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A APPLIED irvMGE

'555 test Mo'H Street
-'ochester. Ne« York U609 USA
"6) 482 - 0300 - Phone
716) 288 - 5989 - Fax

CROWNED AT ELIM

CROWNED

A T

E L I M

STELLA EUGENIE ASLING

■^^^t'^^

1903

SMITH & WILKINS

20/ West Twenty-third Street

New York

0./..vn*.-h(. /f'"''
By Sti:i.i-^ I- Asi.iN"'

I'KlNTi.i' i.v Till'. KiAMUii I'k:
li Kt^nleSuccL. New \ v-rU

In nunuiry ol the latf

Coi.. Sir Ca>imiw Stwisi.ms < -/dUvki. K. C. M. ("..

.'//'/ iiiln-r

rAIKKII-- IN I'XII.K

ir//o, thnni:h rn,n;>r//n/ !,v n.hcrsr rircnmst.-nucs
to Irnvv the l;,wl ,,f t /:,-,,- hirlh. vet hrnui^rht tu
tlic voun- h,n<! ,,l ihcr .■></, >f>tiun the s.-irrw hi^h
inntives .uiu Christum ehiv,-i!r\ uhieh sn:ivc</ their
hves in <l:irk ,iml irvin<^ limes. :i,i<] ^y/„, l,;,y^, jgf^
:i ch'.n- i,le.i/ nt nhnt ,<^o,)<l„ess ;nul purity :,tu]
nnhleness i,„i>lies, u'hieh :ih>ne ni.ikes life imniortnl
-to these this litth- hook is yrntetully ,/e,Iicnte(f
f>v the Author.

CROJVNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER I.

RIVFRSIDH, I shall still call it. though now in
the calm dignitx- of its old age the inhabitants
have called it by a name signitying peace.
Though it is now but a sleepy village yet the mem-
ory of its former greatness still linj^ers about it,
lending an air of romance to tlie untciinnled l)uild-
ings. mossgrown bridges, and dilapidated mills, as
illusive, yet interesting, as tlie subtle jjcrfume which
greets us on opening a long-closed ])ackage of faded
roses. The very people seem to partake of the fpial-
ities of the town, .\fter vou have soionriicd amon-^
them for a little, you have a susjjicion that the hand
of time has been turned back from the o])ening years
of the twentieth century to the early fifties of the
nineteenth. The throbbing, pulsating li!e of the busy
age seems never to disturb their placid ways. When
they s])eak it is with a dignified yet courteous re-
serve, which seems to imply that they have a history
worth telling, did they but choose to tell it. Rut
they come of canny stock, those Riverside ])eo))le,
and do not take kindly to a stranuer. Thev will

2 CROWNED AT ELIM.

admit, however, that those were prosperous days
when people brought their grain from East and
West, and from up about the hikes, to be giound at
the great stone mill on the river; and will still si)eak
bitterly of the railway eompany whieh took that
trade away, and formed a town a few miles distant.
And if you are remarkably elever at extraeting in-
formation, they may tell you that the town owes its
inception to the enterprising capacity of a single
mind; that about 1S30 a rich landowner (whom,
for tiie sake of convenience, we shall call Robert
Murray) when riding about in the dense Canadian
forests", came upon a pictures(iue, wildly-rushing
river. The many waterfalls attracted his attention,
and being a shrewd business man he immediately
conceived the idea of establishing a town in its
vicinity. Obtaining a grant of land he at once set
to work to erect mills and factories at the waterfalls;
houses for his men were built in due course ; then
followed stores for supplies, a blacksmith shop, post-
office, church and school. As trade increased, hotels,
or more properly inns, were required, and thus River-
side became a cc mplete little town. As stcme was
lyir. ,' about in immense quantities, it was used for
all building purposes. And the people who came,
whether bv design or accident it is impossil)le to say,
came from the land of the heather This, then, is the
reason that the little town had impressed us with
an air of Scottish simplicity and substantiality on
(uir arrival.

Atid now having obtained so much information,
nothing more can we get from Riverside residents,
thousili we trv witli many wiles. So we saunter

CROWNED AT HLIM. 3

along the little street, past the well kept hedges,
past the stone walls which enclose smooth green
lawns, on over the bridge where the water rushes
down into the chasm at our fe*"t, and still on, follow-
ing the bending river till we reach the second bridge,
and herein sight of all things which TremaZamoyski
loved, and which are still haunted by her memory,
we pause reverently, reluctant to lift our unskillful
pen to record the history of those who now for years
have lain silent in the dust. Here is the bridge
Trema crossed manj' times; there the mill, now
silent forever; and just at our feet the path along
which she tripped that June morning with her new-
found friend. And so we sit and dream till the old
days come back, and the bones of the valley stir and
come together, and stand up clothed with life, ready
to take their place on the little stage whei they
played their part so long ago.

One of the first settlers of Riverside was Donald
Bell. In a short time he had grown to be one of the
principal men of the place. He was a general mer-
chant—dealer in groceries, dry goods, boots and
sho'' drugs and hardware. He was also postmas-
ter. As might be imagined, Donald, having monop-
olized so many departments of trade, was kept very
busy. It was noon hour of a warm spring day, and
as there was a lull in business, Donald stretched
himself u|)on the counter for a little rest. The hum
of the mill, the traffic oi the street, the falling of the
water, all came soothingly to him from a distance;
the bees hummed in the warm sunshine, and Donald
slept. He was rudely awakened from his mid-day

CRcWXnn AT ELIM.

iifip, however, l)y the entrance of Malcolm Mc-
Kinnon.

"'loo are ye the day, Donald? (iey ^v'eel, I've
nae (loot, for it's no wark wnd niak ye ill, a lyin'
foriver on yir back."

" I will be thinkinti, Malcolm, that it is not thy
bissness if I will be lyins^ down, or if 1 will be stand-
nig up."

" Ma certes, Donald, dinna be vexed. I maun
hae ye seal tliis letter wi' a bittie o' wax afore ye
stani}) it, an' I'll tak some yellow ochre as weel. Its
hoose cleanin' time, ye ken, an' the wifie maim jjie
the floor anither coat o' paint. There's a family
cam frae the ceety an' ta'en ' Vinemount.' Ye'U hae
lieerd al)oot it, na-.' doot, an' Ivlspeth maun hae
everything sjnc an' sj>an, so they'll no be finer than
she. Its the wy wi' the women folk. Afore I wud
fash masd' aboot a family o' Roosians ! "

"I wass hearing Willie Robertson say the lady
wass no Russian at all, but an English woman."

'•I'm thankfu' tae ken it," said Malcolm. "Its
an awfu' thing tae hae a family o' heathenish Roos-
ians come in tae oor quiet Scotch settlement But
her guid man is a Roosian, an' nae doot aboot it,
for I heerd Lawyer Mac.Mpin, as drew uj) the deed,
say that o' a' the names ever written herccaboots,
tlie Roosians was the worst. Cashmere Yamooshka,
if I mind it richt. Did ye ever hear o' the like?
Aweel. we maun jinst bide a wee ; maybe thev'll no
dae n- much harmn."

\ inemoinit had a history of its own. The house
was liuilt bv Robert Murrav, and stood on an

CRowxnn at i:lim.

eminence ovcrlookinj^ tlic river and eonnlrvside. It
was of eoloninl architecture, and its wide verandas
su]);)orte(l hy pure wliite columns, gave a stately air
to the house. Ivven the most ey.])erience(l traveler,
sated with the beauties of many lands, wovdd find
the view from the jjortico of \'i:\etnount ])leasinix.
There was the lawn with its smooth i^rass, over
which the stately elms and ma|)les cast lou'j;
shadows in the morniuf^ hours; the drive, eurviii,;
around a clump of trees, and then descendirij: ;j:ra(l-
ually to the road ])etween two rows of tall firs.
Across tlie road the land sl()])ed gently to the river—
a rushin.<::, tumblin,!^ stream, which forced its way
between two walls of limestone rock. Beyond the
river the fields were l)f)unded by a wooded hill, which
as yet liad never echoed with the woodir.an's a.\e.
Half a mile to the left, the spire of the kirk and the
chimneys of factories told where Riverside nestled
out of sitjht below the liill.

Robert Murray lived but a short time to eniov
his new ;U)ode. He lived to see the house completed;
to see the <:;rounds laid out as he desired; to see his
pet schemes a success in the villa^^e, ther he died.
He left no heir save an adopted son. It was rumored
that Vinemount 'nad been left to a younuer brother
who had lived in a very modest way near Toronto,
but who had finally sou^'^ht a home in Minnesota.
If the rumor were true, the younij^er brother never
ai)i)eared to claim liis inlieritance. The ])laee re-
mained in the possession of the adopted son and
finally i)assed into the hands of one, Blackburn
Montijc^iiery, a gentleman from Ireland; who, evi-
dently wearied of the world and its ways, came to

^ CROWXICD AT ELIM.

seek (,uiet and rest in se(|uestert(l Riverside He
remained for several years and then departed as
(linetly as he had eome. and Vinemount was ngain
sold. Repairs were j-oing on about the house for
two months, then one day towards the last of Tune
the new owners came from Toronto.

CA'OUA/iZ; .4 2 ELIM.

CHAPTER IT.

T W.\S evening when the strangers arrived in
Riverside, and the many lights of the little town
gleaming at far intervals, seemed to inerease its

sjze.

I,, 11

i)eyon(l the village rose a mist}'
phantom in the gloaming. The river followed its
eourse between two walls of precipitous limestone,
and then rushed over a rocky ledge and down a
narrow gorge with a thunderous boom that could
be heard beyond the outskirts of the village.

Casimir Zamoyski did not respond to the eulo-
gistic remarks of his wife and tlaugiiter. He feared
that the morning sunshine wouh^ dispel many illu-
sions ; that with the morning light the mountain
would appear a mere hill, the town would diminish
to one-fourth its seeming size; while the rushing
torrent would prove a verj- modest little waterfall
indeed.

Yet, when morning came, and Casimir Zamoyski
stood on the terrace in the sunshine, he was fain to
confess that there was a charm in the rural land-
scape which had not been discernible in the darkness
of the previous night. As for Vinemount, he thought
it an ideal home— such a place as he had dreamed of
when harrassed and perplexed by the troubles of life.
Yet it was a very different place from Stroganoff

'^ CRnwxf:r) at i-Li.\f.

Palace, the lu„„c he htu\ once k lown. Ah well
Stro^.ano.r I'alace was only a .Irea.n belc,„^H„.. to
tie past. When he left it years a^^o. "/„re4, roZ
J^..n...... hacn,een his only possLion. a^'^L^^

he st.I ha.l httlc t., show Un the efforts of a lifetinfe
yet when hfe shouhl end he hoj.ed to hand that
sacred her.ta,.- down as he had received it./.,.^.,„
I he ^a-nt en.an-s meditations were l.roken short-
ly by something tumhlinK on his shoulder-a rose
plucked from the window casement. He looked up
and encountere.l the smiHn- face of his wife

"What a face, Casimir! And on tlic Cerv first
monnn^. after onr arrival in yonr IMen. t<,o. Verilv
thewhnnsnl„K.n are stran.ua-. Here have I heen
c-nterta,ne.l for the past six weeks with vonr descripl

ons o, th.scharmin.M.lace. and now I do believe
tliat yi.ii are homesick."

. "-\;o. I a.n not hon.cick. Miriam. I was just
"Hh.hMn.,^ n, remin.sccnces; thou;,h. truiv. the first
^w days ,n a strant^e ph-ee alwavs are lonclv

^^oul.ln t y.,„ like to «(. for a walk -nul « .. •
, • , ^ i-Ji ii waiK and see some-

llnn'r u{ tlK- stUTcuidin-s of vonr new home' "

"Lannot, really. I am .^oin,. to jot down a few
•i-js m my journal before everythin..^ becomes hope-
Icssly commonplace. I am a dreadful procrastinator
and ,f do not write then, at once I Lr I shall n t
-nte them at all. Where is Trema ? i:he will b
pleased to accompanv \()u."

"I saw her^roiu^r towards the meadow. She

Wli"T^"',';^r,'-'''^'"^^'^'""^^"-I''^>-tion.-'
\\cll I shouhl hke to ,1.0 after luncheon Casi-
!'in-: but I can't ^ro „o\v."

_^^kulamc Zamoyski stepped back from the rose-

' The uns[>utt"d (Ii-nity of ancestry.

Ch-(>w.\/:n AT /././.u. 9

cMiihowcrcd wimluw and picked up licr joiirri.d It
was a lar-e volume, IjouihI in Russia k-allur. and
contained the principal events of her hte since her
seventeenth year. The pa^as had a reniarkahlv fresh
a])pearauce considerin.<r that they were nin-tcen
years old. IVrhaps it was because that she, too.
tclt lonely in her new surroundiiiLTs that inorninjri
tliat her attention was attracted hv those incidents
of Ion- a-o. At any rate, before she realized what
she was aI)out, she had drawn an casv chair near
the window, and was deeply engrossed" in her own
life storv.

I.DNDON, \f:irch I'nh ls:tt\

Some two months since, f.ithcr en-aged a new
nnisic teacher for me — one, Casimir Zamovski. I
have found hitn something of a mystery. His name
and accent are foreign: his manner speaks of courts
.nnd palaces, yet his dress is plain, almost shabby
He talks very little; of I'.imself he talks not at ail.
It IS only through music that his feelings seem to
find expression. Sometimes as I ])lav. Ins face will
light u]) till its glowing beauty is almost dazzling
Or, d the mood takes him. he will seat himself at the
piano when the lesson hour is over, and plav till the
very air seems trembling with the tread" of war
steeds; then at his touch the triumphant strains
wdl give place to cries of agony, and the tremulous
notes breathe out sobs of anguish. Yesterdav I was

coming along street when I met him, and as it

was the h(,ur for my lesson he accompanied me
home. As we walked quickly along he looked at the
fruit stands piled high with fresh and tempting fruif

Ch'owxnn AT r.i.iM

a Ur- vf;,'t'taliks, llu' cri-^p Ittlmc, and ripe toma-
toes; at llif ])lc'iitiriil suijply .)t" imat in the hut 'her
shops, ami he said s.ully: "The' pUiity Iific-; the
iiiisi-fv ovt-r thiri'^ihc dcsolatioii. and the t'auiiiif,
and the \vrvUdicdn(.s> ; the piiR-lu-d faces, and ihc
new made ;,'raves."

"Do yon mean the Ivast End?" 1 asked, think-
inji he meant one of the poorer sections of our ^reat
eity. Hnt he answered (piieklv:

" N". do; I did not me.in tiiis eitv, or tliis
conniry.'and then heeiianj^^ed liie ^nlijcet, hut from
the i>athos willi whieh he s]»oke, 1 know lie meant
his native land, wherever it may he.

London-. 7//r)e 7.0//;. JS37.

Casimir Zamoyski has tau,L,dit me torovera vcar.
and he uave me mv last lesson to-day. I was over-
wh>inied when I fonnd that I shonld n^l see him
a.^.-iin. When he said " ( M)od-l)yf," ;md I did not
answer, he came over to the piano, and was deeidv
pained when he found my face covered witli teais.

"'Ml Miriam I" he exclaimed, "do \()u care as
much as that ? Is it possihie you care tor a nameless
iioliody— an adventurer your lather will sav. Tell
me, is it so ? "

In a voice almost inandihle I whispered, " Yes,
Casimir. it is so."

"And are you willing to sh.are my lot wimtever
it may hring. wealth or poverty; hapi)iness or

" Yes, Casimir."

"Then may (lod forgive me and help mel" lie
exclaimed, fervent) v.

CRowx/:/) AT i:i.i\f n

While tlif IwiliL^lit (IftpciKMl wc talkcl and
plaiiiu'd, C.-isiinir and I As iii.v Jatlicr was a vi-ry
wcrdthy iiiaii and vi-ry proud, it was doubtful if he
\vould ^Mvc iiis fonsciit to luy inarryiu^r .-„, uidvuown
foreigner; so wc- dccidnl tliat should he oppose us,
we would i.Mke mailers into our own hands and
marry without his eonsenl. When we lieard hiin
come in at hist. Casimir look niy hand. sayin.L,' in a
voiee hdl of enu)tion :

"I'ray for nie tliat I may sueeeed, and if ' (h>
not.ccuisider well l)elore you deeide to take thi.-> step.
Mu-iani, I love you f)etter than mv own life, hut I
would rather live without you than eause v.nir life
to he unhap])y. And my afTairs are so uneertain
th.tt I re.illy do not know what is hefore me. If [

thou-ht you would live to re-ret this step. I would

g(J aw.'i . . as I snid before, and not see vou again."
"Oh. Casimir.'" I said, "do not "talk of never

meeting again. I am willing to go anywhere, suffer

anythmg, so lonLr as I am with you."

"Then I accept your love as a God-given trust,

and my first aiui in life shall I)e to care for vou ancl

make you ha])p\-,"

Ik- left me then, and -rosved tlie liall to the
library. 1 heard him go in and close the door and
much agitated. I stood by the window and tried t.i
become interested in what was going on in the
square. It was a futile attempt. Mv thcmghts
could not be enticed from that interview in' the
hbrary, and its uncertain issue. From ordinarv
conversational tones the voices grew louder and
"luler, untii. unable to restrain mv curiositv anv
longer I firew aside the heavy portierre and looked

C"A'') UA7.7; .1 7 IILIM .

across till' li.-ill. My lover was st.imliti^ by the door,
wliieli lit' li;il |),',rii,illy ojiciad. Ills sensitive faee
was (luivenii;^ \\ ilii ImrL jui'le, an I iiis eyes were
flashiii.u witli n'seiitiucnt at tlic in ^nlis h aprd uimn
liiiii. My l.i'.IuT, usually so (liu;ni:'K-,l. w ,in now livid
with iia--ii>n at llie rmdaeity of a poor niiisie Uaeher
askir.>4 lo|- his (lau.i;Iiler's hand. i'htis ihey eon-
Iroiiu- 1 eacii oihcr lor a inonu'nt in an:;vv silence,
tlKu Casiniir Inrnrd and kit the honvc. The <loor
was scrirecly closed when 1 w.aseaUed lo the lil)rary.
I entered w ili a I)eatiii<; heart. My father was still
anj;ry, Iml tlie si^Iit of his daii;,diter niollilicd him
soi.iewhal. Evidently he could not liclii've thai his
Minaiii would ^ive "an advcntuici" cause lor such
Ijresuiuption.

"My daughter, ■■ he said, "you are lie^innin^
yoiuij; to ;.;ive uic iroulile in rc'..;a,d to suitors. .V
little incident has just occiu-rcd which rciniiuls ine
that Hiy Miriam is no lotiL,a'r a cidld. Ivvidently
that music teacher is anxious to ^et a living,' in au
easier way than hy teaching."

" It is unjust of you, father, to im])Ute base
motives to one so honor.able as Casimir Zamovski."

" Is it possible, Miriam," fatlier exclaimed, " that
you have condescended to notice a fortune-sechinLj
foreij^ner ?"

"Pardon me, father, if I differ from you; but I
believe Casimir Zamoyski to be a cultured j^entleman,
and that he is too honorable to marry anvone for
their money."

"I doubt it. When you have had as much ex-
perience of the world as I have, you will accept no
one on appearances onh-."

Ch-n\y\f:n \T i:i_[\f_

i:!

1 sli;ill ii,,t ivi<.nl .•;li the- s«.;ii!iiii- words ulurli
passed lu'twcfii us, cxcc-pt ili.it l.-itlicr inili',1 hv cx-
cl.iiiiiiiii;: '• 1 sli.ill not lisuii lo ;iiiotlicr word. !•>(

Mil

till' d.iys <»f your iiiotlKTlcss I)a!)yIi<)od I Iiavc ^v:i[\-
fK-d fvcry caprice. Imiaorcd every whim, .lud tliis is
my reward, thai you sel up your wdl in opposilioM
to mine. Hut rcmemlier, that not a peinv of uiv
JiHMiey sliall l;o to supi)ort a la/y «'i)rei-iicr. When
' I'ovcrty coi'ies in at tlic door. Love llics out of tlic
wm.h.w,' and some day you will come creci)in.i,' back
to me when you fmd out what starvation means.
I?al you shall not marry him. Vou arc not to see
him or communicate with liim in any wav. To
t!nid< Itiat I should have to give such' a command
to my only ciiild, who I tliou,L,dit possessed a liLtle
of the Tremainc pride! Hut some lay you will
thank me for oi)ening your eyes in time, and vou
wdl then look back with relief on what you have
escaped."

I'.VKis. Jinn- L'r,th, ls:i7.
It is six days since I wrote in my Journal, and
they have been days fraught with de'p importance.
Tuesday night the King died, and on. Tliursday I
went witli my father t(j see the young J'rinccss pVo-
clanned Oueen. As we drove towards St. James
Palace. I forgot the approaching crisis in my own
hie m tlie strangeness of the scene. Troops of the
Lilc Guards took up their stations along the line of
procession, and grouijs of mounted officers in glitter-
ing uniforms and waving plumes, passed quicklv
along the route; while Marshalmen of the Palace
m scarlet coats came and went in busy preparation.

14 CROUWrii \T F.I.IM.

A-' we drew near to I'ri.-iry Court, lather snid we
must \:xt out of the earria^^e, as tliere was iiot room
t' r it in the (iua(lran,L;le (whieh ojteiis on Marl-
hc,rou<:h dale), Ijeeause of the erowd. And so, to
my ureat disgust and ineonvenience, we were obli^a'd
to ali.ulit, and if it had not been for fatlier I sliould
have iared badly, l)eing pushed here and there by the
throng. P.ut at last we were able to get inside of
the court.

Here the ])ress was even greater, for it was from
the l)rdeony overjookin.a^ the qua(han.ule that tl;e
yoiuig sovereign was to apuear. Father helped me
up on the pedestal of a statue, so tliat I was raised
al)ove the heads of the ])eop]e; and presenllv, from
tiiis high vantage point, I Sc.v. ; e royal carriage
coming slowly along the line, drawn r)y six milk-
white horses, and escorted by scpiadrons of the Life
Guards. I'ollowing them came the Lord Mavor, the
sheriffs, the aldermen and tlie tnace-bcarers in scarlet
fur-trimmed robes, cocked hats, ruffled shirts, silk
knee breeches and low buckled shoes; there came,
too, tlieChaplain. the Remembrancer, and the whitc-
wiggedJMdges of tlu- City Courts.

We watched '.his imposing sjiectacle witii breath-
less interest, and then every eye in Friary Court was
fixed intently on the balcony, for from the presence
window was emerging a group of gorgeously ar-
rayed figures. First came the Karl Marshal, fol-
lowed by the Garter Kmg-of-Arnis and the Heralds
and Pursuivants in tabards wrought with thcRoval
coat-of-arms, and gold silk lions and flowers in be-
wildering profusion ; then came the s^ate trumjjeters
in tuTiics and caj.s lavishly embroidered in -jo!d.

CAW Ml A/;/; .17- i:i.IM. ^g

Follou-in- these, came the Rou-e I)rn-,.n, tlie iSIuc
Mantle, the Maltravers. and then sud.leiilv there
stood „i_ the mi.lst of all that splendor, the' voun-
1 nneess in simplest niourninLT.

"We, therefore,- the Garter Kin.^^-<;f-Arms read,
the Lords Spiritual and Temporal of this realm
hcin-here assisted with these of His late Majestv's
Privy Council, with Tiumhers of „ther principal
gentlemenof.juality, with the Lord Alavor, Alder-
men and Citizens of London, do now hereliv with
one voice and consent of ton-ue and heart, publish
and proclaim that the High and Mightv Princess
AlexaiKlnna Victoria, by the Grace of God" Oueen of
the ( nited Km-.lom of Great liritain andlrcland
Delender of the Faith: to whom we do acknowicd<^c
all iaitn and constant obedience, with all heartv and
humble aaect;on.l;..eeching(;od,bv whom kino^ and
queens do reign, to bless the Royal Princess Victoria
with long and happy years to reign over us "

As I listene<l to the impressive words, I almost
expected something would happen-that some divine
power woul.l descend from on high and set the seal
of royalty upon the young girl. But nothing hap-
pened. She just stood there, pale, and quiet, and
sad-a gentle, sweet, young girl in deepest mournii,..
I always suppose.l that kings and queens were dii'-'
ferent from other people, but this Princess is a voung
g>rl just like me. I suppose if her head aches it
"Kike, her cross, and if a dear friend goes awav it
"lakes her sad. No doubt she found her first exer-
cises in music difficult, just as I <lid. and was thrilled
^vlth joy when siie had mastered one of Chopin's
sonatas. What is the dilTerence between us ' '

CK('V,\\i:n AT KLIM.

As 1 stood there, busy with these thoui^hts, llie
young Princess lilted her liead and fastened her hirj^e
serious eyes upon nie. For a moment my heart
seemed to cease its beating, for I fancied that she
couhl discern my thoughts, and that slie knew I was
about to selfishly leave my father, while slie was
that day giving up all her free unfettered girlhood,
and was renouncing herself for all the days to come,
to whatever demands lu'r Emjiire might make upon
her. So I hung my head, like a culprit, till I re-
membered that father had a wrong co-- eption of
Casimir's character and that I loved ilie young
foreigner. Then I looked up again, but that sweet
grave face, speaking of a royal self-renunciation,
was a high tribunal before whieli my conscience-
smitten thouglils could not stand. Again I decided
that I would not do wrong, for it was wrong. I
would go home, and for all time give up Casimir
Zamoyski.

When the National .\nthem was beimz sung for
the young Queen, fatlier took me to the carriage cand
told Jenkins to drive me home, as he had a business
engagement. A^ we drove along the Mall, Casin:ir
stepped out from the tlirong of spectators. I ordered
Jenkins to stop, and in a moment my lover was
by my side.

" Fortune has favored me," he said. " I thought
your father was with you."

" He had a business cngagment, and told Jenkins
to take me home. I know I am doing wrong, how-
ever, to take you u]) when father has forbidden me
to see you. but it is an act of charity, is it not?" I
asked, mischievously. P.ut Casimir did not smile.

CRO\V.\i:n AT ELIM.

llic

" I tliouglit I wfis to sec you whenever jjossihle,"
he said, " and complete our arrangements ? "

"So we decided; but I -.ave just realized how
wrong it is— our going away. 1 think it better
that we give up our plans which, after all, are very
selfish."

"Very well," he answered, wearilv.

T looked at his utterly hopeless face, and felt
sorry for him. "vShall you be very disappointed?"
I asked.

"\es, very; btit think of your own happiness,
never mind me."

"Will my not going make very much difference
in your life? "

"Yes, T cannot ex])ress what you are to me— just
my hope, inspiration, cvctythit!!^ ; What haj)j)iness
has been crowded into tl^c ])ast icw days ! Miriam,
why did you let me hope? The disappointment is
more cruel now. They have been bu.sy days, too.
I have arranged everything— the church wliere we
were to be married, the witnesses, our passage to
France, the quarter in Paris in which we were to
live. I have even obtain.,, | letters of introtluction
to people in Paris, tlirougli wliom I sliall be .able to
get pupils. And in .all t'.iese arrangements, I have
been assisted 1)v Prince .\(l.am C::.artorvs:.i. He did
not think I w.-is doing wrong, for he knows that I
love you devotedly, and that your father grossly
misjudged me. .\ow every thing 'is ready and^we are
alone. Ju:.t an order to the coachman, and we could
drive to Downing street, pick up Prince .\dam, and
go from there to the church. Rut it shall be as you
sav."

Ch''>\V.\i:!> AT ELIM.

I (lid -Ml reply, iii_\- iiiiiKJ was in a whirl. After
a inomciil he eoiitimied :

■' Peihajjs yoii think I e<nil(l not sujiport you,
hut you need have no fear of that. I have been
sueeesstul as a teaeher of music, and lia\e every
prosjjeet of ^cttin.L; puijils in Paris. I have, besides,
shown my sonata to Karl Czerny, who is now in
London, and he thinks it possesses inueh merit,
and he savs he will speak to Cap])i, his ])ublisher,
about it, .and he is sm-e I shall be able to arrantre
tor Its ].niblication."

His sayin-- that I tiiou,L;ht he could not su])port
me, touched my pride; so I ^^lid somewhat brus-
<piely: "Casimir, yon sure o not think it is

because I cannot trust you to pro\ ide tor n:e that I
have chan^icd my mind. I understood from tlie first
that in becomin.^r your wife I should lia\e to give up
many luxuries to v.hich I have been ,accustomed, but
I w;is v.i'.linii to -ive tlicm up. My fuU'.re has noth-
ing to <I ) with my present decision. It is i)ai)a that
I am thinking about. He has been such a kind
lather, .ar.d it would be so sellish of me to go awav
and leave him all alone."

"I(piitc understand how he will miss vou, but
no matter whom \ ou marrv he w ill feel vour "oinf«-
away just tiie same. However, I ;im not going to
urge you any more; I am going to tell Jenkins to
lu'.t me down ;it tlie ne.xt corner."

.\s he said th.is he raised his hand to pull the bell-
njpc. I w.is frightened. I saw that he meant to
leave me just as he said, so I caught his arm and
held him, saying eagerly." Please don't leave me just
yet. I am afraid I cannot let you go at all." Then,

Alter

CkoWXHD AT F.I.IM. ,9

after a moiiiciit's (lucstioniiig (],,ul,i. I added, "Tell
Jenkins to drive to Downin- street; or perhaps we

had better ali<^l,t at street. After we tin.l Prince

Adam we can ^a-t a cab to take us to the churcli "
Well, we went to the chtirch, and-here we are.

I'AKis, June ir,th. 7s:i;>.
How dismal everything looked this m.,rnin- and
how iH-i-ht this evenin-. It is all owin- to a visit
from ourministeHn-angel. Prince Adam Czartorvski
Casnnu- has been so ill; money all -r.ne; j.upils scat-
tered. Ho was unconscious of all the trials to which
I have been subjected durin- his Ion- illness till this
^lornm,i,^ when he questione.l nic about cvctn thin-
Thou,t,d, I tried to keep tlun-s from him. he'see.Pc'l
intuitnely to understand it all. We were talkin-
when the hell ran- and who should come in 1,ut our
dear Pnnce Adam. He had been at his estate in
Ud.cia lor some months, and di<l n(,L kncnv .,f
Lasimir's illness till he came.

" 'Y-V'""'' ^'"''' "'-'' I'*""" ^^<>y." ^vas all he said as
iie took Casimir's wasted fm-ers in his-the Pnnce
was never a demonstrative man, but Casimir's lip
trembled at the tenderness of the tone. '• Uu^v have
matters been ?oing with you, mvbov'" the Prince
asked. " " '

'' Pretty fair, till I was taken sick."
"And now I can see that vou need a Ion- rest "
As he spoke, the Prince -ave a swift glance 'around
our p.am httle apartment. Evidentlv he was won-
denng what would become of t. two, Vor he saw as
plainly as I that Casimir would be «na1,le to take
t'l' the cares of his ,,.rofessiou for some time. I saw

CA''>IV'.\7;/; AT LLIM.

that he had a phiii in his head, hut never suspected
what it was lill he turned to nie :;;id said:

■' I eanie aiuuiul \)\ Luneluu, :■ d I saw your
latlier."

'• I»id vou? How was he?" I in. luired, anxiously.

•'He was looking rather worn and worried, but
I fancied that he niiylit be reconciled to your mar-
riage if you would go to him and ask his forgive-
ness."

"But did he send no message?"

" No, wdien I told him thcit I would see you in
Paris, he merely said, 'Oh, thev are living in I'aris,
are tliey? ' Nevertheless, if I were in your place I
would go and ull him of your luisl)an(rs illness, and
I know he would do something for you."

"Oh, mon I'rince," I exclaimed, "I could never
do that — never I It would kill me to crave his assist-
ance. He told me that if I marncd Casiniir, I woidd
come creeinng back to him s(;irie tlay, when I had
found out what starvation meant."

"Did he tell you that, Miriam?"

"Yes, Casimir; but never mind, we shall not
have to go to him. I have liands ; I can work."

Prince Adam was silent for a while, ajul then he
said: "They tell me Volkonski has been pardoned
by the Czar, and that he has come into favor with
His Majesty. I understand it was Prince Lieven
who efi'ected the reconciliation. I was just thinkins
what a fine thing it would be if something could be
done for you. It would not tlo to cx])ect a govern-
ment ])osition, but if you tnight just be allowed to
go home for a while, what a fine thing it woidd be
for you and Miriam. But I have thought of every

CRnWXi:!) 1 •/■ r.I.IM.

vour

av.'iilril)le ijcrson, ,-itid I kii^w el no one wIkhii w c
could semi oi! Uiis mission. Any ctTorls wliicli I
iuiL;lil ni.'ikc woi.Ki he worse ihan useless."

"Let me j^o," I saiil. e.-iueil\ . As I made this
jji-opositiou both Ca^inlir and the Prince looked at
me in wonder. " Please do not object, mon Prince,"
I added, eoaxingly, as he was silent. " Vour Excel-
lency must know that there could he no one who
would have such an incentive for hrin;.;in^^ the mis-
sion to a successful issue as myself. I should not
return till my hushand's ])ardon was an accom-
plished fact. I know I would succeed. I should not
even for a moment dream of failure. Please say
that you think it advisable for me to jjo."

