thee feel to-day, my child ?"

Christie lifted her eves lauguidlv and saw a man hend'y-
over her. He might liave been forty years of age, short,
square and ungainly in form, but with a chest aiul shoul-
ders betokening vnst, almost lierculean strength. His
hair was almost white, but dark streaks here and there
showed what had been its original color ; his face, with its
irregular features, would have been positively ugly, had it
not been for the expression of benevolence, of quiet good-
ness — the gentle, tender look it wore, that seemed shedding
a very halo round it, and you forgot the brown skin, the
rough, large features, the bushy eyebrows and stony-gray
eyes, in the almost womanly swc-etness and softness of his
smile. His dress was a long drab coat, with blue home-
spun vest and trousers.

At any other time this unexpected apparition might
have alarmed Christie, but that gentle voice reassured
her : and she answered, faintly :

" Better, thank you."

** That is well ; thee feels weak, does thee not ? "

"Oh, yes — so weak,^' slie said, closing her eyes.

** Well, 1 expected as much ; thee has been very, very

CHRISTIE.

389

ill," said the man, j',"ljnstiiit; a pillow, and sliadin.!^ the
liglit, witli tlio skilful lijind of u ])ra('tis('d niirsi'.

A thousand qnoslions were rising to Christie's lips, hut
she was too utterly prostruti'd to ^ive them voice. She
iixed her eyes wistl'iiliy on the man's faee. with a (luestion-
ing ga/o that brought him oikm^ more to her side.

" Well, my daughter, what does thee non' want ?"

" Tell me " — the I'aiut whisper die(l jiway, and totally
exhausted, the hand she had half raised fell again to her
side.

*' Does thee want to know how thou earnest licrc ?"

A faint motion of her head and that e-';er, inquiring
gaze were the sole rej)ly sheeou'.d make.

'* It nuiy exeite thee too much; thee liad better wait
until thee is stronger, child," said the man, gently.

'* Now — now!" she faintly gasped, with that wild,
troubled, imploring look, still riveted on her face.

**Tlien, 1 found thee on the beacih one wild, stormy
night, three weeks ago, wounded nigh unto death."

A spasmodic shudder eo!ivulsed all her frame. Oh !
•what would she nc^t have given for strength to ask for
AVillard ? Where was be ? Would ho be arrested for
what he had done ? She longed to know that he was safe
and well ; all she had suffered herself was as nothing e<>m-
pared to that. She wanted to ask bow this man had
come there wbevo she was now — if Mrs. 'I'om knew of
this ; but, to ^avo her soul from death, she could not
litter a word.

Perhaps the man read her thoughts in that eager, al-
most passionate gaze, for he said :

''Thee wants to ask bow 1 came on the island that
night, does tliee not ?"

She n'.ade a faint motion in the aflirmative.

" That would l)0 too long a story lor thee to hear now,
my child. When thou art stronger, 1 will tell thee all.
Rest content Avith knowing that thou art safe, and with
friends who will cire for thee as though thou wert their
own. Thou must drink this, now."

One question more — one on which more than life or
strengtli depended. Willard I Willard ! she must ask
of him.

Pushing back the prolfered dritik, which she knew con-
tained some narcotic for sending her to sleep, she col-

190

THE QUKETT OF THE ISLE.

loctcd all her energies for the effort, find managed, faintly,
to say :

" \Vas there — did you see the one who — wlio wounded
me ^

'^ Xo, my d.'iughter ; tlie assas.sin had fled, most ])rob-
ably. I saw no one hut tliee, and nuide no further .searcii.
Xow, thee must not talk just yet. In two or tliree (hiys
thee will be stronger, and tlien 1 will tell thee eveiything
thee wishes to know."

'I'oo weak to resist, aiul dee|>ly relieved that- he hnd not
seen Willard, she quafTed the proiTered draught Unit
brought witji it l)alrny sleep.

During the next two or three days, tlic man was her
most zealous nurse — tending her with a zeal, care and
gentle solicitude few nurses could have equaled ; but re-
sisting all iier efforts to draw him into conversation.

" By and by, daughter ; be patient, and thee will learn
all," Avas ever Ids firm reply — given in the very gentlest
of tones.

Left, thus, to herself and her own thoughts, as she
grew stronger Christie's miiul strove to comprehend and
account for the motive that had prompted Willard to
commit so dreadful a deed. That it was he, she never for
a moment thought of doubting. That the act had been
premeditated, the note he sent her ap])ointing the meet-
ing — on that loTiely spot, at the dead hour of the niglit —
fully proved. ]5ut his motive ? That, too, she had
settled in her own mind. She had heard that he loved
Sybil Campbell before he met her. Now, Sybil was an
heiress — courted and admired by all for her beauty and
wealth — what so natural, then, as that he should Avish to
nnike this peerless Queen of the Isle his bride ! Slie was
the oidy obstacde that stood in his way ; therefore, he had,
no doubt, resolved to murder her, to nudce w;iy for Sybil.
Perhaps, too, lie h.ad heard her m^^ssage to Sybil, and,
guessing its pui"j)ort, resolved that the secret of this
marriage should never go forth. Long before she had felt
he was tin I of her ; but she had never before dreamed he
wished for her death. Yes, she felt as firndy convinced
that it was his hand that had struck the blow — she felt as
firmly convinced, too, that these were his motives, as she
did of her very existence ; and yet, in the face of all this,
she loved him still. Yes ! loved him so well — forgave

CHRISTIE.

191

him so freely — that she resolved ho should never kiiov
of lier existence — she would no longer stjiiid ]jet\ve»'fi
him and lia})piiio.ss. Sho woidd never returii to the worUl
she had so neai'ly quiLtcd ; slie wouhl lly far away where
no one wouhl ever know or hear of lier ; or she would stuy
bnried liore in the (K![»ths of the forest with this I'eeliise,
"wlioever he w.-is, if lie would peruiit her. She thoui;lit of
]\lrs. Tom aiul Carl ; they were the only ones in the wide
■world who eared for her. IIow would tiny account for
lier absence — what construetion would they put on her
sudden flight ? She could not tell ; hut she felt loni^ be-
fore this that they hail given her u\^ for lost, and this
gj'ief for her loss would soon abate. Yes I her resolution
was taken ; she would never go back to the island more.

With this determination taken, her mind grew calm ;
for hers was not a nature for long or passionate grief. It
is true, she wept convulsively at times ; but this mood
would soon pass away, and she would lie quietly, calndy,
for hours after, watching the trees sleeping in the sun-
shine, willing to submit quietly to whatever the future
might have in store for her — like a stray leaf whirling
down the stream of life, willing to set whichever way the
current willed.

Her strange, rough-looking, but really gentle nurse was
still indefatigable in his cares for her ; but as yet he had
told her nothing of himself, nor his ; ')ject in visiting the
island that night. Christie used to look up in his hardy,
honest face sometimes, and wonder vaguely, as she did
everything else, what possible reason could have brought
him there. One other circumstance perplexed her not a
little. Once or twice she had. caught sight of a female
form and face moving about in the outer room ; it had
been only a momentary glimpse, and yet it vividly recalled
the wild, weird woman she had seen in the island on lier
bridal night. There was the same pale, strange face ;
the same wild, streami.ig black hair ; tiic same dark,
woful eyes ; and Christie trembled, in superstitious terror,
as she thought of her. Many times, too, she heard a
light, quick footstep moving about, which she knew could
not belong to her host ; the soft rustling of female gar-
meiits ; and at times, but very rarely, a low, musical V(.>ice
talking softly as if to herself. All this perplexed and
troubled Christie ; and she would have asked the man

192

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

it i

,1
1 ■*■'

about her, only — Jis lie never by any chance mentioned
her himself — she feared offending him by what might
seem imperlineiit curiosity.

In a few (hiys, Christie was well enough to sit up at tlie
wiiulow of her room, and drink in the health-giving, ex-
hilarating air, and lislcn to the songs of tlie birds in tlie
trees around. She saw that this hut — it was little more —
was situated in tiie very dei)tlis of the great forest, far re-
moved from every otlier habitation. As yet, she had not
stei)ped beyond tlie precincts of her narrow chamber ; but
one morning, tempted out by the genial warmth and in-
vigorating beauty of the day, she had arisen for the ])ur-
pose of going out for a short walk.

As she entered the outer room, she glanced around
with some curiosity. It was a small, square apartment,
scarcely larger than the one she had quitted, containing-
little furniture, and that jf the rudest kind. Two small,
uncurtained windows admitted the bright sui^shine, and
opposite the door was a low, smoky looking fireplace. A
bed occupied one corner, and a primitive-looking deal
table the other. Xo one was in the room ; but the door
stood wide open, and in the porch beyond Christie caught
sight of a female form sitting on the ground with its bar .
toward her. There was no mistaking those long, black,
flowing tresses, and for a moment she hesitated and drew
back in terror. But her attitude and manner showed her
to be no phantom of an excited imagination, but a woman
like herself ; and curiosity proving stronger tlian dread,
Christie softly approached, but with a fluttering heart.
Whether the woman heard her or not, she did not move,
and Chi'istie was permitted to approach and look over her
shoulder unnoticed. A little gray and white kitten was
in her lap, which went spinning round and round after a
straw, wliicii the woman held above its head — now and
then breaking into a peal of silvery laughter at its futile
attempts to catch it. Surprise at this unexpected occu-
pation held Christie for a time spellbound ; but reassured,
now, that the person she beheld was flesh and blood like
lierself she passed her, and went out.

For a moment the strange woman looked up from her
occupation, and glanced at Christie ; and then, without
further notice, resumed her play with the kitten just as if
she had not soon her at all. But in that cue brief, fleet-

CITUI8TIE.

103

b
f

ing glance, Christie read lier sad story. The woman be-
fore iier was insane.

Jn mingled sorrow, snrprise and cnriosity, Chrislio
stood gazing upon iier. She couhl do so with perfect im-
punity — for the woman never raised iier eyes to look at
her after tliat one careless, passing glance, every faculty
being api)arently al),sorbed by iicr straw and licr kitten.
In years she miglit liave been five and tiiirty, with a face
winch, in spite of its total want of expression, was slid
singularly ])eautiful. Jler tall, slender form was ex-
quisitely rounded ; aiul her long, rich, waving hair lloated
like black raveled silk over lier fair, sloping shoulders.
Every feature was beautifully chiseled ; her complexion
dazzlingly fair, almost transparent ; and her large, black,
brilliant eyes magnificent, despite their vacant, idiotic
stare. Her hands and feet were of most aristocratic
smallness and whiteness ; for she wore neither shoes nor
stockings. ][er dress was of coarse brown serge, but it
could not mar the beautiful form it covered.

^^foments passed unheeded, while Christie stood gazing
sadly on the lovely wreck of womanhood before lier, and
wondering what could liave driven her insane, and why
she and this man dwelt alone here, so far removed from
liuman habitation. She wondered what relation they boro
to each other, lie could not be her father — he was not old
enough for that — neither could he be her brother, they
were too dissimilar in looks. Perhaps he was her lius-
band, but even that did not seem probable. While she
thus idly speculated, the woman suddenly arose, and,
clasping her kitten in her arms, turned and walked rapidly
away in the direction of the woods, without glancing at
Christie, and was soon lost to sight among the trees.

" Who can she be ? " thought Christie ; " it is certainly
the same one I saw that night on the island, though she
was raving mad, and this one seems perfectly harmless. I
thought her a ghost that night, and fainted ; and he had
to tell Aunt Tom some story of liis own invention to ac-
count for it."

The thought brought back the past so vividly to her
mind that the maniac was forgotten, and, sitting down on
a fallen tree, slie buried her face in her hands and gave
way to a passionate burst of grief.

It was soon over. Christie's paroxysms of sorrow never

^i;.!

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i '

194

TiiK qi;kkn ok tiik jslk.

lasted loii;,', but cxliaiistt'd tlicnisulvcs by tbclr very vio-
It'iico ; UM(1 slio Jirost! to survey the pbico wliich sueuiud.
(li'stiiicd to 1)1! her future home.

It Wiis u bejiuLit'ul sylviin tfpot. The ciibiu was built in
II sort of uaturiil seniicirele, surrouuded ou all sides by llie
dense priiueval forest. A sniooili ^n'ass-plot slojx'd ^M'litly
for some three yards in front of tlie house, ami then was
broken on one side ))y clumps of bkishes, and on tiie other
by a little elear ei'ystal stream that danced over the \vhit«!
pebbles flashint,^ like ])earls in the sunlight. Hehiiui the
house was a sort of ve<,njlable <jjard(Mi, with a narrow space
reserved for llowers — l>etokeuin<^ the relined taste of the
gardener. The house itself was a low. rouLfh unpretend-
ing-looking' cabin of the smallest and plainest dimensions.
Not a sound broke the deep stillness ,save the musical
ripple of the little stream, the songs of the birds, the soft
swaying of the trees ; and involuntarily the deep j)eace of
the seene passed into Christie's heart, sootiiing itiuto calm-
ness once more.

As she sat gazing around, a heavy footstep came crash-
ing through Hie trees and the next moment her liost stood
before her, with a giin in one haiul and a game bag well
filled slung over his shoulder.

He advanced to where she sat, looking surprised and
pleased to see her there.

"So thee has vi.'ntured out, n)y daughter!" he said,
with his kindly voice ai J kindlier smile. *'l am glad to
see thee al)le to leave thy room once more."

" Yes, the day was so tine, ami the sunshiiu^ so bright
and warm, I could not resist the tein[)tation,''said Christie.
" I see you have been shooting with good success."

"Yes; game is i)lenty in our woods," he answered, re-
placing his gun on a couple of hooks in the porch. " But
thee had better come in now ; it is not good for thee to
sit too long in the hot sun, thee knows."

Christie rose half reluctantly, and followed him into the
liouse. The man drew a low wicker rocking-chair close to
the open window.

**' Sit thee there, child, I know invalids, like thee, like to
rock backward and forward ; it's very quieting to the feel-

•.._. T 1 111 1 * ««

mgs. I must get the dinner now."

• Let me help you," said Christie, anxious to be useful.

*^ Let me get the dinner."

cinnsTiK.

105

•>

*' By no nu'ans, daiiulitor." said llic man, uiih liia
pleasant sn\'\\o : "tlu'c is Loo weak to work vrt : ami, Ite-
sides, I liavc nothing cl.se to do. Sir tlii'c down ilu'i-e;
for now tliat tliec is strong' (.'noii^uli to iicai' it, I want lo
have a litth- talk with ihoe."

('hri.stie sunk anxiously into the (diair. and wailcil for
what was to coniu. The man took a hrac-c of part i'id;^'t'3
out of his l);i^-, and, jihicin^' them on the taldc, di'cw up
liis cliair, and hi'i:an takin<r <dV the feathers and eoiivers-
ini,^ with ("hristic at the same tiiuf.

•'I''irst, my daughter, 1 should like to kn«»w what is thy
name."

'* Ciiristie," was the res[)onse.

'* lias thee no other ? **

'•1 am sometimes called 'rondinsoii, hut that is not my
name. I am an orplnin, ami live with my aunt.

" Where is thy native ))lafe ? "

"Camphell's Jsland," said Christie, in a slightly tremu-
lous voice.

''Ah!" said the man, in some surprise, ''if 1 had
known that, \ would not have brought thee liere. t
thouirht thee was a stran:j:er. Pot-s thee belong to tlio
Campbells ? "

" No, sir ; I lived with Mrs. Tom, the widow who re-
sides in the island."

'* Yes, yes, I see," said the host, th.oughtfully ; "I havo
seen tiie woman thee means. Uut how eanu3 thee, child,
CO be lying stabbed on the boacli thai stormy night ? "

'' Sir, there is a long story connected with that — which,
at present, you must excuse my not telling. I cannot do
so without involving others, and that I do not wish to do,"'
replied Christie, trying to steady her trembling voice.

''As thee pleases, cliild, as thee; jdeases," said the man,
kindly. " Do not s])eak of it if it hurts thy feelings. I
merely asked from the interest I take in thee. But, how
about returning to thy friends ? Thee wishes to do so, I
suppose ? "

"Oh, no, no, no I " cried Christie, with involi;ntary
vehemence. "Oh, I never wish to go back again I"

" Does thee not ? " said her host, fixing his strong gray
eyes on her face, in grave surprise. '" Thee has good
reason for that, doubtless ? "

" Oh, 1 have — 1 have I Some day I will tell you all, but

!; Vl

100

TlIK QUKKX OF TIIK ISLE.

not iiuw. I liiivo no OIK.* to Jirinise or to bljiino ; ami tlio
only fricfnds 1 liiivo li;iv(! couscmI to tliink of nie as living
Ix'Tort! this. If I njtnnied to tlicni, tlicro arc niany who
"Won hi \)v r('n(h'r('(l niiscrahle for life ; and as they all
think nic (h'ud, 1 intend to he so to tJieni."

All her coura^'e iiave way here, and l)()wini; her face in
lu'r hands, she <,^ave vent to one of her wild, i)assioiuito
bursts of tears.

Tho man's faee expressed deep sympalliy and comj)as-
eion ; he diil not speak nor interrupt her till the violeneo
of her sudden Lirief was abated, and then he iiKfuired, in
his (Mistomary (piiet tone :

"And what does thee intend to do, my daughter ?"

" 1 do not know yet,'' said Ciiristie, raisini"* her head.
*' I will fjo asvay somewhere and work for my living,
^vhere I will never be heard of a*;ain."

"' Poor little one ! what can thee do for a living ?" said
the nnm, com))assioiuitely. '' Thee is too snndl and del-
icate to work, and never was made to bullet the storms of
this rou^h world.''

" I will not Inive to wait long ; I will die I " said Christie,
sadly.

"That thee will, if thee takes thy place among the
workers in the outer circle of life. So thee is fully de-
termined never to go back to thy friends y "

" Oh, never I never ! I would rather die. All I wish,
all I hope and pray for, is that they never discover 1 am
alive."

*' Then stay with us ; thee will not have to work at all,
and no one will ever hear of thee any more than if thee
was thousands of miles away. We are buried here in the
very heart of the forest, where peo})le very rarely come ;
and if any one did come, thee could easily be con/ealed till
they went away. I know it is dull and lonely here, but
thee will get reconciled to that in time."

'•Oh, tliis is just what I wished, but I hardly dared
ho))e for I " exclaimed Christie, with sparkling eyes.
*' How can I ever thank you for your generous offer ? "

" I do not wish for thanks, my daughter, and thee will
oblige me, friend Christie, by not mentioning it more.
'J'liou wilt bo very useful, and can take care of Bertha,
who is insane, but quite harmless. Thou hast seeu her,
has thee uot ? "

CHRISTIE.

l'.)7

«(

ill

The haiulsonie woman witii the dark liair and eyes ?
Yes,'* replied Christie.

^'Tlien that is settled/* said the man, with a smile;
** and now that I have questioned thee, it is tiiy turn.
Does thee wish to ask something ?"

*' Oh, yes, ever so many tiiin;;s," said Christie, 'M)ut I
am afraid you may not like — that you may i)e utTended."

'* There is no danger of that, my daughter. 1 nniy not
choose to answer some of thy questions, hut I will not ho
offended, let thee say what theo wiU."

**Well, then," said Christie, witii a faint smile, "to
begin cuLoehizing after the same fashion as yourself — may
1 ask your name and that of the lady who lives iiert; ? "

** Yes ; her name is liertha Camj)heil — mine is IJcuheji
Dcerwood ; thee may call me Uncle Reuben, if tliee likes."

*' 'J'hen she is no relation to you ?"

*' She is my cousin — no more."

" Once before," said Christie, hesitatingly, '' I asked you
about how you came to he on the island that stormy night.
You did not tell me then. May I repeat the question
now ? "

" Certainly. Bertiui, though usually quiet, has certain
paroxysms of violence, during which, witii the usual cun-
ning of insanity, she sometimes eludes my vigilance, and
escapes. On these occasions she goes down to the shore,
takes a boat and goes over to the islatid. I, of course,
follow her ; and it was one of these times I happened to be
there. That afternoon she had gone over, and was wander-
ing through the pine woods. I went after her, and just
reached the island as that furious storm came on. I wan-
dered around for a long time without finding her ; and iji
my search, somewhere about midnight, I providentially
chanced to reach the spot where thee hiy wounded and ex-
posed to the fury of the storm. The lide was rising on
the shore, and, five minutes later, thee would have been
swept away. I lifted thee in my arms and carried theo
down to the boat, instead of following my first intention
of leaving thee at the cottage or at Campbell's Lodge. I
did not wish to let it be known I was on the island. Then
I heard a voice screaming * ^lurdor ! ' and I knew it must
be Bertha ; so I set off to look for her again, and found
her just coming out of the l^odge. I had to bind her
hand and foot, and tie a handkerchief over her mouth —

«f' :

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198

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

to keep her qiiict ; und there I waited till tiie storm had
abated. It was near noon the next day when we reached
the shore, a quarter of a mile below here, and, Bertha's
)aroxy.sm bciiig over, she followed nie quietly home.
Vliile I earrictl thot', I feared thee was dead for a long
time, and oidy I ha2i})ened to have a ij:ood deal of knowl-
ed<^e of surgery, the-.! ixfver would hav<j recMjverud. That
is tlie whole history," said " IJnele Reuben," rising, with
a smile, and hanging his partridges over the fire to roast.

A light had broken on the mind of Christie while he
spoke. This woman must be the apparition that had so
often ])een seen on the isle, and had given it the name of
being haunted.

" May I ask,'' slie said, eagerly, " if this — if Bertha has
been in the liabit of vi;di.ing the island ?''

" Yes, such is her habit, at times," said Reuben, gravely.
** About the full of the moon she gets these bad turns, and
generally makes her escape to the island, though some-
times I prevent her. Has thee ever seen her there ? "

" Yes, once," said Christie ; " but 1 thought she was a
spirit."

'^More tiian thee has thought that, friend Christie ; but
thee need not be afraid of her ; she is pei'iectly harmless."

" Why is it she always goes to the island at such times ?"
paid Christie, curiously.

The num's face clouded.

*' There is a long story connected with that, my daugh-
ter — a stid story of Avrong and crime. Some day, soon. I
will tell it to tin ', if tlioe reminds me of it."

" J[ow long li .s she been insane ?"

'' Nearly fourteen years."

" A long time, indeed. I should like to hear her history
very much. Do you iu)t fear she has gone to the island
now ? 1 saw her go into the woods an hour ago."

" No ; she has oidy gone for a stroll thr(nigh the ti-ees,
or to look for l>erries ; she will soon be back — and here
she is," he added, as the woman Bertha abruptly entered,
her kitten still in her aruis : ami without looking or
speaking to either of them, she sat down on a low stool,
and began sorting sotne pine cones held in her lap.

All this time the man Reul)en had been getting dinner
and setting the table, proving himself to be as good a cook
as nurse. In a few minutes, it was smoking on the table ;

THE MANIAC'S STORY.

109

and then lie went over and, tapping the woman on tlio
shoulder, said gently :

'' Is thee ready for dinner, Bertha ? "

*' Yes," she said, rising promptly, and taking her s^^at.

Cliristie took the place pointed ont to Irt ; and Unele
Reuben, taking the head oi' the tabh\ did the honors.

Then, when the meal was over. Bertha resnmcd her stool
and her ])ine cones ; Christie took tiie rocking-chair by the
window, and Reuben bnsiod himself m clearing awav the
dinner dishes, and setting things to rights.

Weak still, and exhausted by the elTors of the morning,
Christie throw herself on her bed, dnrina 'lie course of the
afternoon, and fell into the profound and refreshing sleep
of bodily weariness, from which she did not awaken until
the bustle of preparing supper aroused her.

In the evening, Rcubon took down an old, antiquated-
looking Bible and read a few chapters aloud ; and then
they all retired to their se])arate couches.

And thus bes:an Christie's new life — a life of endh-ss
monotony, but one of perfect peaco. As tin; days piissed
on, bringing with them no change or exciu^uent, she
QTadnallv settled down into a sort of dreamy letharofy, dis-
tnrbed now and then, as some circumstance would forcil)ly
recall all she had loved and lost forever, by short, passion-
ate outbursts of gi'ief, but which were always followed by
a deeper and more settled melancholy than before.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE MAXIAC S STORY.

"All was ('(.nfuseil and midcfiiu'cl
111 her iill-j;irre(l ainl waii'lcriut^ mind ;
A chaos of w ild hopes and fears —
And now in iauuditor, now in tours ;
Bnt madly s'ill in oach fxtr'-mf,
Slie sliuve with ihut convulsive dream."

— BVRON.

Autumn was at hand. I^he woods were gorgeous in their
radiant robes of gold and purple and crimson. Christie's
chief pleasure was in wandering through the forest and
gazing on the brilliant jewelry of nature. The wcv-^ks that
had passed had restored her to health, but her step had
not regained its elastic lightness ; her voice had lost its old

Ii^

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500

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

joyous tones ; her once roseate cheek had lost forever its
vivid bloom, and the bright, joyous light of hope and
happiness had died out in the deep, melancholy blue eyes.
She moved through the little forest cabin, the shadow of
her former self, pale, v/an and spiritual. And in looking
at her slight, delicate figure, her fair, transparent little
face, with its sad, haunting eyes, you might have thought
her some fair vision of another world, and almost expect to
see her fade away before your very eyes.

It was very lonesome, buried there in the depths of the
forest, witii no companions but the man Reuben and
the maniac Bertha. But its very loneliness made it
all the more welcome to our little recluse, who dreaded noth-
ing so much as a discovery ; and in roaming through the
grand old woods slie felt she never wanted to leave this
solitary spot again. At any other time she ivould have
shrunk in terror from tlie prospect of passing the long,
dreary winter here, when even the comfort of these walks
would be denied her. How little did she dream of all that
was to occur before that winter came !

Reuben's absence to N to buy necessaries for the

little family, were the only incidents that broke the un-
varying monotony of their life. At first Christie had been
somewhat afraid of remaining alone with Bertha ; but find-
ing she was, as Reuben had said, perfectly harmless — sit-
ting for hours together playing with her kitten — she had
soon recovered from tliis fear. Love was a necessity of
Christie's life, and as time pjtssed slie learned to love Ber-
tha with a deep, earnest love that sometimes surprised
even herself. The maniac, too, in her own fitful, uncertain
way seemed to return this love, and would sit for half a day
at a time with her head lying in Christie's lap, and the
vacant, childish smile on her face.

As for Reuben, no one could know him, with his simple
goodness and benevolence, without loving him ; and Chris-
tie already loved and revered him as a father, while he
felt an affection for his little stray waif second only to that
which he felt for Bertha.

x\s yet he liad not told her the history of the maniac ;
and Christie, for tlie most part absorbed in her own sad
thoughts, had almost forgotten it ; but one cold and blus-
tering night, as she drew her low rocking-chair up to the
fire, while her nimble fingers busily flew in making some

THE MANIAC'S STORY.

201

warm clothing for the winter, she reminded him of liis
promise and urged him to rehite the story.

Bertha liad already retired and lay asleep in her bed in
tlie corner of the kitchen, and Reuben, his day's work done,
sat opposite Christie, making wicker baskets, wliich he was

in the habit of taking to N at intervals to sell, and

which constituted the principal income of the fannly.

'^It seems a sad thing tp recall days so long past,'' said
Reuben, with a sigh ; '* but thee deserves to know, Chris-
tie, for waiting so long and patiently. And, niy daugliter,
when thee hears, thee may think it striingo that there should
be so much wickedness in this world ; but the Lord will
redeem His servants in His own good time.

" Let me r]ee ; it requires time to look so far back. My
father was a farmer, living in Coniu'cticnit, and belonged
to the Society of Friends, He had a brother, it seems — a
wild youtl), who ran away at the age of sixteen and went
to sea. Eight years passed before they received any news
whether lie was living or dead ; and then a letter came to
my father from liim, saying he was in Spain, in a place
called Grenada, and was nuirried to a Spanish girl of that
place.

" After that, for fourteen years more, we heard iu)thing
else from him, until one cold winter night, as we were all
sitting around the fire, there catne a knock at the door ;
and when one of my sisters opened it a man, dressed like
«i sailor, entered, leading a little girl of twelve years old by
the hand. That man was my father's long-absent brother,
whose wife was dead, aiul who wished to place his only
child with his friends before he went to sea agjiin. That
child is now the numiac Bertha thee sees on that bed."

Uncle Reuben's lips quivered a little as his eyes fell on
the still beautiful face of the sleeper, and Christie listened
with a look of the deepest interest.

"- Bertha, though only a child then," said L^ncle Reu-
ben, resuming his work, '' was taller and more womanly
looking than many girls of sixteen, with the most beauti-
ful face thee ever saw in thy life, ^fy three sisters were
then accounted very handsome girls by everybody ; bnt
they were no more to be compared to her than candles are
to stars. They liad fine, healthy figures and red clieeks iuul
round, merry faces ; but slie had a dark, oval face, with
long, beautiful black curls and large, nu'laneholy dark

t:il

203

THE QUEF.X OF THE ISLE.

eyes. All, my daughter, thee looks as if thee thought her
beautiful still, but she is nothing now to whiVj siie was
then.

*' ]^)ertha could speak very little English then — hardly a
word ; and 1 reineniber how the villagers used to laugh at
her atteiui)Ls to talk with them ; luit when they looked at
her mourning dress and sad, beautiful face, their laughter
quickly ceased.

" ller father, who, though not ricli, had some money,
wishe<l her to be sent to some good boarding-school, where
she could acquire a g(jod education, lie was going off on
some voyage in whicli he expected to make his fortune, and
when he caiuf! back, hesaid, I^ertha should be a urcat hulv.

*' Accordingly, three weeks after she came she was sent
away to a boarding-school, and I do not think there was
one sorrier to bid her c^ood-bv then (hau I was. Tier father
the next day went away in his ship, destined to some far-
off place Vvhich he was never doomed to reach ; for a
month after news came that the ves.sel was wrecked and
all hands c;ist away, and 15ertlia had no living relatives in
this country except us.

" As her father, before he went, had made abundant
provision for her schooling in case anything should hap-
pen, iscrtha remained five years at school. We saw very
little of her all this time, for she mostly spent her vacations
with her fi'iends, the schoolgirls ; but when the period of
her stay had elapsed she came back to the old homestead.
AVe had parted from her a beautiful child ; but she re-
turned a wo!n;in — peerless, superb — a perfect vision of
beauly. Everybody was r;;ving about her. All the young
men far and near were in love with her ; but Bertha never
seemed tc c;ire for any of them, and used to spend her
time embroidiu'ins^ or reading orplavino' on the :»-uitar and
singing Spanish songs about ' Beautiful Grenada.' I was
a vounii: man, then, some seven and twentv vears of aijre ;
and I. too, like the rest, fell in love with my beautiful,
dark-eyed cousin. It was a hopeless love, and I knew it ;
I felt that she was as far above me as heaven is above the
earth, and I locked my secret in my own bosom and re-
solved I would never give her a moment's pain by telling
her of it.

** I was, however, her favorite ; there were two more
brothers, but she liked me best — but only with a sisterly

}

THE MANIAC'S STORY.

2on

love. To mo alone she used Lo speak of the vine-clad liills
of Spain ; of her boautit'ul dead niother, and of lu'i* long-
ings for sunny Grenada once more. And J used to sit and
listen and sympathize with her, and keep down the yearn-
ing desire that nsed to till my heart to kneel at her feefc
and ask her to give me the rigiit to take her there.

'•' Ah, little (Jhristie. thee may wonder how such a
rough, nneouth man as I am could ever feel love like this ;
but 1 could have died then for my beautiful cousin,
though neither she nor any other ever drea.ned 1 cherished
for her other than a cousinly affection. When I used to
see her smile on other young men and lean on their arms
and listen and look pleased when they talked and blush
when she would meet their eyes, I used to feel the demon
of jealousy rising within me ; and then I would be forced
to tear myself away from them all, lest my looks or
actions might betray me. It was very hard tnen to bear
my lot patiently ; but when, after a while, ]>ertha would
come back lo me and tell me how tiresinne they all were,
and thai; I was the dearest, best cousin in the world, and
"worth all the other young men she knew put togiither, I
used to feel recompiHised for it all, and I could have knelt
down at her very feet in gratitude for the words. These
were the happiest days < f my I'fe, little friend ; and
tliougli I knew Hertha coiild never love me. vet I felt if I
might only be near her and know she was haj)py aiid see
her smile on me sometimes, 1 could even be;ir to see her
married to some man more worthy of her th;in 1 was. I
do not say there were not times when I was tempted to
murmur and wish In^aven had gifted me with a less un-
gaiidy form, for liertha's s;ike ; yet I think I may say I
strove to subdue all such ungrateful murmurs and think
of my many blessings ; and, on the wliole, I wns hnppy.

'' My fatlier, who was growing old au'l infn-ni, loved
Bertha with a p:issionate fondness, and often s])oke of his
cherished wish of seeing her united to oni^ of his sons. I
was the oldest and his favorite, and I knew his ardent
desire was to see us niarried ; but, as this could never be,
I always strove to evade giving a direct answer to his
qnestions concerning my feelings toward my cousin. To
l)er he had never spoken on the subject ; V)ut on his death-
bed he called us to him, and, ])ulting her hand in nunc,
charged us to love one another and become husband and

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THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

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wife. Ah ! there was little need to tell me to love one I
almost worshiped tih-eady. ]5erthu's liiind lay passively in
mine. She was weeping convulsively, and neither of ns
would render his last moments unhappy by saying his
dearest wish could not be fulfilled. I thought then slio
had merely acfpiiesccd to soothe his dying moments, and
resolved, much as 1 loved her, not to bind her by any sueh
promise. Hut in the hustle and confusion of the next
three days there was no time for explanjition, and the
funeral viis over before I could even speak a word to lier
in jjrivate.

*' The day after the funeral I found her sitting alone in
a sort of arbor in the foot of the garden ; and, going u}>
to her, I said, with abrupt liaste, for eve v word seemed
to stick in my tliroat :

'' * Bertha, I knew theo did not like to refuse mv father's
dying request to nnirry me ; but as the premise was given
against thy will, 1 have taken the first op})ortunity of tell-
ing thee I do not consider it binding, and, so far as I am
concerned, thee may consider thyself quite free from all
engagement to me.'

" I did not dare to gaze at her as she sat there, looking
so sweet and beautiful, lest my resolution should falter,
and I turned away and was about to leave when her voice
recalled me.

" ' Do you wish our engagement broken, cousin Reu-
ben ?' she said, softly.

"*AVishit!' 1 cried out, forgetting prudence, resolu-
tion, everything but her. ' Oh, Bertha, 1 love you better
than all the world ! '

" ^ Tlion take me for your wife,^ she said, coming over,
and, pu.^hing back the hair from my face — she kissed mo
and was gone.

'' For a while I could not tell whether I was sleeping or
waking, her words seemed so unreal. I stood like one in
a trance ; like one in some blissful dream from which he
fears to waken. I could not realize that this peerlessly
beautiful girl could be willing to marry me — a rough,
homely, plodding farmer. I resolutely shut my heart
against the bewildering conviction ; but that evening,
when we sat alone together, and I asked her to repeat
what she had said, she smiled at my incredulity, and told
me she intended to be my wife just as soon as our term of

THE MAXIAC'S STORY.

205

mourning expired, and tliat I might make known our en-
gagement as soon as I liked.

" ' Jt will save me from being persecuted by the atten-
tions of other young men, you know, cousin Keuben,' she
said.

" Everybody was surprised when they heard of it, for
she had rejected richer and far handsomer men ; and for
a while people refused to l)elieve it. J)Ut wlien they saw
us always toaether, and Bertha nuictlv confirmed the re-
port, they wei'e forced to the conviction tliat it really was
true, and I was looked upon as the most fortunate and
enviable of men.

** The next three months I was the liappiest man in the
world ; aiul in nine months more we were to ])e married
and go on a tour of Spain. It seemed too much happiness
for me. I could not realize that it would everi^rove true ;
md, alas ! it never did.

" One day there came a letter from a school friend of
Bertha's who lived in We?tport, inviting her there on a
visit. Bertha wished to go and no one opposed her ; but
I saw her set out with a sad foreboding ^hat this visit
would prove fatal to my new-found liap])iness.

" Three months passed away before Bertha came back.
She used to write to us, at first, long, gjiy, merry letters,
telling us all about the place and the people she met ; but
gradually her letters grew shorter and more reserved and
less frequent, and, for a month before her return, ceased
altogether. I w^as half-crazed with anxiety, doubts and
apprehensions, and was about to set out for Westport, to
see if anything had happened, when one day the stage
stopped at the door and ]:5ertha alighted. Yes, Bertha —
but so changed I hardly knew her ; pale, cold and re-
served ; she sang and laughed no longer, but used to sit
for hours, her head on her hand, thinking and thinking.
Bertha was bodily with us, but in spirit she was far away
— where, I dared not ask. She hardly ever spoke now,
but sat bv herself in her own room, exce])t at meal times.
From me she shrank with a sort of dread, mingled with
shame — coloring and averting her head when she met my
eye; and, much as I loved her, I used ever after that to
shun meeting her. lest it should give her pain.

^' But, oh, Christie, what it cost me to do this may thee
never know ! I saw she repented her promise, given in a

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206

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

moment of impulsive generosity, and I resolved that t!mt
promise I would never euU upon her to redeem.

*' One morning she made her appearance ut the break-
fast table looking pale, wild and terrified. We all thought
she was ill, but she said she wjis not ; she had bad dreams,
she said, forcing a smile, and a headache, but a walk in
the breezy morning air would cure that.

" After breakfast, as I stood leaning against a tree,
thinking sadly of all 1 had lost, slie came up to me, and,
laving her hand on my shoulder, said :

"'Cousin lteul)en, I have seemed cold and distant to
yuii for the past few days, and I fear ] have otfended you.
Can you forgive me ? '

''She spoke hurriedly, and with a certain wildness in
lier manner; but I did not notice it then. I thought sho
was about to be my own Bertha again, and how rea<lily
that forgiveness was given I need not tell thee. Siio
stooped down and kissed my hand while I sjioke, and ther.,
without a word, started olT down the street at a rapid walk,
from which she never came back."

Uncle lleulen paused, and his hands trembled so that
for a moment he could not go on with his work. Then,
recovering himself, he continued :

" All that day passed, and she did not return, and when
night came we began to wonder at her delay. Still, wo
were not uneasy, for we thought she had stopped all night
at the house of some friend ; l3ut the next day passed, and
the next, and nothing more was heard of her. Then avg
grew alarmed, and I was about to rouse the neighborhood
and go in search of her when a letter was brought to mo
in her well-known handwriting. A terrible thought
flashed across my mind at the sight. I sank into a chair,
tore it open and read :

*' ' CoL'Six Reubex : I have gone — fled from von all for-
ever. Do not search for me, for it will be useless. I can-
not ask you to forgive me, for I have wronged you too
deeply for that ; but do not curse the memory of the un-
worthy Bertha.'

''Every word of that note is ineffaceably burned in my
heart and brain. In tluit moment my whole life and
destiny ^vere changed. I did not show the note to a living

TUE MANIAC'S STORY.

207

soul. I rose up aiul toM tliem to liiish tluMi* cliimor.'^, :ni(l
never to uioiitioii licr lumie nioru. I think my l(>()ks nuust
liiivo frightuued tlioin, I'or tiiey drew buck iu silence, and
I j>ut on my Init, and, without speaking u word, walked
out of the house. Tlie moment I luul read the words my
resolution was taken. I determined to go forth and seek for
lier till she was found, and tell her with my own lips lliat
I forgave her all. In a week I had arranged my affairs.
I left to mv second brother the farm, and, without telliui;
])im where I was going or what was my object, I left home,
and I never saw it more.

"I went to Westport. I felt sure I w<»uld find her
there, and I was right. Just one week after my arrival,
as I was out taking a stroll through the town one night
about dusk, a wonum, dressed in deep black and (dosely
veiled, brushed hastily by me. I started as if I had re-
ceived a galvanic shock ; for, though the veil hid her face,
there was no mistaking tliat tall, regal form and quick,
proud step. I knew I had found Bertha. I turned and
followed her. 1 overtook her and, laying my hand on her
arm, I said :

''^Cousin Bertha!'

"At the sudden sound of my voice she started and
shrieked aloud, and would liavo fallen if 1 had not t^u\)-
ported lier. Fortunately, the street was almost deserted,
and no one noticed us ; and I drew her arm within mine
and said :

" ' Fear not, Bertha ; I have only sought thee out to
tell thee I forgive thee for the past.'

" ' And you can forgive me, after all I have done ;
after so cruelly, so deeply wronging you ? Oh, Cousin
Eeuben ! ' she cried out passionately.

" ' Hush ! thee will be heard,' I said, softly. ' I am
thy brother now. Bertha. Where does thee live ? I will
go with thee, and, if thou art willing to tell me, I will
hear thy story.'

^' She tried to speak, but something seemed to choke
her, and we hurried on in silence until we reached the
hotel where she stopped. When we were in her room she
sank down at my feet, and, holding up her hands, cried
out :

*' ' Once again — once again say you forgive mo! Oh,
Cousin Iieuben, I ca,nnot believe what I have heard ! '

208

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

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**Shc looked so Pi'ilc and haggard tluit 1 felt I had nioro
to pity than forgive. 1 raised lier up jind said :

*' ' I have nothing to forgive, Hertha. Look on me as a
brotlier, and while I live 1 will ever regard thee as a dear
sister.'

"AVliat she said then, and how wildly .'.he talked and
wept, 1 need not tell tiiee now. 1 waited till she was
calm, but it was long before she was composed enough to
tell nie her story, and then I learned she was already a
wife, though no one knew it but myself, her husband and
the elergviium who united them.

*' I'hee has heard of Mark Campbell, the late owner of
the Lodge — a nnm feared by all and loved by few ? It was
to him she was married, llis iirst wife had been dead
some years, and lie resided with his young son and
daugliter in the island. He had met liertha during her
stay in Westport, and had fallen violently in love with
lier. lie was a tall, stalwart, haiulsome man, as all his
race ever were, and she returned his passion with all the
fierce impetuosity for which those of lier nation had ever
been distinguished. ])ut he was proud, very proud, and
arrogant, like all the Campbells, and would not stoop to
publicly marry a girl so far beneath him. Thee knows I
told thee she was on^y a sailor's daughter, and an un-
known foreigner beside. He gave her some plausible
reason — I forget what — and urged a private marriage.
She loved hiui and Avas easily persuaded, and, though un-
known to the world, was ^lark Campbell's wife.

*' I promised Tiot to reveal her secret ; but I felt that a
marriage with such a i)assionate, vindictive man as he was
could be productive of only misery and sorrow to her.
She had no friend in the world but me, and I resolved ^o
remain in AVesti)ort and watch over her safety.

" So nearly two years passed. Bertha dwelt sometimes
in Westport and sometimes in the island. Campbell's
Lodge, thee knows, is a large house, full of rooms and
passages, and she could easily remain there for weeks at a
time without being discovered. Mark Campbell had a
schooner, and kept five or six rough-looking sailor fellows,
half smugglers and whole villains, constantly about him.
I managed to obtain employment about the place, and
was thus enabled to remain on the island and, unsuspected,
watch over Bertha.

THE MANIAC'S STORY.

209

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" Bertha, when in the island, always lived in some of
the upper rooms, where the children and servants never
came. One day, when she was in Westport. I clianccd
to have some errand to those apartments, and. entorini? a
little dark closet otT one of the large rooms, I knelt down
to grope for something on the floor, when my hand pressed
heavily on something which I kn';rt' now to he a spring ;
a trap-door fell, and I came vory near l)eing precipitated
down twelve feet to one of the rooms below — a large,
empty apartment, filled with old lumbei*.

" When I recovered from my astonishment at this un-
expected occurrence, I examined the trap, and found it
could be opened from below, and that, owing to the dark-
ness of the closet, when shut it could never l^e discovered.
1 was at no loss to siccount for its object, as it had evi-
dently been con^^tructed by some former occupjint for no
good purpose. I felt convinced, however, that the ])res-
ent proprietor knew nothing of it, or long ere this it
would have been made use of. and I resolved to say noth-
ing about it, not knowing for what evil end he might use it.

" 1 was right when I felt that this hasty nuirriage be-
tween Bertha and ^lark C'ampbell couhl be productive of
nothing but misery. Already ho was wearying of her,
but that did not prevent him from being madly joalons.
A stranger, a mere youth, ami the handsomest 1 ever saw,
had met l^ertha somewhere, and was deeply struck by her
beauty. He was a gay, thoughtless lad, and Mark Camp-
bell, overhearing some speeches he had made about her,
had all the fierce jealousy of his nature aroused. He set
spies to watch Bertha ; her every word and look were dis-
torted, after the fashion of jealous ]ieople, into a confir-
mation of her guilt, and poor Bertha led a wretched life of
it. Her only comfort now was her little daughter, of
whom I had forgotten to tell thee oefore.

" One night one of his spies came to the island and
sought an interview with ^[ark Campbell. What its
purport was I know not ; but when it was ended his face
was livid — absolutely diabolical with passion. '^I'wo of his
villainous crew were despatched in a boat to West])ort,
and when they returned they brought with them this
youth, gagged and bound hand and foot. Bertha was at
the time dwelling in the Lodge, for Campbell was too
madly jealous to suffer her to go out of his sight.

210

THE QUEKN OF THE ISLE.

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"Iliatl.'i i)i08onLimuiit thut s()mctliiii<; terrible would
occur tliiiL i»i;,'hl, but 1 never dreanied ol' tlie uwrul
murder tliiit was })eri)('trjited in oiiu of (he up]>er rooni.s.
It was a Htoriny, tempestuous niglit, but tlie men were
sent oil' a^'ain to a ilLlJe vilhi'i^o Kome miles below New-
port ; and wlien tliey (!anio l»ack they had wlLJi them an-
other man, ga/^^god and bound like tlie first.

"1 could not rest that idght, but sat anxiously in my
room in the basenutiiL story, longing with a strange dread
for the morning, i felt sure evil was meditated, and as I
listened J suilclenly heard one wild, territie shriek from
some one I knew must be Bertha. Hall' mad with terror,
I lied from the room and stole into the lower hall to listen,
but all was perfectly still. For u})ward of half an hour I
remained thus, but nothing broke the deep stillness until
heavy footsteps began to descend the stairs, and 1 saw the
two worst of Campbell's gang coming down, and leading
between them the man they had last brought to the isle.
They placed him in a boat and rowed away, and I returned
to the house, still ignorant of what had taken phu^e. As
I approached it I saw two other of the crew, talking in
low, hushed voices as they descended to the shore. I
stole behind them to listen, and judge of my horror when
I learned that, in his frantic jealousy. Campbell had
murdered this stranger youth, and, in his infermd bar-
barity, had cast his loving wife and the body of her sup-
])osed lover into a room together — consigning her to a death
too fearful to contemplate. The man Avho had just been
taken away Avas a mason, who had been procured to wall
up the only door to the room.

*' I listened, my very life-blood freezing with horror ;
b it judge of my feelings when, from their descri})tion of
the room, I knew it to be the one with the hidden door.
In that instant everything was forgotten but the one
thought of freeing her who was dearer still to me than
life. I was more like a frantic man than one sane. I
procured a ladder, made my way noiselessly to the de-
serted lumber room, ascended it and carefully let fall the
trap. The lifeless form of the murdered man lay across
the opening, but I pushed it aside and sprang into the
room, thinking only of Bertha. In the farthest corner,
crouching down to the floor, she sat, a gibbering idiot.
The terrible shock had driven her insane.

THE MAXTAC'S STOIIY.

211

* i

** What I felt at tliat dreadful si;^dit no word:^ can ever
tell. I raised lior in my anna and horo he, unrcsistiiijr,
down into llic lumber room, I closed tiie trap, eonecaled
the ladder, and, carrvinj,^ her as if she were fin infant. I
iled from the accursi .l si)ot. ISlio neither spoke nor
uttered a sin;j,Io cry, but lay i)assively in niy arms. Tiierc
were boats on the shore. I placed lier in (Uie, and, with
a strenL;"lh that seeme(l almo.^t superlninnin, rowed over
tlie heavin'.:; waves till monnn^'. Whither I was ^oin:^' I
knew not, neither did 1 care ; my only object was to i)ear
her bevond the reach of her deadly enemv. When morn-
in^^ canu' I found myself on the shore below this ])lace.
I Inid often })een here and admired 'this quiet and hidden
spot, buri(Ml in the depths of tiie wood. Hither I bore
Bertha, who followed me like a child ; and before noon I
had constructed a sort of rude hut to screen her from the
heat of the sun and the ni'dit dew. "^^I'lien I went to
Xewport for such necessaries as I immediately required,
and resolved thatliere I would spend my life, in watching*
over my poor, insane cousin.

" It would be dull, tedious and uninteresting to relate
how I labored for the next few weeks to construct this
hut, and form, as best I could, the rude furniture you
see here. It was a labor of love, and I heeded not fa-
tigue nor want of rest until it was completed. No child
in the arms of its nurse could be more quiet and docile
than Bertha, but I saw that reason had fled forever. I
fancied she would always remain thus still and gentle, and
never dreamed she could be attacked! bv paroxysms of
violence like other lunatics, until one night I was startled
to find her raving mad, flying through the house and
shrieking murder. All the events of that terrible night
seemed to conu^ back to her, and she fled from the house
before I could detain her, sprang into the boat and put
off for the island. She knew how to manage a boat, and
before I could reach Newport and procure another she had
reached the island, entered Campbell's Lodge, still making
the air resound with her shrill shrieks of murder. For-
tunately, in the dark she was not perceived, and I managed,
to seize her and bear her off to the boat before any one
else beheld her.

" A fortnight after, when I visited Xewport. I learned
that Mark Campbell was dead, and I knew tl.at ho must

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THE QUEEN OF THE I3LE.

have heard her cries, and, supposing them to be snper-
natural, the shock had hastened liis death.

" Of Bertha's chihl I coukl discover nothing. How he
disposed of it is nnlcnown to me to this hour.

" Ahd so liertha and I have lived here for fourteen
years unmolested, and our very existence is, doubtless,
long since forgotten. She is, as you see her, gentle and
harmless ; but she still has those periodical attacks of
violence, but in a lesser degree than at lirst. At such
times, by some strange instinct or glimmering of reason,
she always seeks the isle, enters Campbell's Lodge and
goes wandering tlirough the rooms, as if vacantly trying
to remember something that is past. These nocturnal vis-
its have given the Lodge the reputation of being haunted,
which her appearance at different times upon the island
has confirmed. As the house was for several years- de-
serted, except by some old servants, after the death of
Mark Campbell, she could roam with impunity through
the rooms — sometimes even pushing back bolts and enter-
ing apartments that were locked. Such, Christie, is the
story of the maniac Bertha."

All this time Christie had been listening with a look of
the deepest, most absorbed attention, in silent amazement
at all she heard. The mystery of the haunted house a>'d
the sjiirit of the isle was cleared up at ^ .st.

** And the child — did you never hear anything more of
it ?" inquired Ciiristie.

** Nothing concerning it have I ever heard."

" Thon it may still be alive."

"It is very probable ; villain as he was, he would not
slay his own child. But enough of this ; it is wearing
late, and thee looks tired, Christie. Good night, my
daughter."

Christie sough' her couch to wonder and dream over
what she had heard, and forget for the time her own griefs
in thinking of the greater ones of poor l^ertha. How
similar, too, seemed their fates ! The sufferings of both
had originated in those fatal secr^it marriages. Bertha's
were over, but Christie's were not ; and, wondering how
hers were to end, Christie fell asleep.

And thus days and weeks and months glided by in the
little, lonely forest cot. The long, dreary winter passed,
and spring was again robing the trees in green, while the

REMORSE.

213

inmates of the cottage knew nothing of the events pass-
ing in the great world more than if tliey no longer dwelt
in it — dreamed not of the startling denonemcnt to the
tragedy of the isle that was even then hastening to a close,
until their peace was hroken hy an nnexpeeted occurrence
that roused Christie into electric life once more.

I>ut for the present we must leave her and return to the
other scenes and characters of our story.

CHAPTER XXVI.

REMORSE.

" Oh, tell me, father, can the dead

Walk on the earth and look on us,
And lay upon the livint?"s liead

Their hlessinj? or their curse ?
She comes to me each nifrht —

The dried leaves do not feel her tread ;
She stands by me, in the deep midnight,

In the white robes of the dead."

— Whittier.

And now we must return to the day following that
night of storm and crime on the shore of Campbell's Isle.

When Etlgar awoke to consciousness once more, he
found himself lying on a lounge, with some one eluding
lAs hands and temples. Unable for a moment to realize
what had happened, he started up, and gazed wildly
around. The lirst object on which his eyes rested was
the pale, anxious face of his wife, as she bent over him.

That sight brought back all. AVith a hollow, unearthly
groan, he fell back, exclaiming :

" Heaven and earth ! has the grave given up its dead ?
Or am I dead, with my victim confronting me in another
world ? "

But at the sound of his voice, Laura uttered a joyful
cry, and falling on her knees beside him, clasped her arms
round his neck, crying out :

" Oh, f^dgar ! dearest Edgar ! thank Cod you are still
alive. Oh, Edgar, I was made reckless ; only forgive mo
for the miserable past, and as heaven hears me, 1 will
never — never make you so wretched more."

Her tone, her look, her clasp, convinced him she was

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214

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

really alive. With liis brain burning and throbbing as
though he were going mad, he started up, and grasped
her by the arm, while lie fairly shrieked :

'* Woman I do 1 speak to the living or the dead ? Did I
not murder you ? "

" Dearest Edgar, no ! The fall scarcely hurt me at all.
It was all my own fault ; do not think of it any more, and
do not speak, or look so crazed and excited. Do you not
see I am alive and well ? "'

Yes, he saw it. She wliom he siipi)osed was buried
forever in tlie heaving sea, was bending over him, holding
his frenzied head on her breast-— })usliing back the wild,
black hair soothingly off his burning brow. Was he sane
or mad ? Were all the events of the previous night only
the liorrible delusion of a dream ? the vivid deception of
a nightmare ? Was the storm, the murder, all a mock-
ing unreality ? He looked down, and saw on his cloak a
dark, clotted mark, the maddening evidence of the past,
and knew that it was not a dream. His wife was living
still. Who then had fallen by his hand ? In the storm
and darkness, what horrible mistake had he made ? He
ground his teeth and clenched his hands together to keep
back the terrific emotions that made his very brain reel,
feeling as ihough hell itself, in that moment, could not
have greater tortures than he endured.

Dreaming not of what was passing in his mind, lianra
still bent over, caressing him, and striving to soothe liim
back to calmness, bitterly accusing herself for her he;irt-
less conduct, that had driven him to such a depth of
misery and despair.

" Oh, Edgar I my dearest husband ! only say you for-
give me for the i)ast I I have done very wrong, but I
never meant to torture you thus. Oh, indeed, I never —
never meant it I I will do anything, be anything, go any-
where you wish for the future. Dearest Edgar, will you
not say you pardon me ? "

'' Leave me — leave nie ! " groaned the unhappy man,
avertin.f'" his hciul, and shadino- his eves with his hands.

*"' But say you forgive me first, Edgiir ! Oh I if you
knew what a miserabk-! night I luive passed, you would
think I had atoned sufficiently for what I have done."

" You — you — where were you last night ? " he cried,
with sudden wildness, starting up.

REMORSE.

215

•t »

** 1 was here, of course. For heaven's sake Edgar, do
not excite ' onrself so,'' slie said, startled and ahirmed.

*' Were 30U here all night ? "

*^ Certainly, Edgar. It' I had boon inclined to go out,
I was not able; and if able and inclined, 1 could ot liavo
done so in such a storm. Do compose yourself, Mr.
Courtney."

" Y^ou are sure you were here all night ? "

'* Most certainly I was. Why will you persist in asking
me such a quesriGii?*' she said, in extreme surprise.
Again he fell back with a shudderiup- g'*oan. *' Dear
Edgar, you are very ill. I must send lor a physician,"
sjiid Laura, in great alarm, thinking his violent jealousy
had unsettled his brain.

" Xo — no I on your peril, no ! " he vehemently ex-
claimed. " Leave me ! all I want, all I ask for, is to be
alone ! "

*' But you Viave not yet forgiven me. Will you not do
so before I go ? ''

*< Yes — yes, anything ; only leave me.''

Sighing deeply, Mrs. Courtney arose, and, pressing a
kiss on his brow, left the room.

And he was alone — alone with his own frenzied, tumult-
ous thoughts — alone with his own conscience, the most ter-
rific companion a guilty man can have. Again came the
torturiiig thought. What, oh, what had he done ? Whom,
in his mad passion, had he slain ? While reason and judg-
ment slept, and jealousy and blind frenzy raged, what
wrong had he committed ?

But his wife lived. AVitli a sudden revulsion of feeling,
in all the tempest of agony and remorse, that conviction
was the one gleam of blessed sunlight in the dark night of
despair. Come what miglit, she who had given up all
for him, had not fallen by his hand ; her death was not on
his soul. And he drew a deep respiration of relief ; and,
if he had dared so to breathe the holv name, would have
thanked God for her preservation.

How strongly amid the wildest chaos of doubt and an-
guish does the instinct of self-preservation ever remain in
the ascendant ! All other thoughts quickly passed away,
and the one absorbing idea of securing his own safety
filled his whole breast. He thought, with a start of alarm,
what conjectures his strange questions and wild excite-

1''

216

THE QU>y£X OF THE ISLE.

'II

!f ;

ment must have f;iven rise to in the mind of his wife, and
resolved that, for the future, come wh^t miglit, he would
be on his guard, and not commit himself by betraying his
emotions.

" I must leave this place immediately," was liis thought,
*' before suspicion will have time to fix on me, and trust
to time and absence for secUi'ity. But first I must find
some clue to this horrible mystery. Oh, that dreadful
night ! Would to God it could be forever blotted from
my memory ! "

Eycu while he spoke, an unusual bustle below met Irs
ear. He heard voices speaking in quick, excited tones ;
then a scream, and then the sound of many feet hurrying
to and fro. With the one idea, the one dread thouglit of his
guilt being discovered ever uppermost in his mind, he listen-
ed in an agony of impatience for what might follow. Still
the bustle and excitement continued, and, wrought up to
a fever of anxiety, he was about to rise and go inq lest of
information, wlien the door suddenly opened, and Laura
— })ale, trembling and horror-stricken — stood before
him.

" Li the name of heaven, what is the matter, Laura ? "
he asked, in a voice hoarse with agitation.

'^ Oh, Edgar ! you have not heard the dreadful news,"
she said, trembling.

" What dreadful news ? Speak and tell me instantly ! "
he said, grasping her arm and setting his teeth hard.

" You remember that lovely little island girl, Christie ? "

''Yes; what of her?'' he said, turning frightfully

pale.

''In the fearful storm of last night, she was most foully
murdered. Poor, gentle, little Christie!"

He knew all now ; he remembered her resemblance to
his wife ; that had deceived him. She, then, had been
his victim. In spite of all his resolve to be calm, he was
forced to trra^p a cliair to steady himself. lUit in her
sorrow and horror, his wife did not perceive his increas-
ing agitation.