"I do thiid< it (|uite advisa1)le; 1)ut do von
realize wdiat you are undertakin<.r? The len<^tli of
the journey, your youth and, from the C;:ar's stand-
point, the j,n-avity of your hushand's offence? "

"I am ready to overcome all dilliculties if vou
and Casimir will oidy say that I may go."

" .\nd wdiat will become of me in your absence,
little wihe!""

"Oh, I will take care of you if Miriam is reallv
dctertnined to j,n)," the Prince answered. " I shall
be more than delii,dited to have you come and stay
with me at my chateau at Montfermiel. Indeed, I
should be only too pleascfl to have you both live
with me altogether. Rut a few weeks at Mont-
fermiel is just the chanue y.)U need. Casimir. You
may stroll throu,<.;h the ])ark to your heart's content,
and hear music in the bird son<>: and in the voice ot
the evening wind. You will he able to compose
music in such surroundings much better than when

2- cA'Mir.v/:/) .17 i:i.iM.

shut in tlifsc sii.all rooms. And now in regard to
Miriam's going; wIkmi shall it he? "

"Since you liavc so kindly offered to take care of
Ciisiniir. mon Prince, I should like to go just as soon
as he is able to be taken to Monttermiel, and the
sooner he leaves this liot city the better."

" Very well, we will have him comfortably settled
at the chateau, and then I shall see you safely off on
your journey."

Hver since the Prince went away this morning,
Casimir has been talking of St. Petersburg, and
now, poor l)oy, he is so excited that he cannot sleej).

Madame Zamoyski was suddenly brought back
to Riverside by the ringing of the lincheon bell.
Where had the morning gone? And, alas, the entry
in her journal was still to be written.

CROW SHI) AT LLIM.

CHAPTER III.

TKKMA, in the nicaiiliinc, had enjoyed tlie morn-
ing,' very niiieh. On ^^nu):, into the meadow,
she was (leh<,dited to find the ground ahnost
eovered with strawl)erry vines, under whieii the ripe
fruit Kh)wed tenijjtingly. In a tenee eorner she found
a niueh dekipitated luneh basket ; this she lined with
leaves, and was soon engaged in the pleasant task
of filling it with ripe herries. Her faee glowed with
pleasure beneath her broad-rimni"(l hat. It was
sueh a novel ex])erieiicc to the town-bred maiden to
revel in ail tliat bounty whieh Nature had seattered
about so lavishly. No prospector coming suddenly
on a"fmd,"could have more i)nrc joy in his rich
discovery than she in all that wealth of strawberries.
lUit, like the prosi)eetor, she was ever on the alert
for fresh scenes of fruitfulness. Looking through a
fence she espied some especially large berries in the
next field, which she 'lo sooner noticed than she
scrambled over th^- fence and proceeded to fill her
basket high with the tempting fruit. Xot one more
berry would her basket hold, and she was just about
to retrace her steps when she became suddenly aware
uiat she was not alone in the meadow. She had
been so engrossed in her task that she did not see a
geniltman approaching till he stood beside her.

Ill

Ct^•"]y.^■!:l) \r i:i_jyf

"All, with wl„,ni h.uv I the- pk'Msiuc .Wsliariiur
mv strawhm-ic-s:^ - ,-, pk-a.ant voice a.kc-,1 T.vuri
on lookin- up. fonnl a pair „f vctv lucn -ravc-vc-s
t.xc-1 up<„: I,cr. S!,. ncv.-r was so tlmron^^hlv star-
1- n, her I)(c. I„ the hr.t plaee she was alannc.l to
hmI that she ha, I heen takin;.^ ,r„it which did not
'"-■l"";: to her. Then she never re-ncnlurc 1 having,
seen sneli a stran-e lookin- -entleinan He was a
•".xture ot heanly and n-^liness. A Hne noble head
an«l a l.ody hadlv delornied. though he was tall not
w.thstandn,^Mn-,dehMmiiy; a pair of nio.t heautiful
Ki-ay eyes ,n a taee nineh marred l.v sears, k wonld
seem that .Nature had intended him to l,e almost
pericet en,,n.L,di for a Creek -od, hut the I'ates !,ad
decreed ..therwi^e. In oue n,on,ent Trcma noticed
the curve.l hack, the scarred check, the features of
sneh perfect outline tliat they nd^ht have heen
the model f..r the deathless marl.le of a Phidias or
Angelo; and the eyes-hut when she looked into
those eyes she decided that he w.asn't .Ireadlul at ail
"1 h^'A .vom- pardon, sir," she answere.l. her
native di-nity overcoming her confusion. "I was
not aware that tlrs mearhuv was vonr propertv
My name is Trcma Z.MH>yski. I an," a daughter of
tasnn.r /amoyski, who has l,ouL:ht Vincn ount I
iH.pe von will pardon my intrusion, and, indee<l vou
inay have the I,erries.>' hohlin^: them towards him
tnnidly. " fliere are lots over the fence, onlv thev
are not so lar<re."

"(^h. nonsense, Miss Trema!" The -rav eves
were sparklin.^^ now. •• The l,erries are of no value
to n,e, I beheve my housekeeper has more than
she can use. So you are my new neighbor at

Ck-<nV\/:n AT LI.IM. 25

V.nc.n-.uni '^ I was speaki.i.!^. to \ our father on the
occasuM. .,1 Ins Just visit her.. I suppose von ha vc
seareely situ vour new surroundings vet If vou
will Ko down to the- hraesi.le \ -ui-ler. vou' will sec one
«>l tlie prettiest sjkHs hereahouts."

•Hraeside?"' she said, pcrplexedlv, tlie Seoteh
word faliint; ijuaintly from her lips.

"Ves; tile hrae, you kno\v-iln. hJH, the clitT
Come. I'll siiowyou a s,,ot from whicli von will .^ct
a (me view of the rocks."

""!>. thank you! Hut my I.enies will melt in the
st-i. Au.l my hands-just h,ok at them.'- holdinir
lip her liitle hands uitl, iluirpink lin-ers.

"I'll I'Mt your basket uihkr tlielni.li here ami
vou can hathc your fin.i^ers in thv river, nke the
naiads used lo ,],, ]„ dassie storv."

\Vl.vn tlR.y earn,, t., Hk- rivJ-r hank he IkImcI her
to descend, tsru^^.d sides, and with mueh lau,lnn^
she bathed Ikt herry-stained .niters, stan.lin^/ on a
lu.-c hou der. where the water ran clear, to do so
A tcrwards slu- wi,,ed them on hi. handkerchief
wliieh he olili-in-ly loaned her.

They proeeeded alon;, the narrow path between
thcehiland the nver. when, pre.sentlv. thev eau.e to
a spot which caused Trema to stop in her pleasant
talk and look upward with wonderin^^ eves. .\s thev
iKul ^^one along she had been listening" to her new
fnend s interesting conversation, at the same time
gathering tlowers which grew in theereviees of the
rock ; again, examining some piece of petrifie.l moss
or other curiosity which her new neighbor seemed o„
healer to find for her. so she did not m.tiee that
ihe walls of limestone were getting higher and more

CR'>\V\i:i) AT El.lM.

I)ririi)it«)us till i1r-\ (.■.um- lo ;t l.nid in I ' i- livc-r. and
tlicii she lookfd up.

"Oh. look!" she rxclaitiKMl. " Sc-t- that rock
across tlic riwr? Ii is a writable caslic-. Sfc- tlu-
Imllrcss, and liast ioii, and old castle kcrpl Isn't it
grand? And tlurc is a window, and it is a roal
window, too!"' she added, excitedly. "lean see
away into it. Isn't the rock solid all throu-h :■' "

"No." the gcntleni;in answered. ' Tliat is the
entrance to ([uite a larj^'e cave. There is a hidilen
well within, wiiicli, however, no one in tluse davs
has been able to find."

" Then how do ]ieo])ie know a well is there? "

"It is a iradiiion handed down l)y the Indians,
and seems to iia\e some trnlh in it. Whether true
or !iot, the story is a very pathetic one. Come, we
had better retrace onr steps, .and I wdl tell vou tlie
story if yon would like to hear it."

"Oil, pk'Pvc 1) me I sliould like it all

tliin;^s."

"Well, it is said that years a;,'o when the coim-
try was all a wilderness, when the red man was
monarch of these forests, t' .at a party of Huropeans
were lindin-- their w.iy from O^densbnrL,^ to the Oliio
\ alley. In the p.irty w.as a yoimi,' ^irl about fifteen
years old, dau.^diter of the owner of the caravans.
She must have been very beautiful, for the Indians
afterward n.n.ied her Fallinn^ Star. She had with
her a cith.ara on which she pl.aycd in the warm evcn-
in;.;s when the caravans stopped iny \\\v ni'.;ht. Tlie
sweet music antl her wonderful be.-iutv .attr.acted the
attention of Bi^r H^.ar, ;i chief of one of the Mohawk
Nation, who had been down on some warfarin---

( A'" i;-.v/. /' .\ r i: i.iM.

all

txiK.lili..ii t,, the i'alls, ainl !ic- (IiHruiiiii-il toc.-irrv
licr hack to his tountrv.

"Ik- aLV(.nIiii-Iy watch.,! iiis <.i.i).M-tuiiit v, and
wlicii "lu- cvcinn- slu- waii.li:xd a sIiMpt -lislancc
In. Ill the caravans, he seized hrr. Makin- a si^n
thai he uonld kill her if she cried out, he lil'ied lur in
his arms aiir! hurried to join his followers.

"AuK.n- tiiem was a voun- Indian named Lo„^r
How. whose heart wa^ toueiu-d at the dre/idful fate
which had overtaken the whie maiden, and he deter-
mined to rescue her and return lier to her people.
This was, however, n(,t easily accomplished, as the
old chief kei.t coiist.-int ;,Mi.ird over her.

" They crossed the river some distance above the
Falls, and then proceeded westw.ird sever.d davs"
journey till ihey reached this river, which thev 17)1-
lowe.lunlii they came to a place above Riverside-
the chiefs home. In ,all that distance [...n- 15, ,w
hiulw. opporlunitvof rescuin- the voun- -n-j I,„t
he hoped wiien they reached their .iestination that
the chat would be less watchful. .Vnd so it i)r()ved
lor .m their arriv.d he j.ut Fallimr Star into the
youn- Indi.-in-s char-e. with a threat that he was to
look shar])ly after her.

"The moment of rescue ha.l come. Lon- P.ow
only wa.ted till all was still about the tepees, then
he motioned Fallin- Star to follow him. She obeyed
willm-Iy.for she understood that he meant to"be
friend her. They slipped quietlv down to the river
where a canoe was in readiness. Softlv he pushed it
down the stream till they came to a r-'int below the
cave; ^t-ntly he lifted her from th. c.inoe, climbed
with her up that steep ascent, drew aside the twigs

'.'S C"A''>U'.\7;/' AT Kl.IM.

an. 1 hows which concealed the entrance to the cave,
and placed her within. Roturninir to the canoe he
brouj^ht some food and her beloved cithara. which
shesllll had. A,,ain the canoe w.is ])addled softly
lip llie stream, and slie was alone with the stars, the
silence and the night.

" .\,Lrain the stars came out, and again there was
silence aromid the tepees. Long Bow stopped his
canoe bene itli the cave entrance and gave a low
])eculiar crdl. It \ -as answered by a few strains of
soft weird nuisie. and the young Indian ascended
with another supply of food. He explained that
Great Rear was angry at her disappearance; he dare
not start on the journey yet. lest the chief overtake
them. He would try and make the chief believe that
some wild animal had carried her off. S(- every night
the canoe glided down the stream, and strange sweet
airs floated out over the water. Then one evening
Long How brongliL the glad news '/nat tiie chief iiad
gone on a 'uniting expedition, and they would be
able to start that ev<'ning. But when he was climb-
ing to tlie cave for the last time, an arrow whizzed
for a moment tlirongli tlu' air a>id lodged in the Itack
of the youn.:' lirave, and with a groan he fell back-
wards into the .vater.

" Palling Star, watching at the cave entrance,
saw the arrow and, on the op])osite side. Cireat I'e.ar
still holilinLT the bow. and with a sere.'ini '-he ttirned
and iled into the cave. Presently she heard footstei)s
behind her; smothering a cry she increased her speed,
running on aiii! on, till su:ldeidy there was a splash,
a gtirgling cry, and silence. When the ])nrstiers came
up .a moment later, the heautifid i'ace of Falling Star

CRowxnn \T i:i.iM. 2;)

appeared for an instant on llie Muface of the water,
and then sank out of si^ylit forever.

"And tlie Indians say that on summer nij^jhts a
eanoe has been seen to gHde (h)\vn the river guided
liy no visil)le hand, and that strange weird musie
ll(jats from the eave out over the water, niakin<>'
mournful sounds among the liuge old roeks, hke far
eehoes from the spiritdand."

There was a suspieion of te.-irs in Trenia's eyes
wiicn tlie legend ^vas finished. " What a sad story,"
she said, looking baek to cateh a lasl glimpse of the
legendary si)ot; hut the rcjek was out of sight, they
had turned the l)end in the river.

They now eame to a flight of natural steps
f.rmed in the limestone, which they ascended. When
tliey reaehed the top, he said :

" Xow you can see the whole extent of Riverside.
It is not as large as St. IVtershurg, nor yet as
Toronto. Still, I think you will find many sincere
friends here, for they are a true jteople. Over
yonder is our little kirk. I hope to see ycni there
to-morrow."

"Thank you, I shall be pleased to attend the
service. Then you go to the kirk ? "

" Yes." he answered, smiling, " I go to the kirk."
In a few moments they had again reaehed the
meadow, where Trema found her berries uidiarmed,
and thanking her new neighbor for the {)]easure he
iiad given her, she ran ({uicl^ly along the garden ])ath
to the house. She -tojjped a. moment in the kitchen
to give Hannah her berries; then, when hanging up
her hat in the hr 11, she glanced into the mirror and
was amazed f > see a large ber.-y-staiu on her face,

CA'" WM.I) A 1 lil.lM .

left tlicre wIk'ii she li.'id liruslicd liuck Ikt hair with
licr juice-covered fin<^ers,

" Trema Zanioyski I " she exclaimed, "what a
fright \-ou are! And then you do not even know the
name of your interesting neighbor. IIow stu])id ! "

But strangely enough she never asked her father
for the information.

CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER IV.

THE Sa1)hath which folhjwed was a mcmorahlo
one for Trema. Indeed, it might be said that
it was for her parents also. CasiniirZamovski
had at last found a place where he might lav down
the burdens of life. He was very well pleased with
Vinemount and he liked, too, the little town so close
at hand. A sense of tranquility seemed to pervade
the place, and he thought that he could ask nothing
better than that he might live and die in that rural

S]H)t.

They went to the kirk by the river path, because
Trema elected to go that way. She was ca])tivated
by the weird grandeur of those frowning old rocks.
She could scarcely divest her mind of the idea that
they had all been planned and .uly drawn up bv an
architect; that the forests of wide-spreading l.«'>eches
and maples had been planted by a landscape artist;
that the river had its source somewhere m a huge
reservoir and came rushing along between the rocks
at the will of some autocrat. This idea came from
tlie artificial nature of St. Petersl)iirg, where Trema
had si)ent her early years. There sh.' had driven
.-ibout a good deal with her grandmother, who had
taken pains to instruct her in all they saw. Thus
she came to know that Peter the Great had founded

I..

I \\

\ .'

CKov.'xr.n AT ni.iM.

the city on a (les< l)arrcn marsh; thai tlic canals,

lakes, groves ai- . meadows which tdlh.wcd eacli
other in dreamy succession were rdl artilici;il. So
that natural scenery imaided l)y the work of man
was a source of continual wonder to her.

M idanie Zamoyski was not so interested. She
frowned when her dress — a heautit'ul s':il< — brushed
aj^ainst a damp moss-covered rock. She was dis-
gusted when she fotuid her fme shoes were being
soiletlby the damp earth, and iniormed Trema that
it she likei] niuddy rna-Is and dirly rocks she might
go that way alone, l)ut for herself she j)refi-rred go-
ing by tlie high-road. Trema \ \,s sorry and apolo-
getic ; her father siid nothing, being engrossed in
the skeleton of a fish which he had fouiid. Tiiev
reached the kirk, however, witliont mishaj). It was
the only cluirch in the little town, and prob.ably tliat
was the reason why it was such a fme building. Be
that ar it may, it was noted far and wide for the
beauty of its .-irchitectiire and the elegance of its
interior adornments.

When inside, Trema cast a furtive glance around
for Iier new acfpiaintance. She was (pi-te anxious
to see him. or at least she was .anxious that he
should see her witli her face cleansed of lierrx-stains.
But, alas, he was nowhere to be seen. She dared
not look again, for tliat glimpse had shown her that
her ]iarents and herself were the cynosure of all eyes.
It was not often arrivals came t(j Riverside of the
prominence of the Zamoyskis, and their "heathenish
name" had attracted consideralile attention. River-
side had not (piite made up its mind whether to
exi^ect these foreigners to appear in sheepskin or

ck()]vxi:n AT i:i.iM. 33

deerskin clothing. I.na-ine its s,.ri)rise. therefore,
when Casimir Zamoyski acconii)anied l>v his wife
and daughter, walked down the aisle of the kirk
clad ni the most elegant costumes that the citv
could produce. It is safe to sav that CasimiV
Zamoyski never before in all his life attracted so
much attention. Not when he bore his part so noblv
at Warsaw; not when he fou.ght at Modlin by the
side of his dear Prince; not even when he stood
with his aristocratic mother in the presence of the
Czar, had he been the target for so manv curious
eyes. Trema was vjuite overshadowed bv the
majesty of her father and the statelv digirtv of her
mother. She opened a I'salter, and tried toconcen-
trate her attention on the Psalms. She was grow-
ing impatient for the service to begin, whcMi the
vestry door oi)ened and there he was- her new
neighbor-in black gown and white bands. How
well he looked up there in the i)uli)it ! His dcfc^rmity
was no longer conspicuous, and there was abou't
him an indescribable air of majestv, greatness and
strength, combined with a child-like svmpathv. that
drew all sorrowing hearts to him for comfort and
helj).

Trema could not tell wherein the difference l.iy
between her acquaintance of vesterdav and this
minister in the pulpit, but she felt dominated by a
presence majestic, impressive and powerful, and the
state of her mind was very humble indeed. Yester-
day she had taken his berries; like a cliild she had
gone with him for a walk with a ))erry-stained face.
To-day his very ^ rcsence overpowered her In his
robes of sacred office he seemed as unapproachable

iii

If 4

3-t

CU(i]V.\i:ii AT lll.lM.

a> llic statue ot'St. I'ctcr ,Lriianlin_; Liic catraiKX' to
tlu' liol;, i>l' linlic'S ill that lar-DtV elaircli iii St. I'ctLTS-
burg. This, then, was tiic Kcv. Davi.l McGhislian,
of whom she 'lad la-arrl her father s])fak and uJiom
RivcTsitlc adored.

The sileiiee whieh i'lilhiwed t!ie (i;)eiiiiii4^ exereises
was I)ri)kou hy the voiee nf the minister re.adiii;^^ his
text: "I'll 1 the (hiv break and tlie shailows llec
away, turn my beloved, and lie th^ai like a roe or a
vouu'' liart upon tlie mountains ol I'.etiier." WiiaL
a voice he had! — dee]), and (|uiet. and imi)re>sive.
The very tones seemed to wrap the hearers in a
mantle (>t solemnity, and to lift their hearts aw^iy
from the common noisencss of the world — awtiy to
a si)iriliud re;4:on of holy SabbaLh peace.

Trenia never foruot that service. WiicLlier it was
the theme of t!ic sermon or the simijle dl;,Miity of the
wt>rshi;), or the novelty of her surrot'.'iUlint;s, which
impressed licr slie was not (p;ite clear, but it proved
one of the unforu'cttable services of her life. " bntil
the diay break ar.d the shadows lice awav," a^Tiiii
that marvellous voice sounded diwn the aisles of the
kirk. As the ptojjle listened, that story of the Bride
and the Land* was no Ioniser a vi-ionary p;ira1)le of
a far off century ; it wa.s i\ jticlure painted there be-
fore them. They saw the elect, the chosen one. cast
abroad a foundling infant ; they saw His tendcrcom-
])assion as He took her to His heart and nourished
all her helpless years; His sacrificial love when, with
His blood. He r.'insomeil her from death, and His
thoughtful care when He left her for .awhile to pre-
l)are her home above. They saw how the way was
long and lonely and dreary for her. They heard her

C A'"ir.\7:/) AT F.I.IM.

(i\V

-\VL'(.l (.TV

'urn, my I)cl()vc(]," for sli

l.ie c Mnl..rt of His presence with luT. Tliev
nesscd a!l ihc terrors of tliat nii/ht-ti

e wished

wit-

mie ]onrnev, the

wild heasts that were readv to d

evour her, the

snares that were laid to entrap her. tlic teniptati
that l)eset her. They watclu ,1 her as sh

(MIS

into the shadows of tl

into tlic ver\

e went (h)wn
le woods and tlie hills— ave

valle\- of the shadow-

juy! they saw the day break and the shad
away forever, ant! the Bride-
fur whom He had waited so 1

anil then, o

( )WS

room come to claim hci

on;

len, when the iteojjle were cau<.,rht up in that

mood of exaltation, tl

e nnnister passed from tl

tone of tender pathos in which he had 1

to (Mie of stern d

enunci

)een speaking

ition, and the ])eople saw

themselves as they were, un-rateful, i)roud. idol

shippers of worldly possess!

wor-

the Kin^ of kiii<rs, and had 1

ns. They had spurned

)urned incense to the

'•queen of heaven"; they had for-<,tten the Lamb
that was slain, and had j)aid home

f the

:igc to the jirince

e power of the air; their Lord and ALaster was
away and they cared not ; they had raised a I
of worldly interests in their hearts, over which He

mmunion with Him was

1 narner

could not come; all co
stopped, y. they were at their

ease.

len, when the minister

were touched and th
ant tears, he

that

put out his hands as if he

saw that their heart;

re[)ent-

eir eyes were dim with

would /.gather

errinj,' congrej^^ation to his heart, and

ly rachance covered his face like a veil

tenderly
"Oh.

a weft of
as he said

your AL'ister? How 1

y people! How long will

you grieve

ong will you denv voursel

ves

ii^L

CRrnVXED AT ELIM.

Hk- proliciioii of those- Aliiii_i,'hty ;irii!s^ Return to
Him wiili repentance; then, shult tlioti not he afraid
for the terror by nij^dit, nor for the arrow thnt flieth
by (lay. I'mler sueli sate j^i (hin.-L' you may j,m)
cheerfully on your way, sin^in;j^ your son^^s in tlie
night. What thou^^h the clouds overcast I What
though you enter some black and shadowy valley,
you will be safe: till the mists tlee away and the new
day dawn for you and me in Imnianuers land."

CKOWXEl) AT ELIM.

CHAPTER V.

THE Roosians were at the Kirk yesterdav."
said Malcolm McKiuiKJii, as he waited for
Donald Bell to do up n parcel of ;,rr,>ceries.
" Its a jid-ment. I'm thinkin', tae hae sich folk come
aman<r us wi' their forei«,Mi manners to teuii)t oor
liairts frae Sion. Did ye notice them kneel thro' the
prayer? I'm sair astonished the meenister diihia
admonish them for sich heathenish practices."

"It wassa-oot sermon that he i)rcached them,
and they would I-c listenin-,- ferv attentively." Donald
answered. "It may l)e he will drop some seeds of
truth which will yet bear goot fruit in their hearts.
I would he thinking as he i)reached of what iss said
of the Son of Otiias : ' How wass he honored in the
midst of his people in his coming out of the sanc-
tuary ? He wass as the morning star in tlie midst of
a cloud, and as the moon at the full ; as the sun shin-
nig upon the temple of the Most High, and as the
rambow giving light in the bright clouds ; and as the
flower of n)ses in the spring of the year, as lilies bv
the rivers of waters, and as the frankincense tree in
summer; as fire and incense in the censer; as a fair
olive tree budding forth fruit, and as a cvpress which
groweth up to the clouds. When he put on the robe
of honour, and was clothed with the perfection of

' 'I

I I !(

i III

crow'm:]) at llim.

Klory. when Iif went tip i,. tlic lioly altar, lie made
the <^'arimiii oj" holiness lionourablc.'"

" That is a hue passaj^c, Doiiahl Ik-11," said Mat-
thew Carnith. who was waitin;,^ to ^et his mail.
"As for they new t'owk, 'am feared tliey are up tae
nae -^niid. Wha kens Init they niiclil hae eonie tae
spread Anarchy or N'ihilism amauL^ u-."

"Anarchy orNiliilisni? Von peojde in tliis new
contree, what yon know of Anarchy or Nihilism. eh?"

At this abrui)t (juestion Matthew tnriied and
met the ^lowing face of Jean liaptiste, lately come
from Montreal. Bnt 1)efore he ha(' time in replv,
Jean continued :

"Vou come liere. you <;et soin land for nutting
almost, you got no moimaie. What matter? Vou
lake your axe, you fell some trees, you Iniihl log
shanty; clear small piece land ; plant jjotatocs ; sow
wheat; raise ])eegs, and sare you arc. Then you
brecng your wife an' she help you mooch. '.Mong
oder tmgs ver' necessaire is sugar. Ver' well, ui the
spring you tap the trees, the sap run good, you boil
It down— have tree, four lumdred jjounds hue maple
sugar. Then you want some new clothes to wear,
so you shear the slue]) an' your wife she spin the
wool; then with weaver's loom an' shuttle she turn
it into thick warm cloth. In the fa" you cut <lown
some trees, you bring your sleigh an' o.xen. an' soon
the woodyard is filled; an' you have nu)och con-
tentment, an' sing with joy as the yellow chips fly
up^vard. Then Chris'mas time you take slaughtered
beef cattle, an' turkeys, an' gci^sc, an' ducks to mar-
ket, an' you bring home lots of tings~a new dress
for your wife, maybe, an' toys to put in the stocking

CRowxr-i) AT i:!.f,\r 3,,

of your Icvllr boy. An' as you drive l.. wards luum-
the stars Klittcr, an' the wind slu- l»l.,w, an' far otf
in the woodsy.... hc-.-.r lU- ]u>^^\ .,1 il„. w..lt pc-riians
Hut what you care? Way thn.i.uh il„ trees you
see the h-ht of your honic. an' soon vour wife she
hear ju,.i,de of the bells, a.i' come to t'lie door with
your leetle hoy ,n hw ..nns. mrhe lau-hs an' crows
hkehewas w.ld w.il, j-.y. Then in ilu- house vour
arm chair is d.-awn to the f.re. the kettle sink's', an'
hot cakes smoke on the tal)le.

" But in I-ranee there is a (inVerenee. Some -^rand
Seigneur he own the lan.l, an" the poor man pavs bi-r
ifiit. Then some time the en.ps not -^row, an' the
hailift of the -rand Seigneur hecomean'sav the poor
H.an must pay or he will sell his goods. S.) one dav
c-veryt.ng is taken from him. an' his wife she pine nn'
(he. .-ur he go to the great eeety an' tink to lind
woi-k ; but there is no work.

" Then, by an' by, Ik- go to live (h)wn in the back
alley. X„ sunshine there, no pure air; but rotten
garbage all a,-oun<l. An' the smell ! Mnn Die, how
.t rises to heaven ! The pauper an' the felon' thev
lierd together with no inch of ground their own • but
liy an' by they will get six feet of earth in Potter's
field, perhaps.

" So one night, when the j.oor man is very much
<ksolee, a gentleman he cme along, an' he sees the
man in deei) sorrow, an' he speak so kind like he was
a h-iend. an' tell him there are some people who will
help him il he will go with him. So the poor man he
1 )llow the stranger along dark streets an' back
alleys, an' through hidden pa!^sagewavs. a.i' across
paved courts, an' up some flights of stairs. Then he

i 'I

i i

ijil

CRowsni) .\T i:i.iM

t)I)cn a <l<.()r. an' l.cli.,l<!: inanv li;,'lits .-..r a vast
asscmhkr ( )„ tlic stage he sees a man tlin.wiuK his
.'•nns ah..m. like he was ,na.l, an' tdlin- the people
with H.mmIs <,f w.nls that he is the poor .nan's
Inend. An' the poor unfortunate hstens with niueh
cmpns.t^nwnt, an' afterwards it is all over with
liun— he is an Anarehist.

"Hut it does n(.t end there. Oh. no He is a
member J.ut a leelle wl^'c when he linds one. two
tree nien.hers have niueh domination, an' are niore-
what youeall it ?-despoti,p,e than the.^rand Sei-m-
cur. or the Czar of Russia. ( )ne da v thev uive him a
death eard. They are goin.u' f. assa;sh.ate Son
Altesse IV.nee-an' the new member is to do the kill-
ing. It IS no use his saying 'No.' His jif^. is of „o
more value to them than one leetle mouse. If he run
away they will find him. though he hide in the great
ceety or live in a dark cave, u" go to sonie island
far otl m the sea. they will find him an' kill him if
he (hsr)bcv.

"He goes home, an' this deed he has to do it
haunts Inm every moment. In his sleep he sees his
vietim-he has stabbed him. IMood ,m liis hands '-
I">n.an blood I ()),, n,,. h,,rn,r of it.' His vietim
moves; he is not .lead. He eannot leave hi,n like
that. One more thrust-he is still now. But his
eyes, won Iheu, how they stare ! The assassinator
, trembles-the hair of his head rises up-he tries to
get away, but his feet are ehained. He n.akes one
violent effort-he awakes. It is a dream-he is not
a murderer. No. and he will l,e one never. He will
go aboard a vnisscnu. He will sail for Amcrique
For a tmie he will be free.

Ckowxf.-f) \r i:/,f_^f

' I l..-.t, ,i,y (nc.uls. is Annrchv- that is Xihilisn,

I'(. v<,„ scv whv it xvn„l,l not nro-rcss in this new

contrc.' An- ,l,i. str.-.n^a^r. la- h,-.s n.-t c„n>c to

sprcn.J An.-,rd,v I think not. I'.„, ho h,-,vr .Irca.lA.I

piK-ncKH-. n.nyiK-. .-.n'.., h. hi,!, .-.w.-.v. .-.m' I,vc .rnict

l.cTc nt K.vcTsi.ic. I5nl some d.-.y. ccrLuincrncn, . the

Anarchists they tin.l hi,n. sure. Or it ,n.-,v he th,-,t

this stran^'cT is Michel n.-ikiuiin, liimsclf."

" Michel Bakunin iss a new n.-ntie t,. the ,H„,.!e ..f
this place."

-NVver he.-inl of.Miehcl I'.aknniii ' P.;rh/c,t '"
cxclaune.l jeaa. Thea h.u-erin.^^ his voice an<l uh-,nc-
nv^ over h,s shouhk-r f,, see th-,t ,„, f.-.-sh arrival ha.l
come in to r.verhear hini. he con tinned : •■\Vhveven
tlH- win.Is an- the waves seen, to know him aii' help
Inn, every time he is in trouble. He is a Ku..ian-
<M.e of ih. I.rnu rnnnrlc. When he .crow up he tro
to Pol,,n,l, where he was .-, nvlitnirc. He see tlio
P-,.le were made to sutler nnuh oppression under
eonstantme an' other officers verv despoti.,i,e A,,'
l>c say, 'The poor peoj.le they have a verv hard
tune; me d.m't mneh like this heesiness ' Then he
,U'. to I.;.ns an- to Germany, an' all the time, everv-
where, he preach Anarchy, an' have mneh oe.ple to
foUow him. Then he huht in Kevohition/rv War
■n. ,s cademned to die; l,„t he ;,et free, an" the
Knssians they ^^et him an' put him in prison He -et
rec n.ain, an' they very an.i^^ry; an' look, an' hfok
for him everywhere. Then they find him a^^ain an'
send him to Siberia, where he live till this vear \n'
now I .^et a letter from Paris, from won pcrc, an' he
tell me this Miehel Bakunin he escape from Siberia
an come with wife an' child to Ameriquc \n' this

u ill

CRD . .\i:i) A T F.I.IM.

stran;,ar— who knows? Tic- is, itcrhrips, lu^t Casimir
Zaiuoyski at all, but the Aiiaivlii-t so cclchrc.

An'

111 'W I must be ijoiu'

ouMcnr

H \()U

liavc no letter for me. Hut I wai-n

watch on this stranger. Sonictl
him."

ou — keej) a

liiiL^ too 4uiet a])out

said

He iss a sniartyoung man, that Jean Haptiste,"
I)oi;a!(l, when the door had elo,-ed (mi the lo-
<|uacious young I'renehnian, " bu t I would l.e think-
ing th.at he knows a ferv great deal about tlie

inarclii^ts

r isell, tor all he is so vounur — not vet

twenty. And he will be -/ett

iiu

lerv man

letters

from ^ari^

anu

But

ler\- many from M<Mitreal, likewise.

lie i-s a nice young man, whatever, and has a

most jile-iMiig eonnteiianee."

Xotwilh-tanling the dark rumors whieh tloated
about, however, the Zamovski

s soon <irew to 1

ivoiUes witii the villagers. Perhai)s the mysterv

surrounding them on]\- lent an

.',1.

eliarm, but

certain it i- that C;

isiiiur /.anioyski w.-.s the hrst to

win their regard. His eultured mind.

;r.aeelul

HI'

aiK

1 kindly disposition impressed all who

>ear-
saw

li'.m ; while the dee]) interest whielihe at once evinced
in all that pertaineii to the afTairs of tl
at once j^laced him higli in llie esteem of tl

e eoiiinninitv

le \illa'_rers.

or was his jiopularity limited to t!

e elder ])ortion

of Riverside residents. When it was rumored that
he had engaged in actual battle, every child in the

worship. Ill

pi;

e at onee set him on high for hen

fact his populaiitv threatened to riv:d e

ven that of

Charlie Kinnear, the village sehoolma>ter. Ant
to })e a favorite schoolmaster in Kiverside meant to
be exalted as a denn-god • to be the polar star in

CAWMI-.V/;/; 17- ELIM. 43

the Village society; the- hcau ideal of the country
maidens, and the particuK-.r ol.ject of envv of the
rustic swa.ns. ( )f course, in these matters; Charlie
Kinnear. being a young man. would still bear the
palm of victory.

Xor were the other members of the familv for-
gotten P,efore two months had jmssed. Madame
/amoyskt had receive.! calls fn.rn mnuv of the ladies
<>. the town, while Trema had been invite<l to
spend the afternoon" at all the farms near at
hand Some of these invitation.^ she had accepted
and through them had caught glimpses of farm lifj
which were new an.l interesting. It must be con-
fessed however, that at first these country bovs and
>,Mr s looked upon her with wonder, not unmixed
with awe.

It ;x as twelve-year-old Jamie Cairns, of Willow
Bank farm, who thought he ha.l solve.l th- mvstery
respecting tins foreign product of a heathenish'climJ
Trema had iirst surj)rised him with her kiu.wled.^e
of trees, plants and rocks, which was strange, he
thought, for one who had never liefore lived in the
country; and Jamie did not know such things could
be learned from books. When she talked to his
grown-up brother. Stewart, of the college in Toronto
(which he h<,p,.d soon to enter), of the professors
and lecturers; of the new university then building
c.f Its fine situation, secluded as it was in a genero,:;
exposure of restful nature, of its Norman architec-
ture, Its s.iuare tower, its cupolas, its turrets, its
entire med.xya; aspect-Jamie listened in amazed
silence. An.l when at tea-time she entered into
a spirited .bscus>„,n with his fa'he- alxmt some

■ ■ !

I ' ;

Htj

ill,

CRi'UVXEI) AT EI.IM.

political (|UL'stiiiii, wliic'i was iiiiiiiulli^iblc lo liiin,
lie decided she was difli.'reiit tVoiii most <;irls. But
when (^ut in the ^^arden after tea. Treiiia entertained
thcni with descriptions of ti.inus she had seen in
St. Petersburj;, the li.L;ht dawned ui>on Jamie — he
wondered he had not t!ion,L;ht of it l)efore— she w-s
a fairy jjrincess. lM)r who hnt a fairy ,)ri:icess had
ever seen priests whose robes ;4littered with ^<'ld
and jewels, ])alaces witi Hoors of iidaid marble,
walls ol onyx and alabaster and ceiIin,<4S frescoed in
beautiful desi^j^ns? Who, indeed ? It was just like
a story from the Arabian XiL^hts.

"And if that is not })roof enou,L,di." Jamie trium-
phantly whispered to Elsie, "just look at her dress!"
Trema's frocks were always made of beautiful soft
materials never l)efore seen in Riverside. The ar,^u-
ment was convinciti,<j^ and little FJsic became a readv
convert. But when they spoke of tiicir di coverv to
Beth, tlieir ardor uas considerably (l.mipciie 1 ; un-
fortunately Ibr Jamie's tb.eory, Beth was seventeen,
and no lonjj^er cared for tales of lairy encliantnicnt.

"Don't you think she mi^ht, just by a word,
cause a wh )le retinue of servants to a])pe;ir like
Paribanon did ?" asked Jamie, when he lic-'d finished
telling Beth the tale of wonder.

"Tremaa fairy!" exclaimed Beth. "The idea!
Vou had better keeit your wild notions to yourself,
or I'll lell mother that you have been reading the
Arabian Xiglus, which you know ipiite well she has
forbidden you to oi)en."

" Then how doe i Trema know so much? " asked
Jamie, defiantly. " Besides, all her ways are dilTcrent
from yours." Trema's graceful mcn-ements and

CRO]V.\i:n AT h-LIM. .;,-

composed, unruffled di^niity had perplexed Jamie-
yet, lookui- at her as a fairv prineess, it was all
right, for did not the story say of I'aribanon, that
' her air was -raeeful and majestic, yet sweetly easv
and cncouraLdnir " ' "

"Evidently," answered I'.elh, laughing, '-Trema
Zamoyskiwas not I,orn and l.roughtnpat Willow
Bank larm."

Jamie went away (piite crestfallen, folio w<-f] ],y
Llsie who was sorry to see liim disappointed S!ie
did not know anything about Parihanon, hut she
thought Trema Zamoyski verv beautiful and null.-
lovely enough to be a fairy princess. Jamie was
some.diat compensated f,r his disappointment bv
hndmg that Trema, notwitlistanding her princess-
hke ways, was eager to join in anv fun which tliev
might suggest; whether it was riding from the field
on a load of grain, swinging in the orchanl. or j)lav-
ing some game in the evening twilight.

So these first months at Riverside passed very
pleasantly. One day in Sei)tember, Beth and Elsie
Cairns came to visit at \'inemount, ])ringing a little
cousin, Ruth Chudleigii, wit h them. .\s it happened
that two other young friends also came to see Trema
that day, they made quite a little partv and went
out on the lawn to play tennis. But Elsie and Ruth
did not know how to play tennis, and coa.xed them
to play instead, " King .\rthur was King William's
Son." and though the older girls thought it childish
tojom in such a game, yet to jjjease Ruth and I-lsie
they consented. One game followed another, ami
they were just in the midst of " Open the Gates as
High as the Sky," when a hat which IVema v,-,.]!

!'•

;. I

{

i, j i

liji

CR()\VXi:n \T ELIM.

knew a J ) pea Id 1 above the hed/^e. It
C.lashan and lie was wateliinL^ tl

as Mr. Mc-

lem.

Trenia was annoyed. TlionL,di tl
lied^^c between the grounds ot' the M

lawns of Vineniount,

lere was b-jt a
inse and the

with the minist

yet she had never :\<i-\\n talked

oiT the feel

er. She had never been able to shake

her at that first se

in;j^of awe with whieh he had

rviee in the kirk. She h;id al

impressed

idea that he thoui^ht her childish—.
Innniliation to a yoinii^r l.-uh- win

so an

m iniendnrable

) was si.xteen fcair

months a-o. I-,,r the^e re.tsons she h.i.l sednlousl .
ivoided meetin- him, not withstanding that he anil

her father w

ere .great friends, and that sh

e saw

nin

every day walking ,
times assistini: the

bout among his flowers, .^onie-

ardener \

•.-ith 1

ns work, tlunmli

more often walking gravely to and fro his I

elasj)e

i\ 1

lands

)ehni<l

!:;n and his head bent slightlv i

or-

notieed that
ir.orTiing hours.

ward, as if in deep thought. She had

he was generally in his garden in the

so that while playing these 'ames she had felt quite

secure from observation. But now-when she stoo<l

with her arms raised above her head, with her

hands clasping I'.eth's to f(

>ain s arms cnciic

Chudleigh just passing under the bri.l

orm an arch, with Hilda
ler waist, and little Ruth

caught— the famili.ir fice had

;e read\' to be

hedge, to brii

ajjpeared above tl

carmine to Tivma's check

re to her eyes. She resented his 1

s, and tin

certainly he harl a right t

s being there, thouvh

o walk where he liked

IS own groun<ls. However, she would not break

tip the game because she had 1
go on with it to the end

en seen ; she would

The

young minister, all unconscious of h

avintr

Ch'(>w.\i:n AT i:/.i.\r. ^_~

raised angry thoughts i„ I,is neighbor's mind
stopjK'd hy the hedge and watched the game to its
eonelusion. Ik- had becMi attraete.l bv the familiar
rhymes whieh lie had so often repeated in his
childish days. And not only did thev recall familiar
scenes of childhood, bnt they had gained a new
significance now that in his laLcr years he knew
their origin. He had found, for instance, that the
game. '■ King Arthur was King William's Son." had
originated from an historical romance of the twelfth
century; that the game they had just plaved,
"Crreen gravel, green gr.ivel, the grass is so green.''
was a corruption of an old ballad ; that 'TncTe John
IS very sick, what shall we send him." had come
down from medi.-cval days, when an imprisoned
knight was saved from death by the d.iughter of the
king who kept him in coiifinement. The game
which was now in j.rogress had been plaved by the
boys and girls on the streets of Rome in tlie days of
Virgil. It had a spiritual significance and was a
representation of the strife between the gocnl and
evil powers of the soul. As the young man watched
the game, he thought of how people of all ages had
been conscious of that struggle of good and evil in
the heart. Zoroaster, the heathen philosopher, and
Paul, the inspired apostle, had taught tlie same
truth. For Zoroaster, having discovered a dualism
in the moral world as well as in material nature
believed Ahriman to be waging pcr])etual war with
Ormuzd for ascendency in the soul; and Paul look-
ing into his own heart, wrote, "I find, therefore a
law in mymem])ers, that when I would do good,
evil is present with me."

a '

: H

1 1

'. 1

, 1

*■ i

r 1 !
liJi

i|
If

Nil

Ch'<)]v\f:[i .1 /• i:i.iM,

And now the last child had chosen between a
gold an<,'el and something' else, and the tn,:,' of war
(representinjj: the conflict) began. Trema's side was
the weaker, l)ut Ity a dexterous movement she freed
herself, and, leaving the others in a heap on the
grass, went over to speak to the minister. She was
siill angry, and it was a rare thing for Trema to be
vexed ; but she was very sensitive. She hated of all
things to be seen in a position which would appear
to others ridiculous, and she was suspicious that he
had been listening all tlie time; that he had watched
them as they went round tlie mulberry bush, and
that he had listened as they sang, "What has this
poor robber done ? My fair lady, ()." So she stood
before him now, no longer timid or afiaid, but with
her eyes glowing, her fair head loftily erect.

"Xo doul)t yon think it very foolish for girls as
large as Beth and I to play these games, but I tln'nk
we have a precedent in our foolishness— they were
played by Queen Elizabeth's maids-of-honor."

"Oh, you entirely mistake," he answered hur-
riedly, the look of perplexity with which he had
regarded the hot red roses of her chce; -• passing
away at her words. "You must not think that I
watched you from mere amusement or curiosity. It
was for (piite another reason. Those games——" he
broke off suddenly, a gentleman was driving up to
the Manse; when he saw David McCilashan he
alighted. The minister, with a smile and a bow to
his discomfited young friend, said, "Til explain some
other time," and turned to greet his visitor.

Treriia went back to her friends somewhat molli-
fied but not convinced. She took the girls to an

CR<>\V.\f:n AT HLIM, ^,j

arl)()r above wliich the -rapes lum- ripe and luseiotis,
and after i)artaking of some of the fruit Elsie pro-
posed tliat tiiey have a game of forfeits. The game
progressed favorably till the forfeits were to be re-
deemed. Beth was kneeling on the floor of the
arbor, while Hilda stood holding a laee handkerchief
above her head. When the usual formula had been
rei)eated and the (juestion came, "What has she to
do .^" it would seem that Beth knew to whom the
forfeit belonged, for she smiled roguishly as she said :
"She has to go down to the cave' and seek for
the hidden well."

"Oh, what a penaltv to redeem a forfeit'" ex
claimed Hil.la. " The handkercliief is vours, Trema,
but I think Beth does not expect vou to obev her
command."

"I will go if the others will go with me," Trema
answered, without hesitation.

" Do you reallv mean it ? "

"Certainly." '

" But we were never in the cave in our lives."

"Then it would be a novelty to go, would it
not?"

Though Trema spoke so carelesslv, she was
wondering if it were wise to go. She did not know
what the interior of the cave was like, and if the
girls were to get hurt she woidd be held responsible
But ever since Mr. McGlashan had told her the story
of Falling Star, she had had a great desire lo see the
cave. Finally, tlie girls said they would go. Trema
ran to the house for candles and matches, and thev
set off.

They reached the spot below the cave safelv, })ut

• I

\\\

■ .

50 cR'>]y.\r:i> at r:[.i.\r.

\v(iii(lfrc'(l how thi'v would he ahk' to climl) up tlic
lirivijiilous rock to i!k' cntraiK-c. Troiiia, liowt-vcr,
was not to he ilauiiud. She started u[) s'owlv,
l)lacin:4' licr llet in saiall fissures of the elilf and
siipporiiiii^- herself I>y I vviLTS and l)U-hes wliieh j^rew
ill the ereviee-;, till at letiLTth she reached a led^ire
Iroiii which she helped the others to ascend. I-^-oin
that ])oiiit they had liitle ditFiciilty in reacliinLT t-!'*-'
entrance, where they found themselves in a small
s(|uarc u^rotto which had a passa-e leadin:^ from it,
seeiiini;ily endle-s. There they timidly paused, for
l)ehiiid them they had left the l>!iie slcv and the
Scptemher sunshine, while around tiiem was t!ie
gloom of death and the stillness of the sepulciire.
Each dreaded takin:j^ tlu- first stcj) into that silent,
darlv luniul. S < t'l'/y .^tood siill .-ni 1 lool<ed at one
another till Trcnii, \vh > had been li_:.;htinu;; her
candle and now n )ticed their timidity teasiiiglv
said :

" I helieve you are afraid to cjo ; I will go hack if
\'ou choose."

"Oh, no!" they all exclaimed. "If you will lead
the way, we will follow."

Holding the lighted candle above lier head,
Trenia started down the gloomv avenue, siir'-in*"-
"Nellie (H-cy," that sweet song of the South. The
rocky passage had a peculiar carrying ])ower. The
sweet strains of the pathetic little song went on, and
on, and on. till it seemed as if all the gnomes, and
elves, and fairies of that mystic underworld had
caught up the strain and were carrying it into some
region far away. Then even Treur; i^rew timid and
the song died upon her lips, for all those echoing

Ch-(>\vxi:f) AT r.i.iM. r,|

c-;i(kiiccs scciiici! to l)c liiiiiiaii voiocs. Was il tlie
evil.) ..filer own son- that slic licar.l, .>r was it a
cithcra touclic 1 liy spirit fin-ers? Was it the li^'lit
of licr candle jMisIiinL; l)ack the darkness wliicli
caused these flittin- shadows, or were -h.)stlv
fi^Mires rclreatin- into -|.>oni at the approach u\
hninan footsiejis? The ^i'-'s st.x.d still ; their faces
I)ale.l; tliey would advance no further, and it is
likely they would have I)eat a liastv retreat had
not Ruth Chudleigh surprised them" l,y suddenly
exclaiming'':

"See: here is another passa-c," and lookin-
into a small opening, which the larger -iris had not
noticed, they saw that tlic-e was indeed a large
passage similar to the one in which they then were.
"Rutliie, Ruthie, come back.'" called Trema, as
she saw the little girl with her lighted candle in 'her
hand, dart through the .)peiiing. F^ut Ruthie was
not to l)e .leterred. Wild with excitement at having
di.-.covered a cave lierself she sped on, not caring in
the least where she went; and though Trema "fol-
lowed with all haste, she had not overtaken the
child when Ruthie suddenly fell forward ami her
candle was extinguished. Trema saw with liorr.)r
that t!ie spot into wliicli Ruthie had fallen was a
still, black potd. With a cry of agonv she darted
forward and reached the edge in time'to grasj) the
child before she sank again. She lifted the little one
HI her arms an.l carried her back to the other pas-
sage, where the girls were waiting, and who now
looked on with blanched faces at the dripping, still
form in Trema 's arms; for Ruthie had swooned from
Inght, though she was not otherwise hurt. It was

' i

d*i

52 CR(>\V\i:n \ T I'LIM.

a very silent iiroecssion ihal lotr.-iced its steps to the
cave entrance, lor they must ;,a't Rnthie hack to
\'ineni()init with all h.iste. And, as Trenia said rue-
fully, their ohject had heen aecoinplished— t hev had
found the well which had i)eeii lo->i ("or one Hundred
years; thout^^h Kuthie, j.oor child, had p.iid dearlv
for tlie discoverv.

How Treina j^^ot her burden safely down the clifT.
she could never afterA'ards luiderstnnd She onlv
renieml)ered that her mind was liljed with an<^Miish
that she had allowed her euriosity to lead her into
such an escapade. That evenin,^' as Trenia looked at
Ruthie sleei);ii,- so jjeacefully hel ween warm hlankets,
s!ie sliuddered when slie tli()i'L;ht how horrihlv near
death the little one h;id Irvu in the moment that she
knelt l.y tlie pool in that still, dark cavern. One
moment later and Ruthie would have entered ui)on
the mysteriou'^, unknown life. iMlled w;th these
serious thou-ht^, Trema wondered how she could
have displayed temi}er at the trivial incident in the
afternooii, and she smiled now when she recalled
David \lc(ilashan's look of wonder at her ].etulance.
It was only too evident that he did think her a mere
child, whose ,y:reatest pL-asure consisted in going
round the niulberrv bush.

ck'owm:!) at i:i.im.

chapti:k VI.

Tlin warm days of Scptenihcr were past— days
in which it had l)ecn a joy to wander in the
woods beliind the nieruiows of \'ine!n()unt,
and gather the luscious lhinil.lcl)crrics which grew in
the tan.'ijled undergrowtli. And now ()cto])er, too,
had passed— had just gone out in a hlaze of golden
glory, and November had come in wilh a disi)inting
ehiliiness.

Casimir Zamoyski had been on business to
Brantford. and a cold autumn rain was falling as he
drove home. He felt the cold keenly and ft^ared a
return of his distressing cough. vSoon, however,
Vinemount came into view and he looked forward
with pleasure to an evening in his warm cosy
li])rary. When he had reached home and changed
his damp clothing, he went to look for Trema. He
found her in the library, curled up in the window-
seat and strainir. J her eyes over the sad fate of the
"Fair Maid of Perth."

"My daughter," he said, "will you just run
over to the Manse and ask Mr. McGlashan for his
'Geschichte der Griechischen Literatur'? "

"'And beard the lion in his den, the Douglas in
his hall,'" quoted Trema. "Father, what makes
you read books with such unpronounceable titles ?

(.■A'OM'.V/.-/) AT i:i.IM

It's raining, too, ht-t I will ;.'(.• i my i loak ; won't \<.ii
l)lensf write .I..wn tlu- naiiic. lor ! will not uinkr-
takc to c.'irrv it in inv luad ra-ros^ tlii' lawn to the
Manse :"•

" '(Ksthichtc (kr C.riccliisclu II Litrratur.' Wliv,
eliiM. 11 is very simple, and you i)idnonnee I'olisli
w.M-ds, wiiieh aie more diir.eiilt, (|iiite lluentlv."

" I'olisli: Why. tiiat is the laii-;na.!4e of tlie
I'atherland and not to he eompared for a moment
witii the uiieouth (-erman. Well, never mind. Til
try to make him nndcrstand ."

Trema, who was usually so self possessed, found
h.ersclf;4rowiii- nervous wlien the trim little maid
ushered her in' > the ' ...leious. stately iil.rarv. This
room was Daviil .Me( ;ias!irnrs speeial pride. All
tlim;.'s whieh he trerisund were to ht- found within
us walls. II, > laloved hooks were there— row upon
row of them, reaehin- almost to theeeilin<:; faees of
dear ones looked down from the walls; treasured
mementces of eolle^re days were in the eahinets. and
(piaint [)ieccs of furniture were strewn about, telling
i;i!ently of vani-hed days in the dear vSeottish homtt
P.ut a strai;.':vr would not eare for the intrinsie value
«>f tiK-e thin-s. Waat impi-ssed Trem.a was, that
1)1 its ])eculiar appointments it seemed to partake of
the nat ure of its owner. She noticed this before she
saw the minister rising out of the shadows at the
fnrthereud of the room. In one swift glance she
ha.l noticed the ceiling of polished oak, the rows of
tempting oetavoes, the rich cabinets, the graceful
statuary, and, in strange contrast, the rude uncouth
hreplaee, almost flaunting its rustic solidiiv amid
this polished elegance. The fire-place was built of

CA'oirv/./j 17' r.i.iM.

T).)

rou^'h SI. .lie: a slal. of sicnf I.tiiioI iIk- iiianicl;
ohloii- sioiics siipporti'.l llu' Ma/iii^r 1,,^^,., ,,,- ,,.,]. _.,,,, j
niapk-; while aroiiii.l i- wciv -n.npc'd tlic (|iianit
tables and I'hairs. In close proxiinitv was a sto-ie
stairway Iea.lin--whitlier ' Di.i tli"is o.l.j eonier
conjure ii]. memories of I.y-one days? The hri-ht
eyes noted eaeli(L>tail and eame I.aek to the faci^of
the minister, who was extendin- his hand in ;^M-eel-
111-^. with no trace of iiKpiisitive wonder in iluir
l.kie <lepths.

" I-alher wishes to know if you will ..tid him a
work on Creeian littratnre? It is hy Sehoell, I
tlnidi," Tremasaid, (indin,-: her toii^Mie as he led lier
to a chair hy the fire.

" With i)leasure. I have two woiks hy ihe same
author, hut ' (".eschiehte der CriechischeiiLiteratur '
was the one yoin- father w,-is speakiii ; of. Would
you like to take a look over my l)ooks? Tiiose
slielves are wliolly devoted to tlieological works,
perhaps you wf)uld not hnd them interesting; next
to them are hio-jjraphy and history. Close to the
hre-j)lace are my jioets, but licre, near the window,
are l)0()ks to interest y(ni. Those al)ove are (^reeki
Italian, and early English romance, and lower down,'
modern fiction."

•' Modern fiction ! 1 thought ministers were not
supposed to read anything l)ut tlieologv."

" Hid you ?" looking gravely serious. " I wonder
if my eongiegation think so, too, for cluiracters fr(Mii
fiction son:etimes suggest illustrations for my ser-
mons. History deals more with people in the mass,
even its individuals wc see only in a i)ublic light. It
takes no account of the inward mind of mar ; of the

^ P

CRowxnn AT ni.iM.

vital struggles of a soul in its sorrows and dis-
appointments, its asi)iralions and weaknesses, its
errors and saerifiees. And rlien, as some one has
said, history does not give us the suceess of things
according to merit, while fiction does ; it presents us
with the fates and foi tunes of persons rewa-ded or
punished acvorchng to merit."

The minister, while speaking, had turned and
was looking absently out of the window; he seemed
to be speaking more to himself than to his visitor,
lie stopped aljruptly. Were not such thoughts be-
yond the comprehension of a young girl ? Turning
tovv-ards her, he found that she was looking up at
him with a face of interested attention.

"Yes, ' she answered shyly. " I'iction certainly
has advantages not only over (Jthtr forms of writing,
but over the other fine arts, for architecture must
have 5:pace to express \ s thought ; sculpture has but
one moment of time in which to tell its story ; paint-
ing is able to tell more through perspective, while
music can only suggest; but the author is able to
produce the illusion that we are actually livnig in the
scenes which he (lescr;i)es. \Ve do not even study his
characters Irom a distance- we live with them, weep
and rejoice with them. Hut do you not think that
the poet has more interest in thei)rogressof the soul;
that he gives the human spirit more complete ex-
pression because his view is from a higher plane? A
I)oet living in the Golden Age would be able to write
only a romance; ease does not make jjoetry. I

mean " lifting her eyes to his face; " I mean' "

stopping in utter cv>nfusion at the rapt wonder
written there. " I'm afraid I can't explain what I

■i i/

CRn\v\i:i) AT ELIM. 57

iiicaii," she added faltcriiigly. Wliat would he think
o\ licr airin- her theories to him who was so learned?
''Yes, I tliink I understand you," he said gentlv;
t -.rning his eyes from that blushing downeast faee
to the window, where he was ap])arently engrossed
in the elouds of the west, whieh were' breaking a
little an.d allowing a 1)it of sun to peer tiirough.
"You mean that if there were no sorrow in the
world, we might liave a pastoral of the stvle of
Daphnis and Chloe, but would have no ])oetry ; for
the i)oet, while hr- lives among the eoinmonplaces of
earth and while his soul is all a-quiver with life's
agonies, is yet able to rise through imagination into
the rarified air of the ideal. To the eommonplaces
whieh he deseril)es, he always adds that whieh he
alone sees; that somcthi^ ^> is his ideal auii forms
the standard for weaker mortals to hallow. Yet
the.sc visions of the idea! whieh tlie poet seeks and
finds for us, are but the glimmerings of divine reveal-
ings yet to be made. I think we should always
remend)er that."

As he finished speaking, the sky gre\v brighter,
the elouds were banks of erimson ; the llaming
scarlet glinted on the windows of the far-off cot'-
tages; it massed itself against the roekv cliffs and
dripping cedars, and touched the faces of tiu- two
spectators at the window, giving them a beautv
almost divine. Then sudd-rly the sun disappeared
behind the woorled hill, tl' crimson shades changed
to orange, tlien faded to laintest amber and i)aled
again till only gray was left.

" I must go now," Trema said softly ; the power
of that gorgeous sunset was still upon them.

^:^

ill

f'« Ch'OWXnn AT EI.JM.

" Mus» von j^H)?" he asked rcmctfullv, tiirninnr
from the window. "I (h) not have \isitors vcrv
ottcn, and 1 liave enj-xed j.our slioiL call more than
1 can say."

The minister sho\'.cd his visitor to the door and
then retnrncd to his hhrarv, thou-Ii lie did not again
take np the work in which he had been intcrrtii)ted,
bnt sat before the lii-e, resting his elbows on the
.';rms ot his el:airand eross-ng liis hands in nn wonted
idleness. The room was rapiihv growing dark, save
where tlie firelight flickered and fell on the ol)jects
around. Vet when the maid lirom^ht the Hirlits h^
tohl her that he did not rc(iuire liglits just then, and
Jeanie went to the housekeeper, saying that the
minister could not be well, for he sat in the dark
before the hre, hand-idle.

Cer'.ainly, Trema Zamoyski's visit had strangely
disquieted the young nian. He could not rid himself
of the idea that he had known her before— that in
some yesterday of life they had been friends and
were now only renewing that friendshij). It must
Ik' that she remimled him of Bess, the sister he had
lost. When he thought of Bess, old friends came
trooping l)ack and half- forgotten scenes api)eared as
if limned !n the blaze before him. There is his simj)le
Scottish nome, where lu.xury was never known ;
there, too, is his father, who with infinite j)atience
taught his l)()y from his limited store of knowledge;
and there is Bess— his confidante. It was onlv to
Bess that he had told of his longing to be an artist;
that was the goal at which he aimed ; thrit thought
was the center of all his dreams. What air-caslles
they had built together— he and Bess! Wlien the

c/<<iw.\i:i) AT i:i.i.\[.

'Ireaui \v;t.s no lon^'cr a (Iix-aai— when the du^irc liad

ccoinc a rcaiitv, lie woul

pa lilt I>t,ss Willi

LTlury of ;.H)l(leii liair and with velvet rohcs fal
about her, and she would look just like a 1

that

teautiiui

jinneess.

le minister smiles when he thinks of

those childisli dreams, but

instantlv the smile is

y .e, for he recalls the day when the 1
stran^a-ly quiet and he wondered that t

louse was so

le sun eoul

htl

siiine as hriglitiy as on other davs, for the Wd of tin

ler s face shut

uneral, tlicre

len

coffin is screwed down and his fath
away from him forever. And after the I
is his mother sittiii,^^ so ])ale and tearless, and wl
her tall handsome son trie> to encoura.^t- her with
his many plans, she smiles, tliou-h with (piiveriiig
lil), at the happy confidence of fifteen years. Monot-
onous davs follow; days filled only with a dull
routine of office duties; days made bitter Ijv a
thirst for kinjwlcdge and no hope (jf that thirst's
assiuiging.

.\nd now comes that morning when he saw his
employer's horses dashing madly down the street,
and dragging the carriage (in which a little child
sat alone) recklessly after them. He had caught
the htjrses in time to jjrevont a collision with an
omnibus, but he himself had been thrown to the
pavement.

But now the calm meditative expression gives
place to one of pain, for even after all these vears
have passed, that moment of supreme anguish coni»s
back with tragic vividness— that moment when he
returned to consciousness, and heard the doctor tell-
ing the nurse that his back was hurt and he would
probably be deformed. How apparently aimless in

;!/

: it ;

llil
i V!

ill

•■'*' Ch'(>\v\i:f) ,\r i:i.iM.

its cruelly hail Wclmi thai visitali.)ii nf disaster. For
weeks lie lay with that meiilnl trouble outwei'/liin''-
all his i)h_\sieal ri'^duy, and iheii llie clouds parted
so (juickiy that he duiditcd t!ie brilliance of the rav
that shone throu-h. His employer visited him, and
out of o-ratitude for the heroic act that had saved
his little son's life, supplied him with monev sufficient
tor a college education and more than enough to
take a course in ,-irt on the Continent.

With joy came strength. His waiting was over;
his dream sv<mld at last be fullilled. He felt tlie
thrill of genius and knew he WM)uld succeed. The
long-souirht distant goal was within sight; alreadv
he saw Fame standing at his elbow and felt the
touch of the laurel ui)on his l)ro\v. He ^ cut to
college. Some of the boys called him hunchl)ack,
but he di.l not care: so long as he had a brain to
think and hands to work, he cared not. Some day
he knew that the misty foi ms of chniddand would
assume delinite shapes; that the visions of his
brain v.-ould be wrought out in ideals of strength
and loveliness.

The minister paused in his reverie. He picked up
the tongs and poked the coals ; he preferred that the
chain of thought should be broken, but memory
rushed heedlessly on.

It was at a meeting in a little church that the
change ^ame. He liad gone with some of the stu-
dents to hear the preacher because he was eccentric
and some of the students found his style amusing.
And 1 avid McClashan, tliougli he l)cHevcd himself
to be a Christian, went to hear the minister out of
mere curiosity. The earnest words awakened his

CRO\\'xr:i) .\T F.I.JM.

conscience, and from that liDitr he IciL liiinsclf eallctl
to ]ircach thc(ii)spel. Otall the exireniities in whicli
he had imagined he miglit he jjlaeed, he had never
thought of that. He trieil to ])ut the (hiLy from
him; all his dreams, all the desires ot his heart rose
in revolt against entering the ministry. lie opened
his Bible to see if he might find guidance there, and
his eves caught the phrase: " Woe is me if I preach
nut the Gt)spel." Then he knew he would never find
peace in any other sphere, and he put aside all his
youthful dreams and entered the University of St.
Andrew's. Rut though he had obeyed the divine
voice, yet the warfare in his heart was not ended.
During his entire theological course, there were times
when he longed to return to the career he had fust
chosen. To another, art would have lieen a noble
calling, urging him away from the frivolities of
earth to the region of ideals and lofty aspirations—
to high fields of thought and action. But having
heard the Divine call, he felt that art was to him
now but the voice of the tempter luring him to ruin.
The time came when he was to be ordained.
And now when he should have given himself up with
the fullest renunciation, he experienced the tiercest
conilict of his soul. He walked to the church as in
a dream; he felt that he must even yet lling aside
this duty, even though with it he should throw
away all hope of his soul's salvation. Fame beck-
oned him, ambition urged him on. He L^iged to go
to the countries made sacred by art, to there hold
communion with the great spirits of the past; to
look on St. Peter's at Rome; to study the frescoes
of the Sistine Chajx-l ; to visit I'lorence where the

CRO]VXri> 17- i:[^jyi_

very air is pervaded with the presence and rneiiiorv
"f Michel Aii-el.)— all the old eharm was a-aiii upon
him. In siieh a niood he entered the elnircli and the
serviee be,L,ran. He lont^ed to put aa end toil; to
fry (Hit that he would not he a uihiistcr; l);it soir.e
l)ower within kept hi;n silent. Otlier voiees seemed
'..) hehlendin- with th.at of tlie minister who w,- .s
speaking; his brain became eonftised; phantom
spectres passed before him ; celestial bein,<.;s were set
in armed array a-ainst the legionary liosts of outer
darkness and wt-. e battling for his soul.