"Dear, beautiful Christie! so fair— so young— so
gentle, to meet so terrible a fate ! Oh, Edgar ! what a
demon her assassin must have been, worse than a demon,
for even thev would not have committed such a deed.
Poor little child ! .,liat an awful doom was hers I "

REMORSE.

217

He had recovered his outward calmness by this time
and, steadyiiii^ liis trembling voice, he asked :

*' Who could have done the deed ? "

'*No one knows. Mrs. Tom and Sybil Campbell have
only just arrived ; and all they can tell al)out it is that,
owing to some unknown cause, she eitlier left or was
borne from the house during the night, aiul part of her
clothing was found this morning, covered with blood.
The body could not be found and it is supposed 'twas
carried away by the waves. Oh, it is horrible ! What
crime would not men be guilty of, since they could even
murder that gentle giH ! The proper autiiorilies are about
to be ap])rized of the fact, and the island is to he searched
to see if any clue to the discovery of the murderer can be
found."

*' What is supposed to be the cause of the murder ?"

*' Oh, there is no cause assigned ; everything is wrapped
in the deepest mystery, but 1 have an idea of my own.
You know poor Christie was exceedingly beautiful, aiul
some one nuiy have become eiuimored of her, and attempted
to carry her oil — thinking the night and storm favorable
to his purpose. Most probably she resisted ; and, fail-
ing in his })urpose — in a fit of passion — he may have slain
her, and fled to escape the consequence of the act."

"Most probably that is it," said Courtney, wishing
fervently that every one else would adopt his wife's
opinion.

"But, oh! it is terrible!" exclaimed Laura; ''poor
little Christie ! And her aunt is almost deranged. Oh I
to think we should all luive been safe here, tliinking only
of our own petty troubles, while she was lying, w^onnded
and dying, ex[)osed to the fury of the winds and waves.
i do not know how it is ; but there is a feeling of remorse
in my heart, as if I were in some way accountable for
this crime."

" You, Laura ! What nonsense I "

"Yes, I know : but still it is there."

" An over-excited brain, that is all. Who is down-stairs.

now

V "

" Sybil Campbell ami Mrs. Brantwell. Mrs. Tom and
Mr. Brantwell have gone to the mngistrate's."

" I think you said Sybil Campbell came with Mrs. Tom,
Was she on the island last night ? "

IVi i i

■i!i^

Hi:

I y

•: 3

^ ■ ■ u

\ILji

218

THE QUEEN" OF THE ISLE.

*' Yes ; she went there about dark."

" What ! in all that storm ?"

" Yes, I believe so."

** What could have taken her there ? " asked Courtney,
who scarcely knew what his own object was in asking
these questions, except it was to keep his mind from
dwellintjj on what he had doiie.

"1 do not know. Oh, yes ! now I recollect ; it was a
note brought her by her brother ; and, strangely enough,
from Christie herself. Slie seemed very much agitated
upon receiving it ; and insisted on going immediately to
the isle, in spite of the storm."

Courtney gave a sudden start, a strange light leaped
into his eyes ; his white face flushed, and then became
paler than before, as he said.

" Do you know what this note contained ? "

'^ No ; how should 1 ? "

*' Did Miss Campbell meet Christie last night, before
the murder ? "

*' No ; I heard her telling Mvs. Brantwell that the
storm came on so violently that she was scarcely able to
reach the Lodge, much less the cottage."

" Are you aware whether those two girls were on good
terms ? "

'' Why, what a question ! What do you mean,
Edgar?"

*' Nothing ; answer my question."

" Whv, I reallv do not know ; but I fancy not."

'^Ah! Why?"

** Well, of course, I may be mistaken ; but I think
Sybil was jealous of poor Cliristie at one time. AVillard
Drummond certainly paid her a great deal more atter.tion
than he should have done, considering he was betrothed
to Sybil. But, then, he was always fickle."

" And Sybil Avas jealous ? "

"Yes ; I am quite sure she was."

*' And, consequently, this island girl's enemy ? "

*' Well, I cannot say as to that. What on earth do you
mean, Edgar ? "

" Who first discovered the murder ? "

"Svbil."

*' Ah ! she did ! And I presume she immediately went
and told Mrs. Tom?"

REMORSE.

219

''No ; T hoard her telling Mrs. Brantwell that she
found it out, somehow — I forget how — soinewhero about
niidnififlit ; but she did not inform Mrs. Tom till

niornnig.

'' Wliy was that ? "

^' I don't know. Really, Mr. Courtney, "' I wa,s on
trial as a witness, you could not cross-examine me more
strictly," said Mrs. Courtney, beginning to lose patience.

*' I wisli to know all the particulars, Laura. Did you
liear anything else ? "

*' No — yes ! I heard Mrs. Tom telling Mr. Brantwell
that about the time they suppose the i\i^.QA\ was committed
Carl Ilenlcy saw a woman Hying tlirough the island ;
but that no one credits."

** A woman, did you say ?" And the strange light in
Courtney's eves grew almost insufl'erable.

" Yes; but I suppose he dreamed it, or wished to add
to his own importance by a feigned story."

"I do not think so," said Courtney, who had good
reasons for the belief. '^Perhaps this tangled web may
yet be unraveled.^*

** Edgar, in the name of all the saints ! what do you
mean ? "

*' Hush ! I mean nothing — never mind now. ]^erhaps
my suspicions are premature."

" Good heavens. Edgar I you surely do not suspect "

" Hush ! " he said, in a hoarse whisper ; '* I suspect no
one. Be silent concerning what has passed. Leave me
now, I wish to lie down. When those people return from
searching the island, come and let me know the result.
I do not wish to be disturbed before."

Wondering what ])0S3ible meaning could be couched
beneath his mysterious words, Mrs. Courtney left the
room. And Edirar Courtney sat down, and with knitted
bi'ows aiul compressed lips ^^^ i^to deep thought. NTow
and then his white face would blanch to a moi-o ghastly
hue still, and the muscles would twitch convulsively ; and,
again, an expression of demoniacal joy and triumph
wouid light up his countenance, to be clouded a moment
after by doubt and fjar, while his customary midnight
scowl grew darker and darker. At last, a look of des-
perate resolution usurped every other expression, and he
hissed through his clenched teeth :

I'h

I' >

s ■

;i ( i

i .

I V;:

II'

1 1

220

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

*' I will do it! I will do it! Anything, even thi«,
sooner tlum the fate thut nia}^ be mine. It can easily be
proved. A slighter chain of circunistantiiil evidence has
been found, before now, strong enough to hang "

He paused suddenly, aiul cast a terrified glance around,
as if fearful the very walls might hear his diabolical plot.
Or, perhaps, the word suggested what might one day be
his own destiny.

He arose and paced excitedly up and down the room,
so deeply absorbed in thought that he heeded not the flight
of time, until the sudden opening of the door and the
entrance of his wife startled him from his reverie.

" Well," he said, seating himself, and trying to hide his
anxiety under a show of composure.

" Oh, they have searched every corner of the island so
carefully that if a pin had been lost it must have been
found ; but it is all in vain. They cannot obtain the
slightest clue to the discovery of the murderer or his
victim. All that has been found is a knife, deeply stained
with blood, which places the fact that she has been mur-
dered, beyond the possibility of a doubt. The murderer,
In his flight, probably drop})ed it unawares," said Laura.

Courtney started in alarm at the news ; but a moment's
reflection convinced him that — as the weapon bore neither
name nor initials, and had never been seen with him —
there was nothing to be feared from the discovery.

'•'And what do thev mean to do now ? " he asked.

*'I do not know — give up the search, I suppose, since
it seems utterly useless to continue it. Poor, ill-fated
little Christie !"

** Has Mrs. Tom returned to the island ?"

<( Yes."

"Ami Miss Campbell?"

" She is here, where she intends remaining.'

*' How does she bear this news ?"

" Oh, she seems terribly excited, I must say ; and I da
not wonder at it. Slie insisted on going with them to the
island, and aiding in the search ; and has been walking
up and down the room, like one half crazy, since their
return."

(' Very singular agitation to be produced by the death
of a girl she did not like, isn't it ?" said Courtney, in a
peculiar tone.

REMORSE.

231

•* »-i

;ir

I will go to

** Why, Edgar ! who could lielp boing agitated at so
dreadful a deed ? Every one is horror-stricken."

" You are not thus agitated, Laura I*'

'"Well, I feel it none the less deeply on that account ;
but Miss Campbell and I are ditTerent ; and l)esides, she
has known her mnch longer than 1 have. IJut it is almost
dark, Edgar, and you have had no dinner. Are you suf-
ficiently recovered to come down to tea ? ''

*' I think not ; 1 do not care for any.
bed."

" Let me bring you up some tea and toast first," said
Laura. " You have eaten nothing all day."

She left the room, and soon reappeared with the tea
tray. And Courtney, to satisfy his wife — having partaken
of a light supper — retired to bed, wearied after the ex-
citement of the dav.

He closed his eyes, but not in sleep. Hour after hour
passed on, while he lay tossing restlessly, striving to
banish from his mind the tragedy of the previous night.
All in vain ! sleep would not come at his call. Again he
beheld the still, lifeless form of the murdered girl lying
before him, with the rain and wind beating pitilessly on
her cold, white face, while the life blood ebbed slowly
from the wound his hand had inflicted. He closed his
eyes with a shudder, and pressed his hands over them ;
but he saw her before him still. How the scorpion tting
of conscience lashed him now, in the deep silence of the
solemn night.

At length he fell into an uneasy slumber, but only to
re-enact, in fev ish dreams, the vision of his waking
hours. Still before him was that body on the beach ; but
now, as he gazed, the deep-blue eyes seemed to open and
fix themselves with a look of unutterable reproach on his
face. Slowly the rigid form seemed to rise and approach
him. Nearer and nearer it came, with ils glassy, stony
eyes staring upon him steadily, until it stood by his bed-
side. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth ; cold
drops of perspiration stood on his brow ; ho would liave
cried out, but his throat seemed parched. AVith one
spectral hand it pointed to the gash in its side, and laid
the other, icy cold, on his brow. With a shriek of terror
he sprang from the bed and stood trembling in every limb
on the lloor.

2^>3

TTIK QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

1 V

i; 3

He lookcMl around in an af^^onv of fear and horror, Itnt
lie was alone ; and wiMi tectii chattei'in<,^ and ]iead rooling
lie sank into a scat and oovorod liis faoe with his Ininds,
exeliii Filing :

** Oh. it WMS she ! It was slic ! Am I never to be rid
of this ghostly ])reseneo ? Is slie to rise from lier ooeaii
grave tlius, evi-ry night, to drive me mad ? "'

The great ohl (doek in tlie liall chimed twelve, lie
shiKhlered at the sound : and, hearing footste])s aseendiiig
the stairs, knew that tlie family was rt'tii'ing. Casting
himself onee more oji tin; bed he strove to eom])ose him-
av.lf and while away in fitful slumber the tedious hours till
morniiiu' should dawn.

CHAPTER XXV 11.

THE WIDOWED BRIDEGROOM.

" One fatal remenibrance, one sorrow which throws
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes.
To whieh lif(! notliin^^ darker uv brij,'ld('r can l>rinfjr,
For which joy has no balm, and atliiction no sting."

— MOOUK

AxD where, meantime, was he wliose headstrong pas-
sions had brought nbout this catastrophe ? Where was
Willard Drummond ?

In his far-otf Virginia home he had seen the last re-
mains of liis only surviving parent laid in the grave, and
found himself the sole possessor oi an almost princely for-
tune. And noAv, in the deepest mourning, and witli a brow
on which rested still the sad shadow of tliat newly closed
grave, he turned his face once more toward the house of
Sybil Campbell.

A complete change, a total revulsion of feeling had taken
place within him during the last few days. The awful
presence of death had hushed the clamorous voices of
jiassion and ambition, and awoke within him the deepest
feelings of remorse for the unmanly part he had acted.
All his sopliistries and specious reasonings were swept
away by that dying bed, and he felt in its fullest force
how base and unworthy liad been his conduct. He felt it
was his imperative duty, in spite of love and wounded
honor, to renounce Sybil Campbell forever, and, let the

TUE WIDOWED lUUDEGROOM.

22:]

it
^d

coiiseqiieiicos be whiitihcy ini^'ht, to U-ll lierull. It would
bo a bitter luimiliuLioii to liiiu, it would briuf; l.t't'loii^T
sorrow to hor, but tlicro wjih 110 iiUcrnative. lie slinmk
from the thoii<^lit of the ternl)le outbur.st of j)sisHioii iii.s
confession would be received with ; but better this tlmii
tlie sluinie and di-syraee of wedilinm' the liusbund of iin-
otiier.

Christie WHS bis wife — his patient, U)vintj^ little wife —
{ind as sucb must bo acknowledged before llu; world ; and
with the resolution of following the j)ronij)tijigs of his
l)ett(!r nature, ho reached Westport one lowering autumn
day ; and, weary aiul travel stained, entered the West-
brook House.

'J'he iirst person on whom his eyes rested as lu; wont in
was Captain (Juy Campbtjll, sitting at a table, sipping his
coifee and glancing over tho morning pai)er.

The noise of his entrance made Captain (Juy look up ;
and, starting to his feet, he caught his hand and shook it
lieartily, while he exclaimed :

'' Drummond, my old friend ! delighted to have you
liere with us again. Here, sit down. Have you break-
fasted ? "

*' No ; I have only just arrived. How are all my friends
— your sister and the Brantwells ? " said W^illard, taking
tlie i)rolfered seat.

" All well ; though Sybil has been worrying hei'self to
a skeleton about that sad affair on the island. You have
heard of it, 1 suppose ?"

" Xo ; what sad affair ? " said Willard, with a start.

'•'Why, the death of little Christie, to be sure! It is
very singular you have not lieard of it. I'he papers are
all full of it ; but — good heavens I my dear fellow — what
is the matter? Are yon ill?" said Captain Cami)l)ell,
rising in alarm.

Reeling as though he had received a spear thrust through
his heart, Willard Drummond S[)rang to his feet, and with
a face deadly white grasi)ed his friend by the arm and said,
in a choking voice :

'' Dead, did vou say ? Christie dead ? How ? When?
Where ? Of what did she die?"

'' Really, Drummond, this agitation is most nnaccount-
able," said Captain Campbell, slowly, and in extreme
surprise.

1;;

U^TT

224

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

I 1

II i;

■I V

sho iliu ? "

'I'll is is most cxtraoniijiary," iM^plicd

** Dejicl f (load ! '* said Drinnuioiid, unlicedinglils words,
*' (J real licavon '. — speak and toll me — how was it ? Wlioii
was it ? Wlioro di(

" On tho island.
Caj)tain Cainpboll, looking at the pale, agitated face be-
fore liini in still increasing sur})riso.

**01i, Captain ('ainpl)ell I" exclaimed Willard, in bitter
sorrow, " if you call yourself my fi'icnd, do not keep mo
in suspense now — tell me all — how did she die ? "

"Jt is very extraor<linary, all this/' said the astoiushed
young captain, who wiis (piite uni)repared for such an out-
hurst of feeding from the usually gay, nonchalant Willard
Drummond. '' Then you liavo not .'leard she was "

'' What?"

''Murdered !" said Oaptain Campbell.

** Murdered ! Oh. my God ! " Aiul with a deep groan
that seemed tearing its way up through his anguished
heart, Willard sank into his chair and buried liis face in
liis hands.

Ca})tain Campbell looked at liim with the most un-
bounded .'unazement.

" Well, upon my soul ! " ho broke out at length : " if
this doesn't surpass anything ever I dreamed of I 1 can
understand feeding sorry and horrilied at so atrocious a
deed — I felt all that myself; but to take on in this way
is something beyond me, I must confess. Waiter, more
coffee.''

*' Campbell, tell me all," said Willard, springiTig up and
fiercely dashing back his long bhick hair. " Who could
have committed so base, so atrocious, so damnable a
deed ? Oh, can there exist a being on Cod's earth cap-
able of committing so infernal a crime ? Who is it ? —
speak and tell me ; and nuiy heaven's heaviest curses rest
npon him now and for all eternity ! AVho had the heart
to hurt one hair of her gentle head ? "

*' Drummond, my dear fellow, what means all this
violent agitation ? What was little Christie to you ?"

The keen, searching look, the meaning tone and prob-
ing question brought him from his fierce outburst of re-
morse and anguish to a sense of the presence in which he
stood. This was not the time or place for the revelation ;
nor was it to Captain Guy Campbell that revelation was
destined to be made. Controlling his agony of bitter sor-

I bc-

TIIE WIDOWED BRIDEGKOOM.

225

''if
can

and
)iild
a

'ob-
re-
he
m;
r'as
or-

row and still more bitter remorse, and feelinf]^ the nec-
essity of calmly bearing all, by a tremendous elTort liesub-
dned his llerccly excited feelings and dropped in his seat,
and said, while he shaded his face with his hands :

"To me- to me? Nothing; yet 1 felt toward her Jil-
niost as if she were my sister. When last I left her sho
was full of life and youth and vigor, and now — now to hear
so suddenly that she is dead — aiul murdered I She, sweet,
fair and gentle as an angel, to meet such a fate ! Oh,
Campbell, is it not enough to drive oiu^ )nad to think of it I "

" It is a sad thing, I must confess," said ('ai)taiii
Campbcdl, who, Ixdng the most unsuspicious of human
beings, received this explanation as perfectly satisfactory :
"and no one but a demon in human form could have per-
])etrated the deed."

'• Who is the murderer?" said Drummond, in a deep,
hollow voice.

" That cannot be discovered ; the island and every place
else, I believe, has been searched, but no clue to his ap-
prehension can be found ; rewards were olfered — the police
put on the track, but all in vain."

*•' When was the diabolical crime committed ? "

'* The very night you left Newport, ^'ou remember
the terriiic storm of that night. Somewhere about mid-
night, it is sup[)osed, ])oor C'liristie was assassimited.
The deed wjis committed somewhere near tlu; shore ; and
as the tide was very high, the body, if left on the rocks,
must liave been swept away. What could have brought
Christie from the house at such an hour and in such a
storm, nnless she had been forcibly carried out, is a mys-
tery still unsolved."

In spite of all his efforts, another anguished groan broke
from the tortured heart of Drummond. The thought of
his note appointing that fatal meeting ! Oh, too well ho
knew what had brought her there ; and a pang keener
than death pierced his soul as he thought of that slight,
delicate girl plunging through all that howling tempest to
meet him !

"Who was on the island at the time ? " he asked, after
a pause.

" Xo one but Mrs. Tom and Carl and one or two
negroes ; and — yet — now I think of it. Sybil was there
too."

226

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

f i

" Sybil ? " said Willard, with a start.

'• Yes : she went over shortly after you went away.
Poor Christie, it seems, wanted lier for something and
sent her a note. What it contained I cannot say, but it
seemed to ai^iiatc Syl)il as I have seldom seen her a<,ntated
before ; an(l the result of it was that she insisted, despite
the gathering storm, on going to the island that night/'

What was tlie thought that made Willard Drummond
turn so gliastly at that moment ? Had Christie, in th;.t
note, revealed their nnirriage, and had Sybil, in a lit of
passion —he shrank in liorror, in loathing of himself at
the terrible thought that tlie arch fiend suggested at that
moment. AVild, vindictive, passionate, frenzied in her
rage, he knew her to be ; but, oh, never, never could even
her terrific passion carry her so far away as to raise her
hand against that gentle ciiild's life, iiut who could have
done it ? Christie, the unknown island girl, had not au
enemy in the vv'orld except Sybil ; and she, in violent agi-
tation, liad braved storm and danger and death to reach
the island that night. Oh, horrible thought ! With his
brain reeling with conflicting emotions, he felt for the
moment as if his very reason was leaving him.

Ca})tain Campbell, sitting placidly before him, sipping
his colTee, saw nothing of what was passing in his breast ;
and, setting his unexpected emotion down partially to the
morbid state of his mind since his father's death and the
want of rest, arose and said :

'' My dear Drummond, you must be tired and worn out
with your journey. You had better retire at once. 1 will
call here this afternoon again. When do you intend
visiting Newport ? "

'' Any time — to-day, to-morrow, immediately," an-
swered Drummond, incoherently, scarcely conscious of
what he said.

"I am going there to-morrow. Wliat say you to going
then ?" said his companion, with a stare of suri)rise.

'• I shall be at your service," said Drummond, striving
to rally himself. ." AVhat Avith fatigue and all, I am rather
bewildered as yet; but I trust by that time to be far
enough recruited to pay my devoirs to the hidies at the
parsoiuige.'"'

*' Very strange, I must say," mupei Captain Campbell,
as he ran down the stepb and entered the crowded street.

l'\\ ■

THE WIDOWED BRIDEGROOM.

227

IvJiig

itlier
far
the

[bell,
reet.

*' Very strange, indeed, that the news of licile Christie's
death should so cllect him. 1 had some notion once that
Sybil was a little jealous of Christie, and, faitli, I begin to
think she may have had some cause for it. But perluips I
wrong Drummond after ail. He is not very excita])lo
usually, I know ; but his mind being unusually troubled,
Christie's dreadful death may have given him i; shock.
He dare not trifle with Sybil ; if he does he will feel the
weigiit of a Campbell's vengeance !"

Willard, meantime, had secured a private room, and was
pacing up and down and striving to collect his thoughts.
The first shock was over — the first thrill of lu^rror at the
news was past ; and though sorrow for her fate and bitter
remorse for what ho himself had done still remained, ho
could not suppress something very like a feeling of relief.

Alas ! for all his good resolutions. Cone were they now,
as the fadin_pf sunlight flies before the approach of night ;
and his love, ids hopes, his desires were in the ascendant
again. Perhaps he was not altogether to blame for the
fickleness of his miture. Perhaps most of it might be
owing to his education, to those with whom he had mingled
and the world for which alone he had ever lived.

He thought of Sybil. I'hat momentry suspicion was
quiet, and he hated himself for ever having indulged itjiu
instant. No ; terrific as he knew her to be when her lioa
passion was aroused, he felt that not on Christie — guile-
less, inoffensive Christie — would fall her vengeance, but
on him who rightly deserved it, His glorious, high-
spirited Sybil, the descendant of a daring, chivalrous race,
would not stoop to slay a weak, unprotected girl like this.
There was no obstacle now to prevent his marriage ; she
might lawfully become his wife when his period of mourn-
ing was past. There was a thrill of private joy in his heart
at the thought; but the sad, reproachful face of Christie
rose like a vision before him, and with a shudder he sat
down, while remorse again tugged at his heart strings.

So passed the morning ; and when Captain Camj)bell
entered his room again he found him — though outwardly
calm and composed — pale witli many conflicting emotions.

Before he left it was arrancfcd that thev should set out
together the following day for Newport.

And eariy next morning the two young men started for
the residence of the Brant wells. They reached it late the

ti'

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1' i ' t

ill

f' ' mil

'I M

I i

i ' ' ' t'

:. Jl :. 1

IlL; '

228

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

same afternoon, and were warmly welcomed by good Mrs.
Brantwell. Sybil, thinner and paler than Wilhird had ever
beheld her, fluslied with pleasure as he embraced her and
took a seat by her side.

He looked earnestly into her face, but she had notliing
there save deep, subdued sadness ; no guilt lingered on
that broad, queenly brow or in those clear, bright eyes.

As a matter of course, the conversation first turned on
Christie and her melancholy fate.

" You have heard of it, no doubt, Mr. Drummond/*
said Mrs. Brantwell.

*' From my friend Captain Campbell — yes, ma'am," he
answered, gravely but calmly.

Sybil's keen eyes were bent with ill-concealed anxiety
•upon him, and she drew a deep breath of relief as she
noted his quiet gravity as if a heavy load had been lifted
off her breast.

"Poor Mrs. Tom," sighed the minister's wife ; "she is
indeed to be pitied. 1 urged her to quit that lonesome
island, and we would provide for her somewhere here, but
she refused, and says that the only comfort she has now is
watching the waves under which her darling Christie is
buried."

A faint shudder passed over Drummond's frame, in spite
of himself, at her words.

" By the way, Mrs. Brantwell," said Captain Campbell,
" where are the Courtneys ? They were speaking of going
away somewhere when last I was here."

" Yes, they have gone home. Mr. Courtaey was in
very poor health, and even Mrs. Courtney, poor thing !
seemed to have lost most of her high s})irits, and was glad
to be on the wing again," replied Mrs. Brantwell.

During this short dialogue Sybil and Willard were con-
versing together in low tones.

'' And so your resolution is really to go abroad ?" said
Sybil, lifting hor dark eyes anxiously to his face.

" Yes, but for some moiiths only ; and the project gives
me ]"/leasure in the thought alone that in so doing I shall
not be separated from you."

" No ! A 'd hov/ ? she said, in surprise.

"Then you are not aware that your brother, having
completed all his business and refitted his vessel, is about
to take you with him again to England ?

THE WIDOWED BRIDEGROOM.

229

111

iig!

ives
hall

mrf

*' I was really quite ignonmt of that fact."

"Well, so it is. We all start together in three weeks*
time, I believe."

A tlusli of pleased surprise passed over Sybil's pale face.

** Then iu that case I shall have an opportunity of ac-
complishiug my long-cherished wish of visiting Italy. I
have long and ardently desired to see that beautiful land."

*' And^ifter tliat, fairest Sybil ?"

"I shall return home."

** And what then, beautiful one ?"

"* Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,'" quoted
Sybil, with a smile. " Who knows what the future may
bring forth ? "

" Let me tell you, beautiful Sybil," said Drummond, in
the low, musical tones that had so often thrilled to her
inmost heart. '* After that may I claim tliis little hand
as mine ? Say, fairest Sybil, may I look forward to our
return to claim my bride ? "'

She lifted her eyes to the handsome face bending over
her, so full of perfect love and devotion now, {ind, like
the frank, glorious creature she was, she laid her hand in
his and said :

" '^'es."

" Why, Sybil, my dear," broke in the voice of Mrs.
Brantwell at this interesting juncture, in tones of deepest
dismay, ** do you know what Guy says ? All three of you
are to start off on a wild-goose chase to Europe, instead of
settling down and behaving yourselves as sensible Chris-
tians should. It's really quite abominable, and I, for one,
have set my face against it ; and I'm sure, Sybil, you'll
agree with me."

"Really, my dear Mrs. Brantwell," said Sybil, smilii;g,
" I am afraid I cannot. I wish to go quite as much as
Guy."

"You do?" exclaimed the minister's wife. "Well,
upon my word, if this is not too provoking ! It all comes
of having a taste for rambling, and being male and female
sailors, the whole of you ! 1 always thought sailors were
vagabonds on the face of the earth, without anv settled
place of abode, and I'm sure of it now. You don't expect
to be able to go in three weeks, I should hope ?"

"Yes, of course I do. What's to hinder ?" said Sybil.
*^ I am not a fine lady, you know, and don't require two

t^.

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Wr^

ii h '<

ii'"

m-ha

I; 1

230

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

or three dozen trunks pcacked before I start. So, Captain
Campbell, though you did not do me the honor of con-
sulting me before all your arrangements were made, I
sliall reserve my wounded pride and indignation to another
season, and be ready to go with you at a moment's warn-

inir

Mrs. l^rantwell expostulated* in vain. Sybil would go,
but promised faithfully to return within nine months at
furthest.

And so, three weeks later, our trio stood on the deck of
the Evening Star, ** outward bound."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE THUNDERBOLT FALLS.

" Tlioy spake not a word ;

i- > like dumb statues, or breathless stones,

Staied at each other, and looked deadly pale."

—Shakespeare.

It is not my intention to chronicle the events of that
foreign tour. Suffice it to say it came to an end at last, and
Captain Guy Campbell, Willard Drummond and his be-
trotlied stood once more uj^on the shore of their native
land.

There was a joyful meeting that day in the parsonage.
Good Mrs. Brantwell, as she again clasped her favorite
Sybil in her arms, shed tears of joy.

Those twelve months of absence had greatly improved
Sybil. The rich bloom of perfect health again mantled
her cheeks ; her magnificent eyes, brilliant with hope and
happiness, once more outshone her diamonds. Through
all the foreign cities through which she had traveled her
dai iling beauty had created the deepest sensation. Known
to be an heiress, beauty and belle, countless hearts had
been laid r.t her feet; but Sybil never for an instant, in
thought or act, was unfaithful to that first strong, undying
love tliat was part of her very nature.

And now the period of Willard Drummond's mourning
was past, and tliey had returned home to be united at last.

How ardently and truly he loved Sybil now — far better
than he had ever done before. How proudly he had
exulted in the knowledge that this peerless, queenly girl,

Tfl

THE THUNDERBOLT FALLS.

231

at whoso feet coronets had heen laid and rejected, wtid his
— his alone; Wv/uld soon be liis bride — his wife. How big
licjirt had swelled with triumph when he beheld the en-
vious looks .:ad jealous ghmces bestowed npon him by
more than one titled nobleman of other lauds. He longed,
as the blind long for sight, for tlie time wlien this glorious,
radiant Sybil would be his own undisputed wife, beyiuul
earthly power to separate tliem. Until that time came ho
must live in nncertainty, not knowing whether this prize
might not yet sli[) tlirough his fingers.

Tliat time so ardeutlv looked forward to was at hand
now. Preparations for the wedding were already com-
menced on a scale of magnificence that was destined to
electrify the community far and near, and which the
princely fortunes of the bride- and bridegroom could alone
justify.

Tlie day was appointed, and invitations were sent out
to all the elite within fifty miles to attend the ball with
which it was then customary to conclnde a wedding.

Sybil, with her usual wilfulness, would not be married
in the house in the evening ; it did not seem right, she
said. She would be married in the churcli in the morn-
ing ; and as this was of little consequence to the rest, her
wish was immediatelv acceded to.

On rosy wings sped on the time until the auspicious
morning dawned. Brightly and cloudlessly arose the sun,
ushering in a day as glorious as ever came out of the
heavens. How little did any one dream how darkly and
fatally that day was destined to end !

It w^as arriingcd that the day following the ceremony
tlie bridal pair should again take their (lc})arture for a
wedding tour, and everything was prepared accordingly.

Good Mrs. Brantwell, as mistress of the ceremonies,
had a terribly busy time of it for the foregoing two weeks.
Milliners and dressmakers from the city fdled the upper
rooms, and cooks and confectioners the lower regions. To
lier lot it fell to purchase dresses, laces, jewels, etc., for
the use of the bride — who, with cliaractcristic indilfci'enco
to all sujh things, would, if left to herself, commit the
unpardo'.:a])le sin of being married in her simple wiiito
robe of India muslin, instead of her splendid silver bro-
cade, frosted with seed pearls, which the sum))tuous taste
of that worthy lady had selected. xVmong the many guests

■«■ ft-

lii

!■

liii

■4

in.-

232

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

invited to the *' wedding feast " we may mention our old
friend, Mrs. Tom. Poor little Mrs. Tom ! Since the
loss of little Christ!:) she had never been the same bright,
brisk, breezy, chirruping body she had been before, and
tliough still active and bustling as ever, her cheery laugh
Avas far less often heard. Mv. Carl Henley, too, was to
be present, and made his appearance on the eventful
morning in a long, blue '' swaller-tails," brilliant with
brass buttons, his boots and hair shining with lard, and
his round, full-moon face wearing a look of sublime beati-
fication, serene in the blissful consciousness of a new suit
of clothes and a pair of vrhite gloves, every greasy hair in
his head breathing of " peace on earth, and good-will to
man."

Two young girls from Westportwere to be bridesmaids,
and a young Englishman, whom they had met abroad,
together with a cousin of Mr. Drummond's, were to be
groomsmen. Captain Campbell, as her nearest relative,
was to give the bride away.

Early in the morning the first carriages began to arrive,
and soon the lower hall and drawing-room were crowded
with guests, waiting to accompany the bridal party to
church.

In her room, before a full-length mirror, Sybil Camp-
bell, so soon to be Sybil Drummond, stood, while half a
dozen girls, headed by Mrs. Briintwell, arrayed her for
tlio bridal. jMagnificently beautiful she looked as she
stood there, her rich robe of sheeny silk floating about
her regal form, her queenly brow chisped by a tiara of
finest diamonds, her gaudy veil of costliest lace envelop-
ino^ her like a cloud of mist — her darlc clieeks flushed
with excitement, her magnificent eyes outflashiug the
jewels she wore.

'"' Beautiful ! glorious ! radiant I " broke from the li])s
of her attendants, as they stepped back to survey the
effect.

"Yes, beautiful indeed I " mentally exclaimed iSFrs.
i^rantwell ; beautiful beyond compare looks my peerless
Sybil in her bridal robes."

And just then the door was thrown impetuously open,
and o]ie of the bridesmaids, a vivacious little lady, with
twinkling brown eyes, burst in, exclaiming .

** Girls I girls ! aren't you ready yet ? Oh, my good-

THE THUNDERBOLT FALLS.

233

ness I Sybil, liow splendid you look ! But do hurry ; that
happiest of mortal men, Mr. Willard Drummond, is wait-
ing, with all the rest of the folks— a hundred and fifty, if
there's one — down-stairs, llurrv I "

Thus adjured, like a floek oif st;irtled birds, the bower
maidens lied to arrange their own toilet, and Sybil was
alone with Mrs. BraJitwell.

" My own precious Sybil ! and am I to lose you at
last ?" said ^Irs. Brantwell, clasping her in her arms, and
gazing upon her sparkling face with eyes of yearning
fondness.

'' Dear Mrs. Brantwell, my second mother, come what
may, let the future bring what it will, you will ever hold
the second place in my heart," said Sybil, dropping her
head on the sh on hi or of her friend.

'^And you are happy — perfectly happy, my own dar-
ling ? "

'' Oh, yes ; perfectly happy — too happy for words to
say. Oh, Mrs. Brantwell ! my only fetir is that such in-
tense joy is too blissful to last.''

'^And you have perfect trust — perfect faith in him who
is so soon to be your husband ? Does no doubt still linger
amid all this love ? "

'^None ! none ! not the sliglitost — not the faintest. Oli,
I wronged him by ever doubting his trutli. 1 conhl slako
my hopes of heaven on his fidelity now !' exclaimed Sybil,
with some of her old (ierce impetuosity.
^ "Thank heaven for tliat,'' said Airs'! Brantwell, with a
sigh of relief. Oh, Sybil I dearest, ei-adicate forever from
your heart this fatal dream of jealousy ! to doubt one we
love is deepest misery."

''Oh, I know it'! I know it!" said Sybil, with a
shudder, as she recalled the stormy past.

And just then the tripping of' light feet approaching
the door was heard.

''It is the girls coming back to take yo;i down-stairs,''
said Mrs. Brantwell. "And now my "own, my dearest
girl, may God bless you and grant vouVll happiiioss."

"Amen!" solemnly, almost sadly, said Sybil, as she
returned her embrace, and stood waiting for the entrance
of her bridesmaids.

They burst in in a bevy, fluttering round the bride like
brigat-winged birds, as 'they shook out their glittering

234

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

\iiMU

■Ml, ! t

llfl

i I'

I- < I

iiii I

plumage with little white, jeweled hands, and announecd
that the bride^'room and liis I'riends were waiting for them
in the liall brdow.

And togeLncr the l)ride and lier friends descended the
stairs, followed by Mrs. Brantwell, and entered tlie hall
crowded with guests.

A low niurniiir of admiration passed through the throng
at sight of the radiant briih;. And WillanJ Drummond,
handsome, suave and stately, stepi^^d forw.'ird, nnd drew
her hand within liis arm, and led iicr to the carriage that
was to convey them to the church.

The others followed, and, as that sacred edifice was
situated hut a few ynrds from the house, they reached it
in a proportionately short space of time.

The church, too, was crowded, mostly by strangers,
some from ])lacos far distant, drawn together by the
rumors of the bride's wondrous beauty. So crowded was
it, that half the bridal party could not find seats, but were
obliged to stand.

j\lr. ]5i-{intwell, in full canonicals, stood, book in hand,
awaiting their approach.

They advanced, under the admiring eyes of the crowd,
and stood befoi'c him.

And at that very instant, like an inspiration, flashed
across the mind of Willard Drummond the remembrance
of the stran^-e vision he had seen years before. Hero it
was, all there before him. The crowded church, the
bridal party, the clergynum and a bride wearing exactly
the faces of those he had beheld then. A thrill of vague
terror, he knew not whv, shot throusfh his heart. He
thought of Christie — lost, murdered Christie — and of that
other bridal in night and dark, and secrecy. But then,
lifting his eyes, they fell on the gloriously beautiful face
of her who stood beside him, and all was forgotten once
more but liis bride.

The ceremony began amid a breathless silence, as the
vast concourse listened, with the eagerness they always do
on such occasions. The questions were put and answered
in the usual manner, when a slight bustle at the door
broke for the first time the impressive silence.

The clergyman had almost concluded the ceremony, and
the bridegroom was just putting the nuptial ring on the
finger of the bride, with the words . " With this ring I

THE THUNDERBOLT FALLS.

235

do thee wed ; with all my worldly goods I thee endow, in
the niune of "

\' Hold ! I forbid the marriage ! " cried a deep, stern
voice, that rung through the church.

Every head was turned, every eye was riveted on the
speaker, a tall, determined-looking man.

White with vague apprehensions, the bride and bride-
groom turned round, while the bridesmaids shrieked out-
riglit at tiio interruption.

Mr. Brantwell stood, like one thunderstruck, book in
hand.

And the stranger, the cause of all this commotion,
walked steadily up the aisle, and stood before them.

'MVho are you, sir?" was the anuizod and angry
question from the lii)s of Captain Campbell, who was the
first to recover from his shock of astonishment at this
astounding interruption.

'' Sheriff Lawless, sir; and it is my painful duty to
prevent this marriage."

"By what right ?" fiercely demanded the young mpn,
with kindling eyes.

'' 13y a right all-sufficient for the purpose, young man,"
calmly answered the sheriff. ''I have a warrant here for
the arrest of "

^•Whom?"

" Miss Sybil Campbell, the bride ! "

'' God of heaven ! on what charge ? You are mad
man ! " '

^ " On the charge of having, fiftee-. months ago, assas-
sinated Christina Tomlinson, on CampbolFs Isle ! *'
_ A wild, terrific shriek, so full of passionate grief that
it thrilled through every heart, rang through the build-
ing. It was the voice of Mrs. Tom.

1 1

I ■ ; ,4 ,

236

TUE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

I .

CHAPTER XXIX

THE DKVOTIOX OF LOVE.

•' I know not I ask not,
If Kuilt is in thy heart ;
I but know that I love thee
Wlmtever thou art."

— MoonK.

It would be impos.siblo to depict or describe the con-
sternation tlijit reiu^iied now within tlie cimrcli.

Mrs. Tom in a deadly swoon, was borne from the sacred
edifice.

The book had dro]^{)ed from the hand of tlie clergyman,
and dumb with amazt mcnt and incredulity, he stood star-
ing at tlie ofllcial.

Mrs. Brantwcll, pale, and almost fainting at so mon-
strous a ch.'irge, made at such a time and in such a place,
liid her shuddering face in her trembling lumds.

The bridesmaids, like a flock of frightened birds, had
clustered together, gazing around with vague, terror-
stricken eyes.

And the people, after the first shock of horror and
amazement, became mute as the grave — listening, with
breathless interest, for the denouement of this astound-
ing interruption — with that eager, morbid curiosity with
which a crowd will always listen to anything of the sort.

But the group arouiul the altar — they were the focua
of all eyes. Captain Guy Campbell, his dark eyes blaz-
ing, his brow corrugated, his lips white with passion,
stood gazing on the sheriff as if he would spring upon
liim and rend him limb from limb on the spot, for mak-
ing so terrible a charge against a sister of his.

That gentleman stood calm, stern and unmoved, upheld
by the consciousness that he was doing his duty, however
2)ainful, and keeping his eyes fixed, with something like
pity, on the face of the bride.

AVillard Drummond, fearing she might faint or fall, had
encircled her waist with his arm, and, though liis own
face was perfectly colorless with horror and indignation,
stooped down and whispered :

tup: devotion of love.

337

'' Mv hrido — mv wifo — niv ilcurcst one, bo calm ! Tliia

monstrous lU'cusaLioii will bo oxphiiiu'd."

1)0 calm I there was lit lie iiei'd to t(!ll licr to bo oahn.
After the first involniitary sliock, she stood like an out-
ra;j;ed oni])r('HS before them, lier re^ial form drawn up to
its full heiijht, her ii(>blo brow ex[)aJided, lior dark, i::a<x-
nifieeiit eves MaziiiLi' with insulted ijride aud unutterablo
scorn, lier full li[)s curled with a contempt too profouiul
for words, lier whole face and form irradiated with the
light of insulted majesty.

There was one instant's deathlike j^ause, broken at last
by the voice of Mr. Lawless, saying, p(»litely :

*'I am very sorry that painful necessity compels me to
thus break np the festivities of this day. This charge
against the lady may ))e groundless — 1 hope it is. lint I
have a duty to j)erl'orm, however nnpleusant it nniy be to
mo and all of you."

" On whose charge is my sister arrested fortius deed ? ''
said Captain Campbell, in a deep, stern voice.

''On that of Mr. Edgar Courtney, I believe," answered
the sheriir.

"Edgar Courtney !" rang from every lip, in tones in
which amazement liad cotui)letely mastered every other
feeling. Even Sybil looked bewildered.

" Yes ; and in support of his deposition he has brought
to bear such a strong chain of circumstantial evidence,
that even in the face of the charge being l)rought against
a young lady so wealthy, high-born and distinguished as
Miss Campbell, it was found necessai-y to issue a warrant
for her immediate apprehension."

*'' Heaven of heavens I this is maddening I Oh, for the
thunderbolt of heaven to blast tlnit double-dyed perjurer
where ho stands I " exclaimed Captain Campbell, passion-
ately.

AVithout heeding this indignant outburst, the sheriff
turned to Sybil and said, courteously :

" Miss Campbell, this duty is exceedingly unpleasant
to me ; but I regret to say you must go with me now I "

" Wherv) ?" said Sybil, in a tone of such supernatural
calmness, that evei-y one was startled.

'' j\[iss Campbell, 1 am vei'y sorry ; but it is my duty to
convey you to the county jail, to await your trial."

'' The county jail ! " exclaimed Sybil, losing her power-

238

tuVj qvvvs of Tiri^ isle.

Ijii

I .. ;

■ it

fill self-control for the firsst time diiririL,^ this tryin;,^ scone ;
and with ii convulsive sluuhler she iiid her face on Will-
urd's shoulder.

lie (■l;i.s[)ed licr closer to his side, as if he defied earth
and heaven to tejir her fi'om liini ; hut still Ju^ s[»f>l\c nofc
a u'oTfl. A\'as it the irnjtossihility of the charii-e ? W;is it
his indiffriiit ion ainl jiorror ? or was it this awful confirm-
ation of Ills douhls and iIh» vivid recolleetiou of the scene
at the {istrolo'jer's tiiat held him dumh ?

I>ut (';i|)laiii Caniplx'll, losiiiii^ nil self-control, all re-
Tiiemhrancc; of where he stood, once more passionately and.
impel uously hr(d\e forth :

"'l\) the county jail! So help me CJod ! — never!
Never will Syi)il (Jam[>l)ell submit to such a dei,q'a.dation !
Sooner will 1 shoot her dead with my own hand where
she stands I Oh, "tis monstrous ! — outrageous ! — that
any one should dare to ac.'cuse a Camphell of such an in-
fernal dectl, and live ! "he exclaimed, clenching his hands
and teelh in his itnpotent, fiery wrath.

'OFv dear (Juv, ho calm; remember Avhere von are,"
interposed Mr. IJrantwell, soothingly. "Jf Mr. Lawless
wants bail to any amount, whatever you may name "

"Parson lirantwell, J should like to obliire vou. but
you must bo aware that I cannot listen to you ; unfortu-
nately the charge is not a bailable one. And I trust,"
added the sheriff, glancing half threateningly, half pity-
ingly at Captain Campbell, " no resistance will be oil'ered
me in the discharge of my solemn duty ; for painful as
the announcement is, there is no help for it. The young
lady must come with me ! ''

"• A bi'ide to spend her wedding day in a prison cell.
Oh, saints in heaven ! " shudderingly exclaimed JMrs.
]kantwell.

"I am ready, ^' said Sybil, lifting her pale, beautiful
face, and speaking in tones of supernatural calmness.
*' I will 2:0 with vou, sir, and there will bo no resistance
offerc'd. (.Juy, dearest brother, be calm ; this violence will
not aid me, and will low^er yourself. Mrs. Brantwell, may
I trouble you to brinjr mv mantle from the carriaire ? "

*' Ob, must you go ?" exclaimed Mrs. Brantwell, wring-
ing her hands.

" Unfortunately, dear madam, there seems to be no
alternative."

THE DEVOTIOX OF LOVE.

230

*' But not in tliiit dress ? — not in that dress ? Sir. may
she not return to tiie parrioiiiige and ciian^jje lier dr»>ss ? "

*' Mudum, r am very sorry ; but 1 cannot lose .sight of
my prisoner."

A circle of wliitu rtamod round tho eyes of Captiiiii
Catn|)l)ell, and he clenciied his hands and groaned in liis
bitter degradation.

" TIkmi I ain quite ready to go. Mrs. Brantwell, diMir-
est friend, farewell — for a short litne only, I trust. (Juy,
brotlior, do not feel this so deeply ; in a iew days I trust
to return to vou all asraiu. Willard " — her clear, full voice
choked for tho first time, as she turned to him ; ''dearest
Willard, 1 must bid you good-by."

''Oh, Sybil: Syb'il ! Oh, my wife! do yon think I
will leave you thus ? '* he cried, passionately, as, unheed-
ing the many eyes upon him, lie strained her to his bosom
as if he would liave drawn lier into his very heart bevond
their reach. " Oh, my bride ! — my beautiful one ! — never
will I leave you — never !"

A radiant glance, a look, a smile, rewarded liim, while
ev*iry heart thrilled at his anguished tones.

'' Your own — in li^e or death — in shame, disgrace and
misery — ever your own!" she said, looking up into his
face with deej), earnest, undying love.

There was not a dry eye in the church — every one was
sobbing, Mrs. Brantwell so convulsively that the sherill",
who w'ds really a kind-hearted man, was deeply distressed.

"Miss Campbell, will you accept my arm ?" he said,
feeling the necessity of bringing this scene at once to an
end ; " my carriage is at the door to convey you to "

''The county jail! Oh, Syliil I — oh! my sister!
"Would to God you had died before you had seen this
day ! "

" ]5rother ! brother ! be calm ! Mr. Lawless, I attend
you ! " said Sybil, advancing a stop, as if to take the arm
lie offered.

But Willard Drummond intercepted the movement, and
drew her arm within his ovs^n, saying, with a fierce,
threatening glance toward the sheriff :

"I will attend you, Sybil! I alone have the right!
Lead on, sir" — to the sheriff — " we attend your pleasure.
No one on earth shall separate me from my bride ! "

'^ Mr. Drummond, the — the-' -ceremony was not finished

840

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

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! -

^ i

when the iiiieiTiiption occurred," stiin\mcrcd the minister,
looking deeply distressed.

But 11 scornful smile was Willard Drununond's sole
reply, as he clasped the arm he held closer with his own.

" I, too, will go !" cried Captain Campbell. " Sheriff
Lawless, you/ strict sense of duty will not, I trust, pre-
vent your allowing niu to accomi)any my sister to the
countv jtiil I''

'* Ca})(ain Campbell is quite welcome to a seat in my
carriage," said the otlicer of the law, with a grave bow,
and without heeding his bitter sneer.

''Farewell, Mrs. Bnintwell — my more than mother;
farewell," said Sybil, as the whole party, preceded by tlio
sherilf, advanced down the aisle.

]\Irs. Brant well strove to reply, but her voice Avas
choked. Taking her husband's iirm, she followed them
out.

The whole assembly arose en nnisse, and started for
the door, casting threatening looks toward the sherilT, as
though half meditating a rescue on the spot.

A plain, dark-looking coach, with a mounted police-
man on either side, stood near the gate.

The sheritf paused when he reached it, and signified
tliat they were to enter. Mr. Drummoml handed Sybil
in and took his seat beside her ; Captain Campbell, with
astern, gloomy look, followed, and then the sheriff
sprang in, closed the door, and gave the order to drive
on. Svbil bent from the carriage window to wave a last
adieu to Mrs. Brantwell ; and the crowd standing on the
church steps and in the yard caught ;i momentary glimpse
of her pale, beautiful face, with its sad, twilight smile —
her dark, proud eyes, more scornful than ever in their
humiliation. That haunting face, so perfectly colorless,
with its bright, jetty ringlets, its floating mist-like veil,
its ovange blossoms — could it be the face of a murder-
ess ?

The next moment she fell back, the blinds were closed,
the driver cracked his whip, the policemen put spurs to
their horses, and the sad cavalcade moved rapidly away.

Hushed into the silence of death, the crowd stood breath-
lessly gazing after it, until the last sound of the carriage
wheels had died away — the last cloud of dust raised by
the horses' fee^ vanished. Then, pale and awestruck, they

THE DEVOTIOX OF LOVE.

241

il,

I"!'-

Ito

tirew a deep breath aiul looked with tearful eyes into each
other's pale faces, wondering if it were not all a dream.

Whis}KM"ing in low, hushed tones beiuiath their breath,
they broke up and wended tlicir way to their respective
lionies ; and in half an hour, the church was as still, silent
and deserted as the totnb.

Like wiUl lire .spre;id the news ; and before night, it was
not only known to all the counti'v round, but for inanv a
mile distant. The whole community was electrified by a
catastrophe so unheard of. Children (piit their ])lay,
women their work, lovers their whispers, and laborers their
daily toil, to talk over the astounding arrest. The wealth,
the respectability, the youth, the beauty, the sex, the well-
known arrogance and pride of the race from whitdi the
accused had (•-prung, all tended to heighten and dee])eu
the breathless interest. And the time and place — the oc-
cjision of occasions, on which the arrest had taken place —
that, more than all, sent a thrill of horror through every
heart. Each circumstance of the interview in the church
was exaggerated, and people listened and swallowed every-
thing with avidity.

Jn the parsonage, meantime, a cloud of the deepest
gloom had settled over its lately joyous innnites.

Mr. and ]\[rs. J^rantwell, with the tlree bridesnniids and
Will Stafford, had immediately, upon the de})arture of
Svbil, entered their carriage and driven to the minister s
house.

And the bridesnniids, in great agitation, not to say deep
disappointment, at losing the ball in tlie evening, had
dressed themselves, and gone immediately home.

Mrs. Brantwell sat weeping in a perfect abandon of
grief, in the ])arlor below, ami would not be comforted.
Mr. Brantwell and Mr. iStalTord, themselves in deepest
distress, strove in vain to console her.

Poor Will Stafford ! it was not without a struffiile he
had seen Sybil given up to another ; but hiding the sharp,
dreary pain at his heart under a gay exterior, he had reso-
lutely determined to be gay, and conquer his ill-starred
passion. From the first moment he had seen Wilhird
Drummond, an uneasy consciousness that he had beheld
him somewhere before was ever upon him. lie thought
of the secret nuirriage he had long ago belield, and he
thought Mr, Drummond looked suspiciously like the

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242

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

bridegroom on that occasion ; but he *^ pooh-poohed " the
notion as preposterous, and strove to forget it. It was
nearly dark when he had beheld that " runaway pair/' as
lie called tlieni ; and he could not distinctly see the face
of tlie nnm — their general appearance was alilvc, but not
sufficiently so to warrant his speaking on the subject ; and,
of course, it could not have been Mr. IJrumniond, the be-
trothed of Sybil Campbell. So he had hitherto scouted
tlie idea until he had nearly forgotten it ; but now, strange
to say, it came back to him more vividly than over.

While many suspicious thoughts of VViUard Drummond,
but not one of Sybil, were passing through his mind,
Mrs. lirantwell was still sobbing on the sofa, in passionate
grief.

'^Now, really, Harriet, tliis is wrong — tliis is sinful.
You know," said Mr. Brantwell, fidgeting, uneasily,
*' such violent grief is forbidden. ^Ye sliould be resigned
to the dispensations of Providence, no matter in what
sliape they come."

** Oh, Mr. Brantwell, go away ! I don't believe this is
a dispensation of Providence ; it's all tlie villainy of that
miserable wretch, Courtney. And to think we should
have kept him here, too. Oh, Sybil ! Sybil ! " concluded
Mrs. Brantwell, with a fresh burst of grief.

" My dear madam, let us hope for the best. This ab-
surd, this monstrous, this horrible charge will soon be
explained, and Sybil set at liberty," said Stafford, sooth-
ingly.

"Oh, I know all that — I have not the slightest doubt
but she will be discharged, soon — heaven forbid ! But
think of tlie horrible injustice of this deed ! that she, my
beautiful, high-minded, proud-spirited Sybil, should ever
set foot within a prison cell, much less be brought there
as a prisoner — and on her wedding-day, too. Oh, it is
cruel I it is most unjust. I have no words to express the
unspeakable wrong it inflicts upon her. That her name
should be bandied on every tong'ue —should be proclaimed
as a felon's in all the papers — should be the to})ic of every
tavern far and near. Oh, heaven I why is this monstrous
injustice permitted ? '' cried ]\Irs. Brantwell, in still in-
creasing sorrow and indignation.

" Now, really, Mrs. Brantwell," began the more mod-
erate spouse.

•i

THE DEVOTION OF LOVE.

243

the

Lod-

*' Mr. Brantwell/' sobbed his wife, looking indignantly
?.t him through her tears, ^^ if you can stand there, look-
ing so cool and unmoved, it's no reason why others should
be equally heartless. Oh, Mr. StaiTord I won't you ride
to AVestport and learn the issue of this arrest, or I shall
die of suspense ? ^^

*"' Most certaiidy, madam ; I shall go immediately," stud
Stafford, standing up. "•' 1 was about to propose it myself
when you spoke."

"You will return as soon as pos>;ible ? " called Mrs.
Brantwull, after him, as he left tlie room.

" I shall not lose a moment," said the young man, as he
ran down-stairs, sprang on his horse, and dashed furiously
toward the town.

As it was impossible, with the utmost expedition, for
him to return before the next day, Mrs. Brant well pr(»-
pared hei'self for a night of lingering torture — the torture
of suspense. To the anxious, affectionate heart of the
good old lady, that long, sleepless night seemed endless ;
and she hailed the sunlight of the next morning with joy
as the precursor of news from Sybil.

As the morning passed away, this anxiety and suspense
grew almost unendurable. Unable to sit down for one
moment, iMrs. Brantwell paced up and down, wringing
her hands and twisting her fingers, ami looking every other
moment down the road whence Stafford must come.

But with all her anxious watching the hours passed on ;
and it was almost noon before the welcome sound of a
rapid gallop met her ears and brought ];er, eager, ]);dpita-
ting and trembling, to the door. Yes, it was Stafford, but
the hope that had sprung up in her breast died away at
sight of his face. His horse was reeking witli foam and
sweat, his clothes were disordered and travel-stained, his
hair disheveled, his face pale and haggard, as if from
sleeplessness and sorrow, and his eyes gloomy and excited.

** Oh, ^[r. Stafford ! what news of Sybil ? " gasped ^Irs.
Brantwell, faintly.

'* Oh, it is just as I feared it Avould be ! Sybil is fully
committed for trial,'' said Stafford, leaping off his horse,
and entering the parlor, excitedly.

Mrs. Braiitwell, faint and sick, dropped into a chair,
and bowed her face in her hands, unable to speak ; and
her husband look up the inquiry :

21i

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

" TTfivo you seen Sybil ? ''

" Oh, yes ; I saw her in her prison cell, behiiul an iron
gratin<^, as if she were some undoubted criminal," replied
Stail'ord, bitterly.

" How does sl.e bear this blow ?"

*' Oh, when one is talkinii^ to her shciscjilni and proud,
and scornful enough ; but as slie lil'ted her head when 1
lirst went in there was sucli fixed, utter nnguisli and de-
spair in her eyes tliat I hope I may never see the like

again.

" Poor Sybil ! when does this trial take place ?

'* Xcxt week. It seems there are Jiot manv cases occu-
j)ying the court now, and hers occurs among the first, at
the sj)ecial request of her friends.''

'' Have they engaged counsel ?"

*' Yes ; Mr. P , the best lawyer in the state."

"^ And her brother and Hrumniond, how do they bear
this?"

"' Oh, Captain Campbell swears and threatens and looks
iibout as much like a maniac as anyone I ever want to see.
^Ir. Urummond is calm; but tliere is something in his
very calmness more indicative of grief than all Guy's vio-
lent sorrow. They have engaged lodgings at Westport,
and will remain there until after the trial."

'" Is there any doubt, any fear, about the issue ? "

^^None in the least ; there cannot be, you know. It is
impossible, utterly impossible, there can be an instant's
doubt about her acquittal. The trial, therefore, will be
nothing but a serious farce ; but it is the infernal injustice,
begging your reverence's pardon, of making Sybil Camp-
bell a j)rincipal actor in it, to stand before tlie gaze of
hundreds in the prisoner's dock, that is so inhuman. Oh,
there does not, there cannot, exist a human being on the
face of the earth so lost to reason as to believe she could
be ouiltv of such a crime."

" On what day next week does the trial take place ?
asked Mr. Brant well.

** It opens next Tuesday, I believe. And Mrs. Brant
■well, I have heard you are to be subpoenaed as a witness

" Oh, I would have gone in any case," said ^Irs. Brant-
well, faintly. "^My poor Sybil ! " and with another burst
of tears her liead fell on the tal)le again.

** Eeally, Mrs. Brantwell, you will make yourself ill by

}}

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SYBIL'S DOOM.

245

tliis foolish indulgence of grief/' said her husband, un-
easily.

''And there is no real necessity for it, "said Stafford,
feeling it his duty to say sornetiiing consoling. ''Sybil
will most certair.ly bo acquitted.

*'0h, don't talk to nie, either of von," said Mrs. Brant-
well, petulantly. *' You are nienrand can't understand
how this will darken all Sybil's future life. I feel— I
know she will never recover from it."

There was an embarrassed pause, and then >[r. Brant-
well said :

'* 1 will go to Westport the day before the trial comes
on, and stay there until Sybil is discharged, ])oor girl I I
suppose she and Mv. Drummond will immediately sail for
Europe until this unhap])y affair is forgotten."

".^lost likely. Ajid now 1 must bid vou both good

morn m IT '

J' Why I will you not wait for dinner ? Where are vou

goniir

'J "

To Westport. Not to leave it again nntil this miser-
able trial i.^. over. (Jood-by." And Stafford hurried from
the house, and mounting his still reeking horse, rodo
rapidly away.

CHAPTER XXX.

sybil's doom.

" Great God ! how could tliv vpiig^'ance light
Ko bitterly on one so brit^iit V
How coidd tiie hand f luit ^five such charms,
Blast them again in Love's own arms ! '

—Moore.