Then suddenly in the midst of that deadly conflict
he had cried "Lord, save mc ! I i)erish!"and instantly
tlie turmoil of his brain ceased; a gleam of li-i^t
shone through the darkness of his despair, ancfhe
had a vision of Him who is imcrcated and eternal.
^\'lf sank out of view ; ambition was nauglit. In
that moment of divine exaltation he seemed to
belong to no age or country; he was conscious only
of the great dignity which was ordained for man
when dawn first broke upon the earth; "when the
morning stars sang together and all the sons of God
shouted for joy." .\nd then he saw man's guilt and
tall, and his soul bowed in deep contrition before the
Ineffable who liad redeemed him and had allowed
him to become an instrument to bring other wan-
derers home. Then in the moment of hiiVlicd silence,
when he bowed before die ministers and they placed
their hands upon his head, he heard Jehovah .raying
to him as He had said to the projjhets of old, " O son
of man, I have set thee a watchman unto tli'e hou^e
of Israel." "Behold I have made thee this day a
defenced city." " Xeglect not the gift that is in thee

CROWXni) AT r.I.IM.

g;!

which was given tliee In- projjhccv." " They that he
wise sli.'ill shine .'IS the hriL;hl!ic,-s of tlic firinaDieiit,
aii'l they that turn many to ri_L;hteousness as the
stars i"i>rever and ever." Wlien Onvitl McGlaslian
rose to h.is feet the eonHiet wa-; endeil.

Again the minister paused in liis reverie Could
it be that that youtli wiih his si>ul on fin for art,
who bad given up his eliosen eal'ing with such a
struggle, was he— David Met'dashan of Riverside?
A long road lay between the youthful zealot and the
grave minister— long, not in years but in ex])erienees.
First of all, he had not been longpcrmitted to remain
on Pisgali's height from which, on his ordination
day, he had caught those vivid glimpses of the Holv
City. He was called to come down from that hi<>h
vantage point of vision to the arena of life where
those lofty and exhilarati g feelings were to lie re-
l)laced by the faithful and patient perforinance of
duty.

The peojjle of Riverside, having heard through
friends at home of the young minister's earnest
work, gave him a call, and he came to Canada bring-
ing Bess with him— (their mother had been laid at
rest some years before). The peojile of Riverside
were not disappointed in the pastor they had chosen,
while the minister was pleased with his charge.
Ever_vthing was going along satisfactorily; he and
Ress were just comfortably settled in their cosv
cottage when a new trial awaited him. He had
been called one night to the bedside of a dviner
jiarishioner and Bess, ever anxious for his comfort,
left a candle burning on a table not far from the
window, tliat there might be light when he returned.

1. il

I il

ii )

ril

\ i:

Ck-()\\xni) AT i:lim.

The window was ..ik-i,, and tlie curtain swavin^'
hack and forth in the hrcczc cau-ht the fl.iinc. When
he returned, he opened the (h)or and stood for a
moment motionless with horror; the wholv interior
of their cotta-e was in a hia/r. He spr.-n- to tlie
room where Hess slept and liftin.u her in lu'r death-
hkc sleep carried her outside, hut he was too late;
she never re-,^ained consciousness. It was hours he-
fore he knew that he himseli- was hurned, and the
scars on his face remained as witnesses of tJiat tra<jric
ni.^dlt. He thought of those scars nov.- with a 're-
gretful smile. He had loved beautv as on'y his
artist soul could love it, but phvsical beautv had
not the same charm for him now that it once had
He knew there was a beauty which no accident could
mar-a beauty wrought from the loom of a conse-
crated life, and wdiich alone was worth striving for.
His sister's death had l)een a most cruel blow'
He never realized until she was gone how much he
had depended on her companionship. There were
depths in his nature which were unsuspected bv any-
one save Ress. His sensitive nature instinctively
shrank from disclosing liis innermost self to un-
appreciative friends: to her he could aia-avs open
his heart freely, for he was sure of comprehension
and sympathy there. He did not, however, tabulate
his griefs .m this way, for he was not given to pitying
selt-analysis. He was conscious only that there was
a void in his life which could never again be filled
and the loneliness was at times al-.nost unbearable.'
He was roused from his reverie bv the slrikin^ of
the clock. Ten o'clock? What a time he h d ireen
dreammg by the fire! He must not sit thus idlv

I -1

CA'OU'.V/;/; AT ni.IM.

i",

dreaming'. lie had work to do, and it was time lie
was about it. Outside, the rain was a^^^aiu falling,'
with a monotonous patter against the windows, hut
it was time he was otT. The baseball team would l)e
returning; shortly from York, and he must not let
Leyden Hell go with the boys to the Red Lion. In a
moment he was out in the rain and darkness. It
was doubtless a ;a:ood thin>; for David MeCMashan
that he felt it his tluty to share theburdens of others,
for it kei)t him from broodini,' over his own troubles.

To-night, however, as he stood in the rain, the
lights which streamed from the windows of Vine-
mount filled his heart with a strange, new happiness.
Out there in the chilling rain, he was living over
again those moments in the twilight when he and
Trema had stood together in the sunset glow. But
just then the rumble of the stagecoach broke in ui)on
his meditations. The boys were proclaiming to
Riverside residents, in no uncertain voice, that thev
were returning victorious. Leyden Bell was the
first to jximp from the stage.

" Hurrah for the Junior Tigers ! " he yelled. Then
when he noticed his pastor, "Oh, Mr. McC^lashan.
we vanquished the Royalists. It was a great game.
Seventeen hits, including two doubles, three triples,
and a home run was our work. The Royalists only
secured four singles."

"I'm glad the Junior Tigers won; but, Leyden,
do not go with the boys tf) the Red Lion to-night."

"Oh, Mr. McGlashan. I must! The boys will
have it that it was my fielding that ended the game
in such a brilliant way for us. The Royalists treated
us right handsomely, and Captain Blake sent word

!m:

I ■

CRonwr:!) at f.lim.

to have an oyster su])i)cr rt-ady for iis wlicti wej^'ot
back to KivL-rsidc, and the hoys won't Hkc it it" I
don't j^o."

In the meantime tlie coaeh was emptied of its
noisy freight, and tlie hoys were rtisliing j)eU niell
ah>ng the street. "Come on, Leyd," they called,
as they s.iw him still talking. The tninister Laid a
detaining hand i>n the hoy's shouhler. " Levden,
rememl)er yonr promise."

"Oil, I do remember; I)ut I must break itjust
this once. After to-night I promise you I will never
touch liciuor agair.," saying which, he joined his
companions and left his jiastor standing there.

David McGlashan turned homeward with a
heavy heart. If he could oidy depend on Levden.
But now that he had broken his i)romise, he would
likely break it again. .\s the minister walked along
the muddy road and uj) the avenue under tliedripping
trees, lie was tempted to give uj) his sclf-imposetl task
and let the boy go to ruin if he wanted to.

For four years he hrul watched over Leyden Rell,
trying to keep him out of harm's way, and notwith-
standing all his efforts, the boy was going headlong
to ruin .\fter all, why should lie care? Was lie
more responsible than Donald Bell, who, under the
jiressure of business cares, did not seem to have time
to h)ok after his son? In such a mood, he took
off his wet coat, and sat down to read a little
before retiring. But he could settle his thoughts on
nothing, for, notwithstanding his decision, he was
again worrying about the boy; for he loved the
liandsome, sunny tempered lad, and could not stand
by and see him become a hopeless drunkard.

Ch'(>\v.\i:i> AT r.i.iM.

Rut was tlicrt- mis liopof a l)()_v vlio ha 1 Irarnctl
lo like lii|iiMr at tuchc years ofa;^*.'? It was a lililc
over tour years a;;o, tliat he had found Leydeii wi li
some oti or lioys sittiii,;; on the grass i.e.ir the Inew-
ery drinking beer. What a levelaticn that had been I
H was ainiost a stranv^cr in Riverside then, and had
adi.iired tlic i unblitig oid buii(hng eneireled witli a
wide siretc 'i of smooth, green sward, and silhouetted
against a baekground of forest trees, then ch.thed in
tender g een. Its position in that picturestjue spot
seemed to indicate that the building had been tie-
signed for a nobler work than the brewing of i lalt.

But David McOlashan. wholly engrossed in pic-
tures(iue effects, gave Httl'.- thought to what was
going on within its walls till the d.iy he came upon
the hoys with the pail of beer before them. He then
discovered that the i)ictures(jue Id 1)uilding was the
worm in the ship's keel, which was si wly but
certainly W' irking the destruction of those who
trusted their lives to the ^ a) This, Riverside would
awake to see when too late, f< - the youth of the
town were taking their first steps in the downward
])ath which has only one eiuhng. Licpior was given
them at the brewery freely as water; they might
have it any time for the asking; yes, and without
the asking. f' had bec(nne customary for the boys
to loiter along the liver bank on their way from
sciiool, slij) into the building and get the beer, wdiich
was never refused them, and then continue their
way, all imconscious that invisible chains were being
forged about them which \n ould one day resist even
a giant's strength.

The minister had been pained beyond measure to

Ck(i\v\r:n \r i:i.!\f.

fiiul lA-ydcn Ikll amoii^' tlioM' hoys. lie -.v.-is such a
Ijri^hl hoy, so clever .-i^ul so proinisiii;^ , in his heaii-
tilul hrowii eyes the suiisliiiie sceiiieil alwavstohe
sleeping, .-md his dnrk h.iir clustered in curls over a
forche.'id as white as snow.

It w.-is ahout this time that another incident
occnired, which strengthened David Mc( il.ishan's
resolve to .^ivc his whole elTort to ])ntting down in-
temperance He was one moriiin.L,'' returning; from
the country when he saw a little child lyin^' hy t!ie
road, ajiparenlly overcome hy the heat. IIejuni])ed
hastily from the carriaj^e and lifted the child in his
arms. '• Why, it's Kohhie Strachan ! " he cried, and
then suddenly turned pale with horror, for fumes of
Tupior came irom those hahv lips.

lie placed the child in the carria.txe and drove lilm
home. The servant, greatly excited, met them at the
gate. Mrs. Strachau was visiting at Caledonia,
and Kol)hie had gone away without his hreakfast.
The servant had searched everywliere, and was
almost distracted with grief as she thought that he
had fallen into the river. She was greatly relieved,
therefore, when she saw the minister with her little
cliarge in his arms, and she ran at once for Dr.
Blair. Tlie doctor came almost immediatelv, and
as they hent anxiously over the child, David Mc-
Glashan asked :

"How do you suppose Rohljie came to he in a
state like this?"

"It is hard to say," rejjlied the doctor. "Pro-
ba])ly one of the men at the hrewery gave him a
drink for fun, and as lie had had no breakfast it made
him verv ill."

4 ^

Ch'(iWM:i) AT r.l.lM.

<;',»

" The wrctclics! TIkv should l)c arrcsli'd. Is it
l)()ssil)lf such thiuj^'s crin hr in lK',>uliriil Riverside?"

The doctor lau<^die(l li^dilly. "Such things not
oidy can he. hut hrive l)ceti, and will continue to I)e."

" Not if I can help it."

" I do not see what you lan do."

" I shall have the brewery closed."

" P.ut that will he takin;.^ away people's lihertv.
This is a hee country, and if a man wants to nni a
brewery no one may say him nay."

"Then I shall petition the government to close
it."

"That would he little use, you see, for this isonlv
one out of many breweries in Canada. Moreover,
there always has been li(pior in the world, and pro-
bably always will be, and hoys and other jjcople,
too, must learn to resist such things. If thev are
taught self-control, such evils will not hurt them.
Von cannot legislate people into being Christians,
you know."

" Legislation certainlv cannot change the heart,
but it can do much to raise the morality of the
nation."

The doctor looked politely incredulous.

"It has been said from close observation," con-
tinued the minister, " that people are the product of
their environment, and it depends a good deal on
our legislation to say what that environment shall
be. It is impossible to be surrounded b\' vice and
remain untainted. Humanity is a vast nervous sys-
tem ; a festered sore in any part will aflect the health
of all around. If we live in the midst of a loathsome
moral miasma, we cannot escape infection. But,

ci<<)\v.\r:fi 1 /• ni.iM.

happily, tr„o,l„css is just as potent a factor in Mxietv
as evil. A„,l, Dr. Hlair. I sha' never cease while I
have stren-th to root out chis evil of intemperance,
and It I -row wenry in the task the nieniorv of this
baby lyinir unconscious in a drunken sleep will. 1 am
sure, nerve me to renewed effort."

"Hut this is an uncommon cnse," said the
doctor. " I never l)efore saw a child under the in-
fluence of liquor, and such a thing inav not occur
again in the history of the town."

"That the evil goes stalking about ready to
devour the innocent, is incentive enough to work
ior Its destruction."

The minister hrul left then and srid he would call
later ,n the day. It was nearly flve o'clock when he
was free to go; he found the child still sleeping, but
he wakened in a few minutes and looked wonderin-lv
at his visitor. " "

"You were sick. Robbie, and I came to see vou.
I hope you fcvd better now ? "

" Was I sick -^ What day is it ? Is the tv/entv-
fourth over? "

"No, the twenty-fourth is to-morrow."

" Oh, Ts so gla.i." Then sighing heavilv, " But
we didn't get any pennies for fi'a-erackers, johniie
an' me didn't."

" Did you try to get some ? "

"Yes. Johnnie said if we jiicked up bones ai '
pieces of old iron an' took them to Isaacs, he vvould
g'.ve us pennies. An' we worked an' worked till we
got a big lot an' piled them on mv little cart, an'
then we got up early, 'cause Johnnie said Is'aacs
would be away if we were late; and I came down

\ \

I ;<1

CRO]V.\!:i) AT f:Ll.-\f.

tlie stairs so quiet 'e.-iusc K.-ite wouldn't let me go,
p'obabh-. An' oh, my cart was heavy. I was so
ti'ed, and it was so far ova there, you know where"
(wearily waving his little hand in the direction, as
if a more lucid explanation were too great an etfort)
"an" then old Isaacs said he couldn't give us j)ennies,
'cause we didn'u have enough bones .'in' iron, but he
would give us something to dwink. Johnnie only
tasted his, but I dwank all mine. I wanted my
breakfus' awful bad."

" And then you got sleepy ? "

"Yes. Johnnie was cwying 'cause old Isaacs
didn't give us pennies, an' I told h m to go home an'
I would just lie down on the grass a little while."

"Poor little fellow! No wonder you were ill.
Well, here are iome pennies that the old Jew should
have given you."

Robbie opened his blue eyes wide. " Did Isaacs
give them to you for us ? "

" No, but I am sorry to see you so disappointed."
"Rut Mr. 'Glashan, you didn't get the pieces of
iron an' bones."

" Oh, I see ! You want to give something in ex-
change for the pennies. Well, my lawn is just about
yellow with dandelions, and you and Johnnie may
pick them for the pennies. Is that a bargain ? "

" Oh yes, an' won't Johnnie 1)e glad ! I'd like to
go now." He sat up eagerly, but lay back almost
immediately. "Oh, I is so w'etched,"he said wearily.
" Please, Mr. 'Glashan, give these pennies to Johnnie.
He will pick the dandelions; my mama will be home
to-morrow an' she has lots of pennies, but Johnnie's
mama hasn't any. That was why he cwied."

u \f

! )

! » •!

Ifi \

■>i

I ■;]

\t-

CRO\V\r:i) ,\T EI.IM.

"Allri-ht. ril hunt Johnnie iii) and c,Mve liini
tlic])cnnies and tell him al^out the 'dandelions. I
h.jpe you will he l)etter in the inornintr and that vou
will have a real good time on the Queen's Birthday.
I cxpeet that you will break all the glass in the
wnidows to-morrow with your firecrackers."

"So it wasn't the brewery after all that was the
cause of the mischief." the minister mused as he
walked homeward. " Well, it is only another of the
monster's kin. appearing in the form of tluat old
Isaacs. The rascal! To pay the little fellows in
Satan's own coin. And yet, poor old man. I do not
suppose he rerdized what lie was doing. Miserliness
IS the curse of his naticm. What a noble little fellow
K<.bbie is. Pathetic as it was. hi:; descrii)tion of the
art;ia- nearly made me laugh. The vvay he said ' I is
so w'etchcd,' was almost too much for my gravity."
It was these two incidents in ])art'icular. and
several things in general, that caused David Mc-
Olashan at the very beginning of his ministerial
career to l)ecome a zealous advocate for the cause
of temperance. In a measure, his work had met
with success. A number of the bovs weie not oulv
temperate, but shared in the enthusiasm of theiV
leader, and thes( boys v.-ere the majoritv. but in
the mmority was I.eyden Dell. Four vears of un-
ceasmg effort, and I.eyden that Xovend,er night
was not one step forward o.i the i)ath of refomi
He was. indeed, wor«e than at the beginning; for
there was his broken promise, which he had^given
so earnestly a morth before, that he would never
again touch intoxicating li,,uor. No wom'er his
pastor was discof.i-aged. Discouraged he certainlv

cr'()\vxf:i) at i:lim.

was, but not yet would he ^nve Leyden up. So two
hours hiter lie might have been seen ajj;ain finding
his w<'=v through the gloomy night. The rain had
turned to snow and already Mie dripping world was
changing to a sjjotless whiteness. The village was
as silent as a eity of the dead; from the Red Lion
alone lights gleamed. And to the Red Lio,i David
Me(;i."shan went. The inn was not large and he had
no diffi' ;ll in finding his way to the room where
sui)per had l)cen served. Without hesitation he
opened the door and passed within. .\s the evil
si)irits in the dread Circle* were smitten into silence
by the coming of the Messenger of Heaven, so were
the carouscrs abashed I)y the unexi)ected appearance
of the minister. The loud laugh was hushed; the
song died upon their li])s. Was it the minister, or
was it St. Michael who confronted them, so tall and
pale and stern ? St. Michael it must be, for so much
of majesty docs not cling about a mere man.

The intruder looked in silence on the many
bottles, the filled glasses, on all the evidences of
the midnight revel, and then the stern eyes went
down the length <jf the room seeking soniethiiv
which they did not find; then 1)ack again with a
keen glance into each flushed face. He nntst be
there; yes, and he was there. With swift strides
the minister reached that vacant chair, l»y which
Leyden was lying overct)me by his libations.

"Leyden, Leyden, my boy!" Infinitely tender
were the w<,rds, and yet they found their wav
through th'; dulled consciousness of the lad. He
stirreil, m\ nnirmured something unintelligible.

"L yden, you must go home." He raised the

■it

I t;

""Dante's lut'erno." Canto IX., 11, iO^

-lOG.

:; i.

aJJ

CA'nn-.v/;/; at ELi.\r.

boy gently and stood liini upon liis feet; helped liim
to the door, and out into the nigh*.

When the (k)or eU>sed the young men sat mute
and still, for each had read in that grave, stern ga^e
that he had been weighed in a Ijalanee and had been
found wanting. Their consciences told them that
the verdict was true, for not only had thcv them-
selves fallen short of a worthy manhood, but each
had taken a malicious delight in bringing about the
downfall of Ley den Bell. The minister's efforts had
not escaped their notice, and in proportion as he had
worked to save the boy, they had i)lanned to bring
about his ruin. Rut aiow, in the presence of that
man of power, each realized how contemptible his

conduct had been, and many resolves were made

that night to lead better lives.

Meanwhile, the minister was helping his charge

through the snow, and weary work it was, though

his thoughts were too busy for him to realize his

fatigue.

Poor Mrs. Bell ! How he dreaded the mother to
see her boy in that awful state of helpless drutdicn-
ness. Yet she would have to know; she had been in
ignorance long enough.

A light was burning in the house. Some one was
waiting for Leyden's return and opened tlie door
before the minister reached it ; it was Mrs. Bell. Her
lips ])arted in startled surprise when she saw them,
but no question came. In that brief -lance she
seemed to understand it all. Very cpiietly she led
the way to tlie sitting room, wdiere David Mc-
Glaslian placed t!ie ])(.y nn a couch. He spoke to
the m,.tlier in a hushed way, for the solemnity of

f«>

CROWXED AT RLIM.

death seemed to enfiild her. He tried to lighten her
sorrow to give her hope that .eyden woukl yet
fulfd her expectations; but cveii as he spoke he
felt h>'\v fniitle--^ were his etTorts, for he himself was
hopeless, v^he thanked him in a few grateful words,
and even ^ried to smile w'leii she parted with him at
the door, tho'"^h the lo(-k of unspeakable anguish
never left her ci..rk eyes.

When she returned to the sitting room, 5he
broi ht a plaid and laid it over her boy. T. was
that ver\ ifternoon that she had folded it and laid
it awav. She remembered that she had been sintrin<^
in very gladness of heart as she did it. Was the
afternoon separated from her by hours or by years?
It seemed years, and that she had already grown
old. Was it really Leyden who was lying in that
awful state, or was she drf^aming? If she made
a violent effort, wo.dd she not be able to shake
off the numbness wh-ch seemed jiaralyzing her, and
find that it .vas only a dream? Alas I it was no
dream.

And yet it did not seem Img since he had one
day toddled up to her wiiii a book almost as big as
himself, and said, "Here is the Bible; read to me
a). )A\ Josus." And she, thinking the biblical account
unintelligible to a child of three years, attempted to
tell him the story in her ow- way, and he had lis-
tened with attention till he found lureyes wandering
from the printed page and then he said indignantly,
"You is not reailing it at all, you is nuiking it up,"
whereupon he had emphatically closed the book and
asked her to tell him the storv of the little leaf And
she had told him of a tiny leaf that had come out

11 u

"« crowm:!) at i:lim,

one Tuorninir shiverin;; in llic sprinir wind, and clung
tl.nidly to til- branch, till the branch whispered'^
"Don't l>c afraid, little leaf, the wind won't hurt
vou, and some day it will take you on a pleasant
journey." The leaf grew large and beautiful,
and rfter a while Jack I-n.st gave it a pretty new
red dress; then one day the wind came and carried
it straight across a big garden to a veranda where
a sick child was lying, and he put out his hands and
caught the leaf, crying glccfLdly, " Oh, mother, see the
beautiful leaf!" And all day long he held it in his
little hot hand, and at night he went to bleep with
the leaf pressed against his cheek. After a long
silence. Leyden had said. " Yes," as if the story were
satisfactory; "tell me more about the little bov."
And she could feel the pressure of his arms around
her neck even yet, as he told her. when she had fin-
ished, that it was a nice story. Hut her l)aby was
gone and in his place was a boy, a young man", lying
♦^here— like that ! The contrast was too painful ;" she
turned away with a shudder; tears gathered in her
eyes and relief came to her pent-up heart.

CKOWNUU AT ELIM.

I.I'

CHAPTER VII.

THE morning' after her errand to the manse,
Trema awoke with a start, and was for a
brief moment surprised to find herself in her
own room at home, for she had liad a very vivid
ui-eam. Memory had taken her to Luce- ie and slie
was at the very foot of ru<,r^'ed old FilaLus, when she
noticed David McGlashan far up the mountain path.
He had beckcmed to her to come uj), and had held
out his hand to assist her as she drew near. Then
together they had climbed to where flowers were
blooming, when suddenly, without a moment's
warning, an avalanche of snow had swej)! u\wn
them, hurling them down a precipice. Just then she
awoke, and even to her waking senses there seemed
to be a warm heaviness in the air as there had been
in her dream. She went to the window and sure
enough there had beei in avalanche in the night,
though quite different from that in her dream. For
the snow clung to the damp fences and the walls of
buildings ; it heajied its fairy whiteness on the trees
and shrubs in lavish profusion; it curled softlv
around the eaves of houses and changed every un-
sightly thing and every irregular outline into round-
ed graceful beauty. The lau i seemed fit only for
the abode of fairies. Its enure length presented a

II :

•f! i

' I

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\ I

Ch'OWM^D AT ELIM.

vista of fantastic shapes sucli as were never con-
ceived 1),- the niitid of man. Nature alone is ca])al)le
of sucli intricacy of (lesi^^n. I-)acli branch freighted
with its spotless burden drooped jj;racefully to the
earth, while the vines which yesterday hung so dis-
consolately in a tangled mass, now seemed a delicate
intricate ])atLern of softest lacework. Not a breath
of wind stirred. It was as if Nature exhausted with
her exertions, was now taking her repose.

"What a pity the fairies alone might inhabit
such a ])cautiful sjjot." she said at last. " Man will
only mar it. First thing, Thomas will be shovelling
off th'.' steps and digging a road out to the gate. I
supi)ose, too, he will think it his bounden dutv to
tramp around to all the trees and shake the snow
off the bratiches, lest they break. Such is the life of
martens I And then there are the boys who will
delight in this beautiful snow just because it is of
the right consistency to make a good snow man.
And it will be fine for that " she added, a little wist-
fully. She felt at that moiii_nt that it was an incon-
venient thing to be looked upon as grown up, when
her heart still clung to the pleasures of the short
dress ])eriod.

A few hours later, she might have been seen
perched on a i)yramid of sleds, and putting the finish-
ing touches to a very artistic nose on a newlv-.aaiic
snow man. She had walched the operations of
some boys with keen interest, till their lack of artistic
skill overcame her sense of digiiily, and she begge 1
]pei mission t(j join them. She was p.itting the head
here and there, an;l trying to give it an air of
majesty (which was the charaeLeri.^Lic Uaturc o^ the

c'A'oir.v/;/; i r i:lim.

busts in her father's library) when she heard tlic
slei-^'h hells, and turned to see Mr.

J'!i;

Me(;iashan drivin<,' al(ni<,- the road towards them.
She reco-nized iiha with a sense of dismay. Was he
froinir to see her in every undi-nified aetion of her
life, while the many dignified tilings whieli she did
never were seen ?

To retreat was impossible, so she gave the chin
an extra jab to increase its firmness (she alwavs ad-
mired firmness in the chin of a statesman, and it was
a statesman she was modeling) and trust. -d to the
Fates from being discovered ; but those were keen
eyes in that rapidly appn. aching sleigh. Afar off
David McOlashan had detected that golden brown
curly hair, on which the toboggan cap rested so
jauntily. If he would only cross the bridge; if he
would only go anywhere but home just now, she
would be very glad ; but there was no escape. Not
only was he going to see her, but evidentlv he was
going to speak to her.

When she saw him reining in his horse prepara-
tory to alighting, she b.-gan dubiously to descend
from her perch. coming down much more deliberatelv
than she had ascended. There were still two sleds
between her and the ground when the minister
reache.l the snow man, and catching the hands of
the amateur sculptor, he lifted her lightly to the
ground. This did not lessen the roses in her checks
and, to add to her confusion, she saw that something
was amusing him. Was tiiis l)oyish face with the
laughing eyes the same grave one with which she
was familiar? It was at least one of his bovish
moments, when the burden of w ork was forgotten.

'i i

•!li

Ck'<>\v.\i:i) .1 -/• i.i.iM.

and he woiiM liavi- enjoyed notlnii;,' In-ltcr t!i.-iii to
lu'lp !kt ill her task niid he ordered al.out I.v licr
as he had seen her order tlie hoys, when she was
(jueenin^j: it thereon top of the pyrarnich Hut sueh
aetions woidd not he seendy in tlie minister ol" tiie
kirk, so he tnrned to tht- matter he had in hand.

"Mistress Cairns ted^ me that you are K"'"K to
see them tins afternoon. Miss Trema."

"So I i)r()nnsed, hut father is (juite ill this morn-
ing. He got wet yesterday eonnng from Hrantford."

"Yes, I wassorr • to hear from Thomas that he
was su fieri ng from a relapse of his eold. Hut I am
going to Clreenvale this aften.oon, and as I ])ass
Willow Haidv I eould take vou if vou wish to "o "

"Oh, thaids- you!" Trema cxelaimed delightedlv.
"Come in and see mother ahout it." So it was
satisfaetorily arranged, and at three o'cloek thev
set off.

It was a delightful day for driving and Trcma's
faee was all aglow as she told the nirnister that it
was her first sleigh ride in the eountry.

"Then I hope it will he a pleasarit one," he re-
plied; "for you do not have much to vary the mon-
otony of your life here, Vou must find the eountrv
a very great change from the city. I sui)i)ose you
prefer the town to this ([uiet eountry life "

'Oh, I have not grown tired of the country vet,"
she replied. "It is all so new to me. I hive the
woods. I love to sit under the trees and watch the
shadows on the g-ass, when the leaves whisper
strange stories, and w here nothing hut the streamlet
seems to l)e in a hurry. It is delightful. I?ut I
do miss my city friends. There was my venerable

(■A'"ir.v/;/; i r

i:i.i\t.

rroffssorwlio \v;is our nci-lilM.r, and ^'.-ivc- iiic the lull
frtcdoiu (,(" liis liliiary. Oluii w lieu lie icturmd from

Iccturi's, Ik- would find uic curled up in his favcuitc
chair and poring' over sonic dusty tonic, which he
wc'ld aver was too dry for any but siHctaclcd
pc(.j,. • to read. Vcs, I miss him and thei'tlicr cilv
friends verv much."

Hut

y(ui seem to ciijoy youi .elf liere. Vou like

visiting at Willow Bank, do you not?"
"Oh, I cannot tell vou how I love t(

ro there.

should Ite verv lonelv

if it

familv

were not for the Cairns

.\iid the other farms where

vou often LTO to

si)ciid tlie al'terno()n, wiiat ahout them?

Well, to tell tlie trutli, 'spending; the aft

crnooii.

lough It sounds pleasant cnou;^'h, is the greatest
bore I have, and yet the people are so kind. When
they invite you to go for ilie afternoon, tliev expect
you to be there at three o'clock. If v

foiir the hostess will cxcl,

hat

you arrive at
lim, as she lavs awav vour

and parasol, that she certainlv thou-ht

vou

ou to sit ill

were not ccmiing. Then she will invite v

a rocker ill the dining room while she bustles awav

to tiiiish her work in the kitchen; for tliev do so

much work in a day— tl

daughter of tlie house is also busv

lese country- people. The
vou see her Hit-

ting about i the kitchen and she just giv

es vou a

smile now and then as she passes the door. V«

look

istfully out at the cool depths of tin

H'ove,

but the daughter is too busy for you to suggest such

an unheard of thing as a walk there. Afi.er

:i while.

she does come in and talk for a littl

e, and then she

brings a iihotograph album from the parlor— for

N'!

MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART

ANbi and IjO TES; char I N^ 2

1.0

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1^ ilM 111112.2

36
40

2.0

1.8

1.25

1.4

1.6

^ / APPLIED IM/IGE Inc

^^ ':^5 East Man Street

r^ - jcnester. New Tor* U60'"* 'iSA

■^= '16/ *82 - 0300 - Phone

:^ ■■ 1 6^ 288 - S969 ~ Fa«

CROWXr-l) AT ELIM.

there is a parlor — to entertain yon while she is get-
tiug supper ready. And sueh a supper! Cold fowl
and fried pt)tatoes, and hot biseuits, and fresh butter
and honey, ami pies — two kinds at least— and cakes,
sueh a (piantity of them; more dainties than one
eould think of attempting to eat in a week. And
then when supi)er is over, yon think now you will
see your hostess and her daughter for a little, but
again you are disappointed. Vou are shown into
the parlor, a little bo.x affair containing three chairs,
a center table and melodian. The wvn are going to
have supper and the mother and daughter must wait
on them. So you sit in state in the little parlor,
gazing at the pictures on the wall and do not even
get a glimpse of the father and big brothers, not to
mention the hired man. You study the pictures for
a long ha'f hour, but you are rewarded at last. The
daughter comes and sits with you in the gloaming
and asks 3'ou about the city — that wonderful i)lace
which idle has never yet s.-en — and about St. Peters-
burg which seems so unreal to her. Then the big
brothers come in with clean collars, polished faces
and smoothed plumage. A game of croquet is sug-
gested, and to the garden we go. Partners and
colors are chosen, and then for a happy hour there is
the constant sharp click as the nudlet strikes the
ball; the peal of laughter when an opponent has
been vancjuished ; the exclamation of woe from the
vanquished one; and, in the intervals of silence, the
ceaseless argument of the katydids, the clang of a
distant cow-bell and the song of the wliip-poor-will.
Taken altogether, that hour in the twilight makes
up ioi- the martyrdom of the afternoon."

C h' O \V X i: D .\T ELIM.

The minister smiled at the recital. It was so
hke his own earl_v exi)erienccs in Riverside. "You
will have to do as I do," he said ; " make these good
peoi)le understand that you cannot come till the
stroke of six. If you are determined they become
accustomed to it and do not mind."

"Oh, I never thought of introducing city ways
into tlie country. You are he minister and a law
unto yourself. I am only a girl; they would not
tolerate any innovations from me."

For a ti:nf they drove along in silence. The
lan.'scaioe was so fair with all that wide expanse of
s{)oiless wliite, onl^' broken here and there by a
stump piled high with a rounded cap of snow, while
beyond the fields, the woods stretched out — immacu-
late, silent, beautiful. The dreamy landscape im-
pressed the minister with a sense of rei)ose, and a
sense of repose was very agreeable after the night of
anxiety tlirough which he had passed, though the
weight had been somewhat lifted from his heart, for
he had that morning seen LcN'den, and the bo^' was
so penitent and Mrs. Bell so cheerful, that he too
felt ho])c'ful, and though he knew that long historv
which the mother did not know, yet already the
events of the ])ast night seemed a horrid dream, and
Leyden was a boy to be trusted once more. He
was l)rought back from his contemplation of the
restful picture by a tremulous little sigh of content.

" Then you like nature, too," he said, seeing that
she was feasting her eyes on the scene. "It is my
com])anion when all other friends fail."

"When all other friends fail!" she exclaimed.
"Why, your whole congregation adores you. They

' !

CROWXI^D AT ELIM.

nrc ])errc,.-t devotees, in fact, and burn incense to _vou
tile live-Min;^ dav."