As Stafford had said, a subpoena was served on llvs.
Brantwell, to be present at the great, trial about which
everybody was talking. 'JMiat good ladv, who had deter-
mined already to go, regarded it as a "mere useless cere-
mony ; but Fate seemed determined to deprive her of that
melancholy consolation, for two davs l)ef()re the eventful
one on which the trial was to take place poor Mrs. Brant-
well, worn out by excitement and constant weepinu-, was
seized with such a violent sick headache, that she was
utterly unable to leave her ])ed. In v:iin, when the day
*' big with fate" came, did she attempt to rise ; at the

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246

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

very first effort she yvas seized with siicli a deadly faint-
iiess — siicli a l)Iindiiig giddiness, that she was instantly
forced to go to bed again. And there, half delirious, with
lier head throbbing and beating like mad, prostrated in
mind and body, she was forced to lie, wliile her physician
wrote a certilicate oi: her inability to attend, wiiich Mr.
]5rantwell was to convey to Westport.

How that day passed, and tlie next, and the next, Mrs.
Brantwell never knew. Lying in her darkened chamber,
with bandages wet with vinegar bound around her burn-
ing forehead, Avith servants tiptoeing in and out, and
speaking in hushed whispers, the time passed as it does in
a dream. With her mind as well as her body utter'y pros-
trate, she Avas spared the suspense concerning the position
of Sybil she must otherwise have suffered.

But on the fourth day, Saturday, though Aveak and
languid, she Avas able to rise, and — with the assistajice of
Jenny — descended to the parlor, Avhere, smothered in
shawls, she lay rocking back and forth in her large easy
chair.

And noAV, recovered from the first prostration of bodily
illness, she thought of the time that had passed, and be-
gan to feel all the tortures of doubt and agonizing sus-
pense again. Sybil's trial must be over by this timC;, and
— what had been the result ?

So nnendurable grew this uncertainty, that she Avas
about to despatch a messenger to Westport to learn the
result of the trial. Avhen the clatter of horses' hoofs be-
fore the door arrested her attcmtion, and the next instant
the door Avas thrown open and Will Stafford stood before
her.

Yes ; Will Stafford ; but so changed that she almost
screamed as she saAV him. AVorn, haggard and ghastly ;
with co7iviilsed brow, Avhite lips, and despairitig eyes ;
Avith such a look of passionate grief, anguish and tlespair,
that the scream was frozen on her lij)s ; and, Avhite, rigid
and speechless, she stood stariiig, unable to utter a Avord.

Without s]>eaking, almost Avithout looking at her, he
thrcAv him3elf into a chair, and buried his face in his
hands.

Oh ! wind menTit that look, that action, that ominous
silence ? For one moment the sight seemed leaving Mrs.
Brautwell's eyes — the poAver of life seemed dying out iu

SYBIL'S DOOM.

247

her heart ; bni hy n, mighty efTort of lier will slie resisted
the deadly fiiintness tiiat was creeping over her, and
asked, in a voice so low and tremulous that it was almost
inaudible :

^'Wiiat of Sybil?"

A groan that seemed to rend the heart from which it
came, burst from the lips of StafVord.

''What of Syljil ? '' repeated Mrs. P)rantwell, breathing
hard in her elTort to be cahn.

" Oh, Mrs. r>rantwell, do not ask !" exclaimed Stafford,
in a stifliiH^ voice.

*' Sybil! Sybil!'' were the only words the white,
quivering lips eonld utter.

''Oh, how can I tell her?" cried Staiford, springing
up and wildly beginning to pace the room.

"Sybil! what Of her ?" wailed Mrs. Ih'antwell, press-
ing her liands to her heart.

" Sybil is — oh ! heaven ! how can I speak the terrible
words?" exclaimed the excited young man, pacing up
and down like one demented.

''Heavens! — Will you tell me before I go mad?"
cried Mrs. Jirantwell, becoming as much excited as him-
self.

'•Then listen — since I must repeat her awful fate —
Sybil lias been tried, convicted and— doomed to die !"

The look that Mrs. Brantweirs face wore at that
moment never left the memory of Will Stafford. There
was a sound as of many waters in her ears, a sudden dark-
ness before her eyes, her brain reeled, and her head
dropped helplessly on the arm of her chair. Stafford, in
alarm, flow to the bell ; but overcoming, with a mighty
effort, that deadly inclination to swoon, she lifted up" her
head, and half raised her hand, in a faint motion to stop
him.

"I want nothing; it is over," she said, tremulously.
'^ Sit down before me, and tell me all. The worst is over,
and I can hear anything now."

" Oh, it was horrible ! monstrous ! outrageous ! thia
sentence!" exclaimed StalTord, with a burst of passion-
ate grief. "1 never dreamed for an instant — never did —
that she would l)e condemned. Oh, curse that Courtney !
Heaven's malediction rest on him, here and hereafter!"
ho hissed through his clinched teeth.

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248

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

" Tell me all ! Oh, tell me all ! " said Mrs. Brantwell,
trying to steady her trembling voice.

"I wish 1 could! I came for that purpose ; but I am
going mad, I think," said .Stallord, throwing himself into
a chair with sometliing like a liowl of mingled rage and
despair. ''She told me to come and tell you ; nothing
else could have made mo leave Westport while she lives."

"Was it Svbil ?"

"Yes; Mr. Hrantwcll could not travel as fast as I
could, and will not be here till to-morrow, and 1 — oh ! I
rode as if the old demon was at my heels all the way — and
ril nover rest easy again till I've put a bullet through
Courtney's brain ; for he's the cause of it all, with his
diabolical circumstantial evidence." exclaimed Stalford,
■with still increasing vehemence.

" Mr. Stafford, do give me the particulars I "

'• You know the trial was to commence on Tuesday ? "

'■- Yes."

" Well, as soon as the doors of the court house were
thrown open, the galleries, and staircases, and every
corner of the building was filled to suffocation by an eager
crowd. I got in among the rest of the rabble, and secured
a good place, where I could see and hear everything.
Owing to some cause or other, the people had to wait a
good while ; and just as they were getting clamorous and
impatient, they saw the carriage making its way slowly
through the mass of people that lined and crowded the
streets, unable to obtain an entrance into the court house.
Then every one was on tiptoe with expectation to see the
])risoncr, the fame of whose wealth and beauty, {ind the
str.mge circumstances attending her arrest, had hwn
blazoned the whole couiitry round. It was with the
greatest difliculty tliat a passiige could be forced through
the crowd as she entered, dressed in deepest black, closely
veiled, and in the custody of the high sheriff. Captain
Campbell ami Drummond followed closely after, and took
their places near her. As she took her seat, you might
have heard a pin drop, so ijitense was the silence ; but
when, a moment after, she threw back her veil, and her
pale beautiful face, with its dark, proud, scornful eyes,
that went wandering for an instant round, with contemp-
tuous disdain for the gaping crowd, a low, deep murmur
■of admiration, surprise and pity passed through the vastas-

SYBIL'S DOOM.

249

;»

semblage of human beings ; and the next instant they
were jn'ofounilly still once more.

"• Tlie jury were already impaneleil, and the prosidinj^
judge, and the state attorney, and Sybil's counsel, had
taken their ])laces, so tlie trial immediately eommeneed.
AVhen tlie clerk of the court put the customary cjuestioii
— MJuilty or not guilty^ — I \vi;h you could liave seen the
sleniier I'oi-m of Sybil tov.vr cdol't, and her glorious eyes
ilash, and her beautiful lip curl with scorn and disdain, as
she answered :

" Not guilty I your honor I"

'' There is no use in my telling you the state attorney's
charge. You'll see it all in the i)api'rs, if you have any
curiosity on the subject. All 1 need say is, that it seemeil
to destroy every favorable impression made on the minds
of the jury by the youth, beauty and sex of the pris(»ner.
lie spoke of the pain it gave him to be obliged to make
this charge against a woiuan, whose interesting appearance
ho saw Inid already made a deep im])ression on the minds
of all present ; but he trusted the gentlemen of the jury
would not allow themselves to be carried awav by their
feelings, and that 'appearances were often deceitful;
and lie made a long preamble about demons wearing tho
forms of angels of light, and of the crimes other women,
gentle and loving before, had been induced to commit in
sudden ])aroxysms of jealousy — as this crime had been —
as he was prei)ared to prove. He spoke of numy cases of
Momen — some of which had come under his own imme-
diate knowledge — of women stabbing themselves, their
lovers, their rivals, in fits of jealous passion. He spoke
of the well-known iealousv and vindictivencss that has
ever chara(!terizcd the race from which the interesting
prisoner at the bar had sprung, and that he would soon
show tluit she had been ever noted — even since childho«.'d
— for those same faults. Then he di'cw a pathetic picture
of tlie victim — her youth, her gentleness, lur ti'usting
simplicity — until every woman i)resent was sohbing as if
lier heart v/ould break. i>ut when he concluded by say-
ing that the murdered girl was the wife of the prisoner's
lover — married to him in secret, as he won'd shortly })!'ove
— a thrill ran through everv heart."

'' His wife ! " exclaimed Mrs. lirantwell, looking up in
dismay and incredulity.

' I

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250

THE QUKEX OF THE ISLE.
V(s, iVfrs. liraiitwc'll, liis wife ; and slio was, too," said

Sfail'ord, .sorrowfullv.

( <

When \\'illard Dniiiiinoiid — who

all thi.s time liad been standing in(»tionk'.ss, liis liat drawn
over his hruvv — lieard the Avords, ho started, reeled and
turned as deadly white as if ho liad reeoived a pistol shot
thronu-Ji the heart. Svhil lifted her wild, hiack eves, and,
readin;^; in that look, that action, the trnth of the woi'ds,
"with a ion;;", low cry dro|)i)ed her I'aee in her hands, with
snch a loojv of utter despair that eveiy heart stood still.
Captain Campbell spran,:,^ nj) us if some one had speared
liim, and would have thi'ottled Drummond on the spot, I
firmlv believe, it a policeman had not interfered, and lield
1 "■ "

iim tjaclc.

'' 'i'he first witm^ss called wixs an old ^Fethodist minister,
who deposed on his oath that he had mai'ried Willard
Drnmmond — whom he })romptly identified — to a, young
girl called Christina Tomlinson, about a year and a half
previously, as nearly as ho could then recollect. They
were married after night, "without attendants ; and the
bride seemed very much frighteiu'd. He concluded by
giving a description of her — which exactly tallied with
that of little Christie.

" Mrs. Tom was then called, and aflirmed that on the
"night in question Christie liad gone to Westport with
Drummond, and when they returned late at night, she
found her niece lying senseless in his arms, which circum-
stance he accounted for by some plausible reason she luid
now forgotten. Ikdiig cross-examined, she afllrmed that
tic deceased and the "voung man Drummond were ahvavs
together, after the prisoner left the island ; and she, Mrs.
Tom, not liking their intimacy, had endeavored to i»ut a
stop to it. but in vain. She could not swear jiositively
that her niece and ]\Iiss Campbell were bad friends, but
she did not think they were on good terms, and her prin-
cipal reason for ending the intimacy between the deceased
and ^fr. Drummond had been the fear of the prisoner's
ano-or — which she knew, v/hen excited, was extremely vio-
lent. That on the night of the murder the deceased had
appeared out of spirits and, complaining of a headache,
had retired early. That when she awoke in the morning
she found her gone and the house door open, things which
had never happened before. Tliat she had no suspicion
of the truth until Miss Campbell came in and told her

SYBIL'S DOOM.

251

lier niece was murdered. Tli;it thereupon tliey luid gone
down to the beueli to^a'tlier, and she hm identilied u liand-
kendiief ljeh)Jiging to her niecu', niarked with lier naiin!,
deeply clotted with blood. IMiat the prisom-r — who !iad
never hithtsrto appeared to care I'or Ciiristie — seeinccl
deeply, almost wildly, agitated that morning, which luul
surprised her (the witness) not a little at the time.

" Mrs. Tom was then dismissed, and Ca[)laiii Campbell
was called to take the stand. A low murmur of sympathy
ran around as thoy observed his pale and haggard face;
and all listened with breathless iiiterc'st to the testimony
he reluctantly gave. He said that on the evening of the
murder, being on tiie island, Christie had ap})roached him
and given him a note, which she directed liim to give his
sister. That he had done so ; and that Sybil liad ai)})('ar('d
violently agitated upon receiving it, and impetuously in-
sisted upon going to the island that night. That he had
u. ged her not to go, but she had insisteil ; and upon telling
her Carl Henley was going over that evening, she had said
she would accomj)any him ; and he had then left the room,
and he did not see her again for upward of a fortnight.

" Carl Henley next took the stand, and after the usual
oath, stated that on the evening of the murder he had
taken Syl)il across to the island. That in the boat she had
talked wildly, though he could not recolle(!t what she had
said. That she had left him when they reacdied the shoi'c,
and had run up the rocks through the storm, in the direc-
tion of the Lodge. That he had returned to the cottnge
and shortly after went to bed, leavinii' ' Aunt Tom,' iis lie
called her, and Christie down-stairs. Tliatal)out midnisilit,
hcing awakened by the violence of the storm, he hail got
up and distinctly hoard a cry of ' Murder I ' though
whether it was in Christie's voice or not, he could not
say. That a moment after, by the light of a fl;ish of
lightning, he had seen a woman flying past, M-ith long,
black hair streaming behind her, 'j*'st like her,' he ex-
pressed himself, pointing to Sybil, lieing cross-examined,
he swore positively to seeing the woman, whom he said he
took, at the time, to be Sybil ; and nothing her counsel
could say could weaken his testimony in the least.

'* There were several other witnesses examined; but
though I have forgotten their testimony, it all weiit to
prove that Christie was beloved by everybody who knew

tllii'

1; :

252

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

lier but Sybil ; Ibiit slio hud not nn enemy in tlic world
but Sybil. Anion^ others, came tluit infernid Courtney,
who swore positively tiuit he knew Sybil to be jealous of
Christie ; und in proof of which, adduced several (drcum-
stanccs that seemed to have a ^reatdeal of weight with the
bench ; that Sybil's aj^itation upon receivin<,^ Christie's
note was so pali>able that lu^ began to have misgivings on
the spot ; tliat when he beheld her, the following day,
after coming from the island, she seemed like one deprived
of reason, as if ' remorse for some umicted crin'c ' preyed
u])on her. Oh ! 1 could liave strangled the wliite-Iivt;red
villain on the spot,'' said Stafford, grinding nis teeth.
*' Thon the Coui't was adjourned until the following day,
und the prisoner removed.

''Next day it was the same. There was little new evi-
dence against Sybil ; but it seemed clear to all that the
jury had already made up their minds as to her guilt ;and
that her youth and beauty only seemed to aggravate her
crime.

*' Then the defense was taken up ; and ^Ir. P made

a very good s])eech, and did all he could to disabuse the
minds of tlie jury ; but it was like beating the air, or ' con-
vincing men against their will,' they were clearly of their
opinion still, when he ceased. He did all he could, but
that was too little to save Sybil.

'* The state attorney rose again, and set aside all P 's

arguments, in a cool, contemptuous manner that carried
conviction to the minds of the s})ectators. And then the
judge arose to sum up the evidence and charge the jury.
In his mind there seemed not the faintest shadow oi a
doubt as to tlie gijilt of the prisoner. I cannot remember
what he said, but I know, despite Ids gray hairs, I felt a
demoniacal desire to knock him down all the time he was
speaking. Then the jury started to deliberate, and dur-
ing their brief absence the silence of death reigned in that
court room. Every eye was bent upon Sybil ; but after
hearing of Willard's marriage, she never lifted her head.
It was as if the heaviest blow tiiat could possibly befall her
had passed, and life or death mattered nothing to her now.

" The iurv were not absent ten minutes ere tliev re-
turned. This sudden entrance was ominous ; but their
grave, stern faces were more ominous still. I had to grasp
the arm of a man beside whom I stood ; for I felt myself

SYHIL'S DOOM.

253

trembling in every liiiil). The foreman rose slniullaiu!-
ously with the others, aiul every breuth seemed suspended.

" * (rentlemen of the jiu"y, iuive you ai;reed upon your
verdiet ? ' asked the viMU'rable judj^e.

" ' We Inive, your iioiior,' responded the foreman.

*'MIo\v say you then? Is the prisoner at the l)ar <;uiUy
or not guilty of the crime with which she is cdiarged ? '

" * Ciuilty !* was the awful response.

'* At that word there aros(» a <'ry that thrilled througii
every heart ; and Willard Drumnioiul, like a man possessed
of a demon, ile(l from the house, while thea})palhMl cj'owd
fell back in turn before him. A dreadful silence followed,
and then the judge arose, and in a voice that trembled in
si)ito of himself, said :

'^ ' Prisoner, arise, aiul receive the sentence of tlie law.'

'' Kvery breath was suspeiuled, every voice was hushed,
but the prisoner neither moved nor stirred. She seemed
frozen into the attitude in which she had fallen ut the
news of Willard Drummond's perfidy.

'" Mr. BrivUtwell, who wa.j standing near, with a face
pule with deepest pity, touched her on the shoulder, and
said, in a faltering voice :

" ' Sybil, my dearest girl, arise ; let me assist you.'

*'IIe took her ai-m and supported her to her feet ; but
when she lifted her head, all beheld a face so cold, so
"white, so rigid, with such frozen eyes and colorless li}>s,
such an awful look of woman's dee})est woe, that evei-y
face grew pale, and every eye blinded with tears. As for
me, I felt as if 1 were going mad. I heard the judge say
something — to save mv soul 1 could not tell what, until
the last awful words met my ear :

'' ' Prisoner, the sentence of the court is, that you be
taken hence to the prison from whence you came, and
from thence to the i)lace of execution, and that there you
be hanged by the neck until you ai-e dead.'

^' I could listen no longer. How I burst from the
crowd, I know not, but I reached the open air, frantic,
almost Tuaddened. The crowd poured out after me, and
presently the prisoner apj)eared between your husband,
her brother and the sherilf.

^•^ I saw no one but Sybil. Her face wore the same
fixed, stony look it had done when she arose — not a muscle
had quivered. It was evident she heard not, cared not for

. I

I '

II!

op;.

Till-: grKK-\ ok tuk isiJ'].

Iho nwfnl doom aliout to l»(^f;ill iior. 1 hi'okc througli tho
crowd liko ;i luiidnian, until 1 stood bcrorif Iicm*.

- . Sybil— Syl)ii !' 1 oricd out.

" SoiMOt iiiii^- ill Miy loiK^ ;in"('si(>d her, luul slio look(>(l
VKcantly at mv. She jtassed her hand across her J'orcdicad,
:;s if to oloar away a mist, and then said., iii a low, dreamy
liMio :

" ' .\h. Mr. SlatTord — 1 have a r('(|uost to make of you.'

*' ' What is it ?' 1 askod, scarcely al>lc to speak.

'' ' Hasten to my dear I'riend, Mrs. jiraiit well, ;ind tell
her what has hapixMieil ; but tell iier not to be sorry for
me, for it is b(.'tter as it is. (iny, I am tired ; take mo
11 way.'

'• She said all this in ;i stranii:(\ weary tone, like one
M'lio is bewildered. 1 saw them help h.er into tho coaeh — ■
saw it driven away — and then I went to tho liotel, feeling
— well, it's no use tryinix uow to t(dl you how I felt. Ijoni;
before daylight this morning, 1 startled to come here — iind
that is iili. "

CILVPTKR XX XT. '

* t

■ ' I

THE HANKIUTT HKAUT.

*' Oh brealc, broalc, hn>al< : poor bankrupt, break at once,
To prison, soul : Ne\'r hopo for lilx-rty ! ""

-toilAKESPKAlUS.

" Kvory sense
Had been outstrun^; by i)aiij;s intejise,
Aiiil Oiwh I' rail lihre of lu'r brain —
As bow strin.cs w ht>n releasi>(! by rain,
Th'^ (MM'iiiLr arrows launcli asi(l(> —
Sent forth her thoufxhts all wild and wide."

— Bytion.

Thkhh was a long pause. Then Mrs. Brantwell raised
lier lu>ad, ;'nd asked :

" When do you return to Westport ? '■'

'* I cannot go before to-morrow. My liorse is unable
for the iouriiev. "

'' Then I will accompany you."

" l)Ut, my dear madam '"

'' Mr. StalTord, not a w(n'(l. I will go ! ''

She spoke in u tone there was no disobeying ; so Stafford
was forced to assent by an uneasy bow. And Mrs. Brant-

THE BAXKKUPT IIKAUT.

well U'ft tlio room uiid sou^lil her own upartniont. 'I'lio
li<i;lit brcukl'asl next iiioniiii.ijj was uiitoin'licd by citlitT of
tlu'in ; ami as soon as it \v;is over, Mrs. liiMiilwell hastily
throw on li(jr honiiut and shawl, and cnlort'd the carria^^o
tliiit stood wailin,i( to convey ln;r to \Vrsij)(>rl.

Some time hcd'orc; tivenini;' they rcaidHMJ thu town — now
ao crowded with stran.^ers that it wonld hiivc hceii ini-
possihli! to have socurcd lod^iii_i;s had not C'a[)lain C'ani|)-
t)cll Lciven np his rooms to the use of .Mrs. I'rantwell whihi
sho shouhl r((nniin.

Too utterly exhausted in her ])resent weak state to visit
the prison that niuhl, Mrs. !)i'aii!-well immecliatc^ly retire(l
to lier room, and desired the waiter to send Captain
Cani})l)eII to her.

She scarcely i'ee()<j;iuze<l him, so altered liad lie beeomo
in those few days ; the old ho|)t'fu] look gone, and in its
2)la('e the c'arkest, gloomiest (h'spair.

Tlie meeting was a V(!ry sad and very silent one. Mrs.
l^rantwell ])r(!ssed the hand he extende(i, with deepest
])ity and warmest sympalliy, in her own ; but saitl nothing.
Her silence was more elocpient tlian woi'ds. At last :

''When did you see Sybil ?" she asked.

''Not since the day of the trial," he answered, moodily.

'' \o !" slu! exclaimed, in surprise. " How is that ? '"

" She would not see me ; she would not see any one.
I attended her to the c.oW, and thert; ^ ;e bade me go — sh(5
■would be alone ; she insisttMJ on it ; she would not even
see ^Ir. l^rantwell. I left her, and went the next day,
and the Tiext and the next, but still the same answer was
retur!ied ; she would see no om\ j-'rom the moment she
had left the court liouse she Inid thrown herself uj^on her
bed, and she would not t(jueh the food they otfei'ed her ;
she would not s[ieak oiu' word, only rei)eating tiuit per-
emptory denumd to be .alone."

'-'Mv poor, poor Sybil ! And Mr. Drummond, where
is lie ?■"

" I know not. When he heard the sentence of the
court, he s])rang on his horse and dashed away like a
madman. May heaven's heaviest vcngeaiu-e light on him
and that black-hearted ti-aitor, Courtney I for between
them they have brouglit her to tliis ! " And Captain
('ampljelTs face grew a])solutely livid with the storm of
passion that swept across it.

I . i

U ]

! :

256

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

I feel sure Sybil
You ciiii make

" My dearest boy, hush ! We must forgive our enemies,
you know, if we expect to be forgiven."

'^Forgive ilieni ! Yes ! if 1 meet either of them, FU
send tliem to anotlicr world, witii a bullet througli their
brain.s, in search of forgiveness ! " he fiercely replied.

" 01), (juy ! do not say such dreadful things ! You do
not mean it, I know ; but it is wrong, neverthless."

lie oidy replied with a smile — ])ut such a smile — Mrs.
Brantwell turned away with a shudder.

'* To-morrow I will visit the prison,
will receive me."

'*I hope so ; but there is no telling,
the eiTort, nevertheless."

"You will accomjiany me ?"

'' Oh, certjiinly ! And as you look fatigued now, I will
leave you to seek the necessary repose. Good night."

lie was gone with the same dark, rigid look on his face
that made Mrs. Brantwell's heart jiche ; and she sought
her couch with a mind deeply disturbed by the thought
of to-morrow's interview.

Next day, immediately after her slender breakfast,
Captain Campbell made his aj)pearance in her room. As
the prison was but a short distance from the hotel, they
were to walk ; and drawing her arm within his own.
Captain Campbell set out.

The streets were already crowded with j^eople, drawn
hither by the news of tiie great trial, and tletermined to
wait now to see the execution. Croups were assembled
on every corner, discussing in low tones the exi)ecte(l
event, and tlie murder, livery eye was ])ent on Captain
Campbell as he passed ; some knowing him to the brother
of the condemned ; others sup{)osing him to be her false
lover, and the elderly lady on his arm, her mother. These
insolent stares were met by such fixed, fierce glances on
the part of the young man that every eye fell, and every
one shrank back to let him pass.

They reached the prison and were admitted by the
warden, who glanced at Captain Campbell in the deepest
distress.

" We wish to be admitted to my sister's cell, Mr. Dent,"
said Captain Cam}>bell.

*' Yes, sir ; but if you please, sir "

** There — there! I know what you would say," im-

ANOTHER STORM WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 257

patiently interrupted the yonng man. *' But my sister
will receive this lady. Lead on, sir."

** With a deep sigh of compassion, the old man obeyed ;
and they followed him through a long gloomy hall, until
they reached a door, before which the warden paused.

Fumbling among a largo bunch of keys, he produced
one which unlocked the door, and, stepping back, he
flung it open and signed to them to pass in.

They did so, and paused on tlie thresliold. For there
before them was a sight that struck them dumb — that
sent the life blood curdling in horror to their hearts.

Crouching in a corner, and glaring upon them with
her wild, vacant black eyes, every trace of color faded
from her lips, leaving even the beautiful lips blue and
livid ; her long black hair streaming wildly down her
back ; her hands held out before her, as if to keep them
off, she sat. WeP might they stare, while the very life
blood froze in theii hearts ; Sybil Campbell, the bride of
a moment — alone in her prison cell — had gone mad I

CHAPTER XXXII.

ANOTHER STORM WITHOUT AND WITHIN.

)led

itrd

■jiin

lier

— " Let her rave
And prophesy ten thousand, thousand horrors;
I could join with her now. and bid them come ;
They lit tiie present fury of my soul,
The stints of lov(» and ni<,'e are fixed within,
And drive me on to madness."

— ROWE.

LoATHTNG the sunlight, hating himself, frantic, mad-
dened, Willard Drummond lied from the court house, with
the terrific words of the judge searing his heart, burning
his brain, scathing his memory, ringing in his ears, like
the last awful trump of the mighty archangel.

AVhither he went, what became of him, he cared not,
knew not. Driving his spurs into his horse's flanks, until
the maddened beast fairly flew over the ground, he fled
on, and on, and on, with heart on fire, his head in a whirl
— feeling as though a wheel of flame were crashing
through it ; knowing, feeling, conscious of but one thing,
that Sybil was condemned to die.

iSfm^

li^

ilfl

258

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

And tlirough liim — tlirougli his fault ; that was ths
tliought tiiat wlielrned liis soul in anguish and despair.
All his trcacliery, all liis falseliood, all his duplicity was
known to her now, and, dying, she would loathe, hate
and despise liitn. lie could liave cursed himself ; ho
could have cursed earth, and heaven, and all mankind
in that moment, while the tempest of agony, remorse,
desi)air and anguish was ragiiig in his soul. Ancl
on, still on, he flew, unheeding Avhither he went,
until his exhausted ami panting hoi'se fell helpless be-
neath him.

That was the first thing that brought liim to his senses.
Tie sprang off the back oi: tlie foam-covered aiul trembling
aninuil, and, conscious that his headlong speed and fi-enzicd
looks must excite distrust and su.sj)icion, he strove to calm
himself and lead his horse to the nearest inn.

He lifted his head to look about him, and found he had
nearly reached Newport. Assisting his hor.-e to rise, lie
led him slowly toward an unpretending little farmhouse
that clnmced to be ne;n*, and knotdvcd loudly at the door.

The summons v/as answered by a bov, who stared at
Willard with a look of blank dismay.

"1 have ridden my horse until, as you perceive, he is
unable to iiroci'cd any further. Can he remain here for
the night ?" he asked abruptly.

The sound of his voice brought a man to the door,
smoking a short, black pipe.

"What is it ?" he asked.

" This 'ere man wants to know if his boss can stay here
to-night, and be took care of,^' explained the lad.

'' Sartin, sartin,*' responded the man, heartily; ''and
you, too, sir, if you'll honor us with your company.
Johnny, take the gentleman's boss off to the barn. Walk
in, sir, walk in ; you look quite as near used up yourself
as your beast does. Walk in, and sit Jown."

Accepting his hospitality with a brief uod, Willard
followed him into a large, clean-looking room, where a
wonnin sat knitting, and two girls sat sewing.

The female portion of the establishment got up and
dropped him a courtesy, while the old man presented him
with a chair. Willard removed his hat ^'rom his hot and
throbbing brow, and shook back his long, dark, cluster-
ing locks, while the girls glanced at him askance, with

■'■ I

ANOTHER STORM WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 259

ths

and

him

and

ster-

witli

looks of mingled admiration and fear at his wild and ex-
cited looks.

'^ Come from the town, I reckon," said his host, draw-
ing a chair opposite Willard's, and resuming his i)ipe.

A hrief '^ yes *' was his sole reply.

'MJreat doings going on there. I iicar ; lots of people
cro\v(ling to it evei'y day."

Another ''yes,*' brief and cold, was his answer.

Great talk, too, abont the trial. You've heard tell of
it, in course ? "

Still another "yes," briefer, sterner and colder than
before, was Willard's answer ; but his talkative host was
not abashed.