He smllcvl at tlie ])ai^an meta])h()r, but did not
at once rcjily. At last be said :

" While it is a blessed i)rivilege to leed this little
tlock.vet it is jjossiblc tliat tlie shei)herd may hunger,
too, r.)r lunnan synipath\'."

Trenia did not re])ly. There was nothing to say
in r i,s\ver to those words uttered so sini])ly, yet un-
consciously disclosing so much. The pathos of them
touched her heart, and revealed a new phase in the
character of this friend. She saw a strong soul, who
was giving his life's l)est efforts, his strength, his
energy, his love, his holiness, u.ireservedly to his
])eople. while he himself was starving in loneliness for
a word of sympathy in retuiti. As Trema had said,
his congregation adored him,3'et they scarcely under-
stood him They felt his power, but were imcon-
scious frcHU whence that power came. They knew
he comforted them, but it seemed part of the office
of a j)astor to comfort his people in affliction. That
he had any troubles of his own in which their sym-
pathy would have helped him, they did not realize;
that in his busy life it was yet possible for him to
live in lonely isolation, they could not even have
conceived.

The young minister's eves came back from stud^'-
ing the snow-covered fields, to which they had again
reverted, and rested with a lingering wistfulness on
the face beside him and then he looked away with
eyes filled with a sudden joy, for in the gleam of her
fervent eyes, in the si)eakingelociuence of herthought-
ful face, he read that she understood him as well as

CROWXIH) AT HLIM.

if he had told her all his story. Though in his heart
joybells were chiming ci new sweet tune, yet he did
not continu" the subject which .seemed to have cast a
shadow on her bright spirits, and for the remainder
of their drive he was gay and witty, surprising his
young friend with his fund of mirth and by his sharp
repartee.

•Ill

• i 'I

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i

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CROW Si: I) AT ELIM.

CHAPTER VIII.

WHEN David McGlashan returned from Green-
vale, he went ill to see ho\v(\'isiinir Zanioyski
was. He found him very ill but feeling in-
clined to sleep, so he did not remain long in the siek
room, but went to the drawing room with Madame
Zaraoyski to see some new music which had just
arrived from Toronto for Trema. David McGlashan
was very u)nd of music. His piano was the first
brought into the settlement, and its arrival had been
an event of iini)ortance. Its progress through the
village had l)een heralded by a gathering of smtill
boys, who were very curious to know what such a
great box contained.

"Perhaps it is filled with i)ikes sent over by the
Fenians, who will murder us all in t)ur beds some
night."

"Pikes, your grandmother! Nice things they
would be to send tt) the minister's house. It's more
likely to be cannon to shoot the Fenians with."

" What would they want to shut cannon up in a
box like that for? Cannon won't break. Now, I
think it is the skeleton of some big animal— a fossil,
you know. The minister is awful interested in
them things."

" Well, maybe it is a skeleton," said a fourth boy,

k'^

CROWXnn AT EI.IM

"Init I tliink it is pictures, tliout^h they would have
to be ])retty h'v^ ones to fill a box hke tliat."

But notwithstanding ilieir curiosity, when the
box arrived at its destination not one of the bovs
would go near it, antl when the minister came out
and asked if they would help lift it olT the wagon,
they turned on thei- heels ati<l iled. The gardener
went to his assist nice, but the box still proved too
much for th",:i; so Mr. McCMashan, seeing one of
liis elders passing, called, " Mr. Carruth, won't you
I)lease come and helj) us with this piano? "

"An' whatever dae ye want wi' a piano ? " asked
Matthew, when he had surveyed the monstrous box.

"To ])lay on; to make lonely moments a little
less lonely."

"Less lonely! Ma guid man, on the few occa-
sions in ma life that I hae been treated tae an exhi-
beetion o' instrumental music, I hae hcrtily wushed
niasel' in the next concession. I mind what Charles
Lamb said aboot it, an' I fully sympathize wi' him :
'Tae be exposed tae an endless battery o' mere
soonds; tae be lang a-deein'; tae lie stretched upon
a rack o' roses, tae gaze on toom ])icturc frames an'
be forced tae mak up the pictures for yersel', tae read
a buik a' stops, an' 1)e obleeged tae supply the verl^al
matter.' That's juist what I hae endured whan
listenin' tae instrumental music. Ikit tae be sure
I'll gie ye a haund wi' the box."

The piano was an old story by this time, however,
for several others had since been brought into the
district. But a new pleasure was added to the
minister's life when he fountl that he had for neigh-
bors such musical i)eople as the Zamovskis. So he

! 'i

,'i '

c R(>\\\!:n .1 7" i: i.iM.

looked over the nnisic with interest, aiul presently he
and Madame Zainoyski were in tlie midst of an
anitnated disenssion n-i^ardin^^ the diflerences be-
tween "absolute" and " j)ro<;ram " or descriptive
nitjsie.

" My dear Madame Zamoyski," said Mr. Mc-
(Uashan, "you have just stated that in music there
is an absence of definite outline, which may cause a
musical composition to mean soinethin<j^ different to
every hearer, but nii^^dit that not be said of a i)oem,
or a book, or a jjicture? Is /irn- art simi)ly a repro-
duction of actual fact? Take this old i)ortrait which
I see before me. It is the i)icture of a handsome
nobleman ap]iarelled in white satin. The orders on
his l)reast and rajjier at his side arc partiallv con-
cealed by a lonj? crimson velvet mantle. It is a fine
picture, and yet I very much doubt if his friends ever
saw him look just exactly like that. For the artist
would not paint him as he looked at any given
moment, but would study the dififcrent traits of his
character, the changing expressions of his face, and
then make a sort of composite ])icture, giving jiromi-
ncncc to the most cons])icuous traits and indicatiuf
others more delicately. Yet he has evidently suc-
ceeded in retaining a good likeness, for I see in the
face a strong resemblance to your husband. I should
say that it is a picture of his father."

" No, it is a picture of Casimir's grandfather, but
the resemblance is most marked. I was much im-
jiressed with the similarity between the two when I
first saw the portrait hanging in the drawing-room
at Stroganoft' Palace."

"And I suppose Mr. Zamoyski would find much

»'>

CR()\V\i:ii AT LLIM.

89
who it was

anniscTncnt in trviiiLj to make you j^ut-ss
a portrait ot."

"Casiiuir? Oh, he was not tliorc ; lie was in
Paris."

" Indeed I"

Tlie expression on the ttiinister's faee, more than
the exchimatory word, showed uneoneealed euriositv.
lie was niueh interested in t'.ie Zatnoyskis, the more
so, no doubt, beeanse si) Httle was known re;4ardin<^
them. Casimir Z.amoyski, though the most enter-
taininjj; of eonversation^dists, had never in llie min-
ister's presence made a sin^de reference to his early
life. And though David McCdashan had no desire to
pry into matters which did not concern him, vet he
did feel that it wcnild lie pleasanter if lie knew a
little more about these new friends. And to-day
there was a deeper reason, scarcely anrdyzcd as yet,
which made any tliin.Lj that concerned Trema even in
the remotest way, of intense interest to him. So he
waited almost breathlessh-, hoping that Madame
Zamoyski would tell him something further. He was
not disappointed, for after a brief jjause she said :

" In fact, Mr. McOlashan, my husband did not
accomp;iny nu, becan.-c he had incurred the disjilca-
sure of tlic Czir an 1 also (.f his step-father. Count
StrogantjfT, and dare not return to Russia tliough it
was his birthphicc. We had been living in Paris,
Casimir and I, but he took seriously ill, so that we
were very poor. One day, however, my husband's
friend, Prince Adam C/.artoryski, came, and we de-
cided that it would be best for me to go to St.
Petersl)urg and secure a personal interview with
the Czar, when perluips he would excuse Casimir 's

•I :1

r ii^

Ch'i>\\'.\i:n AT F.i.iM.

olTciu'c Priticc Aflaiii took Casiuiir liotnc with liiin
to liis cluUcau .'it Moiitl'c'riiiit.'I, till I should i\luni."

"And did you really uiidcrtaki' such a long
jounu'v aloiK' ? "

"Oh, yes, I started out bravely, l)Ut I sliall never
for^^et the moment when I stood on the marble ste;)s
before the inipo.^ing entrance to StrotjanotY Palace —
Casimir's old home — feariiiLj to ring for admittance.
Had I dared, I would have turned and tied from t!ie
place. But I imagined how Casimir and tlie Prince
would laugli, should I return to P.aris witliout even
seeing the Coiuitess Stroganoff. That thought de-
cided me; I tm-ncd at once and rang the bell. It was
answered I)y a functionaiy in livery. T remembered
that I was to speak in French, and asked the man in
rather halting ])hrases if I might see the Coimtess
StroganotT. I was shown into the salon, and siidc-
ing into a chair, I waited what seemed to me an
interminable time before I heard tlie rustle of a sillcen
gown, and Countess StroganotT glided into the room.
She was tall ami slender, and a dainty head-dress of
ex(|uisite lace rested on lier snf)w-white hair. She
still held my card in her delicate fingers. As she did
not offer to sit down, I rose at once.

"'Madame Zamoyski, I ])elieve,' the Countess
said, glancing at the card, then fixing lier 1)lue eyes
intently on me she waited for me to s])eak. I was
very nervous, thougli I managed to mal<e lier under-
stand that I was her son's wife. When I told her,
however, that I was an English mercliant's daughter,
she became very angrv and sanl that tlie Zamoyskis
iiad not been wont t) mix witli trades;)eo])!e. I t )iil
her that I had married her son against mv father's

CR'n]\-M:i) AT l: 1. 1 M .

wishes; that Ik- did not lliink Casimir ^jjood criDiigh
for a soil ill-law. 'Your I'alhcr must have been a
verv i-;ii(ir;nit person,' she repHed eoldly. 'My son
iias f()r>;;ikcu the ways of his fathers.' She ^hinced
as she spoke to lier fallier's portrait, the pietiire we
liave just l)een dlseussiiig. As I h)oked at it I iiotieed
that, notwithstaiidiiiic the pride of the patrician
countenance, there was in many points a stronp' rc-
senil)K'nice to the face of my dear husband. Do you
wonder that I sliould rcniemher the occasion of my
first seeing it so vividly ? "

"And what did you tell lier?"aske(l the minister,
smiling. "That in forsaking the ways of his fathers,
he had prolial'ly cliosen a better path ? "

"Oh no, I hired not tell her that. You have no
idea wiUi what an awe her Grace impressed me.
And, indeed, slie did not give me a chance to re})ly,
for she went right on saying that lier eldest son liad
been a grievous disappointment to her; that while
at home he had been so easy going that he had
allowed Ivan, his younger brother, to take precedence
in all things; at the university he had foolishly taken
part in a rising which he knew tjuite well could not
succeed. Tlien she had lieen looking forward to his
being reinstated in society through a grand matri-
monial alliance; that now to hear of his marriage
was the bitterest disappointment of all. Then she
wanted to know why I had come to her.

" It was a dreadful predicament, Mr. McGlashan.
It seemed such in-ii)ertinence to tell her that we had
purposed coming to live at Stroganoflf Palace, when
I had not even been requested to sit down.

"'Casimir is ill,' I answered hesitatingly; 'and

V :ll

Ci?oir.v/;/> AT i:i.!.\f.

Wf tli()u;^'lit— tli.it is, I'rim-c Ailain Czartoryski .-iiid
I— that it' he were able to come to St. lVtt.rsI)iif;.;
and for a lime have a eonii)lete rest, free from all
the anxieties of life, th.it he would j^jroA- slron;,aT.
i?ut iiiiikr the C/.ar's eiliet he eamiot r.tnrii. So
we thou;j;ht tliat if some one were to see the Czar
persoiMiiy. that he niij^ht relent and allow Casiinir
to eome home. And there seemed to he no one wiio
could come except me.'

"'Is my son, then, so destitute of frien is,' said
the Countess, ' that he had no one to plead his cause
beff)re His Imperial Majesty but a tradesman's
daughter i^ '

" ' Vou for;.;et, Mailame.' I exclaimed, hau<^htily,
'that I am Casimir Zamoyski's wife.'

" ■ Alas,' she replied, ' I must remember it now for
the remainder of my life. But since you have come
on such a mission, pray be seated.'

" I stood frii^idly erect for the space of a moment
and then sat down. I was sorely tempted to turn
my back upon the Countess and leave her jjrcsence
forever; but for Casimir's sake I was obliged to
conquer my ])riile and st;iy.

" ' Vou say.' said the Countess, when I had taken
a seat, 'that Casimir has been ill. What was the
trouble? '

"'A slow fever, brought on by overwork and
worry.'

" .\ swift wave of color mantled the face of the
Countess at my words. Her eyes strayed over the
inlaid floor, partly covered with a Persian carf)et ;
over the tables of marcjueterie, onyx and orninln,
on which many elegant tritles were placed ; over the

l'>

lA'nir.V/iD AT ELIM.

'X\

valuable ]>iituics wliicli ilccoratcd the walls; over
the statuary and all the c\ i knees of weaUli in tliat
sumptuous apaitmeiit, aul she sighed. 1 knew she
\v IS thinking tliat wiiilc she was siirrountled by all
this cleganec lier eldest son was dying of over.voik.

"• \ou must l)e weary,' she said al length, and I
was surprised at tlie S\veetnes> of ihe tone. ' .Mlow
me to show you to the room whieh will now he
vours. It wasCasimir's '- )om when he was at home
and I have never allowed any one to oeeupy it since
he went away. V>»u will h.ive an hour to rest before
dressing for dinner. It was fortunate you found us
in town, as we are always at the Islands in summer;
buttheeity will be the seene of many festivities for
the next few days, as the ("iiand Duchess Olga is to
be married on the 14-th. You will see the Czar then,
.and vou will be able to form some idea of what he is
like.' When we had gone up stairs, she said : 'This
is your room; I shall send my maid to you when it is
time to dress. You will meet Count StroganotT at
dinner, as well as <nir son Ivan and his wife, who
dine with us to-night.'"

"And how did you like the others?" asked the
minister. "Was Count StroganotT as haughty as
his wife ? "

" He said so little to me that I was a long time
forming any opinion regarding him. Ivan was a
handsome, dasliing fellow, with never a serious
thouglit in his head, however. His wife, Madame
la PriuL-css (Catherine, they called her) was reserved
and cold, atul evidently held me mentally at arm's
length, as if I were not of their caste. But I soon
met lots like Madame la Princess. I was plunged

ill

O-l.

C" A' ' >

:i:i) AT i:lim.

at once amou;^^ <rrcal folk. Tlic ciiy tliat week
was filled with dist-n^u^uishecl personages, and their
presence lent additional lustre to the grand military
review, which was held a few days after I arrived.
The Ministers and Envoys Extraordinary, the Pleni-
potentiaries and other high dignitaries appeared in
gorgeous dress. I drove to the review in the Stro-
ganoff carriage, which was a very luxurious one
drawn by four horses. The glittering l.cjst was a
sight to see. ])ut I was looking for one person.

" ' Is that Hislinj)erird Majesty? ' I asked eagerly,
as I saw the people bowing and doffing their hats to
a personage in the procession. .\nd then, forgetting
that he was within ea-shot and niigh, overhear me,
I thoug.,aessly added, ' He is the handsomest man I
have seen since I came to St. Petersburg '

" Hush,' whispered the Countess; 'he will hear
you'; and the other occupants of the carriage Icjoked
at me in displeased surprise. I saw that I had
thoughtlessly committed a grave offence, and to add
to my confusion, the Emperor turned his head and
looked directly at me. I had spoken in English.
Could it be possil)le that he had overheard? When
the Czar and his guard of honor had passed, Madame
la Princess turned to me and said, with curled lip:

'"Is it customary in your country to ])ass re-
marks about your sovereigns in their presence? '

'"I spoke in English; it is doubtful if he under-
stood me.' I answered, carelessly, 'and if he did,
it was no great crime to say he is handsome.'

'"Vou forget you are speaking about the Czar.
No one in all Russia would have had the effrontery
to sav what vou did.'

I''

CRowxEF) .\T i:lim.

"'Then I hold the uiiiciue jjosition of being (" i-
ferent from eij^hty millions ot" ])coi)le.'

" ' "^'ou hold tlie uni(ine jjosition ot" being the
target f(jr the Czar's disijknsure. I d(j not suppose
3'our olTenee merits a sojourn in Siberia, but a.iy
favor YOU are looking forward to reeeiving from His
Majesty is doomed.'

"So, despite my indifferent manner, I was very
uneasy; and to make matters worse, the Coimtess
again reverted to the subjcet on our return home;
saying how ver\' rude it was to pass such remarks
in the presence of royalty, and confirming Catherine's
opinion that the unfortunate remark would injure
my cause."

" .\nd did you speak to the Czar? "

"Oh, 3'es, I must tell 3'ou about it. On the even-
ing of the wedding there was a grand ball given by
theEmporer at Michael Palace. In one of the salons
opening from the ])all room, foreign diplomats and
other distinguished persons were being presented
to their Imperial Majesties by the grand master of
Court ceremonies. The reproof of the Countess had
left me in a state of nervous dread. I trembled in
anticipation of the ordeal of being presented. At
last my turn came. How I accpiitted myself I do
not know. I have a confused recollection of glancing
up for a moment at the noble, haughty face of the
Kmi^orer, which yet I fancied looked at me not un-
kindly. Of the Empress, try impression is even more
vague. Her Majesty spoke a few gracious words to
me, and her sweet gentle manner helped somewhat
to restore my composure, .\fter the ordeal was over
I looked up at the Countess, w'm) \ as by my side,

I ,

,\ il

'JC

Chu) \y.\i:i) A T i:i.i M .

and was rewarded witli a smile. I'' llicrc had 1>eeii
an_vthin^ amiss in my manner it had escaped those
critical eves. We passed with the imp()sin^^ _L,ditter-
in^ tb.ron;.^ to the ball room, where we saw at some
distance Catherine eii<j;aj,a'd in conversation with
Prince Dol^orouki. After we had been introduced,
he re(]ue'>tc 1 the favor of the next waltz. I was
almost afraid to dance with a real live prince, l)iit
when the strains of the orchestra were heard we
<j:lided down the lenj^thy <j:allery. On, on, we swept
into that fairy world of gav costumes, flowers and
troi)ical plants. It was my first 1 all, for I married
befxre I was old enough to go into society, and for
a time the splendor and novelty thrilled me with
pleasure. But when I thought of Casimir and of
the task I had still to perform, thf^ dance lost its
novelty and the evening was stripped ofits splendf^r.
"When the waltz was over, I slijjped av/ay alone
to an artificial grove of palm, banana, and orange
trees. The lights, the music, the giddy crowd had
become wearying. There the air was cool with the
spray of fountains. A few steps further brought me
to a delightful retreat. It was a miniature ])avili()n
])artly formed of glass. The view from the window
was in marked contrast to the scene within. The
moonlight, in that northern latitude so clear and so
brilliant, lighted up the many domes of St. Peters-
])urg and turned the Neva into a sheet of molten
silver. For some moments I stood gazing in wonder
at the magic light. Then someone approached and
stood beside me, but I was so engrossed with the
scene that for a moment I did not look uj), and v.hen
I did so I was amazed to find the Emporer standing

c'A'oir.v/;/; xr i:i.i\f.

')csI(kMiic. I welconitnl him with a smile of recogni-
tion, and a,<;ain my eyes reverted to the window.
We did not speak. It seemed that any sound, how-
c.ersHght, would mar that magic spell. I did not
seem to realize that I was standing in the presence of
the monarch oi all the Rnssias. My former fear
of liim was gone. For some indefinable reason, it
seemed that the Emi)eror. the imperious monarch,
the haughty autocrat, had remained in the reception
room, and that the person who stood beside me was
endowed with human feelings like myself, and had a
heart also alive to the beauties of that Polar night.
When I should tell that monarch out in the rccepticm
roorii abi)Ut Casimir and ask pardon for his offence,
there would have to be an interi)reter and a k)t of
ceremonies; but I might tell this person who was
looking out on the Neva all about our trouble and
he would understand. With my mind filled with
these thoughts I looketl up (juestioningly into his
face. His lips parted in a soft grave smile as he said

in English :

" ' Vou enjoy this view, Madame Zamoyski.
vou find it different from views in England?'

"'This brilliant moonlight is something (juitc
novel to me,' I answered; 'but I have been living in
Paris ft)r two years.' And then, imjielled by some
power w Inch I Iiave never been able to define, I told
him mv storv and why I had come to St. Petersburg.
I kept nothing back, but told him of leaving my
home in London; t)f going to Paris; of Casimir's
struggles tt) earn a livelihood; of our little home,
and finally of my husband's illness. .\s I talked, the
Emi)eror's grave eyes never left my face. He listened

\i\\

CKOWXHD AT LLIM.

intently to every word, and when I finished he merely
said, ' Vou will hear from me in the morning.' Then,
bowing gravely, he withdrew.

" The remainder of the ball was as a dream. I
hovered eontinually between joy and desj)air. One
moment I imagined that the Emperor would grant
Casimir's pardon, and the next I was reproaehing
myself for my jiresumption in speaking to him.

" When I .awoke the next morning, I half faneied
tliat the events of the previous evening must have
i)een a dream. In the practieal light of eommon day
it seemed ineredible that I should have been talking
to the Czar in that moon-flooded pavilion. The
wonderful lights, the tropieal gr<*ve, the fountains,
and the musie must surely have l)een a beautiful
dream. But through the half ojxned door of tlie
wardrobe, I could see the white silk gown wliieli I
Iiad worn, while on the bureau was the pearl neck-
lace which the Countess had given me and which I
had l)een too tired to put awaj'. On the table, how-
ever, lay a legal looking document which I had never
seen before. I eagerly opened it and saw affixed to
the Emperor's signature the huge red serd of the
Empire. ' His Imperial Majesty, Emporer Xicliohas,
has deigned to command that the edict against
Casimir Zamoyski shall be withdrawn.' 1 waited
to read no more, but rushed with the })recious docu-
ment into Countess StroganotT's boudoir, and in tlie
exuberance of my joy, I threw my arms about her
(•race's neck, exclaiming:

" 'Casimir is ])ardoned I He may really come to
St. Petersburg. Are you not ghid? P'o you not
rcj<nce with me? '

CA''^)U'A7;7^ AT ELIM.

'.)9

"At ni_\- warm ^reclin;^^ tlic Countess sliivered.
Eviilcntly slic could iu)t have ])c'cii more sliocked had
otic of Ikt maids embraced licr. I cannot tell you,
Mr. Mc()lashan, what a painful surjjrisc that was to
*ne. I liad noticed all alon^' that they found it very
difficult to Hi.d^e me one of them : hut I thouLrht tliat
when they found that I was educated and refined as
well as they, tliat thcw would lie lenient to (what
they thought) my lowly birth. And then I had been
so lonely since leaving >'aris, and I thought i)erhaps
the Countess w:)u]d show me a little alTection when
I had been the means of getting Casimir's pardon,
but — I was a plebian ; between the jilebian and the
{)atrician there was a wide gulf iixcd, over which
neither could cross. However, I told her briefly of
my interview with the Czar and its result. When
Casimir arrived, the Stroganoffs were very kind to
him. Even his step-father gave him a c(^rdial wel-
come. The Czar was kind, too, and offered him the
position which his father had held. And though he
did not like the idea of remaining permanently in
Russia, yet, under the circumstances, he was glad
to accept it. .Mtogether, we should have been very
happy in St. Petersburg, only for the coolness of the
Stroganoffs to me."

"Did they not become more friendly towards
you?"

"No, I think matters were becoming even worse
as time went on, till the birth of our little Trema.
She was a most engaging child and the Countess
became passionately fond of her. One day she said •
'This diminutive representative of the house of
Zamoyski unites in her small person all the beaut3'

I ■■ I

inr

100 ck'>]v\!:n .\r f.lim.

and <j:rnec of her illustrious nticestors.' And thoup;h
it was only a <,n-a!i<linothcr's eyes which could see
sucli clianns, still it shows ho\v fotid the Countess
was of her little grandd.'uv^'hter. In disijosilion,
Trenia was the very antithesis of her liule cousin,
Ivan StroganotT. who was then three years old. He
would have none of the Countess' jjettitiL;, st) she
paid less attention t^) him, and Trenia l)ecanie her
heart's idol. One day, when Trenia was eiL;ht years
old, we were all together on the lawn at tlie suniaier
home of the StroganotTs, and Trema ran x\\) to the
Countess and said : ' Let me whis])er a secret to yt)U,
grandmamma'; and in a moment her Grace's merry
lausih rauLT (nit in the summer air. No one had
the power to make the Countess young and gay li'Ke
her little grand(haughter. Catherine watched tlic
cliild pirouetting in front of her— her gol'.len hair
glinting in the sunshine, her blue eyes sparkling at
some mischief she was concocting— and lier eyes grew
dark with hatred. I saw her whispering to her
husband. What she said 1 do not know, but from
that time she took active measures to estrange the
Countess and myself. I know now that she was
determined that we should be ousted from StroganotY
Palace. During the two years which followed, I
suflfered nu)re humiliation than often falls to the lot
of a .single individual. And in the end Catherine
succeeded in her desire. The climax came suddenly.
The Countess and myself had jtist had a l)itter
(piarrel, when Casimir came in wi'.h his fice stern
and white, and said to me: 'That woman, C;itherine,
wants us a.way from here. She hr.s concocied the
most diabolical plot. With Volkou^-ki's assistance,

CR(~>\y\r:i) at i:lim.

lol

she has circulated a story that I h.ivc formed a
consiMracy to assassinate tlie Czar. I cannot tell
you Jic (ietai's. f -r I am not safe another hour in
r.:>sia. If I were sure of stancHng a trial, I would
defv Catherine and all her minions. But one is never
sure of anythins; in this country. A carriai,^e is at
the door and we must be away from here in half an
hour. Where is Trenia? She must bid her gran. 1-
manima goodbye.' And Trema. all unconscious of
what had transpired in the past hour, came in from
the lawn leisurely swinging her hat in her hand.
But she was quickly put into a traveling costume
by her dyatka, and before she hid time to wonder
w'hat it all meant, the Countess had kissed her good-
bye, she was lifted into a closed carriage and we
v>'cre off to Prince Czartoryski's estate in Galicia.
I shall never forget that journey. Fven now I can-
not recall it without a shudder. I am glad that we
are divided f "om it by six years of time, and that we
have at last found such a peaceful spot in which to
live as Riverside. But do you know, Mr. McGlashan,
that we never finished our discussion on absolute
and program music ? "

"What you have told me of your experiences in
St. Petersburg has been much more interesting than
any discussion. I am sure you were very brave
to go alone to Russia on such an errand, and it is
pleasant to know that you were successful, though
you had so many trials after. But wdiat a change
it was for vou to come to Canada. Vou would find
it very dull here."

"You refer to the change in society. Oh yes, it
was a great change, though we had some nice friends

^^iil

! /,

102

Ch'(>w\i:n AT F.i.nt.

wliilc wc lived in Totonto. But here at Riverside
the h)tieHness is to me ahnost tinbearahlc, hut tnv
husl)and likes the (juietiiess and so I try to he con-
tented for his e.ake. I love to mix in the society in
which we moved at St. Petersbur^j:. I would forj^'ct
all my petty grievances when I was in such dis-
tinguished comi)aiiy. Hut it is all over now,"
Madame Zamoyski ended with a sigh.

"Oh, one may spend a very pleasant and busy
life in Riverside." said the minister, thinking of all the
plans he had formed and been obliged to abandon
because of lack of time. " And that reminds me that
I have still two sermons to look over for to-morrow.
I hope Mr. Zamoyski will be feeling better in a few
days." Saying which, the minister picked up his hat
and strode quickly away to the manse.

CR<>W.\L:d at ICLIM.

lu:!

CHAPTER IX.

STEWART CAIRNS drove Trema home Monday
morning, and Beth accompanied them, as she
wished to make some ])urchases in town. They
reached Vinemount in time for luncheon.

"You must have had a delightful drive on Satur-
day," Madame Zamoyski said to her daughter, when
there was a lull in the si)irited conversation which
the 3'oung people had been carrying on.

Trema bent her head slightly forward, while her
wavy hair partly hid her blushing face. She seemed
absorbed in a bunch tjf grapes. It was late in the
season for grapes and they were (juite a luxury, so
she held the bunch with one hand and selected a
grape with great care.

"It was," she said, lifting her head in a proud
way, as if thereby she might stop the color from
further mantling her face. " It was indeed delightful.
I shall alwa\'s remember that drive. Rut when we
got there, Jamie— the little r:)gue— who had been
hiding beliind the big gate, hit me in the back of the
neck with a snowball. He thought it was father
who was with me, and when he saw that it was Mr.
Mc 'ilashan

" He ran and hid ? "

" Xo, indeed I He got more snowballs read v. But

»i

Ij^ ',

11,4- CA''M|-.V/./' 17" I.I.IM.

1 Icfl tlR- srciic of" the tray wIktc the l)alls were living
fast.'ind furious, and ran in to g^'t Hclh lo lifli» tisli
the snow out ot in\ Waek. We didn't sueeeed very
well either, did we, I'.elh? But then wliat we didn't
uet out, I soon warmed up."
" How dreadful!"

Trcuia ^^ive iier shoulders an almost impercept-
ible shru;;. •' Wlial would you have, tropic weather
all the time? Am I not inured to cold ? Did I not
spend the iirsl ten years of my existence in I'eters-
burLT? And Canada can't hold a candle to Tclcrs-
bur^ for cold. But, maimna, will you i)lease excuse
us now? For Belli has a bij; pro-gramme to fill be-
fore she returns this afternoon, and Stewart has a
pr(^^ramnie of liis own to look alter."

••Well, well, I suppose you are off a>,^'lin with
Beth. Really, Trenia. yuu are 5,'ettin-,- to be (luitc a
gadabout."

"Gadabout! Just think of it ! It is so easy to
1)0 a gadabout in a place the size of Riverside." And
they all laughetl at the expression of mock disgust
on Trema's face.

After Stewar'c and the girls left, Madame Zamov-
ski still lingerci! <>\cr her coffee. She was thinking.
She tapped the carj-ct impatiently and jjuckcred her
e3'ebrows in jierplexity.

"What has co'.iie to tne child?" she said aloud.
"Unaccountable and even foolish as it may seem, the
fact remains that in the two days that Trema has
])een awav she seems to have taken on a new loveli-
ness. To her beauty has been added a charming
reticence which covers even her playful vivacity like
a veil. W"iiat can it mean? Nothing, likely, except

Ch'i>\v.\i:i) ,\i I'.i.iM.

lor,

that she is ^Towiii;^' ()!(1(.t .'ind I iit-vcr clianccd l"
notice it Ix-forc. Hut," she t-iukd with a si^^li, "what
matters 1)cauty. or charms, or talents in a jihicc hkc
Kivcrsiik?" Tlicii, hkc a flasli, a thoii;^ht canic.
She wouhl write to tlic Conutess anil try to hrin^^
al)out a recoiKili.'itiiMi, when doubtless her (iracc
would inviic Treina to St. IVtershurji, where her
heanty would certaiidy brin^^ her a title. Madame
Zanioyski felt that to see her dauijhter mistress of a
mansion in the City of the Czars would be sulTieieiit
reward for the life she was enduring at Kiverside.
r.chind this plan there lurked the hope that shouM
it succeed, she would be able to end this exile a_u;aiu>-t
which her whole nature revolted. I-"'or it was an
exile. Try as she w(ndd. strive as she nii;.;ht, she
could nf) longer cheat herself into thinkingotherwise.
How she hated it all— the country village, the still
fields, the babbling river, the endless woods. She
liated, too, the grave people who made up her Httle
world; she hatei. their stolid faces and slow ways.
If something would only hapjjcn ; if she might get
another glimpse of real society; attend an opera,
or a reception! Delusive dream! Nothing ever
hajjpjiis or ever will happen. Sotne da\' a countrv
dame may come to sell butter, and during the trans-
action she will detail the news of the counlrv-side.
Perhaps some time there may be a ♦ea-meeting at
the kirk and then the slow days will drag on again ;
and she will rise in the morning to go through the
same duties, to read the same books, and to play the
same music as have occupied her since coming to the
village. And she is still young; the years have left
no trace upon her beauty. Many years yet remained

■ I

I'S ,

!■.

ino

CA-'MJ-.V/;/) AT i:i.iM.

iu whicli she iniKl't tiiioy life, but luiv slif was—
c.ii;«.'(i in Kivcr-itk'.

••( )li, Idw I hale il!" s-hc (.-M-lainK-d, brinKin^' tier
closid liaiid down on the aim of her (.hair, w illi a
tliuil lliaL set lur riii-s a-tiiikUii;^. Then she hioked
utnltilv around. What if Casiniir slioulil hear her?
r.nt lie eaniiot hear her; lie is in his room, and lie
i;iust iioi know how slie iletests the stujjid little
plaee; lor he is happv here, and did she not say lon-^
a^o that she w;is willin;^' to go anywhere, to sulller
anvthing, so lonj,' as he was with her. Ah, yes, hut
she was vouiig then and she did not realize what she
was proinisin^^. Oii, tor aiMther taste of the gay
lite whieh she had led during tho^e years in Russia.
True, her days hail been made bitlei by negleet, but
better so than this monotonous cxisu-nee. Tlie very
thought of what might be tilled her luart with hope;
her laee was all .aglow with animation as she rose at
last and rang the bell.

"Has vour m.aster had luneheon ? " she .asked,
when Ilann.ah appeare(b

" Xo, whan I took uj) the tray he wudn.a hae it
ava, but he said that aitler a wee whilie, n.ae (loot,
ye wud tak him up a bit sup."

"Oh, I sec, "said Madame Zamoyski, smiling, "he
wants me to prepare him something inyselt." Then
to herself she added softly, "He h.as not forgotten
the Paris (hiys."

So slie went into the kitchen, and soon Ilannali
\Yas looking on wonderingly at tlie dainty concoc-
tions which appeared uuiler the ouiUful hands of her
mistress. In a short time a snowy cloth was laid
on the trav, the dishes were arranged attractive'y

Ch.'(>\V\/:!) \T I'.l.iM.

and thin Miri.im went into tlit- fonservatory to get
a sniall l)on(iuct. As slic arranged tlie delicate fronds
of a inaidenliair fern about the half-bh)\vn bud of a
fragrant tea rose, she said confidently:

"He will be de'igiited with this little boucjuet
and will enjoy the lunch, for I have j)re|)ared his
favorite dishes. Wliile he is eating it, I will broach
the subject of writing to his mother."

When she lai 1 the tray on a low table b • his side
he looked up at luT with his winning smile. " What
a perfect lillle wife you are! Hann.ih l)r(nig!it tne
some lunch a 'vhile ago, but the very sight of it took
iny .•i])petite away. .\'ow this linich looks so teinpt-
itig that I shall have to eat it whetlur I want it or
not. Hut do you know what I think? Vou have
missed your c.illing; yon should have ])een a nurse.
What a treasure you woidd h.'.ve been out in the
Crimea last y.ir. I'lorence Nightingale would have
had to divi'le the lionors with you. It is too bad to
waste your gifts on just poor in. igniticant me."

"Do you know what I think, I'an Zamoyski?"
Madame Zamoyski answered, smilijig nn'schievously.
"I think you are not very ill, or y 'U would not be
ab!e to think of so many jiretty things to say. I am
going to tell I'r. Bl.iir that he is just petting you
up, telling you that vou luust keep to your room
for so many (hays."

"I wish you would carry out your threat right
away, for I would like nothing better than to get up
for dinner to-night. It is anything but pleasant to
lie all (hay and stare at the wall jjaper, till you fancy
monkeys' faces are grinning at n'ou."

" You poor boy ! Why did you not tell me that

I !

'i 1

li /:

108 C/?OU'.V/;/) .IT ELIM.

you were lonesome? I'll k" «i"'-^ g^t a book and read
to you. Prose or poetry? Poetry! oh dear, that is
my penance for offering to read to you."

While getting the book, she thought, "He does
look ill; he is (piite feverish. I must not mention
anything that will excite him; I cannot speak of it
to him to-day."

The days 'isscd, and Madame Zamoyski did not
get an opportunity to mention the subject which
now (occupied so many of her thoughts. She had
not thought, at first, that it would be a difficult
matter; but the ^-ery mention of his home always
brought painful tlioughts, and by tacit agreement
St. Petersburg was never spoken of between them.
But one day after dinner, Casimir was sitting in the
drawing room looking out of the window, and said:

"How beautiful the country is; the snow stays
so pure and white."

"Yes," Madame Zamoyski replied, "and does not
that clump of larch ami .>pruce remind you of the
little thicket near the arbor at ' Dulce far Niente'?"
" Yes. there is a resemblance, but I am sorry you
called my attention to it, for I am afraid that I will
think of ' Dulce far Niente' now every time I look at
those trees, and if 1 hod to think every day of the
villa, and of Stroganoff Palace, and of it a//," throw-
ing out his hands wearily, "I am sure it would kill
me. What is that you are singing, Trema ?

"' Billing, cooing.
Punting, wooing.
Melting murmurs till the grove.'

" I thought you said not long since that you disliked
Acis and Galatea, that it was only fit for people to

CROWM-n AT KLIM.

in'.t

sing who lived in Arcady. Won't you ])lc'asc plav im-
that selection from Wagner tliat you were fingering
so softly this afternoon ? "

While her husband was speaking, Madame Za-
moyski thought: "If he dislikes St. Petersburg so
much, how can I ever suggest sending Trema there? "

Trenia pla^'ed as her father bade her, and when
he complained of feeling chilly and went off to the
li))rary where a grate fire burned brightlv, she still
played on. Half an hour later, Madame Zamoyski
lifted her head from the book she was reading and
listened. What was the child singing? The words
came softly, dreamily :

"The wind is whisi^erinij low, my love,
The moon is rising slow, my love;
And I, k>ve, thy true love,
Am keeping watch o'er thee."

How tenderly she sang the little serenade. Surely it
could not be. Wcis she already too late? Had the

child ? No, it could not be. There was no one in

the whole countryside who would be likely to steal
Trema's foolish little heart. ThusMadameZaraoyski
cast her suspicions from her and went on reading her
book.

U I II

■ i.j]

110

LK(J\V^i.^O AT ELIM.

CHAPTER X.

CHRISTMAS wris : ;)proaching. Every village
and town w;.- n a flutter of ])rcparati()n.
I)()\vn the river, a settlement oi Cn^rnians was
])reparing for Santa Claus. A few miles away a
little eolony of Swedes was niakin<>^ extensive ]ire-
parations for the festive season. Jiil^rnucn will be
loaded down with presents, nm] Julhonlct \--ill have
toothsome dainties sueh as only come on that day of
days. At Riverside, tlie festivities were to culminate
in a Sunday-seh*»ol social, which included a Clirist-
mas tree.

As the twilight deepened on the eventful after-
noon, busy v.orkers were putting finishing touches
to the school room, which was gorgeous in its holi-
day attire. Tlie tree — or more ])ro])erly, arcli — was
laden with books, and dolls, and games, which would
gladden the hearts an 1 brighten the cn'CS of tlie littL-
people a couple of hours hence. In the center of the
arch, and supi)orted and canopied by it, seats were
built tier above tier. Here the scholars would sit
and raise their sv.eet young voices in hymn, and
carol, and sacred song; driving care and thought
from the older, graver faces, bringing back h ippy
memories of days long past. In the church |)i'oper,
rehearsals had been going forward, as it was the

CKOWXEI) AT r.LlM.

only place where the childreii could sing utidisturhcd.
A str !1 inelodiati had been taken in tor the r-diearsal
andTremaZamoyski was organist. Charlie Kinnear
had been working like a Trojan all morning, lifting
and arranging scats, and helping tc get the arch iti
])laee; afterwards, he was director at the rehearsal.
Bnt it was all over now. Taken altogether, it had
been a success; the little peo])le were gone and in the
dim light of the cpiiet kirk the organist and director
stood by the communion table. It occupied the
space just in front of the precentor's desk, and it
was now i)iled high with white roses, chrysanthe-
mums, ferns and palms — a Popish innovation, by
some directly tra.ced to the Zamoyskis, but that
would be another story. The organist was radiant
at the success of the rehearsal, for up to this after-
noon the scholars had given a great deal of troul)le;
the director was basking in her smiles and trying to

forget h

She bent her head for a

moment above a fragrant tea rose; someone opened
the vestry door and closed it again, quickly. It was
not a startling picture on which tlie minister had
looked — sim])ly a fair face liending al)ove a bank of
flowers, and standing by her side, and slightly bend-
ing lorward to(» a tall handsome young man. In
fact, the incident was so trivial that the two partici-
pants never thought of it a second time, and yet it
was sulBeient to raise dreaded possibilities in a
young minister's mind. It would only need such a
little change to make it a woeful scene for liim. She
would be standing in tliat verv spot, in just that
attitude, oidy slie would likely be dressed in white
instead of black velvet and ermine, and a veil would

II i,

IIL'

CRowxr:!) AT i:lim.

cover her liliisliiiiir face. A few friends would ])e

standing near, and Cliarlic would be looking gravely
serious as became tlie solemn occasion. And he — he

would be holding the Xo ! he would not, he

could not perform the ceremony.

" Are you jealous of Charlie? " a voice seemed to
ask in his ear.

" Xo, I am not jealous. I think jealousy a con-
temptible trait in anyf)ne's character."

" Then why are you so annoyed at a ])icture you
have just conjured up in your own brain ? "

" I'l" "-.noyed because I wanted to speak to her
about t^ ogramnie, and he is talking to her. He
is always tall ing to her."

" But surely it is not a private matter. Charlie
wouldn't mind being interrupted for a moment."

"Oh, bother! I've worried myself into a tit
of nervousness over this programme. Everybody
wants to do scnnething they can't do, and do not
want to do anything they can do. I think, though,
1 shall have to leave it as it is."

Thus he thought to stifle that voice which
seemecl to have a way of asking unanswerable
(piestions. Rut tliough the voice ceaseti, the vision
would not be reasoned away. It ttirmented him
the whole evening; it was brought vividly back
as he saw Charlie and Trema helping to serve the
tables ; it haunted him as he assisted the superinten-
dent to get die children in their proper places on the
l)latform, and it even came between him and the
people when, as chairman, he was in tlie midst of
his opening address; it was painted on the darkness
in midnight's ([uiet hour, and it was ^)nly when the

Ch'nWXnn AT ELIM.

113

)

li^^^lit of a new (1,'iy appeared that he diseovered that
he had 1)ceii a very iooHsh yotniij; man. After all,
what had he to fear? Cireuinstanees in coniieetion
with the soeial had thrown Trema and Charlie very
niueh together, but it was over now and— he was
glad.

Duties in connection with his congregation and
with his work among the boys kept him very busy
f<^r the next few days, so bus\' that he found that he
would have little time to jjrejjrire for his annual
congregational " .\t Home." For since coming to
Riverside, each Xew Year's eve he had thrown open
the Manse to his peojjle. He liked to have them ; he
liked to see tiieir hap^jv faces and hear their merry
laughter. These evenings seemed to light the rooms
with a brightness that lingered about them during
all the gloomy after days of winter.

The minisUT confided his difficulty to Casimir
Zamoyski.

"It really seems as if I do not know what to do
to entertain my ])eople this year. I think I have
exhausted every form of entertainment in previous
years, and I am really so busy that I have not time
to think of aTiything new. I am sure thev will be
disap])ointed if there is no special entertainment
provided for them."

"If you will allow me, I \\\\\ gladly do whrit I
can to help you," Casimir answered, "only I slK)uld
want some lady's assistance, and Madame Zamoyski
is busy these days."

Mrs. Strachan, however, offered to help Casimir
provide sf)mc amusement for the 3'oung people who
would be at the minister's social. But what the

cr<>\v.\i:d at f.lim.

lid l)c, thcv refused

nature of that aimisemeut would
to disclose.

On New Year's Eve the Manse was crowded.
When all had assembled, each of the youn.L,' people
was given a slip of ])aper on which a figure was
written, and they were informed by the master ot
ceremonies — Casimir Zamoyski — that these slips
would admit them to a Xut Shaking, which was
to take i)lace in the drawing room. So they fded
into the room, eager and curious, and wondermg
much wdiat c Xut Shaking might be. They found a
Large evergreen tree at one end of the room, with
nuts placed in every avail;d)le spot among the twigs,
and they noticed that some were English walnuts
and had' slips of paper fastened around tliem.

"Now," said Casimir, "will the person wdio has
the paper marked No. 1, come and stand under the
tree?"

Stewart Cairns had the fateful number, and he
came forward, ])lush ix^^ very much, and evidently
not at all liking tlu' conspicuous position in which
he found himself.

"Now, hold out your hands and catch as many
nuts as you can." The tree was given a gentle
shake. " How many ? ''''
"Seven."

"A fortunate number. It means the possession
of the gifts most desired by the nut-gatherer. There
is a slip of paper on one cf the nuts ; let us hear
what is on it, and if you am tell the name of the
author from which the (piotation is taken, you .vill
l)e i)rivilcged to take p-art in the yacht race which
follows later."

I
I

CRow\ED .ir i:lim.

iir.

So, blushing more furiously still, Stewrii t read :

"'Out upon it, I have loved

Three wliole <1:i\s together;
And am like to love three more,

If it prove fair weather.
Time shall moult bis wings away,

Ere he shall (lis -over.
In the whole wide world aj^ain,

Such a cotistaiit lover.'"

Amid much laughinj^, jxior Stewart sat down.

" But the author? Vou didn't tell us the autlior?^
You do not know ! That is too bad.'"

No. 2 was Dr. Rlair, and he came forward trying
to feel dignified as usual, but he did not svicceed very
well. Again the tree was shaken.

"Four nuts! That means great wealth. We
congratulate you, Doctor. You are evidently going
to have lots of practice, even in healthful Riverside."

The doctor (jpened his slip of paper and read :

"'Oh, how hard it is to find

The one just suited to our niiud.'"

The quotation amused him as well as the others.
and he joined in the laugh which followed.

"The author is Campbell." he s^iid. "which

1 - 1 1 .'ii j^, ;,,;., :., it,„ ,.„.i, » ..-,. —

does it iiot ? "

Hilda Rain was next, and the number of nuts
which fell to her was six. She would be famous as
an artist, author or musician. Among her nuts also
was one which was enveloped in the mystical paper.
She opened it and tremblingly read :

"'One of those bright, bewitching little creatures.
Who, if she once but shyly looked and smiled,
Would soften out the ruggedest of features.'"

I'M

CRo\v\r:n at f.i.im.

"I think it was I'ollock who wrote that," she
said, h)okin^' up siiylv at Casiinir Z.imoyski.

•' Vou arc riglit. Tliat makes two for tlic yaelit
race."

"Hravo: i)rav()! Hilda!" cried tlie boys, as she

took lier seat.

Many others followed, all looking n.ore or less
ill at their ease as they stood under the tree, the
center of all eyes. But if a (jiiotation canie to them,
they always opened it ea.-ierly, as if the words were
really applicable to them and revealed some phase
of their life or chaiacter.

•'Number IG," called Casimir, and Charlie Kin-
near came forwar( . Imvc nuts were his jjortion,
which, he was told, meant a voya.ge across the sea.
He, too. got a quoLation ; it read :

"May I a sina.l house and larj,'f garden have'
.•\nii a few friends, and many hooks; Ijolh true,
Roth wise ami both delightful t.io^
And since love nc er from me will tlee,
A inistress, moderately fair
And good as guardian angels are-
Only beloved and loving me?"

This quotation caused much laughter at Charlie's
expense, but he s|,v,.ve u]) bravely :

"It is just what I would choose anyway, if t!ie
Fates gave me my choice out of tlicir s.oreliouse of
good things. And I know who wrotj it; it was
Cowley."

"("i(^od for you, Charlie!" cried his friends.

Trcma was next.

"just two nuts," said her father. " \V<.-11 that

nicnns an e

arlv

marriage.

at which she bluslied

CRowxnn \ r i:i.r.\r.

117

deeply, "but you are more forlunate than the
others, for eaeli nut has a ([notation."
She opened one shp .'uid read gravely:

•"Who is Sylvia' Wlial is slie ?

That all oiir swains comtuciid her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she.
The heavens such t;r.'icc did lend her
That slie inii^ht admired be.'"

" It is Shakespeare, of course; " ami tlien added,
after opening the second slip, " But this other paper
— I do not need to read it."

"Oh, yes! yes I " everyone exclaimed.

" Hut it should have fallen to a gentleman," she
said, blushing ])ainfully.

" I will read it," David McCilashan szdd, stejjping
to her side :

" ' Chose I a wife,
I'd have her— perhaps fair, certainly gentle,
True, if 't were possible; and tender — oh!
As daylight when it nielts in eveninji seas.
The waves all dark with siunibcr.'"

"Thank you," she said softly, lifting her eyes
suffused with a happy light to his face; then drop-
ping them again, she continued, "The lines are not
familiar to me, I cannot tell the author," and moved
to her seat so gravely quiet that no one felt inclined
to tease her.

Beth came next, and as she took her ])l.'ice,
Casimir said :

" I think I must have given the tree but a very
gentle touch last time," and he gave it such a
vigorous shake tluit the nuts fell like rrun. Tliey
clung in the ccjils of her hair, in the frills about her

118

CRo ir.\ /. /( .1 r n i.f.M .

shoulders, nnd in litr hands — tourlfcri i i all.

And

only one." she said, ruetully, " with a ciuotation."
It read :

" kiiidiu'ss ill women, not their Ijcautcous looks,
.Siiall win .ny love."

" It is from Shakespeare. But, Mr. Zaiiioyski,
what do fourteen nuts mean?"

"SomethinL^ very ^.^ood, indeed. If seven is the
charmed number, twice seven is even hetter. It is
marriajj:e, riches, honor— everything th.it is good."
So, smiling and haopy, Beth took her seat beside
Treina. Hut Trema liad made a discovery.

"See, Iktli ! I've crackeil these nuts and one o{
them is double. Mrs. Strachan," turning to that
lady, " What do three mils mean?"

"A legacy, Miss Trema."

"Then my foriime is changed."

" Xo, it isn't, Trema," Stewart Cairns whis])ered
over. " It means an early marriage first and a legacy
afterwards."

"Oil, you dreadful boy! How smart you are!"

.Meanwhile, Matthew Carruth \vas waiting for
the gilts the Fates might send him. He wiis an
elder and a bachelor, and being the su|icrintendent
of the Sunday School, he %vas not (juite sure if it
were a proper thing to take part in an amusement
which seemed to have an adinity with the rites of
soothsayers. The pai)er, besides, which he held in
his hand had something uncanny about it. Whv,
of all the quotations, should this one have come to

him ?

•'Tlie old wound, if stricken, is the sorest,
The old hope hardest to be lost."

1'^

c'A'" \v.\i: n \ T i:lim.

1 !'.•

It scciiR'd to jji-ovc lliat there was some evil
^^eiiiiis presidiii;:^ over the ^aine. So lie stood for a
iiiKineiit h)oI;iii;^ at the eniiipany over his ;^hisses
and iVoin out the pent-house ol his slia^^L'^y eyebrows,
;md tlien he said solemnly :

"Ma freends, I juist camia say that, this n^ame is
a proper ane tae Iic jilayed in the hoose o' oor meen-
istcr. No tlial I wud east a ;;lum ower sir bonnie
I faees," iiotinLj the startled look whieh luul crept over

- some of the eountenanees ; "hut it seems tae me tae

be talikin' a keek iniae the future, wiiieh \ves a
thiaij:, as ye ken richt weel, that (ior Faither ga\e a
maist exjjress command against tae the Children o'
Israel. There be some wha lievna been brocht \\\->
on the pure milk o' the Word; these be aye fa'in'
intae unco' weys, but it becometh lis wha ken the
richt road that wc tak heetl tae oor weys, walkin'
aye circumspectly. I'm no much for the poetry —
Robbie lUirns is guid eneuch for me — sac I dinna ken
wha made these lines uj), but their fou o' meaniri' ;
ay, fou o' meanin'."

The minister had flushed hoily during the first
part of the superintendent's speech. " Mr. Carruth,"
he said. " I am afraid you have taken this game too
seriously. I am sure there is no one present who
realU' believes that the iiuml)er of nuts which thev
have caught will in any way inHuence their future.
The game has aftbrded a great deal of innojcnt
amusement, and amusement is as necessary to yoi.ng
hearts as sunshine is to flowers, and I am very grate-
ful to Mrs. Strachan and Mr. Zamoyski for devising
so pleasant an entertainment for my friends." Then
turning to Casimir .Zamoyski, he said : " I come ne.\t.

I I

rjo

c'A'oirv/;/* 1 ?• r.i.iM

<li» I Jiot? Hilt," lu- addfd, I;iu;^liin;4ly

,'IS

aiii t.;c

I.-ist I think I sliould hrivc all that is kit on tin.- tree—
(|U()tati()ns and all."

Oh, no! no'

le vonnj^j j)<,()|)lc cxtlaiinc(

"That would not he fair. You will have to take
what comes to you, the same as we did

So the tree was om-e more shaken, and the nuts
tumbled down, but of all which fell he caught only
two.

"An earlie merriap^e, is it?" said Matthew Car-
nith. " I'm tbiiikin' ye've no niuckle time tne spare."
Hut no one heeded Matthew's remark; they were
listenin;;^ to the ([notation.

"Soft eyes oCliliic! Sweet eyes of blue!
Tliey haunt nic nii»rii ;uicl ni<:lit ;
Wliati-'er I (Id, they thrill uic throu.^h;

Tlu-y're ever in my sij,'ht.
It was nut so a Mav aj,';) —

l'ncn;je(l my fi <l(.\v ;

Ah, t|iiiet th<)u;,'lit ! dv love uncaught!
.'\iul those sweet eyes of blue."

"Those lines fell to the wronjjj person," Mrs,
Straclian whispered to Mrs. Zamoyski. "I was
thinkin!^' of Cli.M-Jic Kiinienr wlu-n I wrote them.
They do not apply to Mr. Mor.lashan at all. Hut
we should not L:rumbl< ; everythinjj: has tunu'd out
very nicely."

"Hut why should the lines apply to Charlie
Kinnear?" Madame Zamoyski asked.

" Oil, do you not see? "

Trema's mother turned in the direction indicated
and saw Charlie ben liiiLl over her chair, .and for
some reason Trema had flushed from ])ro\v to chin.
What was he savimr to her? Trema's f.ice was

cA" II' \i:i> \ r i:i.iM. il'I

avcrUiI, .'iiiil Mailaiiic Z,ini'/\sl>i cmuM imi siv- its
I xprcssioii, hut slic could ^ucss wliaL it wouM he.
Ill 1 >',c, Trtina's mother, alone hccti hlind to what
was cvi(l<'nll_v ai)i)arciit to all. That lettt-r to the
Couiite>^s must 1)0 written a*^ oiiee. She blameil her-
self Jor her caielexsiiess ; hut slie would act prijinptly.
Treina must ;^'o tc- St. iVlershtir;.:.

Meantime, for one brief moment after readinj^^
the (luotation, David McCil'ishan ielt that every otie
must know liis secret, then lie, too, saw Charlie
Kiimear, aiid a look of cold reserve ovcr^liread liis
face. "The lines wre written hy I')enneU," he saiil
coldly. Then he turned to Casimir Zamoyski, and
after s[)eakin;.,'^ to him for a few moments, he tohl the
company that the 3'acht race would take place in
the nuisetim.

The museum was a room with which the hoys
were j)erfectly familiar. It was above the library,
and was reached by way t)r the stone stairway
which IkuI attracted Trema's attention on the ilay
of her first visit to the Manse. The collections con-
tained in the museum had been princii)aUy gathered
l)y the boys. For the minister, after his discovery at
the brewery, had sought to keep the Ixws out (T
harm's way by giving ttiem something new to
interest them. So, after school and < n Saturday
afternoons, he took them on expeditions u[) t!ie river,
and they received their first lessons in botany and
geology, and tliey were interested.

The story of the way the earth was built up, as
told by \h' McGlashan, became as interesting as i\
tale of R ' n Hood. Conimonj)lace things — a ])iece
(;f rock, a bit of petrified moss, the leaf (;f a tree or

12:

CKOWXUD AT ELIM.

the Icj,- of a frof,'. which they had bctbre passed by
\vitht)ut a second glance, soon became of absorl)ing
interest. They read books on niineroh)gy, zoology,
and ])otany,and soon they were able to discnss these
things intelligently among themselves. They vied
with each other in seeing who eonld find the most
interesting things for the minister's collection; and
many specimens were found in the limestone rocks
along the river— petrified snaih: and worms; moss
so fairy-like that it could never be reproduced by
a chisel ; and yet, there it was, each fairy sprig in
hardest stone.

These trojjhies of their rambles the boys would
l>ring in triumph to their pastor, who, when he
thought they were sufHciently interested, set about
having a small building erected for them in the vil-
lage. It contained a reading room and museum,
and had proved a strong counter-attraction to the
hotels. Since the building of the Reading Rooms the
museum at the Manse had been quite deserted, and
now the boys went around examining everything

eagerly.

"Oh there is Willie McKinley's caterpillar," one
of the boys exclaimed. " Do you remember the way
he got it? He climbed nearly to the top of a cliff to
get an oriole's nest which hung in the tree there, but
slipped and caught at a projection of limestone to
save himself, and it gave way in his hand (fortun-
ately he was holding by his other hand to the tree).
But afterwards when he examined the piece of rock,
he found a caterpillar all curled up, perfect as if it
ha'l just taken its breakfast from a rose leaf that
morniu"'-, instead of several hunilrcd years before."

CROWXt-D AT LLIM.

1'_'3

This, and man}' other incidents were recalled as
the boys passed around the '"ooni, and then they
found something new. In the centre of the table
they saw a miniature lake with a pebbled anil
sanded bottom ; on its waves Egyptian lotus plants
were floating, and in the centre a tiny fountain
played. It was designed and made by Casimir
Zamoyski.

Only six of the guests had been able to tell the
authors from which their quotations had been taken,
and these now came with their yachts (the Hnglish
walnut shells) in their hands, while the others looked
interestedly on. On one side of the lake in the
sanded bottom, a piece of gold glittered, and on the
other a ring was visible. Tinj' candles of different
colors were lighted and put in the little crafts, which
were placed in a row and set adrift on the miniature
lake. Dr. Blair's yacht was first, and it contained a
green candle ; Hilda Bain came next, she had chosen
blue; Charlie Kinnear, pink; Trema, white; Beth,
vellow; and David McGlashan, red. The yachts all
started out bravely together, then Beth's got a little
ahead, drifted over to the edge and stranded among
the pebbles under which the piece of gold glitte* u.

" Beth ! " exclaimed Charlie, " I did not think
would do that."

" Do what ? " asked Beth in surprise.

"Marry for money."

"And neither I shall, just because a walnut shell
comes to grief anu»ng some pebbles. There now,
Mr. Kinnear, you can't say much, for your own boat
is coming this way, too. See that ! "

At her words the pink candle fell overboard.

I '

! :ii

i:i

1-4!

Ill-

Ch'<)\V.\!:D AT LLIM.

splulLt-rcd U>v -A moment in tlic water and went out.
Tile floating eaiidle elianged the eourse of Charlie's
boat, and bein^- now capsized, it drifted over near
Beth's and lodged there. At wliieli Beth made a
grimace and said ruefully:

"We're both in the same boat. Xo, 1 mean our
boats are in the same place."

" Hello, Charlie! " said the doctor, looking up for
a moment from the serious contemi)lation of his own
boat; "so that is where you are stranded.

"Mny 1 a !;ir;4c- house, ami .small ^.-irdcii li.'ivc,
.\ii(l plciily of hooks, and he frc-e from all ills,
And have a wife rich ctioii^jh to foot the hills.

" Was not that what your (juotation said ? That is
what it meant, anyway, by your prcent destination.
Well, I declare, Hilda I You and I are going to marrv
for love." Which remark, with its ambigiious mean-
ing, was received with a burst of laughter.

"Oh, you all know ])erfectly well what I meant,"
said the doctor, feigning displeasure. " Charlie's and
Beth's l)oats were stranded over there near the gold,
and Hilda's boat and mine have hnlged on the op})o-
site shore near the ring. You didn't Inugh at tliem,
but you choose to laugh at us. It isn't fair, is it,
Hilda?"

" Scarcely fair," she answered, dcmurelv.

Meanwhile, the red and white \-achts continued
their course, each on opposite sides of the fountain.
Their owners were standing together, and were
watching their little crafts breathlessly. Which wav
would they go ?* They floatetl about in aii luicertnin
way for a time, then the red yacht went too n^.ir
to the spray of the fount;iin and the cmdle was put

CRnu-xfjf, .,7 i:f.r.\f. 10-,

out, but it still coutiuued onward till it came to
anchor among the lotus leaves. And now the white
yacht was left alone upon t'- • broad deep. But after
a t-.me it drifted into the current of the fountain and
slowly niade its way round to where the red vacht
lay, till it, loo, anchored among the lotus iJavcs
And Trema, breathing an almost imperceptible si-h
^t relief, looked up at the owner of the red vacht
with a happy light in her eyes that sent him floating
for a tune on a titleless summer sea.

When refreshments had l)een served, the old vear
was almost gone, and thccomi)anv adjourned to the
drawmgroom; then, while the guests were waitin-r
for the chimes which would us)i.,r in the new ve.n"
Tren:a went to the jnano an<l she and Charlie san<.- a
bttle song, the air of which her father hrid comiio^cd
some weeks before. He had found the words in
G Oder's Magazine.

"King, lit ling softly, O ye niidiiiftht bells!
Pass like a dream acro.ss the liiils and dells;
Soft as the snow ciifoldiii<r earthly things,
Falls on the night with sound like angels' wings.

Ring, with a burst of deej) and heartfelt praise,

For all the haijpincss of passing days;

For every flower that grew beneath our feet.

Breathing around our lives its incense sweet.'

bells! ring out the meniorv of pain.

Tell softly how the flowers shall bloom again;

And hopes arise, like snowdrops from the snow

A starry crown— no more a cross of woe.

King softly, for the year is nearly dead,

O let him go with blessin-,'s on his licad.

For if he brought us sorrowings and cares,

We entertained but angtls, unawares.

< M

^^6 Ch'OWXI-I) AT ELIM.

Softly into silence, chime those dream-like ijtlls,
Solemn midnight tolleth over hil's and dells,
Holy voices murmur as the echoes fall,
'Take the future trusifully, for God is over all.'"

The last notes of the song had just died awav
when the l)ells chimed out merrily, proclaiming the
advent of the New Year. The guests rose to their
feet, greetings were exchanged, and the merry party
broke up.

CA'0]VXED AT ELIM.

127

CHAI'TKR XI.

THE Christmas season was past, and on the last
bn-ht day of January a gloom hung over the
village, for it was said c! at Mrs. Bell was
dying. The villagers were collected in little knots
speaking of the sad occurrence, and everyone had
something to relate of kindly ministrations which
she had quietly performed.

"And they say," said one of the speakers, indig-
nantly, "that that boy, Uyden, has just broken her
heart. In the past few months he has gone f-om
bad to worse, till now he just about lives in the bar
room of the Red Lion, from which he goes reeling
home at night."

But while the neighbors were recalling all the
neighborly acts w hich she had performed, Mrs Bell
lay in the darkened chamber with closed -/es past
helping any more, or being helped. No words'came
from the pallid lips, but with nerve-sense sharpened
by illness, she was listening for the coming of her
boy. For she loved him yet, even though grief at
his actions was killing her. But the nights of
watching and days of mental agonv were over- she
was too tired to think of it all now. She wanted
him: surely he would come! By the bedside Mr
Bell sat with his head bowed dejectedly in his

! I

i.i"

128 CROWNED AT ELIM.

hands. The minister liad Iven tlicre, but was pone
now gone once more on an errand to tlie Red Lion,
for he was known to have more influence with the
wayward boy than even his father. When David
McCdashan entered the sick ro..ni again, he was
ahme. He had brought Leyden home, but he was
not a fit object to enter a ehand)er of death. For
tlie boy had stopped in liis mad career h)ng enough
to know that liis motlier was seriously ill, and then,
to drown memory and conscience, drank again, so
on that afternoon he Avas unable to realize that he
would never again see his mother. When the min-
ister came in alone, Mrs. Ik'll opened her eyes with
a look of wistful entreaty, then closed her lingers
about those of her husband, and so died.

David McGlashan was sick at heart. In his
library that evening, he thought now of his fruitless
work, and r.ow of that mother lying cold in death.
How discouraging his work had 1)een. What had
he accomi)lished in the ministry? He had planned
to do some great things, and now after four years,
he could sec but small result of his work. Had he
not made a great mistake after all, in giving uj) his
art? Could he not have done more for the world
through nol)le j.ictures than he could accomplish
by such feeble efforts in Riverside? As he paced too
and fro, these (pjcstions thronged upon his troubled
mind, till he exclaimed at last in distressed agitation:
"I have laliored in vain; I have spent mv strength
for naught and in vain. Yet surely my judgment is
with the Lord, and my work with mv (lod.'

When Leyden came to himself and realized that
his mother was dead, he was overcome with grief.

Ck(>\vA-i:i) AT i:i.iM.

129

For, despite his actions, he had reallv h)ved his
mother. As there was no undertaking establish-
ment in Riverside, Mr. Bell's two brothers had ])een
dispatched to a neighboring town for the coffin
They did not return all night, and Levden, watching
for them ,n the early dawn, saw the horses coming
along the n.a.l alone. Fearing he knew not what,
be rin out, and jumping into the slei-h, turned the
horses ni the direction from which thev had come
He had driven about a mile, when he discerned some
dark ol)jeets on the snow, and was surprised to find
ou reaching the spot that his uncles were Ivin- there
in a drunken sleep. Fortunately, the night was not
cold or they would most assured! v have perished
Evidently, the sleigh had been overLurncd. for the
coffin had been thrown out-his mother's coffin'
The scene sickened him; he lifted tlu' coffin in and
managed to get the men in, too. He never before
seemed to realize what it meant to be helplesslv in-
toxicated ; yet his mother and his pastor had "seen
him hke that. And he was more to ])lame than these
uncles, for he had heard his father sav that liquor
was always freely used at funerals in sJotland-their
old home-while every elfort had been used to keep
him from its baneful influence.