" Very sad affair, I must say,'' he went on, sliaking his
head; " and very straniic all through. It's wonderful how
"wimmin will do things when thoy's in a passion. They
say this Miss Campbell went over jest a-purpose to kill
this other gal, and chucked her body into the sea when
she was done,"

Here he waited for a reply, but received none; for
Willard, with his face shaded by his hand and his falling
hair, was thinking, with a bursting lieart, of Sybil, and
heard not a word the garrulous old man said.

''This]\liss Campbell's beau — what she was going to
be married to when she got took up — must be a precious
villain. They say he was mnrried to the other young gal
on the sly, and nobody never knowed nothing about it.
I'd like to get my hands on liim, and give him a good
hoss-wldpping — I vow I would. A little hanging wouldn't
hurt him a mite more'n her I "

At this expose of his feelings, the worthy old man again
paused for a reply that came no^ ; for Willard Drnmmond,
buried in his own bitter thoughts, was dead to all the
world around.

"Yes, there's a great crowd going to town," resumed
th« old man, thoughtfully, as a ligl.i; wagon, lilled with
peo})le, rattled past; "but it ain't no circumstance to
what will go to see her hung. I'll go to see that myself ;
and I'll take the old woman and the girls, too ; I've been
promising them a treat this long time. S'po<e you'll be
there, too?" he added, determined to get an answer by
some means.

But still his strange guest maintained his moody silence;

i5r

ii'i'

2G0

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

.8! ;

and the old man gave up tlic efPort in despair, and turned
the tide of liis eloquence upon ''Johnny," who entered at
this moment, in numberless inquiries concerning the state
of tlie " gentlcjuan's hoss." The girls looked at each other
and giggled, atid the old woman peered at him suspiciously
over lier spcMttacles.

A summon.^ to supper was the first thing that aroused
him from his reverie ; but, with a head giddy, a br.tin
throbbing with intensity of tumultuous thouglit, the very
sight of food was loathsome to him. Rising to his feet,
and stjinding witli ditiiculty. owing to his strange dizziness,
he said :

"As you kindly invited me to remain all night, may I
ask to be shown to my room ? I do not leel quite well,
and I believe I will retire."

The old woman gave her husband a warning glance that
revealed plainer than words the danger of having so sus-
picious a guest in the house ; but the '^good, lazy soul,"
totally regardless of it in his hospitality, exclaimed :

^'Sartin, sartin, sir; but won't you take something
first ? Susan's tea and strawberry shortcake is just about
the tallest sort o' vittals anybody can eat when they ain't
well. Do sit down, sir, and take a little snack."

" Not any
lieadache
mediately."

"Oh, very well, then !" said the old man, adding in a
distinct whisper : " Gals, you'll have to give your room up
to the gentlenum. This way, sir, if you please."

Willard followed his hospitable guide up a flight of in-
tensely rickety stairs, into a small and scantily furnished
little bedroom, hung round with feminine articles of ap-
parel, and containing a. comfortable bed.

*'I hope you'll sleep well, sir," said his host, as he
ushered him in. '' It's a poor place for the like of you,
but it's the best we've got."

"It's all I could wish," said Willard, who could not
have told for the life of him whether it was sumptuously
furnished or otherwise. And then returninof his host's
good-night, he threw hmiself on the bed, and strove to
forget in sleep the dull, heavy aching of his head and
heart.

" A queer chap, that 1" said the old man, as he slowly

g^'QW

thank you," said Willard, faintly, as his
more intense. " I wish to retire ini-

ANOTHER STORM WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 2G1

US he

you,

plodded liis way downsiiiirs. " Looks as if lie had soon
some trouble lately. V/ell, this world is full of trouble;
nothing but trouble for rich and poor alilvc, and always
will be so to the end, I do believe." And with this hope-
ful and encouraging view of the world in general, he
opened the door and entered the bosom of his family.

" Well, now, Jonatlian," exclaimed his spouse, in a voice
more remarkable for shrillness tlian sweetness, *' I wonders
at your harboring every highwaynum and sulky stranger
you don't know nothing about in this way. IIow do you
know we won't get our throats cut in cold blood ai'oro
morning, with that there dark-looking, silent man in the
liouse ? How do you know but he's a robber orsuthin' ?'*

*' I don't believe he's a robber," said Jonathan, quietly,
sitting down at tlie table ; "\\q don't look like that.
Seems more like as if he had some heavv trniblo or otlier
a-weighing on his mind. Anyway, you wouldn't have mo
turn away a tired critter from the door, would you old
Avonian ?"

" Well, if he wa'n't so suspicious looking," grumbled
the old woman ; "■ but for to go and sit there all the even-
ing and never speak one word is a leetle too much."

'* People don't talk when they are in trouble, I tell
you!" retorted her spouse. "And now I think on it,
perhaps he's some friend or other, of that poor young gal
that's going to be hung. I'm sure, if he is, it's enough to
make him silent. Fill my cup, Susan."

" He's real good-looking, anyway," remarked one of
the girls, " with the loveliest of black eyes."

" And the sweetest curling hair ! " said the other.

" And the whitest teeth — did you notice?" added the
first.

''No ; but I saw his hands ; they was white as a lady's,"
chimed in the second.

'' I don't believe he's a bad man, either ; he don't look
like it," said the first.

'^I declare to massy ! if Sary ain't gone and fell in love
with him I " exclaimed Johnny, with a chuckle.

" I hain't neither ! " said Sary, angrily, with reddening
cheeks.

" Well, there, don't get a quarreling about him I " broke
in the mother. '' The man's going away to-morrow morn-

ing ; that's one blessing.

i!^^«

i' II

I I!

<•■[

{

263

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

But iicitlier tlmt morrow, nor tlie next, nor the next,
did Wilhird Drunniioiid go ; for wlien tlio morning cume
tliey found him tossing in the deli^'iiim of a fever. In
dire uhirm, ii doctor w:is sent for, who said lie wjis ill from
over-excitement of some kind und wiis tlireatened with
brain fever, but tlnil, with i)roper care, it might be warded
oil'.

Querulous as the good hidy of the house might seem
outwardly, at heart slie was kind and motherly, and all
her sym[)athi('s were aroused for the sick young stranger.
She listened in woii'ler and pity to his wild rjivings. from
which she could easily gather that he was in some way
connected with the dire event that was occupying every
tongue — how, she eonld not tell. That he was of a sta-
tion far superior to their own thoy also could see ; and
with the nu)st tender and unceasing care tliey watched
over him night and day.

But, with all their kind nursing, three weeks elapsed
b(>fore he was able to leave his bed, and another i)assed
before he Avns strong enough to walk about.

Of Sybil and the rest he had he;ira nothing during all
the time. All exciting topics they had been forbidden by
the doctor to s})e;d\. of before him ; and that, as the one
exciting theme of every tongue, in particular. In fact,
had they been willing, they hai1 very little to tell, for
they had few visitors from tlie outer world to their quiet
little cot.

One evening, as, still weak and languid, he sat by the
window, watching the sun sink red and fiery behind a
dense, black cloud, and thinking bitterly how, by the im-
petuous violence of his own headstrong j)assions, his own
life had been similarly clouded, the lad Jolmny came in
with wid(^-o})en eyes and mouth, all aglow with some
wondei'ful news.

'' Well, Johnny, boy, what is it ?" said his father, who
sat, as Willard had tirst seen him, serenely smoking his
pipe.

"^Oh, father! I've just seen old Toller, from West-
port !'' said the boy, ex(;itedly.

'•Well, lad, what's the news from there ?^' inquired
his father.

Willard, too, looked round with a start.

*' Why, he says people arc crowding to it, now, irom

ANOTHER STORM WITHOUT AXD WTTTIIN. 263

evorv plat'c ; tliat evoi-y lioiise \s full of people coino to
see the woman hmiji; I "

Wilhird Druiuinond'.s face grew livid ami his brain
reeled at the words.

" He says she was raving crazy for ;i while, and lliat
delayed it so long ; hut the doctor's brought her to : and
now the execution's going to take j)lace day after to-
morrow.'^

His im ther's warning glanre toward Willard came (oj
late. Willi a lo(dv of a ma<lman he rushed from the liou.^e,
A horse the boy had been riding stood saddled at (he gate.
He sprang on his back, and. striking him a t'ni'ious blow,
dashed otf. under the lirst moment's fierce excitement, as
he bad d .u' before, unheeding, unctii'ing whither he went.

lie saw not. heeded not the coming sloi-m ; but one ideti
filled his heart aiul brain — that of escaping, of ilying far
away, of never again beholding the scene of so many
horrors.

Night was at hand, bearing in its dark, lowering faco
the storm that all day had been tlircatening. An 0[)pres-
sive stillness, a burning beat filled the air, aiul the old
trees creaked, groaned and tossed their long, weird arms
with a dreary moaning noise, as though in })ain. A hot,
gusty wind lifted, at intervals, the heavy, dark hair oft' his
burning brow, buti without cooling it. It rustled the dry
leaves till thev v/hirled in a shower around him : but he
heeded it not ; he would liardly have heeded the wildest,
maddest hurricane in that moment.

He liad reached the forest ; and now, his course becom-
ing, from necessity, less rapid, he c(juld look aroumi him
and note the change of weather. Vyy the last sickly liglit
of the dying day be saw a tempest was at hand, and ho
hailed it with a sort of mad exultation, to think ihafc
nature, convulsed bv the storm, would be so much more
in unison -vith the storm raging within his own breast.

He gave the frowning fa(;e of the sky but one momen-
tary glance, for another and far more terril)le sight was
ever before his agonized eyes : it w;is the form, the beauti-
ful form of his worshiped Sybil swin^itig betvveen heaven
and earth, convulsed in tlie agony of that horril)le death ;
exposed to the gaze, to tlie sliouls and derision of the mob ;
her lovely face darkeiied and convulsed until death would
mercifully put au end to her tortures.

,564

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

'1!'

■

The awful vision seemed driving him mud. "With somo-
tliiiig like the sliriek of a nuuiiuc lie struck the jinimul ho
bestrode a furious blow to drive him on. The horse
bounded nuidly on for a few puces, but at that mouiont a
vivid sheet of lightning blazed across their path, and ho
suddenly stopped, reared himself almost upright, and, with
a loud snort of fear, turned and fled. I'^aint from recent
illness, Willard lost his seat and was hurled, wounded and
bleeding, to the earth.

And now, alone, wounded and helpless in the vast old
woods, the storm was upon him in its might.

It is said that in the motnent that elapses before some
sudden and tcrribh^ death, all the events of our lives pass,
with the rapidity of lightning, through our minds. So
WMS it now with Willard Drummond. As ho lay prostnite,
bleeding and helpless, all the great wrongs he had done,
all ho had made others suffer, arose before him with a bit-
terness exceeding that of death. Through him Christie
was murdered ; through him Sybil was now to die a felon's
ignominious death.

The storm was each moment increasing ; and it howled
and shrieked and tore through the trees as though it had
risen in vengeance .against him. Ilethonght of that otlier
night of storm and tempest, on which his loving, mujli-
wronged child-wife had perished by the steel of the assas-
sin. He thought of Sybil, alone and doomed, waiting for
death in her prison cell. And then, with startling sud-
denness, flashed across his mind the strange vision tliat,
years before, he had seen and scolfed at in a far-off land.
One by one three visions had been realized ; and now only
one — the death on the scaffold — was to come.

The night, the storm, the forest, the wounded man — all
were here ; and now was death to come and end all this
mortal strife and close forever the dark drama of his
life.

AVhile these thoughts were yet passing through his mind,
a sound smote his ear that startled him from the deadly
stupor into which he was fast falling. It was no crash of
the storm, this ; no sound of wind and rain among the
trees, but the sound of liuman footsteps flying wildly
through the storm. He strove to raise himself and cry
out, but his voice w%as lost in the wild uproar around, and
he was about to fall back in despair when the fugitive

THE DEAD ALIVE.

2G5

from the storm struck jig»iinst liini and fell over him on
the ground.

Tlio shock of the sudden concussion nearly stunned
Willard ; but tlie person who luul fiillon, uttering a sharp
ejaculation, was up again in an instant and bending over
him. By tlie liglit ol' the rapid fhishrs of liglitning he 1)0-
held a woman with dark, flowing hair and wiU] maniac
eyes — the same startling vision he had twic • before seen in
Campbell's Isle. Willi a shriek that piercecl lugh .above
the storm she spra'ig up and sped away through tlie woods
with the speed of an arrow shot from a bow. The unex-
pected sight of this unearthly-looking visitant was too
much for nature, in her present exhan>ted st;ite, to l)ear ;
and, falling heavily back, the dark night of insensibility
closed around him.

CHAPTER XXX 111.

TIIK dp: A I) ALIVE.

" Am I iihvady nuid ?
And does tleliriiuii iitttu' such sweet words
Into a dreamer's ear ? "

— Tjtdij of Lyons.

Tx the little forest cot, the evening })recediiig the night
of the storm, Christie stood in the humble doorway watch-
ing the sun go down.

Those weary months have sadly changed our little
favorite. The thin, wan face has grown thinner and wan-
ner than ever ; the angel brow paler and more transparent ;
the dark, loving blue eyes darker, larger aiul wearing ever
a look of dee]), gentle, unchanging melancholy ; the fair,
golden hair falls like threads of raveled silk around her
peai'ly cheek ; the light step is slow and languid, and the
hectic crimson spot that each afternoon burns on those
usually colorless cheeks bespeak the ravages of that fell
destroyer — consumption. Slowly but surely she is passing
av/ay, bending her meek head to tlie stroke of the de-
stroyer, and only sighing for the time when her weary
head may find rest at last in some little woodland grave.
Little Christie will never live to see the midsummer rose
blov>^.

206

TIIK QTTEKX OF TIIK TSLE.

■1.-

tfi

!(•

Witli a quiet, fervent joy alio thinks of tliis as slio stands
in the (luorway, the hist fiery ray of the red snnliirht fiill-
lUfr, like a slia(h)\v of tlie fih»ry tliat awaits her, on her
bent liea(h With lh()So<h'irk, railijint. starry eyes fix<'(| on
the fast eotnini; (doiids, her mind strays l)aek to that ni<rht
of deepest woe — that hist ni^'h'. s|i('iit in her ishmd home.
'IMie eomirii; of every slorm reealls it. hut iii!ver so vividlv
as it does to-niuht. All the old tide of her deep, iincdianLT-
\\\<f love for Willard. for her destroyer — so stroiiij^ and fer-
vent that time. ahseiuMi and the belief in his ^^iiilt Inive no
power to (dian_!j:»( it — swells Ir.ir.k to lier heart, crowned with
blissful memories of the time vvlien she lirst knew and
loved him, until an almost passi<»iKite lonirin": to be with
liim onee more, to throw luu' .arms around his neek, to
seal licr forL,dveni'ss on his lips, to feel his heart swelling
and thi'obbiiii^ a;_i"ainst her own onci^ more, to iraze into
those dark eyes a,Liain and heave her last siu-ji on that 1ov(mI
breast Look possession of her. Tlien eame the bitter rec-
ollection that lonn' ere this another must lie his bi-ide, and
she could never f(>el tlie strong, fervent clasp of those dear
arms again, and, with a gric^f that death alone could ever
still, she hid lusr facie in hei- hands to keej) back her fast
falling tears, while her white bosom rose and f«.'ll with con-
vulsive sobs.

A slow, heavy step crashed over di-ied branches around
lier, and she looked up to behold the kind, honest face of
Uncle Reuben.

"Oh, thee is grieving again. This will never do, little
Christie," he said, sorrowfully.

'^Oh, T cannot help it ! It all comes back so strangely
to-night," said Christie, in a voice full of unshed tears.

"What does, little one ?"

" Oh, the past, the past ! the sad, beautiful past."

" Thee must forget the past, daughter, ;uul live in the
present and for the future," stiid Uncle Reuben, laying his
hand on her head. "Thee knows what the good Hook
savs, ' Blessed are thev that mourn, for thev shall be com-
forted.' " -

" Yes. yes, I know ; that promise has often sustained
me in my darkest hours. Dear Uncle Reuben, I know I
am wicked to murmur, but bear with me a little while,
until I go where that promise will be fulfilled."

" Olii thee be sad to-night, Christie," said Uncle Reu-

rilH DKAT) ALIVK.

2r,'r

111(1
of

hen, I'orcin;,' a sniilo, ami l)iisiliii^^ about with sucli \i<j^i>r
tl.al it. l»roui;lil icai's Id lii-i" eyes ; '* ilice must be chuerriil
llii'c knows. Where is Ijcrthii ^ "

*' She went out more tliaii uii hour ;i<j:o," rcjplit'd
Chriistie, " to rjiiul)K' in ti»o woo«ls, iKH^onliii^ to hvv
usual habit. 1 hope she will return before tho .storm
rises."

" The storm will be on us in half an hour," said Undo
Jii'ubon, looking uneasily at the darkened sky ; '• and,
ai=5 then knows, a storm always rouses Hertlia into a
Btate of wildness bordering,' on frenzy, and sends her
raiubliiii;' oil' in all directions. 1 had better go and look
fur her."

'' Where is tlie use, Unele Reuben ? "said C'hri-^tie, seat-
ing herself languidly in her roeking-chair. " \'ou oft<Mi
went in search of her bef<iro, and hardly ever found her
until she ehose to come home herself, you know."

*' Yes ; but one does not feel so uneasy when searching
for her as silting hero in the house while she is exjjosed to
the storm. However, I'll wait and get tho supjx-r and, if
she is not here then. 1 will go and look for her." said
Uncle Reuben, as he proceeded to light the fire and hang
on the kettle.

The night deepened and darkened, the sky grew blacker
and gloomier, the moments waned ra})idly, but the maniac
Ik'rtha came not.

'" Oh, 1 wish she were liere," anxiously said good rnele
Reuben, o])cning the door and looking out into tho
gloom.

A wailing gust of wind from the dark forest, followed
by a vivid flash of lightning and flood of rain, made him
hastily reenter and close the door.

'' And she is exposed to it all !" ho exclaimed, in deep-
est trouble.

"■ Oh, she will soon come, I know she will," said Chris-
tie, hopefully.

But still the moments rapidly waned, the lonesome
night lingered and the maniac came not,

'' r must go and seek for her," said Uncle Reuben at
last, in desperation, as he took down his greatcoat and
buttoned it on and started for the door.

But just at that moment it was burst violently open,
and the woman Bertha, with streaming* hair and dripping

•f

-. .1

jj!..
I

,' ^fw-''

268

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

garments, her wild, black eyes dilating with terror, her
garments dripping with rain, stood panting before them.

" Oil, Bertha, where has thee been ? '' cried Uncle Reu-
ben, in distress and alarm.

*'llush! he is there ! " said the maniac, in a terrified
whisper. '' They killed him and left him in the forest ;
but I found him ! Come, come, come !"

She caught Keuben by the hand and attempted to draw
him with her from the liouse.

''Who is killed? I don't know what thee means.
Bertha," he said, perplexed.

''Come, I tell you — he is there!" she cried, with an
impatient stamp of her foot, "out among the trees, where
they left him. Come ! "

And, with a grasp of steel, she caught the surprised
Reuben by the arm and forcibly drew him with her from
the liouse.

Left alone, Christie, somewhat amazed at first, soon for-
got the circumstance, and, gazing into the expiring coals,
listened to the wild ravings of the storm as it raged
through the forest with that lulling sense of security one
falls into when comfortably housed. There wore strange
pictures in the red, dying embers to her that night — faces
lost to her forever peering out in fitful flame — now AVll-
lard's, now the dark, threatening one of handsome Sybil
Campbell, uoav the brisk, sluirp, cheery countenance of
Mrs. Tom, all fading, one after another, to give place
once more to Willard's, best loved of all.

The niglit was wearing on apace — the last glowing em-
bers had faded away in darkness ; and, rousing herself
from her dreamy reverie, as an unusually violent gust of
wind shook the doors and windows, Christie raised her
head, wondering, uneasily, what could have detained
LTiicle Reuben.

Just as she was beginning to get seriouly anxious, the
door was im])etuously thrown open and Bertha entered,
followed by Uncle Reuben, bearing in his herculean arms
the seemingly lifeless form of i man. Christie sprang up
and stood irazing from one to ..notlier in terror.

" There ! " said Uncle Reuben, placing the rigid form
on the bed in the corner and wiping the perspiration off

rong as I am, in carry-
She led me to the very

his brow. " I had some trouble,
iiig him so far througli the storm.

THE DEAD ALIVE.

269

jelf

lier
led

ms
up

rill
off

spot," he said, with a sort of triiiinph, as he looked at
I>ertlia ; " and I found him lying bleeding and senseless on
the ground."

" Who is he?" said Christie, for, with the dark hair
falling over tlioin, clotted with blood, the features were
undistingiiishablo.

" That I do not know, but some traveler, I imagine,
who has been thrown from his horse, judging from the looks
of his wounds. (Jot mc some warm water and a sponge,
until I wash the blood off liis face."

As Christie obcved, .:omethinQ^ in the wounded strauijer
struck her, and, with a sudden thrill, she leaned against
the wall and pressed her hands to lier panting heart. Not
perceiving her emotion, the man Keiiben reverently lifted
the dark, heavy masses of hair, and wiped the blood off his
pale, handsome face. As if fascinated, Christie's eyes were
fixed on those cold, rigid features, every one of which was
indelibly imi)riiitedon her heart ; her eyes dilating ; her lij)3
parted and breathless ; herface deadly pale ; her heart beat-
ing astumultuously as though itwould break from its prison
and force its way to him with a cry that resounded througli
the house — a cry that made even the maniac Jku'tha start in
affright — she sprang forward and clasped the cold form in
her arms with the wild and passionate shriek of :

''Willard! Willard ! Oh, Father in heaven ! Wil-
lard I "

Transfixed with amazement, Reuben stood gazing upon
her, unable to speak. With a hystei'ical laugh she covered
the cold marble-like face with hot, burning, passionate
kisses, still crying out at intervals that loved v.nme :

"Willard! Willard! Willard !"

*' So thee knows him, Christie ? '' saiil Uncic Reuben, at
Ltst, in a voice of intense astonishment.

She looked up, with another hysterical laugh, and thou
overtaxed nature gave way to a bu t of blessed, soothing
tears.

'' Well, I am surprised !" slowly said Uncle Reuben.

" Oh, Uncle Reuben, he is my husband I " said Christie,
in a voice choked with vehement sobs.

"Thy husband!" said Uncle Reuben, in a tone that
plainly bespoke his fears that Christie had lost iier reason.

"Oh, yes, yes! my husband! my long-lost husbaiul,
whom 1 never expected to meet again on this side of tlio

''fr™-'

HIHBI

270

TlIP] QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

I: t

I'i'!

r I flS\

W't. '

grave. Oh, Uncle Reuben, you did not know I was mcr-
ried, but so it is ! I never meant to tell you, but the sur-
prise — the shook — forced it from me. Oli, Uncle Ileu]>en,
do not look as if y<'U thought me insane ; for indeed, indeed
I speak the truth."" Ami again Ciiristie's voice was lost in
sobs, as she Ixnvcd her head on llie c:old ])roast before her
and thought how warmly and tumultuously it had onco
throbbed for her.

Uncle Keuben wasnot one long to give wav to anv emo-
tion ; so, witli a look of inteiise surprise and perplexity,
he recalled his s(;atLered faculties, and, once more approach-
ing the bed, said, slowly ;

'MVell, if he is thy husband, thee is anxious, no doubt,
for his recovery, iiiid had better go away for the j)resent
and let me attend to him and bring him to."

"Oh, Uncle Iiouben, do you think he is dead?" said
Christie, in a tone of ])iercing anguish.

'' By no means, little one, he is only in a swoon at pres-
ent, from which he will shortly recover. And there are
no bones broken, either," added Uncle Reuben, after a
short examination ; ^' oidy this ugly cut in his head which
has bled so profusely and which I must Itind uj) now.
We'll have to cut the hair off just round the temple, you
see, to get at it. It's heaven's mercy it wasn't half an
inch lower, or he would have been a dead man now."

A convulsive shudder at the bare idea agitated the sleii-
der form of Christie, and she lifted the silky waves of dark
hair with u fond superstition astliey were severed, all mat-
ted with blood, fi'om his head.

And thus, while Uncle Reuben sat down to bathe his
temple and forehead with water, she took the cold haiuls
in her own burning ones to chafe them ; with her eyes
still fixed, as if she never could remove them more, on that
cold, white, handsome face, as still and fixed as though
immovable in death, looking whiter still in contrast with
the wet, black hair.

"And so thee is a wife, little Christie," said Uncle
Reuben, looking thoughtfully and wonderingly upon the
two faces before him.

" Oh, yes, yes ! forgive me for not telling you before — but
it was a secret. No one knew of it ; we were married in
private."

** Ah, those hidden marriages never come to any gooil,"

THE DEAD ALIVE.

snid Uncle Pieuben, as lie sliook his lieail and glanced at
Jiertlia, who, all this time, had been .standing at the foot
of the bed, gazing, wirli a sort of \agne interest and curi-
osity from one face to the other. '' Wlnit if her fate had
been thine ? "

'' It has scarcely been more happy," said Christie, with-
out lifting her eyes ; " but this moment, to see him once
more, to touch his hand, to know T am near him. almost
repays me for all 1 havj sulfered. Now, at least, J can die
hippy, since I liave the opportunity of telling liim 1 for^-ive

1111) ^ ^ " iJ o^

iim all.

'' Forgive him I 'IMien he has wronged thee ? "
" llush !" said Christie, turning, if possible, paler than
before ; " lie loved me once, and f wish to forget every-
thing but that. But, Uncle Keuben, are vou sure he will
recover ? 1 see no signs of it yet," said Christie, in ris-
ing alarm.

" I do ; even now consciousness is returning," said Uncle
Keuben, as a slight movement of the muscles of the face
Occam e perceptible.

"Willard ! Willard ! Dearest Wilhird, look up!" she
said, bending anxiously over him.

Was it the startling sound of that well-remembered voice
— tiiat voice he imagined forever stilled in death — that
awoke him ? The large, dark eyes slowly opened, wan-
dered wildly around, and the first object on which they
rested was Christie.

^WP»^

212

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

EXPLANATIONS.

•' Mine after life ! What is mine after life ?
My day is closcl I The fjloom of night is come i
A hopeless darkness settles over my fate."

—Joanna Bailue.

" WiLLARD ! Willard ! Wilkrd !"

With liis own name breiitliiiig in liis ears by the voice he
never expecfed to hear again ; witli tlie small, fair face,
the deep blue eyes, and waving, golden hair of Christie
bending over him, AVillard Drummond lay scarcely dar-
ing to breathe, unable to speak, gazing witli wild, wonder-
ing, incredulous eyes upon the angel face he had never
expected to behold on earth more,

-' Willard ! Willard ! My own AVillard ! Only say you
know me ! only speak to me once more before I die I" was
the wild cry that sighed in his ear in the tones of that
never-to-be-forgotten voice.

He pressed his hands to his foreliead, like one in a
dream.

•^ Am I mad ?" he said, slowly ; ^' or am I dead, and
see Christie again in the world of spirits ?"

" Willard ! Willard ! we both live ! Oh, Willard, thank
God, you wore spared the guilt of my death ! Oh, Will-
ard ! I am not dead ; do not, do not look at me so wildly ! "

'' Can this be only the delirium of a dream ?" he said,
passing his hand over his brow, in the same troubled and
bewildered way.

No, it was not a dream ! No phantom of the imagina-
tion ever could have clasped him with such yearning, cling-
ing arms ; ever could have held his head on such a warm,
throbbing breast ; ever could have looked into his face
with such passionate, undying love ; ever could have
showered upon him such passionate caresses.

He awoke to tlie reality, at last. Springing up in the
bed where he lay, he gazed upon her as if doubting the
evidence of his senses.

EXPLANATIONS.

273

" Oh, Willard I Oh, my liusbund ! I am not dead ; I
was only wounded ! I live still to say I forgive you all that
is j)ast I "

*' Great heaven I am I sane or mad ? " ho said, in a low,
deep, wanderiTig voice.

She approached, canglit botli his hands in hers, and
kneeling down before him, said :

'' Willard, look at me I feel my hands ! my face I Listen
to my words ! see me kneeling before you I and believe 1
am your own, faithful, loving Christie," still ! "

'* Then she may be saved yet ! " was his wild cry, as,
unheeding the slender girl kneeling at his feet, lie sprang
from the bed, with the one thought of Sybil ever, ever up-
permost in his mind.

''Who, Willard ?"

'' Sybil I Sybil ! my wronged Sybil ! "

At the words, at the name, her blissful dream faded
away. The past, the dreary, wretched past came back,
and Christie's liead dropped heavily on the bed.

He was scarcely in his right senses yet, but the action,
and, above all, the necessity of liasto, restored him to him-
self, and stunned, bewildered, giddy with many emotions,
lie sank into a chair and strove to collect liis thoughts.

" I know not yet whether I am sleeping or waking,"
ho said, incoherently. *' Christie — where are you ? Come
here ; let me see you again, that I may know whether all
this is not a vision of a disordered brain, that will fade
away as many a similar one has done."

She arose, and with a face as perfectly colorless as a
snow wreath, stood before him.

He took her hand, so small, and warm, and transparent
that it looked like an infant's, and pusliing back the full
golden hair of the fine white brow, gazed long and ear-
nestly into the depths of the large blue eyes so unspeakably
sad, so deeply reproachful, now. So long did he gaze that
Christie's eyes fell at last, and the golden lashes swept lier
cheek, while the " eloquent blood " mantled for a moment
to her snowy brow.

'' YeS; this is Christie ; alive still, and yet so long
mourned for as dead I " he said slowly. " This is strange ;
this is wonderful I Christie, how comes this to p:iss ?
How is it that after so many months given up for dead, I
find you alive still iu this forest cot ? "

rjr • —

274

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

*'01i, Willurtl ! Williird ! c;{i,ii you ask, n,f Lor tluit dread-
ful ni<^liL ? " she said, in a tone of unuLturable sorrow and
rt4»roa('li.

"That dreadful night? AVhat dreadful night,
Christie ?" he said, looking bewildered.

•* Oh, Willard, what a (jucstiou for you to ask ! That you
could ever for one instant forget that night of storm and

crime

! ''

" Christie, as heav-en liears me, I know not what you
mean I Do you allude to that teiujiesluous night on whicli
you were supj^osed to be murdered ? "

" Oh, you know I do I You know I do ! Oh, Willard I
AVillard ! that you should speak of it like this ! '' she
said, in that low tone of saddest reproach.

" Christie, there is some nusunderstanding here. Do
you mean to say that I wao with you that night ?" lie said,
vehemently.

She did not reply, but her eyes answered the ques-
tion.

" Christie I as there is a heaven above us, I never set
foot in the island from the day we parted there after your
telling me of your interview with Sybil!" said Willard,
impetuously.

'• And the note ? '' she said, faintly.

'^ Do you mean the note appointing our meeting on the
beach, that night of mvstery ?" he asked.

^'Oh, ves! vesl"

"■ Christie I I sent that note, but I never M'ent, never.
I swear it by all that is sacred in heaven I That very hour
I received news that my father was dying, which obliged
me to start instantly for home, without even an oi)])or-
tunity of api)ri8ing you. Christie, that night I spent
iiuuiy miles away from the island."

She gasped for breath, grew deadly pale and sank into a
chair.

" Christie ! Christie I do you not bcdieve me ?"

She lifted her eyc^. There was truth in her face, and
with the wild flash of sudfh:"!! jov she cried out ;

" I do ! I do ! 1 do I Oh, Wiilard, thaidv God for this !
Thank Cod that you never raised your hand against my
life ! "

"Christie ! *'

*' Oh I I do not wonder at your look of horror ; but all

the

EXPLANATIONS.

275

those weary montlis I tlionglit so. Oli, Will.-inl I dearest J
can you ever forgive iiie for wroii^nng you .so ?"

^'Christie !"

"Forgive me ! forgive me ! Oli, my liusl)ii?i(l, forgive
me ! But on tlnit uiglit,, tliiit awful night, 1 was nu't on
the beacli aiul stal^bed, by a man."

*' Heavens and eartli ! and you thought it was I ?"

''Willard ! Wilhird ! forgive me! Hut, oh ! wluit else
could I thiniv ? Y'oii appoiutccl ilic mcctiiig. ] went,
wai3 met tliere by a tall man, stabbed by him, and left for
de[id on the shore."

•'And you could believe I could do such a deed ? Oh,
Christie ! Christie I" he said, with l)itter reproach.

" Oh, h.ow could I help it ? How could I help
it ? The thought was maddening ; but how couhl
1 tliink otherwise ? Say, only say vou forgive me,
AVillard?"

"I forgive you, Christie ; but you liave far the more to
fori{iv(\ What a strau'jo, fathomless mysterv all this is !
Who was this man, Christie ?''

'' I do not know ! 1 have no idea ! Oh I I tliought I
had not an enemy in the Avide world."

'' Is there no clue ! is there no means by which you
could recognize him again ?"

'^ None I none I you forget the storm ; the darkness ;
the deep darkness of that night."

''True ! but heavens ! what am I thinking of!" ho
said, starting uj), wildly. '* Why do J linger an instant
here, wlum it is in my power to save Sybil from the igno-
minious death of the halter."

''What!"

As if a mine had exploded beneath her, Christie sprang
np, with blanched face, starting eyes, clenched hands, and
livid lips, gazing upon him in speechless liorror.

'' Christie, she was arrested, tried, condemned, and
doomed to die, for your murder ! "

" For mine ! Father in heaven ! " gasped the almost
fainting Christie.

** It may not be too late to save her yet. You must
come with me, Christie. Hasten ! hasten ! Every moment
is precious now."

'• Oh, this is awful ! awful ! Oh, Willard I when doe3
this most unnatural sentence take place ? "

276

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

'^ The (lay after to-morrow. Witli all our speed we will
be barely ' 'jle to reach the spot in time."

''Most horrible I " said Christie, with a convulsive
shudder. " How came she ever to be suspected of such
a deed ? "

"Oh, there was a maddening cliain of circumstantial
evidence, strong enough to convict an angel from above.
I have no time to tell you now ; on our way I will tell you
all. Merciful heaven I if we sliould be too late."

" I will go instantly ! I will be ready in a moment,"
said Christie, wildly, as she hurriedly threw on lier wrap-
pings.

*' ]'>ut not in tliis storm, Christie, boes thee not hear
how it rages ?" anxiously said Uncle K( uben, who all this
time had been a silent, wondering listener. "Thee must
not venture out to-night."

" Oh, I must ! I must I the life of a fellow-creature de-
pends upon it," said Christie, tying on her large mantle
with trembling haste.

\Villard Drummond paused for a moment in dismay, to
listen to the storm howling through the trees, and glance
at the frail, fragile little figure before him. But the
thought of Sybil in peril of — that dreadful death — steeled
his heart against every other feeling.

"She must be saved, let what will follow!" ho men-
tally exclaimed.

" Thee will never be able to make thy way through the
storm, Christie," said lleuben, rising in still increasing
unxiety ; "in thy delicate state of health, too. Listen to
the wind and rain."

*• Oh ! I hear it ! I hear it ! But though it rained fire
from heaven, I should have to go."

" Thee will never survive this night, if tliee ventures
out," said Uncle Keuben, solemnly.

" What matters it ? ^Iv life is worthless, so hers is
Siivod," she said, with sorrowful bitterness.

AVillard Drummond's heart smote him ; and some of the
old love revived in his heart that moinentfor poor Christie.

" Christie, thee will perish with fatigue."

"Oh, no; UU not. This inward strength will sus-
tain me. I will live, I must live, I shall live, to save
Svbil Campbell. 1 feel it ; an inward voice tells mo
so."

Slllg

the
;tie.

EXPLAXATIOXS.

277

** Then thee is determined to go ? " said Uncle Reuben,
sorrowfully.

''I must. Duty calls me. Dear Uncle Reuben, good-
by."

" Will thee ever come back, little Chri.stie?" he said,
holding the little hand she extended, in both his.

*' As iieaven wills ! I fear not. But — Uncle Reuben —
dear, good Uncle Reuben — if I do not, you will come to
see me die."

*^ Oh, dearest Christie!" His honest voice choked,
and he stopped.

*'Good-by, Bertha. Kiss Christie once more."

She put her arms round the neck of the maniac, whose
eyes were fixed wistfully on her face.

'• (loing away ?" she said, in a tone of vague surprise.

" Yes, dearest friend ; and if I never come back, you
must not quite forget me."

*' Christie ! Christie ! my wife I my injured, long-
suffering wife, do not talk so ! I cannot bear it I " said
Willard Drummond, passionately ; for every word of that
sorrowful parting had hoon like a dagger to his lieart.

She came over with the old, trusting love of happier
times, when that love first filled her heart, and clasping
her hands on his shoulder, she dropped her face on them,
and softly murmured :

*' Dearest Willard ! it is better so. I am not afraid to
die now, after what I have heard to-night. And — do not
be hurt, dearest love — but I have no wish to live. You
will be happy with her — with Sybil ; and I — I will pray
for you botli, and love you botli in heaven."

''Oh, Christie ! Oh, my wife !" he cried, clasping her
in his arms, with a passionate cry ; " am I only to realize
the treasure I have lost, when it is too late ! "

" Not too late, Willard ; if it will help to make you a
better, a holier man ; it is not too late. There are many
happy days for you, for Sybil, for me --yet to come."

** Wretch ! wretch ! that 1 have been," he groaned, in
bitter grief. " Why was I doomed to bring bitter misery
and death on all who ever loved me ? "

"Oh, Willard, hush! You break my hear^ ! " said
Christie, lifting her golden head off his breast. '* You
must not talk in that wild way. And we are losing time
staying here, wiien every second is more precious thua

278

THE QUEEX OK THE ISLE.

untold gold," she julded, stiirtiiig up. " Come Willard,
come."

While slio s])oke, Uncle Roubeu, who had passed out un-
observed, reentered.

'' Ooo(I-l)v, once more, Uncle Reuben," said Christie,
*' we are going."'

" Not ' good-by,' yet, little Cliristie. I will go with tlieo
to Newport."

*' Hut, Uncle Reuben, there is no necessity. I know
the way."

^' And did thee think, little one, I was going to let thee
Avalk tiiat distance in this pelting storm?" said Uncle
lumben, witii a sad, grave smile. " No ; it is not quite so
bad as tliat. Thee will ride in the donkey cart until we
reacli Newport."

" Tlien you have such a conveyance ? " said AVillard,
eagerly. " Thank lieaven for that, in it you will at least
be saved tlie fatigue of walking, Christie."

'' But liow can you leave Hei'tha, Uiude Reuben."

" I will \ovk the door, and Bertha will go to bed — will
thee not, Ijcrtha ? "

The maniac nodded, and still Avistfully watched Christie,
as tliough some faint impression that she was going to lose
iier was forcing its way tiirougli her clouded tjrain.

For the first time Willard turned his eyes upon her, and
gave a violent start, as he recognized the. well-kno\vn
spectral face.

In a few brief words, Christie gave him to uiulerstand
how it had happened he had seen her on the isle.

And then, drawing her arm witliin his, Willard led her
from the house, followed by Uncle Reuben.

Christie took her place in the humble little donkey
cart, and cowered down to avoid the pelting rain.

'' Thee had better get in, too, being wounded and weak
from loss of blood, tliee knows," said Uncle Reuben, to
Willard. ''I will walk and drive."

"Not at all. Do you imagine I would ride while you
walked ? I am not weak ; I feel the strengtii of ten men
within me, urging me on."

'' 'I'hat is oidy excitement, friend ; it will not last.
Thee had better get in."

But Willard peremptorily refused, and took his place oa
the other si<ie of the little cart.

EXPLAXATIOXS.

279

Seeing it was in vnin to ur»;e him, the old man aUowed
iliu iiniinal to starl. And ('liristic raised for u nionient
her bowt'd head, to east one last, sorrowful udanee at the
little, isolated forest eot slu^ was never destined to see
a^^ain. 'IMiey turned :iii abrupt anul'', the ni;,^lit jind dark-
ness shut it from her view, and with a lolli^^ sldverinn" si^uli,
she bent her head once niore in her pale luinds.

That idi^Hit ride throuuii the forest— with the wind wail-
in<? eerily in loiii;, lamentable blasts throuirh the w;!vin<;
arms of the trees, with tin; rain driving,'' in blindini^ aiists
in their i'aees, with the pall of almost Kiryptian darkness
around, above, and on everv hand I Tiiat niirht ride !
slee})ini^ or wakin*;', in after days, alone or in the gayest
assembly, it would rise like a haitntiuLT vision before the
eyes of Willai'd Drummond ; and the little, bowed, shadowy
ilgure, eroucdiini;" silently in a corner (d' the wagon, would
awaken in his heart feeiinifs of undving renmrse. UMiat
night ride through the long, lonesome woods I All the
great wrong he had done that litl'e, bowed form, from
whose gentle lir)S no word of reproach ever fell, from
whose loving eyes no aceusing glance ever Hashed, aro^^e
in bitter array b'dore him, until he felt as if hi^ could
never encounter the gaze of those earnest, soul-lit orbs
again — \'vh, as he walked beside her, as much out of
his sphere as a lost soul might feel before the gates of
lieaven.

Then, by a natural transition, his thoughts went stray-
ing out to the future — to Sybil. She was lost to him now,
as much as though she were dead and in her gi-ave. '^riiere
was a sharp, keen panii: piercing through his heart for one
moment, at the thought ; the next, a move generous feel-
insf filled it, and he felt as if he could even iovfullv i^ivo
her up to save her from that awful doom. Once Sybil
was saved, his determination was, to depart with his little,
drooping >7irl-wife to some far-otT southern clime — to some
snnny village in France or Italy, where the more genial
clinnite wonld restore her to liealth, and where tlie
wretched past would be forever unknown. There he would
endeavor to atone, by his devoted care and attcntioTi. for
all he had ever made her suffer, and forsfet Sybil. Hut
that name, as usual, awoke a host of tender, sorrowful
memories, and something akin to despair again replaced
every other feeling in his tortured mind, Ti'uly, in tho

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280

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

keen suffering of tliat moment, he realized what Divine
retribution is.

Air] so on — still on, through the chill, bleuk night, the
driving, plashing rain, tlie sighing, moaning wind, the
dark, tlesolato forest road, our n'oary, silent trio wound
their lonely way. Not a word was s])oken from the mo-
ment of starting. Christie, bowed, collapsed, shuddering,
cowered in tlie bottom of the rude cart, her white, tliin
face hidden in her whiter, thinner hands. Uncle Reuben,
urging on the stumbling donkey to his utmost speed, and
now and then turning to see that *' little Christie" was
safe or to glance at tlie tall, dark figure walking oj)}»osite.
And Willard Drummoml, with his hat drawn down over
liis brows, muflled in his cloak, strode on With ])owed licad,
too absorbed in his bitter thoughts to heed the flight of
time.

And so the long, silent night lingered and lingered, and
the drip})ing forest road was passed at hist, and they passed
at intervals, gloomy-looking farmhouses, whose inmates
were still asleep, and whose only greeting to our weai'y
travelers was the noisy barking of tlieir watch dogs as they
passed on. And so the melancholy journey was continued
until morning, wan, cold and gray, lifted its dead, dull
face from the mantle of night, and casta sickly glimmer
of light along the wet, slip])ery piith.

" M(jrning at hist,"' said Uncle Uciiben, lifting his head
with a dee]) sigh of relief. "This has been the longest
night 1 have ever known."

" Yes, morning,'* said Wilhird Dnimmond, looking up
bitterly at the dull, lca<len sky ; '* and we so far from
AVestport yet. Only one chiy more between her and an
iirnominous death."

Uncle Reuben looked at him a moment, and then at the
bowed form in the c:irt, with a look of calm reproach.

''Is thee tired, Christie ?" he said, a])})roac]iing her.

She lifted her head, disclosing a face so white ami hag-
gard, so worn with fatigue, sleei)lessness and gr'ef, that
even Willard started back in grief and alarm.

"Oh, little Christie! I knew this journey would kill
thee ! " said T^^nclo Reuben, with a groan.

'• 1 feel a little tired — that is all," she said, forcing ft
wa]i smile. '' Dear friend, do not look at me with such
frightened, anxious eyes ; it is nothing."

EXPLANATIONS.

281

the

kill

'* ThoG is deadly pule, Christie."

'' 1 juiicold,'' she said, with asliiver ; " notliing more."

" And wet througli," said Uncle l{eul)en, sorrowfuily.
*' We mnst stop at the first house we meet, and get some
dry clotlies and some breakfast.''

'* No no ; you must not stop : tliero is no time to lose.
Pray, go on," said Cliristie, in ahirm.

*' Thee must take time," said Unele l{eul)en, firmly,
looking straight at Willard. " 'i'liee will hardly live to see
Westport, else. Does thee want to die a sui'_'idc,
Christie ?"

'• lie speaks truly, dearest — we must stop at the nearest
farmhouse," said Willard, bending over iicr. "\My j^oor
Christie, you do, imleed, look jaded to death," he added,
sorrowfully.

'' It is nothing, Willard. If I only reach West[)ort in
time, I care for nothing else."

" 15ut 1 do, Christie. 1 'vant you after that to hurry
and get well, and come with me to Italy, to far-olf, beau-
tiful Italy, where our lives will be ha])})y as a fairy tale."

She lifted her large, lustrous blue eyes to hi.s face, with
a long, steady gaze, the calm, clear, far-seeing gaze of a
soul lingering on the verge of eternity. How ])lain]y
tiiose mournful eyes said " Too late — too late I " ] hit she
did not speak, she only smiled faintly, and sank wearily
back, with her head shrouded in her numtle once more.

The white hands of morning were now f:ist ])u.shing
aside the clouds of iiiirht. A2 thev went on, thcv en-
countered one or two laborers, with spades on their
shoulders, going to their daily toil, who stared at them
with lack-lustre eves, as if thev thought them ghosts. At
the end of half an hour, they reached a comfortable-look-
ing farmhouse, and aliglited, at tin; outer gate. Willard
lifted Christie out in his anus, while Tnele Iteuben kept
olf the dogs that ran out, barking noisily, with his whip.
The noise brought the farmer himself to the door, who,
noticing the drooping form of Christie, ami the pale, worn
faces of her coinpanions, cordially invited tl)em to enter.

There was a bright cheerful lire blazing on the ample
hearth, and a wotnan bending over it, preparing break-
fast. As she jilaced a chair for Christie, into wliich the
young girl dropped, totally exinr.isted, Willard drew her
aside, and placing his purse in her hands, said :

283

THE QUEEX OF THE ISLE.

fs "

.'J

II '

;I ,

i !

I. i

" ^[y good woman, you perccivQ the young lady's clothes
an; \rot through. Will you be good enough to take her to
voiir room, mimI furnish lior with some dry ones ? "'

" ^'es, sir ; I'm sure I'll l)eghid to hi'Ipher, poor young
thing I I've got some will lost about tit her," said the
woman, with a sympathizing locdc.

Willaril whispiM't'd a few words in the ear of Christie,
who ai'oso and followed the woman from the room, while
a girl about Christie's size took charge of the breakfast.
AVillard seated hims(df near the fire, and fell onre more
into a painful rifvcrie, from which the return of Chri-stie
arou.s(vl liini. lie phieod a ^'vair for her beside his own,
aiul sinking into it, she dropped her weary little head on
his shoulder, while the young girl began wringing the wet
from lier drijiping hair.

Ureakfast was soon smoking on the table, and the three
wayfarei's took seats ; but much as they needed food, this
erricTul had effectually taken away their appetite, aiul it
was with the utmost dilficulty they could prevail upon
Christie even to swallow a cup of coffee.

"Can you furnisli me with a horse and gig to reach
Newport ? '' s:ud AVillard to their host, as they arose from
the table.

Fni

((

" Yes ; you can come with me,'' rejjlied tl ».
going there myself in an hour."

"What time will we be in Newport?" said Willard,
anxiously.

^' Little afternoon."

"And if we take fresh horses immediately, we can
reach Westport before morning, can we not ? "

" Oh, yes, very easy ; travel all night, and you'll be
there by three in the morning. S'pose you're going with
everybody else to see the woman executed, eh ? Lord
bless me ! wliat's the r>, utter with her ?" said tlie man, in
disnuiy, as Christie, vvith a loud, inexpressible crv, hid her
face in lier hands.

" Xo*"hing ! nothing!" said AVillard, hurriedly, and
with ji ft.ce perfectly colorless. "■ What time — at what
liour. I mean, does this execution take place ?"

" Nine in the morning ; has to be early on account of
the mob. Nobody ever lu-ard tell of such a crowd of peo-
])le as will be there. Most as many as at the Day of
Judgment. ''

EXPLANATIONS.

283

;d,

11 d

co-

*' Can yon not start rliilit away ? "

*' No ; couldn't before an hour."

'' la there any otlier conveyance to be hired near ? "

'•'No, tliere isn't;" said tiie man, sliortly ; ''every-
body wants their own to take themselves there. If it's to
see her liung you want, you'll be plenty time wlion I
start."'

There was no help for it ; and Willard and his e(|ually
impatient companions were obligetl to wait almost two
liours before tlie farmer was ready to start. 'J'lien he and
his wife mounted on the front seat, Willard and Christie
sat behind, and throwing her arms jiround liis n( (;k,
Christie bade Uncle Keuben a last larewell.

**Good-by, little Ciiristie I '' ho s;dd, sorrowfully.
*' Good-by, and (tod bless thee. 1 will come to see thee
some day soon."

And then good Uncle lieu ben entered hia donkey cart,
and turned his sad face toward the lonesome forest C(;t,
doublv lonesome now. And Christie, shi'inkinii" closer lo
Willard, laid her tii-ed head on his arm, too weary and
exhausted even to weep for the friend she liad left.

The farmer, who had no intention of injuring his horse
by fast driving, went plodding at a jog trot onward, in
spite of Willard's furious demands to drive fast. Jnwardly
cursing the lazy beast, he gave up the elTort at last, and
strove to while away the tedious liours in conversing with
Christie.

Slowly and somewhat incoherently he lesirned from licr
all the events of that night, and of iior after life in the
cottage, and her motives for remaining tliere.

''And you were willing to nninin in that isolated ]dace
all your life, that I might marry Sybil Campbell, my j»oor
Christie?" he said, with a ]iang of drcjjest i-eniorse.
*' And so you loved me still, even believing me guilty ?''

" Oh, AVillard I did you think for one moment 1 could
coiise to love vou ? " she answered, fei'vetitlv. "It was
because I loved vou so well J wished to see you happv with
Sybil."

'"My faithful, leal-henrted, unseliish little wife!" he
groaned, jn'essing her closer to his side.

" But, Wilhird, tluM-e is one thing 1 want to know. I
want to hear it from your own lips. Answer me trnly as
you hope for salvation. Do you love Sybil Campbell ? "

»TW^

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m
m

284

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

((

'' Oh, Christie, I do ! I do ! • Bettor than life, better
tlian my 3011!'^ salvation I Better tliaii my hopes of lieiiven
do 1 love her ! " lie exclaimed, passionately.

*'It is well," she said, folding lier hantls, with a slight
sli'ver. '* Thank (Jod for the boon of death ! "

'' But, Christie, I will forget her ; yon are r^y wife. I
will go far away where I will never sec her more ! " lio
said, recalled to himself. '* By devoting my life to you,
I will try to atone for all I liave made you snffer, sweefc
wife."

'' It will not be necessary, Willard ! dearest, best
AVillard ! Can you not see I am dying ?"
Christie ! " he cy'uhI out, in alarm.
I mean that my days are numbered, and, Willard, I
am happy, I only wish for life long enough to save Sybil."

Sometiiing in her tone checked tho words he was going
to say, and both relapsed into silence, broken at last by
lier saying :

'• Tell me all that has happened to yon and to all my
friends, since that night."

And then he began, and related jdl ; his father's death ;
the siiock he received on hearing of her murder, of his de-
parture to Kuro[)e witli the Campbells, of their return and
their marriage. At this point he could feel a Slight
shudder run through the frame of Christie ; but wlien
lie spoke of the unlooked-for interruption, and of Sybil's
being carried oil to prison, and of her condemnation, she
trembled so convulsively that he was forced to stop.

'' Oh, poor Sybil ! " she said, passionately. *' Oh, Willard!
her fate was worse than mine. What is suffering of any
kind compared with the slnime, the overwhelming dis-
grace — of that trial, exposed to tlie merciless eyes of hu::
dreds ? And that I should, in any way, be the cause !
Oh, Willard ! it is dreadful ! "

She wept so violently that he was alarmed.

" My own dear Christie, be calm I " he said, soothingly.
*' Consider that you are now going to save her life."

Still she wept on, until her overcharged heart was re-
lieved ; and then, worn out in mind and body, she fell
fast asleep on his shoulder.

Early in the afternoon they reached Newport, which they
found crowded with strangers on their way to Westport.

Leaving Christie in a hotel, Willard went to seek for a

EXPLANATIONS.

285

ird!

re-
Ifell

ley
)rt.
)r a

fast horse to tiike tlicm to town ; but, to liis (lisniuy, lio
fouiul tli:it evovv vcliiclo in tlii' village was iilruadv en-
gagetl. Nearly insaiiu with wihl impatitMice, he olTerecl
euoriuous suiiirf for a liorsc ; but as llie stern '• Impos-
sible ! " rose a^i^amst all iiis ileniands, he was forced to
return to the hotel in a state Itorderinj:^ on frenzy, and
olTer the farmer with whom they had come tlie price of a
dozen horses, if he would only couseiit to surrender the
git; to him, and let him drive.

Carried away by the young man's distracted words and
manner, ho Jit last consented, and, causing Christie to i)e
wrapped uj) in a large, warm shawl to protect her from
the night air, he lifted her in, took his seat beside her,
uiul dashed otT at a break-neck ])ace.

Not a word wassj)oken, as Willard, urging the animal to
its utmost, almost Hew over the ground. The few remaining
hours of daylight passed, and night fell dark and starless.
On, still on, lie nrged the reeking, foaming, j)anting
beast. They were still far from Westport — scarcely more
than half way — and the short night would soon be gone.
Each time the tired animal would halt, panting for a
moment ; the vision of Sybil, in her prison cell waiting
for death, would rise before him, nntil, nearly mad with
impatience, he would mercilessly iash the poor brute on
to greater speed.

But just as he was jeginning to hope that the rate at
which they were going wouk. , in two or three hours, bring
them to Westport, the animal, completely exhausted,
dropped to the ground, nnable to })roceed another ste[).
With a furious imi)recation, Willard sprang out and
strove to assist him to his feet, but in vain. The horse
was totally nnable even to rise. ]''or one moment Willard
leaned against the wagon, while a feeling of utter des])air
tilled his heart, 'i'heir distance from Westport — the few
intcivening hours — the impossiblity of procuring another
horse — the awful peril of Sybil, struck a chill like that of
death to his hcarr."^

" All is lost, Christie — all is lost I " he said, in a voice
so altered that she scarcely knew it. '' The horse is driven
to death, and in ten short hours Sybil dies ! "

"Heaven help us !" said Christie, ivringing her pale
hands. " Willard, we must walk."

" Walk I" he repeated, bitterlv. " Bc'':.re the end of

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286

Tin: QITEEX OF THE IH\.K.

tlie first milo your fate would bo similar to his. And lie
touclu'd the aniiiiiil with liis foot.

" 'J'ry mv. — try mo I" said Christie. R))riii<jin<jf from her
scat. '^ lloavcu will f^ivo iiiu strength in this lionr. Oh,
AVillani ! hasten !"

With a speed as .£rre;it as it was unnatural, Christio
started forwai'd, and Wilhtrd, with a last despairiiit^'cirort,
acMHunpanied her, e.\|ieeting ovcm'v moment to see her
fictitious streniilh give way. But no I it was as if a new
spirit had eiit(M'ed that sliglit franu^ — for as she never could
have walked in her days of })erfeet health and strength,
she walked now ; never for one moment faltering, until
the first dawn of morning grew red in the sky. JUit with
its first blush, Willard felt the faint hope that hact
hitherto i)uoycd him up die entirely away. Walk as they
might, he felt it woulii be ^'igli noon before they could
reach Westport.

** It is all useless, Christie," ho said, i)ausing abruptly.
" It is no use trying, we can — never save her I "

"We will save her — we shall save her I " exclaimed
Christie, with a strange kind of exultation. "Hark!'*
she added, "do you not hear a carriage approaching ?"

Even as she spoke, a cloud of dust arose, and the thunder
of wheels was he;ird rapidly approaching.

" Saved ! '' she cried, joyfully. " Praised be God !"

W'illard sprang forward to intercept the driver, and saw
a large country wagon nearly filled with people.

" Can you take us to Westport ? Our errand is one of
lite and death ? "

Something in Willard's tone startled the man ; but
after a moment's stare, ho replied :

" Yes. jump in."

Lifting Christie in first, he took his seat beside her,
and again dashed olf.

" ITasten I— hasten ! for the love of God!" cried
Willard, passionately.

"I'll do my best,'" said the man. " I want to be in
time for the execution, anyway."

On they fled, ^lile after mile was passed ; but, to the
excited mind of Willard, they seemed going at a snail's
pace. Did the sun ever rise so rapidly Jiny morning be-
fore as it did on that ? Eight o'clock, and still ten miles
from Westpoii.

EXPLANATIONS.

287

ler

ler,
lied
in

the
Lil'a

be-
liles

'' Factor — faster ! A tliousaiul — two tlioiisaiul — tlnvo
tliousautl dollars, if we only rt-acli Wcslport l)eforonino I "
shouted Willard, uiinost niadduucd. "A liimiaii life de-
pends on it — 1 liave a reprieve."

''Hooray!" shouted the boy who drove. "If ever
Sultan went, he'll have to go it now. Here's my stiek ;
tie your handkerchief on it to hoist when we get into the
town, and they'll stop the execution."

Lashing his horse until the persjjiration stood in great
beads on his forehead, away they Hew, and ten minutes
before nine rushed furiously into the town.

The streets were crowded — bloeked up with people — n
boundless sea of humiin beings I And near the jail they
beheld the scalfold, and a sight which seemed to paralyze
the very life in their hearts. For there, with the sherilT
and a group of her immediate friends, stood Sybil Cainp-
bell, whiter tiian the dead, robed for deatli, cold, still and
rigid.

A deep awe-struck silence had fallen over the vast
crowd — a silence more terrible than the wildest shouts
could have been. liaising the white handkereliier, tiie
boy waved it in the air, shouting, wildly : *' A reprieve — a
reprieve !" and drove furiously riglit through tin; startled
throng, heedless of those he trampled down in his way.

The multitude took up the cry, and *' A reprieve I a
repri^n'e I a reprieve I " rang out, gathering force as it
went, until, from a low, hoarse shout, it rose to a wild,
triumphal song that rang to the very heavens.

And on, on through the waving sea of human beings
tliey drove, until they reached tlie scafl'ohl ; and then
rising to her feet, the thunder-struck spectators beheld
the ^ale, beautiful face of the long-lost Christie.