But he knew how it had l)een with them. There
had been a glass or so at the villages through which
they passed, more glasses when thev readied town
and a bottle for compan_. on the wav home, aiul this
was the result. But for hh, conduct there was no
excuse. Out there in the snow, in the grav dawn
of that winter's morning, everything came 'vividly
before him-his mother's early training, her blind

130

CROWXnn AT I-LIXf.

idol.iiry am mctsur'-'lcss love ; his pastor's watchful
care and ceaseless eiVorts, hi.; faithlul tVieiKlsliii), ^''^
conrideiiee in liiin when even his own father had cast
him otT.

"<>Ii! i must h;ive been niad ! I must have I)een
mad :"' he cried. "Vet, I honestly tried again and
again to stojj drinking, hut the craving lor li(juor
was too strong within me." And then, reali^ln j; his
own weakness, he fell on his knees there 1 v^i.le the
sleigh and lifted his heart in prayer to that Father
who alone was able to sustain him in the hour of
tem])tation.

So Leyden Bell went home, no longer a wavward,
self-willed boy. Init an earnest young man, imbued
with a new strength; hlled witli new resolves, and
having a higher outlook upon life. Those who knew
him placed little faith in his reform, but the efiforts
which had been made to save Leyden had not been
fruitless. The bread cast upon the waters was to
return after many days.

CKUWXI::!) AT E L I M .

131

CHAPTHk XII.

HE Boys' Club frequently held debates at the
reading' rooms, and oeeasioiially it was tlieir
eustoni to hohl open nieetin;jjs, when ilicv
would proeeed to astonish their friends with theiV
elofjuenee. On this partieular occasion, the sul)ject
was: "Resolved, that Wolfe was a Greater (kner.-d
than Montcalm." An unusual interest was taken
m this debate, owing to the fact that Jean Baptiste
was to be the leader of the negative.

David McGlashan rightlv surmised that [ean
would not attempt to speak on anv subject wi'h
which he was not perfectly familiar, because of his
nnperfect English, so he took particular ])ains to
coach Farquhar Gilchrist, the leader of the afhrma-
tivc, in order that he might be e(,ual to tlie voung
Frenchman. "

On the night of the meeting, the reading rooms
were crowded. Of course, it was a foregcine con-
clusion that the affirmative would win. for Farquhar
had told some of the boys the points that he was
gomg to bring forward, a^id they knew the French-
man would have nothing to answer them.

"Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen: Our
worthy opponent will attempt to show that Mont-
calm was a greater general than Wolfe. But this is

I '

132

CRowxnn \T i.i.i\f.

a fallacious llicory.aiicj is not lioriic out 1)v liist()i-i(.-al

facts.

Sii.-I

I wris

Frir(iuliar's graii(lil()<|uciit opcnin.!:;.
ilc lui 1 practicc'l his s])cccli as he went for the cows
or jjrcparcd the fodder for the eat tie. It was his
maiden ctTorl, Imt he did not intend, for tiiat reason

it should he a faihire, like tl

le niaidi-n spi'eehes o

e was wonder-

Deinostlienes and of ['it I He rather aijinired the
style of the I>uke of (iraftoii, hut thou^dit he would
he satisfied if he c 'd ccpial the stirriiii,^ utterances
f Patrick Henry. lint now, just for the moment,
he fori^ot all ahout Patrick Henry. H
iii.i; what made his knees tremlde so— Just like the
first day he came downstairs after he had the scarlet
fever. And what was tlie matter with the ])eonle's
heads? They were swaying- like hemloek tnrsin a
tempest,
spoken ?

W
.\m\

IS it minutes or hours since he had l.-ist

wliat had

le said

Mr. President, ladies and irenllemen: Our

worthy <.pponeiit will at»emi)t to si

low

Aj^ain he stojjped. He had a hazy recollecti

fhavin^^r made that statement hcfore. This would
never ,' >. What was it that Mr. McGlashan had
told him ahout Wolfe? Fontenoy. Lcniishuri;,
Quesne— thev were all a hoijcless muddle. Ouel
Oh,

I hi

)ee

yes, Wolfe whipped Montcalm at Ouehcc. But
how had he arranpred his sentences? .\ever mind,
it would have to he plain facts now without anv
garnishing.

"Mr. President, 1 wouM ask did not Wolfe liek

Montcalm at Oue])ec?

heiurlits, and stood

lo w.'is It chmhed the

uidd

inhahitants!

Who

enly in trout o
the

f V.

^eare<

gained the victory at DuQuesne?

Ij:

Ckf)\y.\/:ii \ T

i:i.r.M.

WIktc was Montcalm wl
at Lotiislnirjr. licked tli

tlic iMrircsv
1

ir?3

niicc Edward Island

K-n Wolfe scaled the liei-,dits

f enemy who were hiding in

and^rave to Hn^'and Cape Hreton and

>«» was it inaile M

ont-

oalrn ;,,ve ui that he was lieked, so that he exelai.ned
as he lay dvMi-: ' I am j,da<l that I shall not live to
•see the fall ofOnehee-' Who u-as it. I ask' And
the answer is. Wolfe! I ;,,,,.eal to von. ladies an,|
Kt-ntlcmen. d<, not these stron^^ points show that
W olfe was a -reater -eneral than Montealm ? "

There was a broad smile on the faces of the
audience, as Fanpd.ar. wiping the perspirau,.,, fVon,
h.s forehead, sat down. And then thev broke into
■such a roun.l of apj.lause, that he was not s„re
whether they were makin,:,^ Inn of him or approved
h.s ,na,den etlort. Ik-fore the noise ha<l snbsided
Jean Haptiste was on the jjlatform.

"I do notice that my honorable friend does like
to ask many (juestions. an' I shall like to ask som-
too. I.or mstance. who was it captured the forts ,.f
Ontario an' Oswe-o. an' took IGOO prisoner rn-eut
stores of ammunition, provisicm an' monnaie down

ortW-H-'^'^'r '''"'''''■ ''''^'^ ^^'^'^ it captured
lort Udham Henry an' comi)elled the general to

surrender Who was it attacked Abercrombie at
iort Larillon. an' made the -eneral to flee' Was
It not the Marquis de Montcalm?

"I am ama.cd that my honorable o,)ponent
should say. ' U here was Montcalm when Wolfe t<,ok
Lou.sbur;,^.^ • He far away. He know nuttin^^ about
Lmnsburg. He mind his own beesiness in Ouebec
He know nutting about Du Qucsne. Mv "lrien<l
Monsieur Gilchrist, he say nuttin- about Manp.is de

13-i

CRcWXEI) AT I.I.IM.

N'audrt'nil, the Govennir du Ciiiada, w 1

calm so li'i-tlc assistaiui' , lic'lj) liim laitiiuni ; leave

M-Ml-

liiiii to coiiihattrc the Miitisli eii

eiiiv liv hiiiiseh".

Then \'anilieiiil, he have recourse to talsehood,
tell many lies about Montealin, an' try to have 1
sent hack to France Hut Montcahii I
an' ne\^r mind. Then he find tliil tlu I'

an
lim

le il< I h;s (Int \'

lit 1--I1 make

1, so lie SCI

id f(

i»old etlort to subdue iMcnch Canad,
more troops, an' IVance she send him back t.lO men,
an' when lie see so small number he si^h an' say, 'A
leetle is acceptable lo liim who I

las iiuuiii:

Then he briii;.,^ the whole milit,

lire to Quebec,

but he want some more men to make;j;uard between
Saint Charles Riviere an' the Falls de Moii t morencv,

'O It is neeess.tire to call

111 he ih>t take

but lie have no more men,

youn;,' lads j..st fifteen. Then .MoiUeal

ort his clothes for tree whole months, l)nt ^uaideverv

ajjproach to the citadel with <;reat skill. Hut one

day they e.xpcct some provision, an' Wolfe he find it

out, an' he climb up so (juiet. .\n' when the <Mi;ird

sav

\V1

10 <roes there

)rmg some ]irovision.

lear u>-.

Hrit'sh militaii'e t!ie\-
An' th.il was jiow Wd

Wolfe he say in Freneli, ' We

(piiet ; the Hiitish tliev

■.c vtiard he aot know, an' so'-n the

:<> up verv rajiidement.

le t-a;)tured ( )

ueiiec.

now, i^cntlenien, you ask me w liicli was tlu

better «,reiK'ral, an' T tell you this. Wi)lfe he was
adored by the I'.ritisli people. If he sav aiivlin>'- thev

lis tea like he was an oracle. If

lie as

k f.

r more miji-

laire.

the

y send liiiii out <^reat manv \v.

ail

am-

munition, an' provision. I'.nt Alotitcal

.; told aViout him, an' if he

m he have
nd t(.) France lor more

provision they say: 'When tiie house is on fi

re we

(■A''Ml-.\7.7; 17 /;/, /.\/. i.-t,-

C.-iii p.iy „,, .-.tUMlticMl I., tlic sl.ihic.' So if vnu ask
whicli is tlu- K'faltr -ciiuai, I make response— I Ik-
M.iKjins (!(.■ Moiitcaliii."

As jean Haptistc took his scat lie was elieered
quite as lustily as I'an|uliar. for eontrarv to all ex-
pectation the rVenehinaii had won tlieilav.

At the close -.1 the iiuetin-. Casiinir Zainovski
aiKl David Me(dasiian walked home to-,'eiher.

• What a failure Fan|uhar made." said the min-
ister. " It is most diseoura^Mii.,' alter all my work."
"Oh, I ihiiik he did very well, eonsiderin-; that it
is the first time that he ever spoke in puhlie. I re-
Miemher students at the Tniversity who.sc- first
attempts at j.uhlie spcakinjr were utter failures, hut
who afterwards made such stirring addresses th.at
they were repeated outside of the Tniversilv; our
eountrymen were awakened out of their !e'thar-ie
sleep, and eneoura,-,'ed to strike another blow f;)r
their hapless eountry."

" Vou refer to Russia ? "
"Ah. no; to Poland."
" Poland is a part of Russia, is it not r "
"Unfortunately, yes. It has degenerated sadly
since the days when it extended from the Baltic to
the Black Sea, and from the Capathian Hills to the
Don. It has now scarcely a trace of its former fdorv
left." *' -

"What caused the University students to make
such stn-ring jiddrcsses? "

"Oppression. To us the days of Macieiowice
and Praga were as a dream, though thev were still
fresh in tlie minds of our fathers. But immersed in
study we might have been tempted to forget, and to

13G

CRowxnn at elim.

accept the easy bondage of an Alexander. But from
the time of his deatli the fetters were stealthily
tightened, till even we in the secluded halls of a
university, were comijelled to stand by and see in-
dignities heaped upon us, and our liberties one by
one taken away. We thought thesupi^ression of our
college pap.^r was the greatest trial to which we
could be subjected ; for during long decades of time it
had been the medium through which the students
had been wont to express their best thought and
most bridiant fancies, l)ut we had not c( 'nited on
Nicholas.

The suppression of our college debates followed.
This was not surprising. It was, in fact, necessary ;
for we poured all our eloquence, all our patriotism,'
all our pent-up wrath, into our debates. It was
when tliey were suppressed that we struck the blow
for freedom. I have no doubt that we were a very
harmless looking lot of young fellows as we separ-
ated that November afternoon, but we had under-
taken no less a task tlian the capture of the Grand
Duke Constantinc. He had just returned from St.
Petersburg, and we knew that he was at the I'alace
Belvedere.

"Insurrection, war— they are horril)le things. I
can never forget the look of the presence chamber as
I saw it last on tliat Nt)vember night. Many of the
dead lay around '\n various postures, and the floor
was covered whh blood. It had ooze ' ou* into the
hall, and made a sickening dark line down iis entire
length. Still lying across a chair, where he had
fallen, was t)ne of our comrade students— a fair
young lad, apparently unmjured, with a face of

CROWNED AT ELIM.

137

perfect peace, as if the spirit had departed while he
slept. Near him was one to whom death had not
come so easily. He was gashed in a horrible manner-
from his wounds the blood had trickled, and lav in a
dark pool on the floor. A servant in uniform sat
with his back to the wall, with eyes wide open and
stann- as if riveted in horror on his opponent But
we looked in vain for the Grand Duke Constantine
among the fallen. The citizens of Warsaw were
with us to a man. General Cholopicki was the
. leader. In a few days the insurrection had become

I general, and we had great success. But after a time

a large army was sent into Poland bv the C/ar and
we began to fear defeat. Cholopicki resigned,' and
the dictatorshij) was given to Prince Adam Czar-
toryski. A strange turn of events surelv, for Prince
Adam had been brought up as a hosta-e at the
Russian Court, and a friendship. Jonathanlike in its
constancy, had sprung up between him and the
young Alexander. But he has since told me that
notwithstanding this abiding friendship, there was
in his boyish heart an invincible aversion to all who
had contributed to the fall of the fatherland and
though It was (juite evident to him in tho.se bovish
days that his royal young friend was innocent of an-
part in Poland's downfall, yet later, when Alexander
and Nicholas had successivelv ascended the throne
and he saw that the extinction of Poland was -i
fixed policy with them as it had been wita former
Russian rulers. Lis frienrlship turned to hatred, and
he was glad to array an army against his powerful
toes. I know something of how hi, heart mu^t h.-.ve
turned with longing to anything Polish, for or- ,!-,-

f'j

■* .TS

Ckn]vxf:r) .\T r.j.JM.

in St. Pctcrsburt,^, when I was 1)ut a Ci.iid of seven, I
saw him seated on a jieerless A 'ibian steed whose
tra])i)ings glittered witli golo and jewels. As lie
])assed onr earriage, he raised his li.it to my mother,
and then he bent his handsome face for a moment
upon me, while a snlil(^ tender and ])atlietie, beamed
from his wonderful dark eyes. He knew that we,
too, were Poles in exile."

" The insurrection failed in the end, did it not?"
the minister asked.

" Yes. and then for nine years I dared not return
to Russia. Madame Zamoyski has told you, I think,
about t,H)ing to Russia and interceding on my behalf.
It was a great undertaking for a young woman not
yet nineteen to do. Rut though the Czar allowed me
to return home, he always mistrusted me. Every
place I went, everything I did, was watched. You
cannot imagine what a life I spent during those
years in Russia ; for wdiile I held one of the highest
positions that it was possible for the Czar to give,
still this suspicion made my life a buici-m. I never
told Miriam; she does not even now know all mv
reasons for hating Russia. But for the time there
seemed nothing for me to do, but to submit to being
shadowed. I knew that my life was iierfectly blame-
less, and that no matter how closely these detectives
watched, they would find nothing wrong. When,
however, Madame la Princess told what was not
true, that was a different inatter, and had I been
arrested I would have been shown little mercv. I
barely escaped arrest three times during our journev
to Galicia. It was by the greatest miracle that I
escaped. I should not have minded so much had I

CA'OWX/:/) ,i7- /;/./.u.

139

been alone, but it was my wife and cliild. Poor
Tr^niin. slie wcnild keep savin-, ' V(,u have not done
aiiythin-, iKi-.a, whysliould the (officers trv to take
yon?' vSh.ccoidd not understand it at all." But ^lie
soon for-ot her terrors when we joined Prince A(h'im
at Luecrne. I nearly for-ot to tell vou that when
we reached his estate in Galicia, we found that he
had just started a few days before for his chateau
near Montfermiel. At Vienna, I met an old friend,'
Karl Czerny, who told me that lie thought his Ex-
cellency intended remainin- a few weeks at Lucerne,
so fortunately we arrived before he left. He was
overjoyed at seeing us, and took (juite a decided
fancy to Trema. She was a little bookworm even
then, and when the Prince took her for trips on the
lake, she would entertain him with incidents of
Griitli, Morgartcn, or Sempach-battlefields famous
in Swiss annals, where a hatulful of mountahiecrs
confronted .and put to flight the chivalry of Austria.
To his K.xccllency's amusement, Trema would insist
on calling him Grandpa Czartoryski. She fancied
that some relationship existed between the Prince
and myself. She was not quite sure what it was
but she thought that 'grandpa' suited him verv well!
He took her with him <m his rambles; togethe'r they
climbed the mountainsides, or thev watched the sun
setting behind old Pilatus. For mvself. I was too
much worried about the future to enjov the beauties
of Lucerne.

" Well, here we arc at home. That Jean Baptiste
IS a rather smart young fellow. But vou riust not
be discouraged if yonr boys do not make full-ried-ed
orators just at once. They will come to it in tinfe "

' !

I I i

1 w

! ,

1 »

CROWNED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER XIII.

TREMA, on going to the kitchen one Spring day
to ask some question of Hannah, found that
worthy busy mak. .j pancakes., and shaving
up maple stigar to put on them. Trema was very
fond of maple sugar, and was curious to know how
it v^'as made.

"Haeye no seen the sugar made, dearie?" said
Hannah, in reply to her questions. "Then ye maun
see it at ance, for the makin' time wull sune i)e ower.
I'll speak to Mistress Cairns this very day, whan she
comes in wi' the sj'rup."

Mrs. Cairns was delighted at having the oppor-
tunity of showing Trema the sugar camp, and called
at Vinemount when her business in the village was
over, much pleased to think how surprised Beth
would be to see the unexpected visitor; for Trema
was always a welcome guest at Willow Bank.

The next morning, Mrs. Cairns prepared to go
to the sugar camp for the day. Trema watched her
in surprise as she brought from the pantry, bread
and butter, cold ham, jellies, pies, fruit cake, etc.

"Why, Mrs. Cairns!" she exclaimed, "we shall
not eat all that in one day, shall wc ? "

Her frien '■ smiled quietly. " Ye dinna ken the
appetite that is faund in the bush. An' we'll no get

CROnWED AT I-LIM i ^^

hack till late, as Beth said she wud like tae hae twa
or three o the younkers at the su^^arin' aff, as ve
wud be there, Miss Trema." - >^

'I A picnic in the woods in the winter time ' Oh
wont that be lovely I" exclaimed that voung ladv'
and she was eager to help Mrs. Cairns and Beth fill
the lunch baskets.

In a short time the sleigh was driven up to the
door, the lunch baskets were put in, Mrs. Cairns
Trema and Beth comfortably seated, and with a
crack of the whip they were otT. As they sped along
over the snow, Beth said : -^ ^ h

"Trema, wouldn't you like to know who are
commg to-night? Do you not like our lassies and
lads at Riverside that you are so indifferent ^ "

"Why, of course I like them; but when vou didn't
tell me who were coming, I didn't like to ask. When
did you invite them ? "

" I sent Stewart to the village last night. Now
guess who are coming."
"Well, Mr. Kinnear."

" Oh, I knew you would think of him first "
"And Dr. Blair."

"Perhaps; he is not sure. There are quite a
number ill around here now."

"Then there is Sandy MacDougal at the mill
who 1.S always white with flour. Do vou think he
will get It brushed off for to-night, Beth ? "

"Oh, I guess so. Who next?"

"Jean Bpptiste, will he be sure? And Farquhar
Oilchnst who made the fine speech, and who alwavs
eomescrcakmginto church in his best boots, which
lie keeps especially for Sundays, creak and all \nd

ll!l

!f:

ipc

,!i

142

(- iKd \v.\i:ii .1 T i:i.i\!.

then there is Robert Milciiell. I
forLjet R()l)ert, who sits Hke a

t would imt do to
inrirtvr in c-liurc!i in his

stiff collar, which is so lii-li that it makes him red in
tlic face and almost prevents him from tunniij^r i,is
head to see the clock at the hack of the kirk. I
know he just counts the minutes until he can ;.,'et

.'1

lionie aiK

je-k o.i those relics of tile Iiujuisiti

Trema Zamovski I II

on.

ow can you be so wicked ?
or is to criticise our country

If all _vou ;4^o to the kirk I

lads, you had better stay at home."

" But, Heth. I cannot <;o to the kirk and k
eyes shut; and if I s"e thin,t;s I must tliiiik

" Your tlu>ug]iLS should be on what tl

keep my

le minister

IS savinir

ng."
' But you for-a't, the minister

the time.

is not i)reaching all

Well, I will f

believe you are a flirt, for vou h,
girl's name vet.
"I

)rgive vou this once; but I d

ive not mentioned a

was going to guess the girls after I had

guessed the young men, tor all I 1

MacDou":al and 1

lave to sav is Mr.

lis sister, Mr. Gilchrist and h

lev a

sister, and Mr. Mkcliell and his sister, for tl
have sisters— tndike poor me. But I must not forget
Archie and Sandie McKinnon; I do hojie thev will be

there, for thev are so full of

them last vSunday? Vou didn't! Beth C,

ischief. Did vou see

lirns, where

do you keej) your eyes ? Why, they came into church

very gravely, and sat down in the seat behind the

famil

large book, which, however, had

y pew. I noticed that Archie carried a verv

no resemlilance to

a Bible. When Mr. McGlashan read the chapter,
Archie solemnly opened his huge tome, and what do

CA-oir.v/;/; at i:i,im.

143

you think it was? The Minutes of the Cuncil-no
less."

"The dreadful hoys! Hut I ani not surprised
their pranks are the talk of ihe town, thou-h River-
side IS getting used to them now. It was before vou
came to Vinemonnt. that they went into church one
Sun. lay dressed in their grandfatlier's clothes. The
style of them was so ancient that thev seemed to
belong to the seventeenth eenturv. It' seems that
the boys had decided not to go to ehurch that dav
l)ut their father was indexible, and said thev liad u\
go. Service had begun when thev came in and
marched up the aisle to the verv front seat. But
they didn't ajipcar to hear much of the sermon-
ncitlier did their fathor. The Ijovs are a great trial
to him. Matthew Carruth. you know, makes his
home with the McKinnons, and he and Mr Mc
Kinnon have long talks about the bovs. which the
rascals always manage to hear and repeat for the
cdihcation of their comrades. On this particular
vSabbath. the conversation had taken a graver tone
than usual, and Archie and Sandy came and rehearsed
It to Stewart. Archie impersonated his father, and
Sandy was Mr. Carruth :

'"I juist canna understan' it ava,' said Archie
imitating his father; 'foi I've dune ma best tae bring
the lads up in the richt wey, an' yet thev wull bring
ma gray hairs wi' sorrow tae the grave. I thocht
whan I saw them come intil the kirk this mornin'
that It wes the warst o' a' their wild escapades'
an' their punishment wud hae tae be sair. It wes
scan'alous, profaning the holy sanctuarv, an' turnin'
It into a play-theatre,'

;' ;

CR()\V\i:n AT EI.I\f.

"•Scan'alous! It wes that an" waur.' said Sand v,
in the solemn tones of Matthew Carruth. ' Hut I
fear ye hevna been stricht eneuch wi' the ehicls, Mal-
c<dm. Ay, they need a straucht haund ower them.
What wes it I wes readin' juist this mornin'? 'Re-
cause sentence against an evil work is not executed
speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is
fully set in them to do evil.' That's it; ye've spared
the rod ower lang, an' noo the hairts o' the wastrels
are fully set tae dae evil. An' their punishment wull
be the waur. Gin ye no dae yir duty, a higher power
wull mete oot their punishment tae them. For the
words o' oor Faither are: 'They despised my judg-
ments, they walked not in my statutes; thev have
hid their eyes from my Sabbaths, and I am profaned
among them. Therefore will I pour out my indigna-
tion upon them.' '

'"I knew we were in for it,' continued Sandy,
resuming his natural voice, ' when Mr. Carruth men-
tioned father's lapse of duty, so it didn't surprise us
when father invited us, a few minutes later, to the
barn. We don't mind a flogging, Archie and me
don't; but Mr. Carruth's prayers! I tell you,
Stewart, ye ken naething aboot it. After father
was through with us, Mr. Carruth took us into his
room. He lectured us first, and then he praved for
us. He took us over the forty and two jounievings
of the Children of Israel. Their transgressions were
all remembered. and we were likened to them. When
he bade us remeinlier the awful judgment that was
visited on Nadab and Abihu for wr(M^g(^oini,^ Arcliie
slippit awa oot, which I thought rude of Archie.
But when, in his prayer, he said that we conceived

If-

CROWXr-I) AT I-Ll\f. 145

mischief, our thoughts were thoughts of iniriuitv, our
tongues had muttered perverseness, our feet ran to
evil, and we had made for ourselves crooked paths,
then I didn't wait for anytliing more, but crept out
on my hands and knecs-for I didn't like to disturb
him-but I can't think what he must have said when
he rose from his knees and found himself alone.' "

Trema's laugh rang out like a bell. " Kcaliy, it
is wrong to laugh at such an incident, but I can't
help it. Isn't it a wonder that, after such an experi-
ence, they dared to carry on anv more nonsense in
church?"

" Yes, but it seems they are incorrigible."
The conversation was now abruptlv terminated,
for the smoke of the camp fire could be seen ; and the
men, hearing the jingle of bells, stopped their work
to welcome the ladies. Then the hired man brought
more wood to replenish the fire, which had been built
between two huge logs, and Mr. Cairns, after seeing
that the lunch baskets were put away in the shanty,
returned to his work of watching the contents of the
enormous kettles, which were suspended on a pole
over the fire. Stewart and Jamie were carrving sat?
m buckets, and Trema wanted to carrv sap, too. So
they gave her a pail and Jamie, feeling very much like
a knight errant, went with her to show" her where
the tapped trees were. The heat of the fire had dried
a large circular spot around the sugar camj) but
beyond that the snow was still deep, and sometimes
Trema would break through the crust, which was
becoming treacherous, at the imminent risk of spill-
ing her precious sap, yet, nevertheless, she succeeded
in bringing it in triumph to the camp.

1 K-.

ch'')\v\rn AT i:i.i\f.

Wliat a (kli^^ht il was Lo walk over the snow
and anioii<,r the lol'-.y trees; to watcli the peoj)le
moving hack and forth, while the woods eehoed
with slioiiis of lauj^hter; Lo poke the burninj,' lo^s
till tlK\- siiot up ton^^ues of name; to stir the seelh-
in<,' liquid in the e;ddrons. and when thirsty, to drink
the cold sweet sap— tit nectar for the gods. What is
to he compared to that delicious licpiid? A single
sip in after years will tuni our thoughts to the maple
sugar-making time of childhood, when with our tiny
pail we trudged over the snow, and looked with
wondering, apprehensive eyes at the silent, myster-
ious woods !)eyond the camp, and s{)eculated as to
what lay heyond the forest. But when years have
passed, and the world heyond our childhood's vision
has become a waste of commonplaces, our thoughts
turn backward longingly to the dim forest, where a
grouj) of snow covered hemlocks formed thegateway
to a land of mystic wonder.

Trema was not a child, and yet she took a child's
delight in the novelty of it all. Never before had she
eaten dinner in a shanty thatched with cedar boughs,
and furnished only with benches and a table. The
day passed all too quickly, and then, wdien the sha-
dows were lengthening, the jingle of bells was heard,
and presently there came into view several sleigh
loads of merry youngsters. Beth and Trema went
forward to welcome them, and the camp, which had
grown (piiet with the approach of night, took on a
gala ,'ip{)earance.

The young people possessed themselves of the
contents of the kettles, and pouring some of the hot
syrup on snow, proceeded to partake of taffy such

Ch'(>\\\i:o AT HLlM. ,,7

as the confectioner's skill has never vet e.,ualk-,!
Then, when they had l)ecv,me satiated with tiie tarty
un(l warm su^ar, they settled down on the h)gs
which had l)een drawn up around the fire, while its
KlowinK, evcr-clianginj; light made spectres of the
trees and a dim ghost-land of the woods hevond.

"What a fitting scene in which to tdl ghost
stones." said one. "Mr. Carruth ! Where is Mr.
Carruth? He always has a never- failing supplv of
them. I sometimes wonder if he doesn't m.ike tliem
up."

" Make them up ! Not a l)it of it ! " said Trema
"He IS too practical. Just look at his scjuare hands
with their short scjuare fingers."

"Ma haunds! Tellin' ma character frae ma
haunds! Ye're no a witch. I houp," said Matthew
approachmg them from near the kettles whidi he
had been watching.

" A witch : Do I look like one ? " she asked, smil-
ing up archly into the stern eyes under the bushv
eyebrows.

" Xa, that ye dinna ; but e'en his Satanic majestv
aye comes in a maist temptin' guise. Ve ken that a'n
enchanter, a charmer, cm' a witch are a' abomina-
tions unto the Loid; therefore, He commanded the
Children o' Israel, sayin': 'Thou shalt not suffer a
witch to live.' Fifty years syne, had ve talked o'
tellm' by haunds. ye -.-ud sune hae fand versel roastin'
ower the fire in place o' that caldron o''secrui)."

Trcma's face crimsoned at the blunt, ungallant
speech which had been called forth bv her thoughtless
words. She did not place much faith in palmistry
but the desire seized her to shock him with Iier

1 IS

ch'i'wxri) .1 r i:Li.\t.

know k-djjjc of ii. So Iht cvos were sji.irklinj; willi
sii|ii)ixssf(l full as sill- aiiswcrctl :

" The (lays of the iiitaiicv of the world arc past.
Time was when people i)eiie\e(l that all who rear!
the lines of the hand were in lea;.;ue with Satan, hut
Scienee has thrown aside all sueh superstitious non-
sense; for it shows that the hand contains more
nerves than any other ])art of the system; that these
nerves form a kind of tele;4rapliic eonnnunication
between the hrain and the hand, eonveyinjjj a eurrent
of thouL,dit from the one to the other, so that on the
hand are re,i,Mstered the thou;^lits, desires and tenden-
eies of life. Now, here is Mr. Kinnear's hand; from
it we may j.,r.atlier that he loves diseii)line, respeets
law and order, is not mueh in love with poetrv or
the fme arts, has little originality «m- imagination,
yet, nevertheless, he will succeed in i)ractical tilings.
The lines are clear and well defme<l. The line of life
rising to the Mount of Saturn, denotes j)rosperity
resulting from energy and determination. There is a
break in this line — come nearer to the fire— yes, there
is a breik, and one branch shooting over to the
Mount of Luna, shows that vou will surelv travel
abroad."

While Trcma was ajiparently seriously studying
the young man's hand, she was in reality watching
Matthew Carruth, to sec what he thought of a witch
using her craft under his very eyes. He had bcjii
looking on in incredulous silence, till he caught a
(hisli of the roguish eyes, and then he exclaimed :

" Dimia ])ey ony heed tae her havers; she kens
uaetlnng aboot it. Can ye no see, man, that she is
descri1)ing ye frae what she kens o' yer pairts. She's

^^rw

Ck()\y\i:n ,\ r i:i.i\j.

140

no a fortunc-u-llcT ava • .\„.l, ,„,„.h rc1icv-fl lu-
turned alM.Mt t., sec hew tlic- sn^ar uas pr..Krcssi„^.

Mr. KnuK-ar. however, was much inipivsscd w h
tlK-cvi.ki.l truth of Tmna's rca.hn-. au.l hc-^r^a-.i ,„.
a hillcr .Icl.ncation of his hand, which siic h-iu;.,diinLdv
consented to ^mvc. Tliey were seated on a lo- near
the hre. and were so en-rossed in the all-ininortant
sul.ject that they .l^d not n..tiee that their pastor
was anion- them. .,11 they heard him sav. -(MM.d
cvemnK, M'ss Zamoyski." in a coldlv formal voice.
Trema looked up in pained surprise a"t the lone and
Ins manner of a.idressin^r 1,,.^. j.^.^.,, on their first
ac(|uamtance, she remembered, he had called her
"Miss Trema." She still held the voun^r teacher's
I'and. and in lu , surprise she for^r„t to release it
She was about to tell hm of the dcli-htful dav she
I'-'d had. but he turned abruptly awav and" in a
moment he was ^one. She heani the slei^libJls
recede m the distance with a heavv heart. V/liy did
lie leave so (juickly ? It i.s true, Mrs. Cairns ha(i just
explained that he was on his way to see one of his
parishioners %vho was ill, and had stopped only for a
moment, havin-!,,e„ attracted by the lij^^ht a"nd the
souml <t merry voices, yet for some intan^nble reason
she felt that he was an^^ry with her. Had he seen
her telHn- fortunes ? And did he despise her for it ^
rhey were so strict-these Scotch people; and vet she
liad only wished to shock Mr. Carruth.

The i)almistry had come to an in-lorious termin-
ation. Trema sat apart from the others, subdued
and quiet, saying notl.in- nor joining in all their
fi.n, till they teased her for eating too much maple
sugar. Hut the hour had nowgro-.vn 'ate, the slei-dis

i!
11

\\\

150

CROWNED AT ELIM.

were brought around, the mertA- sugar-make-s were
soon comfortably seated, and with three cheers for
Mr. Cairns and three more for his family, they were
off for home.

The doctor and the minister had stayed by the
sick man's side the whole night through, but in the
early hours of the morning the physician jironounced
his patient out of danger, and David McGlashan,
with a mind much relieved, started homeward. A
light snow had fallen during the night, and when he
passed the sugar camp all the weird, picturesque
beauty of the previous evening was ne. The fire
was still smouldering and. in a feeble eFort to burn,
threw up a little cloud of smoke from a coveri ^ of
gray ashes and dirty snow. The log near the fire—
the log on which they had sat— had its covering of
snow, too.