■ i' i

288

TUE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

CHAPTER XXXV.

1.11,

: ! i

■ ■ I PH^

MEKTIXGS AND PARTINGS.

*' I am not iiiivd ■ I would to lieHv«'n I were I
For tlieii 'tis like I should f<,r);t't niyst'lf ;
Oh, if I could, what grief should I forjjet 1

—Shakespeare.

Foil one moment, so great was tlie surprise, that every
shout was liuslied, and the silence of death reigned. The
next, a wihl. Tearful cry, that those who heard might
never forget, rang out, and a man, among the crowd, fell
heavily to the ground.

There was a swaying to and fro, as the vast sea of
human beings made way for those who raised Edgar
Courtney, Avliite and senseless, from the ground — a dark
stream of blood oozing from his lips, and a murmur ran
round : ** He has burst a blood vessel !" But in another
moment he was forgotten, and every eye was riveted on
the scaffold — every car was strained to hear what was
passing there.

Sybil's mind, stunned by the many shocks it had lately
received, had sunk into a sort of lethargy, from which
nothing could arouse her ; and now she stared vaguely at
Christie, like one in a dream.

But, with a i)assionate exclamation, I\Ir. Brantwell,
sprang forward and caught Christie's hand, exclaiming :

" Saved I saved ! Sybil is saved I Christie lives ! "

And then the mob, catching up the words, sent forth
shout after shout, until the very air seemed to ring.

^' Saved ! saved I" repeated Christie, with wild exulta-
tion ; and then the unnatural strength that had hitherto
borne her up gave way, and she sank fainting in the arms
of Willard.

*' Let us leave this horrible place," said Mr. Brantwell,
drawing Sybil's arm within his own, and leading her
away.

'* My carriage is near," said a gentleman who stood
near them ; '^ may I bog you to make use of it ? "

'*I shall do so with pleasure. Sir," to the sheriff, "I
presume Miss Campbell may now accompany me to the

blta-

ierto

irms

Ivell,
her

Itood

''I

the

MEETTNGS AND PAKTINGS.

289

hotel, since she is discovered to be innocent of the crime
with which slie is ciiarged ? '*

Tiie slicrifl bowed in silence.

<^ Mr. Driuntnond, you liud better bring this young girl
also. You })er<'eive slie has fainted," naid Mr. Hranlwell.

Tiic clergyman, with Sybil, entered the carriage, fol-
lowed by Driuninond bearing Christie, and then tiie car-
riage drove rapidly away toward the hotel.

And the surprised and wondering crowd dis})orscd, to
spread tiic astoun<ling news far and wide.

Sybil, like one in a dream, had allowed herself hitherto
to be led ])assively wheri'ver tiiey wiHetl ; but at the en-
trance of Willard, she started like one who receives a gal-
vanic shock, her face — a moment before like nnirble,
grew crimson — her wild, black eyes lit fiercely up, and
turning to Mr. lirantwcll, she haughtily denumded :

'' Why is he here ? IIow dare he ever enter my pres-

ence again

V "

" ^fy dear Sybil, be reasonable," said the minister, de-
lighted that even anger should rouse lierfrom her aj)athy,
*' Mr. Drummond has saved your life."

** I would sooner die than owe my life to him !" she
said, passionately.

"My dear Syljil," said the minister, soothingly, as he
cast a deprecating glance at Willard. '*you mustn^t talk
like this ; it's very wrong you know."'

" Let her speak, Mr. Brantwell ; I deserve it all," said
Willard, bitterly.

His words, the sound of his voice, wrought a revulsion
in her feelings, and she cried out, in a tone of passionate
reproach :

'' Oh ! Willard ! Willard I how could you deceive me
so ? I loved you so much — so much, Willard, and yet
you dece'ved me ! Oh, it was cruel, it was base, it was
treacherous, it was unmanly to trifle with a poor young
girl thus I "

" Sybil, I am a wretch — I dare not ask you to forgive
me ! " he groaned, in bitterest remorse.

*^And she — she is your wife, is she not ?" she said,
fixing her flaming eyes on the pale, wan face of Christie.

'' She is ; but she had no part in deceiving you, Sybil ;
all the blame must rest on me. As I deceived vou, so
did I deceive her, villain that 1 was ! " he replied.

J-
t

nil? ;

J ^

f .11

i.S

■ibiLji^^.:

2 DO

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

<»

Mr. Driuiunond, she is (lend, 1 feur ! " said Mr. IJrant-
well, lookiii^^ ill alarm at the vviiite, rigid face of Chridtie.

*' No ; siie lias only .swooned ; she breathes yet."

'* Hero we are, at the hotel, thank heaven I" said tho
minister, as tho ooacdi .sto}H)ed.

A vast crowd had assembled here. For a momcn* all
shrank from j)assing through it, but there was no help
for it.

'' My l)r(^tlior is hero ? "said Sybil, in a hurried whisper.

n Yes."

'* Take me to his room, then," she said, passing her
arm through that of the clergyman.

" You will take Mrs. Drummond to my apartment,"
said the minister, kindly; '"the waiter will show you
where it is. I will rejoin you in a few monuuits."

Bearing the light form of his still senseless wife in his
arms, Willard entered the room, aiul laid her on the bed.

The wife of the host entered with restoratives, but it
was long ere tho heavy lids were raised from the sad blue
eyes.

*' My own Christie, you are better now ?" said Willard,
bending over her.

She smiled faintly, and pressed her hand to her heart.

'' Yes, I will soon be better," she said, in a strange
tone. ** Willard, where is Sybil ? "

II \\rxt.-\. 1...., 1... ,.*!>«.. A . "

))

With her brother, dear,
Have you told her all

No, Ciiristie, I have exi)lained nothing."
" Send for her, then ; for lier brother, too, and Mr.
Brant well ; I want to tell them all, and get Sybil's for-

:i veil ess

bef

ore

Before vou — what ? "

Nothing, dearest Willard. Have vou sent ?"
A servant '.ntered, and the message was delivered.
But sh ; has nothing to forgive you, Christie ; you

never wronged her.

"Oh, I did ! I did ! unintentionally, perhaps, but still
I wronged her. Hjirk I they are coining, Willard."

There was a soft knock at the door. Willard opened
it, and Mr. Brantwell, followed by Sybil and Captain
Campbell, entered. The young captain, pale, thin and
haggard, cast a fierce, implacable glance at Willard ; but
the sight of the frail, spiritual, attenuated form of Christie

MEETINGS AND I'AUTINGS.

291

Mr.

for-

you

still

ened

ptain

and

but

ristie

checked tlie fierce, passioiKite words tliat were already
risiiin to liis lij)s.

A ^^vat cliaii.i:e was purceptihle in Syl>ii, during these
few iiiinutcs. Tlic exliorlatiuiis of the good clergvm iii
had evidently not been without elteet, for her })ale/worii
face hail a eahn, subdued look, as if she had at l;ist real-
ized the great danger she had escaped.

"Miss Svitil, dear Miss Sybil, e:iii vou ever foririvo
nie ? " said the sad, sweet voice of Christie, as sin; hehl
out her hand, and looked wistl'ully, imploringly into
Sybil's face.

•'Oh, Christie! I have nothing to forgive you. Vou
were not guilty!" said Sybil, sinking down by the bed-
side, and hiding her face in Christie's little thin hand.

'' Not wilfully, but still I wrongeil you. And there is
another — will you not forgive him ? "

*' Never, so help me heaven \" fiercely ex(dainied Sybil,,
springing up, und casting upon liini a glance of fire.

'' Sybil, 1 am dying ! You will not refuse my last re-
quest ? Oh, Sybil! in a moment of thoughtless ]>assion
he married nie ; but all the time he loved you best. I
can see it all, now. lie loved you then — he lovea you
now, better thati all the world."

" And you can forgive him for the irreparable wrong
he has done you — a deserted home, a hlighted life, and an
early death ! Christie, you are an angel ! ''

" No, no ; only a frail sinner, with so much to be for-
given herself that she can easily, joyfully, forgive that.
Sybil, my hours are numbered. Will you render them
miserable by refusing my last request ? "

** Oh, Christie ! you know not what you ask."

*' Sybil do you not love Willard still ? ''

" Oh. I do — 1 do ! God forgive me — I do ! '' she said,
passionately.

" And he loves you. Willard, come here ; take Sybil's
hand. Now, Svbil, promise when 1 am gone to be his
wife."

'JMiere was a fierce struggle in the passionate heart of
Sybil — a last struggle between love and i)ride, and her
burning sense of the great wrong he has done her. With
her face bowed, her whole frame quivering, she did not
look up — would not speak, until the little hand of Christie
fell imploringly on her liead.

■':'>f

\>\>\> rwv K^\\'V\ oi- 1111' iNi.i:.

S>1>\1 1 l.M .' \ 0\» IsMh M< tWWi'll. lit;)! 1 WiMllil ^nlllllt |\

ti\«' \\> \\\\\\\' N .M( n H'lM ' N <Mi liMt* \'\\'\\ clluM filill . \\\\\

S\l^\l ' \» o \\:\\\' :\\\ i\> \\\\\\\\ t«» Im' liM,>;n<~'>. "iin \i>n iimI

S(\ri t\s^ < r)>!\ .

"S\Im1, 1 ,(\n «l\\n«', \( 1 >':»n I">m<'\\o Ihc w ronj', iloMo
tu«\ \\li\ >*!» ' >>ln »',u\\\»M \.Mi ■ (H\. S\ImI ' en !| (Mil
tins f:^lso pn»'.o (h.n m (II t\\:(\<' \«mi w i «( «I\.m| ;i!i voni lil't'.
^\\\^\ \\\ \\\\' \M\ Im it n\«MU('Uts h:ipp\ l>\ tl\M )>i (>n\)fi»t. Oli.

■'\M\»lstu\ \0U \\:\\\- r.M\on»M ( «1 . " hjUiI ''NImI. mm die

1]\o »h\\\j^^ >;\vl rh«M\. nsn\j\. »!»»' |»l;»<'t><l Ium liaitil lu
W '.liiu-.i's !^^^^} s!n»l. -.^--ih s;wl »\nM\rHlni'SM

WiViiUxi. ^^•^ \\:\\\' b»>il» (M\<-«1 . I«" in rovr.cl llio puil. I
Km »^ \ v^w sr.ti. ;u\»l t"v>iv;»\«^ > ,>>\ .ill

h;\r»ii >lu' t^\;vMulr.l t«^ his lip* ;n\.l (himoiI I<m\:ih1 lltt>

"Oh. th;»uk i-.si tliMuk (io.i r«M \\\\'A '"oiumI rhriMlio.

VltiMV W ;»S ;» h>\\ V:»|> ;«t tho «lo.>( . OMplniu 0;HH|^>l>t'II
o|V^r>Ov; u. luu'i ImUU;* i\M»r(Ui\v. j>:»l»\ \Nihl ;n\(i o\«m((mI.

*' Mrs. v\Mn'. r.oN, >»>\i Iumo ' " o\«'l;nn\i'(l Mr. niMuhvi^li.

"• <,"^p. . Mr. r>r;r>',t woil ! IMj^in- >s «l\m!',; iho tlorlor
ii;^^s^v^. :r.'.«l lio \s •v;n \n.vi ;uul s;>\n\;<, ih-- nu»st rrij'JiH'ul
tlViV.^^s. \\c >\;r.\;s 'iv> Sv\^ 0;»pt!\in 0;UM|>h(>ll Mnd hiM sislor

•' .Uo '" s.r.vi S\bil. " \Vh,;U r;u\ \\c w i\u\ \vitl» iu«* ?"
"v"*.".. 1 v\v> r.v"'; kn.Mv. \\c is sunui;^; such (Irriuirnl
tlrir.c^ ! Ov^nu^ wiih iv,o." s;uvi Mrs. OourOu'v. r.-ili'lnn^
SvbiVs ;r.u\ r.\ a wiUi. torriti^^i umv. ;n\*l lirinvini', licr from

Mr. l>rari'\xoU. \\ iriMVvl. auvi Ins ilviiiiV 5ri»"l-Nvif<\ wovo
lei: Aior.o.

** 1 Mnr.t '0 >oo Aunt Von\ :uu\ Onrl." sni.l Ohrislif,
fjvir.f.v •' Oo \o;; know wbovo thov ;iro to ho foinul V

*• Tiun aro on ii\o island," {?aia Mr. lUaniwoU, "con-

Mi'.l'/l'INn,'; AM> I'Aici'ivin'i.

'M»;i

• Mil
iil'i'.
Oh.

woll.

\V»M(»

(!<'•( II ('III I V III! \ •• iKil Inn mI nl' V'"M IK M Vfl I Im : »'. I Wl I I ;" fl'l

II IIH"UU'IIJ'l'l nvci (ill Mm III. ll V"" WH'li "

" V«"l V"."|'IImI ('lllji'llf, Mlj'iily ; " CI (III U'tVI {\y\i\,

iMViiy

^ll hMiiilui'll li'l'l IIm' iiiMiii, Mh'l "(iii'lily nhiMi'il f'»
Miiv llml II l:'f"; Iri-I ."him-, imii| M I m 'I'lrii lui'l lii i h' idi' //
liil|» III III' I' V |n ' I I'll III li fi.\v lion I "

Allij I hi II Mil' (Mi(ii| r|i||'VMi)m MiliH' (iii'l iiil i|'i7/ii l(«--
HJili* IIm' ilyi'i," I'lil , iMii| lifi^ihf In I liiiriil in In', I.'/mii

hlltlMii III II I'i'V. '/Mill "I lnlM. ;vlllli Wllllll'l. Willi lll( liMi'j

JKHVi'iJ itii lipi liiiiiil, (!iil liy IIm' wiiii|'i',v. hIi ''m Im 'I !»/ inmif
rnlill III iiiii I liiiii{i III II

Ami lliiifi (III li'iiir |iii><''i i| , iiimI III! II f iijiImmi ' iirii|if/'l|

Mini lim ll|"hl ichirillll, jilll(> (lll'l I Kl (I* i|, M.; if \,J K'lllll)

III I 11 1 1, "I" I III I II, I in.

" Ml. < 'mil I IK'V *' " I'liiil I III' Ml iiiii'l' I , imjii iiirii'iy.

" Im iliml '" iiiifi\vi'l<>i| rjijihiiii ( 'iiiii|.l/i II, 7/it (i 11, i!lij/||f,
hIiihIiIi'I .

"In ll. |ii» .iltli< '' jjiivv vi'i y >imli|i h ' " >';ii'l Mi. l',i,ihl-
Wi'll. Ill itiii|iii'<> '' W'Iml. u II ' I lie miillif '-'"

" ( Mil I", III' 'm ii|»|MMil')iliri' ' I I'lW I nnl'l .' luil, -'.liiii k \iiiii '' "
Miiiil IIk' iiiiii i 'I i'I , mIiII inmi' I'li i |»ri'i 'I.

" III' llimii'lil. Im>|- iIi'.hI l|imi['lil, liiiri'ilf liM mnfj'fr,
iMitJ riiliriJMJ hIh' liiiij iif.iii fi'im I III' (/;;;i'/i' fo ii.iJ.\i-:<: ln/n,"
iuimI ( 'ii,|iliiiii ( 'inn |iIm'II, ckciiiiII y.

" 'I'lmiit^lil, liiiiij'.i'ir Im'I mil I 'Im't ! " mju'I tlii; mirii-'*':r,
Mlill r('|Mji,| iiiii; Mil' y'»iiii('; riiiin'.n wor*!-'. Iik'; ;iri <:':fio.
" I low wiiM I, lull. :' "

llolli ( 'liri".l i<' iiii'l Williiiil I'dc'I Mn-ir fycA *.;*.'// r\y hfi l\,<',
oxril.cti fjUM' III" l.lif ymiii;i; oipluin,

" Well. ll. WJiii ln' wlio mI.iiIiIm'I li':r Mi;i.t, fiij./}if, on l\i<.
Im'ik'Ii. Ill' lin.i cmi TcH 'cij il, ;i.li I" j-'.;ii'l r';i,|>r,;uri r,'irrip-
hcll.

" III' MtdlilMMJ licr I" I'xrliuMK'l Wili.u'l, .•'.{)rin;'iri^^ to hiH
feci,, wliil'' (/'liriMlif iiMcn-il ;i, fuiol, cry , 'jiri'i whv, ifi i.)i(:
luiim' of lir.'ivmi, hIioiiM In; try to fniirH»;r li»;r ? Whut }i{id
hIk^ (iviT iJoiM! I.o liiiri ?

" Nolliiiu(. \\i', iliij not rrifjan to i/ijnrf; Ciiri.Htif.-. ff^;
miatook lier i'or iiia wifo I "

1 '

I''''"'

tft(

\ih :

!■

'■■i:

H ' I

i ; !

294

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

** Mistook me for his wife ? " said Christie, like one in
a dream ; " and did he want to "kill liis wife ? "

'*Yes, horrible as it seems, he wanted to kill her!"
said Captain Campbell. " T\\q way of it was this," he
said, stopping suddenly in his excited walk, '' Courtney
was jealous of his wife ; he fancied she had gone to keep
an appointment with some one on the island" — a slight
flush of crimson glowed for an instant on his dark cheek,
as he spoke — *^and he determined to follow her there.
He went ; but, of course, as liis suspicions were unfounded,
she did not. In the storm and darkness he met Christie.
He thought her his wife and stabbed her and left her for
dead on the ground. Some apparition that he met terri-
fied him, and he fled from the island — first returning to
the spot where he had left Christie, but finding the body
gone — swept away by the tide, as he imagined. He re-
turned the next evening to the parsonage ; there he found
his wife living ; but, hearing the rumor of Christie's death,
he knew he had stabbed her in his blind furv. He heard,
also, that my sister had gone to tiie island that night, and
that a woman resembling her had been seen flying through
the storm about the tin? ^ the deed was committed, and the
diabolical project entered liis head of having her accused
of the murder, and thus forever freeing himself from all
possibility of blame. How well he succeeded we all know ;
and Sybil would have died an ignominious death for his
crime had not a retributive Providence sent Christie here
at the eleventh hour to sjive her and bring his crime to
light ; but too late to save her from the shame and
humiliation of what has passed. May the foul fiend catch
his soul for it ! "

*^ Oh, brother, hush! "said Sybil, laying her hand on
his arm. *' Remember you speak of the dead.^'

" This is most monstrous," said Mr. Brantwell, in a tone
of horror. " I never dreamed that any man in his senses
could have committed such a crime."

*^He was not in his senses," said Sybil, " he was crazed
with lealousv."

" Was he not sane when he accused you — the double-dyed
perjurer?" exclaimed Captain Campbell, fiercely. ^' Oh,
why does God permit such frightful injustice to go so long
nnpunished ? Where slept His thunderbolts, that this de-
mon in human form was not struck dead where he stood ? "

! "

iteh

Oh,
ong

MEETINGS AND PARTINGS.

296

"Gny, my clear boy, be culm," interposed ^[r. Brant-
well. '* Ood is Ilis own interpreter, and in His own ^^ood
time lie has seeii fit to save your sister. Let what is past
be for^^otten — • let bvjrones be byizones.' "

*' But Christie lias not told lis yet how she was saved,'*
said Sybil ; 'Sail tluit is still involved in invsterv."

Faintly, and in broken sentences, for her strength was
waning fast, Christie related all that the reader already
knows. To explain the presence of Bertha on the island
it was necessary, however painful it might be, to tell her
story ; and Guy and Sybil listened in sorrow and amaze-
ment.

" Then my lather's wife lives yet .^ " said Sybil, slowly.

*SVnd now 1 remembe/, though indistinctly, li'.e a
dream, of catching a glimpse of a tall, dark, handsome
woman in the up])er rooms of the old Lodge, when I was a
boy," said Guy, thoughtfully. "It is strange 1 thought
so little of it at the time, for her presence tliere was singu-
lar. What terrible revelations time brings to light I Who
would ever suppose my father could have done such a
deed ? "

" His child, too, may be living yet," said Mr. Brantwell.
" IIow unfortunate that there is no clue to tell what may
have been its fjite."

Ere anv one could replv a bustle at the door arrested
their attention, and the next moment Mrs. Tom entered,
followed by Carl, and, rushing to the bed, clasped Christie
in her arms, laughing and crying hysterically.

" My own darling child ! my own blessed baby ! my
dear, drrling little Christie !" were her exclamations, be-
tween .aughing and crying and hugging.

" Dear Aunt Tom ! dear, good Aunt Tom ! Oh, I'm
so glad, so glad to see you again ! "said Christie, throwing
her arms round her neck, her wan face flushing with joy.

"And to think that you was married, and I never
knowed a word about it ! Lor' sakes ! An' to be killed,
too, and come to life at the nick o' time," said Mrs. ^Pom,
with another hug and a laugh and a fresh burst of tears.
"Carl, you great, lazy, idle vagabones, come over here and
see Christie, 'stead o' standing there, shiftin' from one foot
to another, like you had got into a nest o' young wipers."

I'hus adjured, in the sharp, peremptory tones that le-
minded Christie of other days, Carl advanced and pressed

296

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

<'i

TV
I-' '

^ii-

H I >

I 4 1

liis lips to Christie's cheek as gingerly as though he was
afraid of hurning himself. Evidently relieved when this
was over, he e(l<^a'd off toward the door, and, at the invita-
tion of Syhil, took a sent, and sat dow.i on the extreme
edge of the chair.

And then, when Mrs. Tom had liugged and kissed
Christie to her heart's content, and laugluHl jind cried lier-
self into sometliing like composure, her first demand was
to hear all that had liappcned " sence tliat tliere awful
night." And Syhil, fearing to further agitate Christie,
who had now fallen back, completely exhausted, on her
})ill()W, led the bustling little woman over to the window,
and seating herself near her, related all. Mrs. Tom lis-
tened with many " lor' sake's I " and '' gracious me's ! " and

( .

olfs I " and '*ah, Lord's I " until Sybil began relating
tiic maniac's story. As she proceeded, Mrs. Tom grew
violently agitated ; and before she could roach the end,
the old lady had jumped up, and, pale and trembling,
bent over Cliristie.

** Christie, look hero," she said, excitedly ; '' that there
crazy woman had a little child, had she, the time she was
wailed up in that room ? "

" Yes," rei)licd Christie, wonderingly.

*' That there little child was left in Campbell's Lodge
long o' ^Fark Campbell, was it ?" continued Mrs. Tom,
more and more agitated.

" Yc I believe so. Why, Aunt Tom, what's the
matter ? "

'' And they never could find out what 'came of it after,
could they ? " again asked ^Irs. Tom, sinking into a chair.

'* Xo. AVhy, wl'.at in the world docs ail you, Aunt
Tom ?" said Christie, in still increasing surprise.

" Oh, my Saviour I Oh. my dear f.ord ! Only to
think on it I Christie, that there crazy woman is your
mother ! You are the little child that was left with Mark
Campbell."

In a moment every one was on his feet, gazing in won-
der and junnzo on Mrs. Tom, and at the others, iis if won-
dering what in the world they were destined to hear next,
('hristie, too weak now to betray any cP'iotion, lay still,
witli her wondering blue eyes fixed on the old woman's
face.

*' I'es, you needn't stare, all of you ; it's jest so," said

MEETINGS AND PARTINGS.

297

said

Mrs. Tom, very much excited; **and the way of it waa
tliis : One morning, airly, jest as I riz, Mari< Campijell
came into my cottage with sometliing I took to be a Ijundle,
under his elojik. lie opened it, and you may guess the
astonishment I was in when, instead o' a biindh', he hiid
tlie sweetest, dearest, puttiest little baby on tlie table ever
1 seed. Lor' sakes I I was so completely consleriiilied I
hadn't a word to say, but jest stood starin' with my mouth
wide open, fust at him and then at th(» baby that was
sleepin' like a sweet little angel. lUsfore I could ax him a
single blessed question 'bout it, he sez to me : ' Mrs. 'I'om.
there's a child I want tooken care of. Kf you'll do it, I'll
pay you ; if you won't — ' I don't know what he was going
to say, for I lu'oke out with the greatest string o' questions
just then that ever was, asking him all about the baby ;
but he only looked fierce, ami wouldn't tell me a word.
* If you will take it, Mrs. Tom,' s(^z he, ' you shall bo well
rewarded for taking care of it ; but you must never, whih^
I live, breathe to a living soul that I left it with you. If
you do,' sez he, ' it will l)e all the w;n'se for you.' ' And
its nu)ther,' sez I ; ' where is she ? ' >[y conscience I if
you had seen him then ! llis face got like a thunder-
cloud, and he said, in a voice that nuide me tremble — yes,
even me (and there ain't many I'd tremble before, thank
the Lord I) ; ' Never mention that word Mgnin, or \ swear
ril blow vour brains out as I would a rabbit's!' And
then he rnslied from the house, leaving me more aston-
ished aiul frightened than ever I hail been before in all my
born days. JJut I kept the baby, and called it * Chris-
tiana,' after a sister I had once (Carl lEenley's mother,
poor thing, that went and heaved herself away on a vaga-
boncs of a Dutchnian), jnid kept it till it grew up. Mark
Cauip])ell died a little while after, but we never s})oke an-
other word about the clilKl ; but now I know, after hear-
ing about the crazy woman, she was its mother."

Aunt Tom paused for breath, ;ind Sybil, with a
great cry, s^jrang forward and clasped Christie in her
arms.

'* My sister I my sister I my dear little sister ! " she ex-
claimed, through her fast falling tears. " Oh, Cliristie :
oh ! Christie I to discover you are mv sister when it is too
late ! "

With her arms round Sybil's neck, her golden head

iir

208

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE.

lying on her shouliler, Christie said, in a voice so faint
that Sybil had to stoc^) down very low to hear Jier :

" I ain going, Sybil, dear sister Sybil ! tell Guy, my
brotlier, and iVunt Tom, to come and bid me good-by."

In a voice choked with sol}s, Sybil failed them to the
bedside, to receive that parting embi'ace. (Jny's eyes
were full of tears, and Mrs. Tom's sobs resounded audibly
through the room.

*^ And now, Sybil, my own, my darling sister, good-by,
and God bless you. Hush I do not weep so ;" and the
little wan arms clasped Sybil's neck in a last embrace.
''Dearest Sybil, go now and send AVillard to me I"

Pressing a last kiss on the transparent brow, Sybil arose,
and beckoned Willard to approach. Cjilm and tearless,
but pale with a gi'ief too intense for tears, he came over,
A Hush of love and joy lit up the wan face at his approach,
her arms — with a last effort — t'lcircled his neck; the
golden head dropped on his breast, while the sweet, beau-
tiful lips murmured : " Dear AVillard ! dearest Willard !
good-by ! I aui going; going to heaven to pray for you
and Sybil. You will try to be very hajipy, and make her
very happy, when I am gone — will you not ? Lift n\t up,
Willard, and carry me to the window ; I want to see the
beautiful sunlight once more."

Tie lifted the slight little form, and sat down beside the
window. A bright ray of sunshine flashed in, and lit up
with a sort of glory the angel brow, the golden hair, and
the sweet, pale face.

Colder and colder grew the hand in his ; lower sank the
head on his bosom; fainter and fainter beat the gentle,
loving heart. Xo sound, but the suppressed sobs of Mrs.
Tom, broke the stillness of the room.

Suddenly the closed eyes flew open, with a vivid, radiant
light ; the sweet lips parted in a smile of inelfable joy,
and she half rose from her recumbent posture. The next,
she fell back ; the blue eyes closed ; a slight shiver passed
through her frame, and the streaming sunshine fell on
the face of the dead.

Three months after, there was a wedding — a very quiet,
private one — at the little church of Newport. And when
it was over, Sybil and Willard entered their plain, dark

MEETINGS AND PARTINGS.

'^99

traveling carriage, and, bidding good-by to tboir friends
assembled in the parsonage, set out for Willard's Virginia
home — where, in tlie unclouded sunshii.e of the future,
they soon forgot, or learned only to look back with tender
regret, to the sufferings and sorrows of the past.

Christie was not forgotten. The oldest daughter of
Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, a gentle, dark-eyed girl, bears
her name.

Six months after the marriage of Sybil her brother led
to the altar Laura Courtney, whose luitural vivacity soon
overcame the shock she had received by the sudden death
of Edgar Courtney, her unloved husbaiul ; and three days
later, in the good bark '' Evening Star," she was dancing
over the bright waves of the Atlantic, on lier way to
Europe with Captain Campbell.

Willard Drummond sent for Uncle Reuben and Bertha,
and for several yjars they resided with him. But wiien
at last the gentle maniac passed in peace away, her faithful
cousin bade them farewell, and set out for Ins boyhood's
home, to pass his last days under the old roof tree.

And Aunt Tom, good old Aunt Tom, still stayed on the
island, which no persuasions could ever induce her to
leave,, and there brought up Mr. Carl Henley in the way
he should go ; and employed her whole heart and soul in
the alas ! vain labor of curing him of the sin of laziness.
If any reader is concerned in knowing the future fate of
that interesting young gentleman, I am ha[)py to say,
when he arrived at the years of discretion, he made the
acquaintance of as trap})ing, strong-armed, red-cheeked,
German girl, who fell violently in love with the tallow-
candle complexion and tow locks of the fascinating youth.
Mr. Henley, after revolving the matter over profoundly
in all its bearings, came to the conclusion that he might
as well marry her as not, whicli he accordingly did, in the
*' fulness of time" — having previously extorted a promise
from her to do all the work. Mrs. 'I'om, who had an in-
vincible antipathy to '' furriners," looked with dislike at
first on her niece-in-law ; but the unvarying good humor
of Mrs. Henley, and her willingness to work, soon com-
pletely gained the good old lady's affections, and mastered
her prejudices.

THE END.