"And so they are betrothed," he thought. " Wliat
other explanation can be given of their absorption
in eac'i other, sitting there in the firelight, hand
clasped in hand? And then Trema's abashed look
when I noticed them. And yet I had thought that
da- of our drive, that day in which it seemed she had

come over tne seas just for me, that . No, no, I

was mistaken; it was only that she had a tender
heart and quick judgment, and she recognized some-
thing of my true, sad self under its repellant exterior.
Yes, it was all a mistake."

The chill of dawn was in the air, and he shivered.
The tr^-s on either side of the road were stretciiing
out bare, cold branches towards each other, but thev
were not more cold and desolate than his heart. The

CROWS ED AT ELJM. jgi

sun was rising as he turned into the avenue at the
•Manse. He roused himself as from a dream

AT r7T''^ ''f '°"''-' • ^^'""' ^^'^^t "f that ? David
AIcGlashan, be strong. Do the work faithfullv that
IS given you to do, and if you are to be denied life's
supreme gift, l. brave. There is enough sorrow in
the world without you repining."

He said the words aloud, as if to reassure himself,
but they echoed strangely over the cliffs in the quiet
winter morning, and came back to him in bitter
mockery.

>.lt!

!ii

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Hi I Ji

' III

152

CROWSED AT ELIM.

CHAPTER XIY

RIVRRSTDE had Ijcin thro.-n into an unusual
excitement. May third was Trema's liirth-
day ; she was ^oin;.^ to give a ])arty, and
almost ever}' young man and maiden in the whole
countryside had ])een invited. So tor two weeks tlie
girls had been in a flutter getting new gowns, while
their brothers looked on in lofty indilTerence.
"Fancy making such a fuss over a party," thev
said, "a new tie was all 'J y would grt." When
the much-talked of evening came round, Vinemount
was in its gala dress. Ferns and vines and palms
decorated every nook and corner, while wax candles
in branching candelabra shed a soft light over the
rich furniture and costly bric-a-brac. Madame Za-
moyski, in an elegant gown of purple brocade and
cream lace, stood just within the drawing room
door to receive the guests. Trema assisted her, clad
simply in a dainty frock of white muslin. A i)arty
of Toronto folk had arrived in the afternoon, and
the matrons now stood near at hand in superb
costumes of silk and velvet. The gentlemen were in
the library ; among them was the minister.

It was, to many of the lads, their first view of
the interior of Vinemount, and its stately elegance
somewhat overawed them. It required all TrcniaV

if:

Ch'nwwEI) AT i:L!.\t.

ir;3

tact to mnke them feci at

ease in their unaccnstomed

surroundings. But David McGlashan presentlvcame
to her aid, and with his kindly ways did much to
make the awkward lads feel at ease. After watchin-
his efforts for a while, the young hostess lifted her
eyes full of gratitude to his face. There was rest
fulness and sweet confidence in that quiet ga/e but
as lie looked the expression changed to a timid
questioning, and though he turned awav with a
lighter heart than he had carried since that memor-
able night at the sugar camp, yet he was sorelv
perplcxed. Did s!:c not understand why he had
been so formal of late? How could she expect
him to act otherwise under the circumstances'
Uiarhe Kinnear came just then, and Trema went
forvyard to meet him. But even jealous eyes could
<letect nothing more than simple friendship in their
greeting. David McGlashan, who was watching
Trema closely, thought she even preferred that
y(.ung Fairgrieve from Toronto. Ai.d truly there
had been no doubt about her pleasure at meeting
Gardiner Fairgrieve. Had he not been her neighbor
m the city? Who but Gardiner had assisted her
through the first awful experiences of skating-
taught her to steer her toboggan down the slide'
and laughed at her first early attempts at snow-
shoeing? Had he not for six long years plaved the
part of a good-natured brother? And, more than
all, he was familiar with that old life which she had
now turned her back upon forever. So there h-id
been unconcealed joy in her welcome when he arrived
that afternoon. And now, with a most bewitchin^^
smile playing about her lips and shining in her eves

ir,4-

crowxt:!) at elim.

siie was introducing this fair Adonis to tlic Irissics
and lads ot' Riverside. It seemed to the niinisur as
he watclied tlie two, tliat Trema looked more like the
mischievotis young maiden whom he had fomul ])iek.
ing l)erries in his meadow, than the Miss Zrimovski
whom he knew of late, for recently a change had
come over her which he could scarcely define. When
he first knew her she was a mischievous, fun-lovinji
child. For the jiast few months, lujwever, wliile her
mrinner was still charmingly winning, there was
noticeal)le i\ subdued gentle dignity which had no
trace of mischief in it. What unseen jjower had
wrovight this marked ditTercncc? He could not tell.
He had studied over the (juestion as over a knotty
point in apologetics, but no solution came; philoso-
])hcr th.aigh he was, he had not yet learned to
analyze all the mysterious influences of the liuman
heart.

The musicians touched their instruments softh*.
The couples were forming for the opening fjuadrillc,
and Davitl McCdashan, watching the young i)eoi)lc,
saw Oardiner Fairgrieve bend his head a moment
above that abundant, Huffy hair; saw Trema smile
into the handsome, boyish face; la^- her hand on the
black sleeve and move to the upper end of the draw-
ing room with that complete grace which was char-
acteristic of all her movements. The young minlstci"
turned suddenly round and sat down. He would
go home; he would be much happier in the quiet
seclusion of his own library. But he could not act
like a school-boy of fifteen; he could not leave so
early w ithout ofTending Casimir and Madame Za-
iiMv^k- Tiicre wcrt' some guests in tlie librarv who

II. . .

Ch'OWXl-n AT ELIM. ij,5

were not dancing; he would talk to them, but he
would not even glance at that floating vision in
white. She was a flirt. She had encouraged Charlie
Kinnear, and now she was giving her smiles to that
young I-'airgrievc.

Trema, looking up, encountered his stern glance
and almost quailed before it. In what had she
otTended him? But a short time ago she had thought
that he was no longer angry with her; for one hour
she had been entirely happy. Now it was the old
state of thmgs back again. Were thev never to be
friends? She tried to look happy, but tears were
too close at hand for smiles. Then her wounded
pnde asserted itself. If ],e chose to be angrv at her
for no reason whatever, he might remain angry
She v/as not dependant on his friendship. So when
Gardiner came to take her to Lhe dining room where
refreshments were being served, she gave him such a
dazdmg smile as almost turned that voun- -cntlc
man's head. Slie was glad that David Mcofashan
was sitting near them. She laughed and chatted
gaily; she would show him that she was not to be
subject to his whims and fancies, nor be annihilated
by a stern look.

David AIcGlashan saw and noted all in -r-ive
silence The fit of petulance was gone, and he" was
again h.s patient, lonely self lie noU-d with a panir
how wellTrcma and Gardiner Fairgrieve were suited
to each other; both were young, graceful and hand-
some. A.^ he watched them he felt suddenlv old • a
wide, impassable gulf seeme.l to separate him and
Irema.

"Lady-fingers or kisses, which will you have?"

130

CA''Mr.v/;/; at elim.

asked Trcnia, holdiiii; a plate of dainty confections
before her friend.

"()li, I'll take kisses; I like them the best," an-
swered (lardiner, gaily.

"Indeed! Then, sir, I'm ifraid ^-ou will not be
able to say to yi)nr sweetheart on your return as
Coriolanus said to \'irgilia:

'"Tliat kiss I carried Iroin thee, dear,

And my true lip iiatii virj>iiied it e'er since.'"

(n'lrdiner was silent; he alway.; felt defeated
when Trema quoted Shakespeare.

" I do not remember reading Coriolanus," he said
at last, tlusliing. Trema, too, was awkwardly silent.
She was annoyed that she had (juoted those lines.
Not that slie eared for Oardiner; he was used to her
nonsense, and it was stujjid of him to take her
seriously like that, but it happened that when she
had sj)oken, a hush had fallen for a moment on the
merry eompany, and others might have heard that
inopportune quotation. They left the dining room
almost immediately after, and excusing herself {rom
Gardiner, Trema went into the library and sat down
by the oi>en window. She was vexed with herself,
and wcmdered how it was that ])eople who were
credited with a fair amount of common sense could
say and do the silly things that she was constantly
saying and doing.

Iler meditations were interrupted b}- Charlie
Kinncar, who leaned over the back of her chair and,
as if continuing that conversation which she and
Gardiner had so igtiominiously dropped, said :

"I know Coriolanus umst have been thinking of

CKOWXrn AT ULIM. 157

Trenm Zamoyski instca.l c.f \aleria, wlan he said
that she was

'■"Chaste as the icicle
That's curded l,y he frost from purest snow,
And iiangs on Dian's temple.'

"For you arc divinely fair, Mk>s Trema, and ^ood
as you are fair. If yoi, would onlv let nie have t!,is
wh,te rose I would keep it ahv ays. Do let ,ne have
It. he pleaded.

Trema turned towards liim in surj^rised wonder
only to see Davi.l MeCdashan approaching. He did
not hear what Charlie said, but he guessed much
by the attitude and pleading tone. He was a trifle
paler than usual, and sad reproaeh was written all
over xiis speaking face. Trema felt like a eulnrit
when she saw him.

'* Pardon me for interrupting you, Miss Zamoy-
ski, (he did not even glance -M Charlie) "but do
you knovv where your father is? I should like to
speak to him before I leave."

"I will find him for you." Trema said eagerly.
She wanted to show him that she did not care for
Charlie's lover-like attentions. "I saw him but a
moment ago. Please excuse me for a moment Mr
Kmnear." '

She f(nind her father and left the two together
but she chd not return to the library. The musicians
werepiaymg again; there would l,e waltzing soon
Imt waltzing had lost its charm ; s(, she slid out to
the conservatory, where t!ie air was deliciouHy c(>ol
A door Irom the conservatory opened to the "''awn"
she sto,.d in the door and leaned her head a-ainsi
the casement. ''

\\'

158

CRowxnn at elim.

"The evening l)cj,'an so lovely," she niurnuircd,
" but it is endinjjf wretchedly. He thinks I am a flirt;
he will never like me again."

She heard a quick step behind her; he was going
home that way. It was shorter than going out by
the front gate and up the avenue.

" Here alone, Miss Tvema ? I am surprised."
She fancied she detected a touch of sarcasm in
the tone. He was extending his hand in farewell;
in a moment he would b( gone. She longed to say,
"I have made you angry; forgive me, and let us be
friends again;" but she could not. That awe of
him, which she sometimes felt when in his presence,
was creeping over her. He still held her hand, for he,
too, was trying to speak, but he was choosing his
words, lest in his abruptness he should unintention-
ally offend her.

"Trema." he said, and the simple name thrilled
her; "when the glamor of youth is upon us, we
cannot realize tliat there is such a thing as sorrow
or broken hearts in the world. But, child, do not
toy with people's hearts, they are too precious a
commodity."

She took her hand away from his suddenly. He
not only thought her a coquette, but he believed her
incapable of realizing the pain that such heartless-
ness would inflict.

" I see you are vexed ; but you know. Trema, you
cannot marry both of them."

"I i)resume you i fer to Mr. Kinnear and Mr.
Fairgrieve. Perhaps it would be interesting to von
to know that I do not intend to marrv cither of
them."

CR'()\V.\i:i, AT r.I.IM,

ir>9

And then, aft

cr a

loni,- pause, during' wliicli tlic
teui],cr went iVon, her eyes, she said in a voice soft
.'ind tremnlously low :

" Wlien 1 was a ehihl we were in Switzerland and
I looked on Mount lUanc, and I never a-ain saw
majesty or ^rrcatness in mountains which were mere
foothills."

At her words he cau^dit his breath. Then tliere
was some one infinitely above Charlie and (iardiner
I- a:r-neve enshrined in the young girl's heart, but
wlio It was he did not dare to guess. He noticed the
implied compliment and his heart sank, for it could
not be that she would place him so much above
those two. For a while he regarded her irresolutely
and then something in her face gave him courage

"Darling, do I dare to ask it? Is it me you
love?"

"Yes."

The answer came so low that lie could scarcely
hear it, but a look offender, grateful peace stole into
his eyes as they lingered on her upturned face and a
silence fell between them. The crocusus drooped
their heads in the moonlight, and the tulips filled the
air with Iragrance. The strains of the orchestra
swept past them, bearing them into an enchanted
land. Like Sappho and Phaon thev had come into
their souls' seaport, and stood upon a strange new
shore, resplendent with life's early dawn.

David McGlashan went next morning to have an
interview with the father of his loved one. He was
impatient to claim her for his very own. Casindr
was in the garden examining a new species of rose,

IGO

C.Vnir.\7.V) AT r.I.IM.

and the minister plunj^ad into his suhjeet .it o^ cc
Mr. Zanioyski heard liiiii to the end and tlien said

gravely

My friend, this is a j.jrcat surprise, and it

ains

me beyond measure to liave to refuse your reiiuesl.
Hut it can never be. I have made other plans for
Trema. Please do not misunderstand r '. I 1
you to l)e entirely wc^rthy of her; 1
difVerent race, and her future has bee

telle ve

)ii \*'ccomeofa

n map])ed out

for her. I do not need to rem nd you who the Za-
moyskis are. As close friends of thi l<in<;s oi Poland,
they held the highest jjositions in the land. Van
CasimirZamoyski was Castellan >f Cracow, Starosta
of Little Poland, and Chanc-elh)r of tin- K:nj,'dom,
and he was only one of our illustrious line ; but all
this is a matter of history. Yet I feel sure that if
you knew more of my personal history, of mv love
for my country, and ail I have suffered for her sake,
my refusal would not seem so cruel t

o vou.

But,

while all hope for myself is ended forever, I still have
a j^'reat desire to see Trema married to one of my
own race— a Polish gentleman— and to see her living
in the land of my fathers. With this object in view,
I have educated her with the greatest care, and I
have instilled into her susceptible heart a love for
Poland as great, almost, as my own. And now
Madame Zanioyski and I have deci<' d to
to St. Petersburg and "

licr

"No more need be said," David McGlashan broke
m brusquely. "You wish your daughter to make a
brilliant match. It is a praiseworthy motive. Vou
may find one who is able to bestow^
upon her; but one who loves her bett

more honors

er.

icver

I "

Ck(f\VM-l) AT i:i^ix,

ir,i

Saving which, he turned
(juii kly n\\ av.

()

II his hc-cl and str<>«U

avid McC.lashan had lived so h)n;; for a hirr^

purpose than mere social presti;,'c, that 1

prepared for Casiniir Zani

If was not

ovski s refusal. I'.ein-; e

g.'iKcd nx winninj^r soul^ for the Prince of Kin-s he
Iiad given little thought to social distinction. ?\„w
It was brought home forcibly to him that - he was
ot a different race/ He was disap,,ointcd. humbled
chagrmed. Alas, yes, the son of humble Sc-,,teh
parents had presumed to ask in marriage the hand
of a Zamoyski. But had not Casimir Zamovski. not-
withstandmg his blue blood, found him, David Mc-
Glashan, a congenial companioi, ? Wee not his
Ideals in life ,i.ite as hi; h as those of the Polish aris-
tocrat ? What did Ac lack in mental accomplishments
or w. rh'v possessions that the other possessed'
The mjus. ce of it ! These were the thoughts which
ran not thn .gh his brain as he paced his library
hoor-a habit he had when greatly excited or lis'-
turbed. His heart was sore with bitter disappoint-
ment and wounded pride, and as he strode back and
lorth ins lij)s were (juivering.

And then, in the midst of those angrv thoughts
came misgivings. Was it not a selfish love th-it
would keep a beautiful young girl like Tre-na Zamov-
ski XV. a place like Riverside, when, undoubtedly she
was htt. 1 to adorn a larger sphere? And thJn her
aristocratic birth. He knew (mlv too well that it
was all true; before her father mentioned it he knew
of the fame of the illustrious house of Zamoyski
\\ nle he-why he was only a poor Scotch boy till a
generous merchant lifted him out of penury and

in-

cr^nwxnn at i-i.nr.

pl.-ict'd liim in an imlcpciidcnt position. Ami so
Kcsiiiliiicni and [usticc wrestled to;.,atlK'r in the
iic'.irt of liic man, lic-rcc and Ion;.,' as tlu- contlict at
iVnifl; hut in the- end Justice wcmi. He would no
lon;,'er feel liitterly towards Casiinir and Madame
Zamoyski. It was ri;,dit that tliey sliould seek their
<lau,t;hter's highest ^ood. He must not narrow her
life down to the lines whieli set a hound to his. She
had heen educated with the idea of fill'ti^r a position
of distinction and of returning to Poland. He tried
to ima;,Mne how Casiniir Zamoyski would feel when
this, his last hope, was hlighted. Then, too, not
oidy was Riverside devoid of cultured society, hut
the simi)lc people were unahle to ap])reeiate her gifts,
and often commented on things which they did not
understand. In time she might come to see this
and to weary of the cpiiet village life. She might
even regret the step she had taken, and that, he felt
(juite sure, would kill him.

"And now I must tell Trema," he said at last.
"Poor little girl! Will she care very much or will
she accept in a ipiietly philosophical way the decision
of her ])arents? I have no douht she -.vill feel very
hadly just now, l)ut she will go away and in a short
time she will forget this little experience; hut for me
there can never he another Trema."

He found her it: the garden, and she went to him
at once, and took his hand in hoth of hers.

" I see you know all ; papa has told you that all
must he at an end hetween us."

" He said he could never give his consent to our

marriage.

Ch-n\\\/:i) 1 y /;/ /

\/.

And. .)f

course. I

U'itliotit my parent

wonlil ntvcr niarrv anv

163

one

s (•<)nscnt.

Did 1

ic tell vou I was

to ^L, to St. rcttrsl)urj; soon ? "

"Ki;.;lit away?"

" Vcs, just as soon as a letter comes from mv
grandmamma. Hut the letter may never come." "

" Hut if it does, and you <ro to St. Petersljur^,' ' "

"I shall not marry; I shall remain as 1 am till
>ny dying day."

His grave gaze sank down searchinglv into the
shadowy depths of her dark blue eves, and he saw
there firmness and unfailing devotion, and he knew
she would keep her word.

if'

ir,+

CROW'M^I) AT ULIM.

CHAPTER XV.

CASIMIR .'ind Madame Zamoyski were lookinj^
anxiously now for a letter from the Countess,
but weeks passed and no word came. Then
a new trouble arose which quite put their disap-
pointment m the backgrf)und. A stranger one dav
arrived in Riverside, and claimed to be the true
owner of Vinemount. His name was Ralph Murray,
and he was a nephew of Robert Murray, tlie founder
of Riverside. He claimed that Vinemount had been
willed t(. his father, Charles Murray, by his uncle,
with the stipulation that his widow, Mr.-. Robert
Murray, should occupy the place till her death. In
the meantime. Charles Murray and his wife had both
died; the children had been scattered, and it was
only within the past few months that he had learned
that such a will existed, and that Mrs. Robert
Murray had been dead for fifteen years.

Casimir Zamoyski refused to give up his claim to
Vinemoimt, saying that Blackburn Montgomery had
held undis]>uted posse-;sion for ten years, which made
his title good; and the case was carried to the courts.
When judgment had l)ecn given in favor of the new
claimant, Casimir Zamoyski appealed to a ' igher
court, but only to lo^e in the end. Worse than all,
he had s])enl so much money over the suit, that most

. I

!'■

CR(>\vxi:n AT r.LiM.

of his savings were gone; and when the rich furnish-
ings of Vinemount had been sold, he had little more
than enough to Iniy a small bush farm some miles
from Riverside, with a clearing of about two acres.
A log house had been built \>y the former owner, and
this Casimir made as comfortable f. r his family as it
was i)ossible to do.

Everyone was surprised at the way that Trema
bore the eh rnge fiom her beautiful home to a lotr
eal)m; but they did not know that she welcomed
poverty, as she f-mcied that it would hasten her
marriage with David McCdashan.

She saw- him often during those da.vs of upheaval
in her Vinemount home. He bought many of the
treasures which they prized the most highly, and
Trema was glad to see them go into his possession.
He never spoke of their marriage agnin. It was a
forbidden subject. vShe just received a look now and
then, which showed that he had not forgotten, nor
ever would forget. One of his sympathetic looks
gave her courage to face any change, however dis-
agreeable it might prove to be. Rut she found a
novelty in her new life which was not altogether
unpleasant.

The woods were very pleasant in the spring days,
wht.i the Zamoyskis first went to their new home.
Red. wliite and blue hejjaticas bloomed in profusion,
««hile purple and yellow violets nestled in the shade
of graceful fi onds of maidenhair fern. Rut, unfortun-
ately, necessity had to be consid.-red before beautv,
so the underbrush was cleared r;-; tlie violets, fern
and columbine were sacrificed to the fire, and during
the last days of May, Trema helped her father plant

106

Ch'(>]v\f:i) AT Hi.nr.

l)otatoc's juid Indian corn. Many an animated dis-
cussion arose as to how many "sets" of j)otatoes
should be j)ut in a liill, etc. For Trema, when visit-
injy at her friends, had p.-iid i)articuUir attention to
all those little things, while her father had been too
absorbed in weij^htier afiairs to notice such trifm;
matters. Indeed, he found, after a time, that it slie
ventured an ojiinion at all, it was to be relied upon.
So he gave her full charge of the vegetable garden.

As Casimir knew little or nothing about chop-
ping, it was necessary to hire assistance. By July,
however, ten acres had been cleared, and they had a
logging "bee." Early in the morning the fallow
was astir with men and oxen. The teamster would
select a log too large to be moved by the animals,
and around this would commence to build his log-
hea]). All the logs near at hand were drawn in front
of the large log, and the men with handspikes rolled
them one on toj) of the other, till the heap was about
eight feet high aid fifteen broad. All the rubbish
was then i)icked ujj.and in the evening the completed
licaps were set fire to.

Taken altogetlicr, it was an exciting day for
while the woods echoed with the shouts of the men
and boys, the house was made lively by the presence
of the neighboring farmers' daughters, who had
kindly offered their services to assist in the cooking
and wait on the tables. But they were rewarded
when evening came by having a dance in the br n,
which was gaily lighted and decoiated for the ^ . ca-
Moii. Outside, file burning log-heap.: blazed clieeiily,
and sent shafts of ruddy light through long vistas
of oak and maple, lighting up the faces of the youths

ii;

CR()U-\i;n AT i:lim.

ir,

wlio nro'crrcd sittin;,' in the ruddy glow fo danciiii;
to the inspiriting strains of tlic nnisician's violin.
Tlicrc was little formality at these rustic dances.
The young men app-ared in tlie same clothes they
had worn while logging in the fallow, but as this
was an unavoidable necessity, no one thought of
criticising them.

After the logs were burned, the ashes were raked
up into heaps while hot, and taken to an asherv l)v
the side of the river to be made into potash, which
always found a ready sale. The "rail cuts" were
split into quarters, and drawn off to the site of the
tences. The fallow was then broken up, so that bv
the last of August it was ready for sowing fall wheat.
So the summer was a very busy one to theZamoyskis.
In the autumn, however, Trema was able to spend
more of lier time in a social way. Among other
amusements, tliere were husking and aj)]5le bees to
attend. The former usually took place in the barn.
])ut for the apple bees the young people would
gather in the large kitchen, which, with its painted
floor, polished hearth, glistening delf, and snowy
curtains, was a i)lcasant place for any gathering. In
the center of the room two or three tubs of apples
were placed. The young men brought apple-paring
machines, and soon the pared ajiplcs were Hying into
recc])tacles ; while the girls quartered and strung
them on long strings, and tlien they were ready to
be Inmg up and dried. When the apples were all
(iiiished, the room was cleared up and sup])cr was
brought i,;. after which the rustic fiddler appeared,
and (Inncmg waskept up till the small hours of the
UK riiiiiL;.

IGS

CR'i\v.\i:i> AT F.i.m.

Ill ihis way the auluiuii passed, .liul Ticnia cairic
to the conclusion that Hie in the 1 I'^h wns no .ucli
a very tr^inj^ experience as people imagined it to be.
She was looking forward to helping her fatl r niawe
maple sugar in the s])ring, but her father was not to
make maple sugar or fulfd .any of his plans.

As he did not have riny hired h^ 'p, he w.-is much
outside, and suffered fnjm exposure to the i ins if
the late autumn. lie took a severe cold, whah
ended in a serious illness. ..'eeks passed and he
giew no better. Then there c.imc ^ day when he
was more restless than usu.'i! and more racked with
pain. But as evfxing came on he fell into a fitfid
sleep, and Trema and her mother, seeing that he was
sleeping, slipped away for a much-needed rest. lie
had been sleeping for an hour and dreaming of a
celestial choir, when there was mixed with his dream
another sound, which, as he came gradually back to
waking consciousness, resolved itself into a chiming
of bells, whi'-h came far and faint through the snow-
laden air. As he listened, the voices of t le bells
seemed to repeat, as in a refrain, the words of
the song which they had sung last New Year's Eve:

"Riiijil hut ring softlyl oil ye midnight l)i'lls,
Pass like a (hcaiii across the hills and dells.
Soft as the snow enfoiding earthly things,
Kails on the night with sound like angels' wings."

He listened for awhile in a state of semi-con-
sciousness, and then wondered dreamily what the
bells were chiming for. It must be Christmas Eve!
Yes, and it /.s Christmas Eve, and to-morrow there
will be a festival in the homeland, and once again, .-is
in childhood's d.-ivs, services will be olfered in that

CK'OWM:!) AT LLIM. u,.j

catliedral far away. Before liis closed eyes visions of
bygone serviees came with a vivid clearness. He is
in the cathedral as of old. The people l;ave gathered
aad are kneeling together, and the lights of nave and
transept shine on their bowed heads, on the mal-
achite columns an.l shafts of lapis-lazuli. Then tlic
l)eople,with wrapt, upturned faces, watel: the priests
in their garments of embroidered gold, who throw
open the doors of the ikonostas and expose the holy
of holies to their view. The venerable i)atriarch lifts
a coi)y of the Sacred \V(jrd and bears it to the centre
of the church, where it is opened and the reading of
the Word begins. The service is ended at last, "the
priests again retire into the holv of holies, the golden
gates are closed, and the worshippers melt silently
away. IIow nice it is to be home once more I

" No," he murmured at last, wearily, " I'm not at

home, and I'm not o^ church, but in a rude log cabin

in a Canadian forest, and the trees are creaking

dismally." Then, after a time, his mind wandered

again to childhood's days, and he said soothingly:

"Never mind, mother; don't trot for your old

home. When 1 am a man I'll free Poland' and we

Avdl g(. and live at the ])alace, and everything will be

as it was when you were a child; and Prince Adam

will be king. Won't he be a noble king, mother?"

Then the -ars pass as nothing, and he says,

"Oh, mother, I've iailed ! The dreams of mv life

were all a mockery! I did not free Poland, and I

didn t even retain your love; for y(>u did love vour

boy once, but you didn't like my Miriam."

Two hours more pass, and then Madame Zamoy.
ski, wlio was again by his side, bending over him in

'.!

\\\

170

CROWXED AT ELIM.

anxious ministration, heard the one word "Miriam."
And with that name on his Hps, the i)oor, tired heart
is still forever.

As the bereaved wife knelt by the side o^ that
loved form, and looked on the closed eyes and (juiet
hands, on the \\\)s sealed with the seal of the great
mystery, she longed to join him in that restful sleep;
to lie still, like him, with every task completed ; to
have done forever \\ ■tii her life, which woulu now be
one of struggle, and care, and heartache, and sorrow.
Yet she diil not wish him back ; for often, during the
past r.ionths, as she had watched him bearing liard-
shii)S and unaccustomed labor, she had l()t)ked for-
ward into tlie years and shuddered ; for she saw
ahead only a long road ( . er whicli she must plod
wearily, and illumined by no ray of light for the
future. And then she knew that he had intended
to make so nnich of his life. lUit now, when the
harvest of his years was garnered, it ;-howed oidy
defeat, and heartache, and poverty ; with the grim
reaper laughing mockingly as, with sickh,' in hand,
he watched the last light chaff of youthful dreams
vanish f(n-ever. So, kneeling there beside him, siic
breathed a prayer of thankfulnes;-. that he would
never again have to meet discouragement or failure,
or be called upon to take up a weary task or im;ic-
customcd burden. .\nd she knew that though from
the world's standpoint he had failed, yet when the
liai"> -t of his sou' lay witmowed, such imperishable
we.'dth would be found in the golden grain of pa-
tience, and meeliness, and faith, and love, which he
had always dis])layed, that many a more successful
life would give its all to possess a tithe of it.

-.*^' ,

1^'

Ch'OWXLI) AT r.I.lM.

171

Trcina was inconsolable at Lbc- death of Ikt
father. She could not look at the awful fact in the
\va_v which her mother did. He was j,^one and her
life would he empty without liim. lie who had
always made the world such a pleasant i)lace for
her was dead I And while he had ^M)ne out to meet
death, she had l)cen slee])in^;I IIow could she sleep
and miss his last wor<l, his last smile? These were
her thoughts as, sobbing convulsively, she bent over
his cold form.

When the fune.al was over, Madame Zamoyski
had leisure to think of tlie future. vSht)uld she remain
on the farm, or should she sell it, and try to earn her
livelihood in some of the callin<;s open to women?
She preferred the latter course, but tliere seemed to
be nothing that she W£is really fitted to do. So she
decided to remain on the farm for the })resent, and
make one more appeal to the Countess. If tliat
failed, she would allow Trema to marry David Mc-
Glashan. And she believed that with a little hired
h >lp, she would make a tolerably successful fannir.

January was drawing to a close, and as Trema
one day wrdked briskly homeward in the evening
twilight, she saw a distant, solitary figure coming
towards her. At sight of hirn she caught her breath
for something in his glowing face and buoyant step
told her that he had pleasant news for her.

"At last, my own ! " he said when he had reached
her, takmg jjossession of her two little gloved hands.
" I have just seen your mother, and she no longer
objects ti. our marriage. It only remains for you to
say when it will take place."

172

CA'oir.vz;:; at ui.im.

Trcma lonkcd away from liis radiant face, past
ihcdaik lir Wddds j^dowitij^; in ihf sunset, and said:

"I tliink there is no reason for delav. Wliv
slionid om- marriage n(.t take pKaee in I'ehruary?
It is a Ineky montli,"

"Treina, Tretna ! " he cxehaimed, witli mock
;::ravity, "I am rdraid yon will not make a nnxlel
minister's wife. Vou will shock c\ ery one with vour
superstitious nonsense."

"Well, perhaps, you had better marry Miss
Hines. I am sure she would jxist suit you, with her
sharj) nose an.d goj.,';j;les."

" I think I had l)ettcr go back with Yf)u, and see
what your mother thinks of tlie wedding being next
month," he said, igtioring her remark about Mi>s
Hines. So they turned about, and walked swiftU'
across the snow— two dark figures clearly outlined
against the winter landseaiK\

Tlie wedding was in the kirk, and 1)ut little pre-
paration was made for it. Trema wore a court
dress of her mother's, of wdiite Itroeaded satin, which
in some way had survived the various fortunes of
nineteen years; and in it she looked a cpieen. The
church had no decorations, no i..-;hers, no wliite satin
ril)l)ons fencing in distinguished guests. But the sun
shone brightly on the bride and groom, and on the
hajipy, smiling faces of the villagers and count rv-
folk, who came from far aid near, to see the " ineeri-
ister m.irrit tae a wee bit o' a lassie, v. iia shud be at
sku'e for twa year or mair," and v'l,) ilocked aliout
the happy coujjle, when the ceremony was ended, to
otTer congratulations and every form of happiness.
Levden Bell was there, reflecting in his face his

ch'()]v\r:ii .17 r.i.iM.

ir.T

pnstor's Imppiriess; and Matthew Carruth was
tlRTc. liis rii--c(l lacf all a-low, ami for once lie
had no word of reproach, hut laid his hand on the
fair head of tiie hride, and reverentlv said :

"The Lord make his face to shine n])on thee; the
Lord lift up the licht o' His countenance ujjon thee,
lassie, an' j^ie thee peace "

And durinjr it all, Trcnia was radiantly and con-
fidently happy. In tlie last few moments she had
severed the tie which bound her to her race, with its
memories of gorgeous j)onip and j)owcr, of stern
grandeur, (jf heroic sulTering, and i)athos of defeat.
Vet she severed that tie freely, gladly. lint as David
McGlashan watched his fair, young bride smilinglv
receive the congratulations of the ])lain count rv
folk, his heart grew heavy with an indefinable fear.
She reminded him of some bird of Paradise, whose
home was not on the prosaic earth, but amid tlie
st.ft splendors of a rainljow-tinted sunset. She did
noi seem to belong to the common wcrk-a-d.-iv
world, but to a beautiful world, where there was
beauty for the eye and food for the mind ; and where
soft voices blended in cultured intercourse; where
poverty was not, but where gateways bore armorial
beirings, where halls were colonades of sculptured
pillars; where ceilings were frescoed, and walls were
tapestried, and fountains sjjarkled in a wealth of
greenery. For a moment tl.ere was a rift in the
glamor of romance which had surrounded him for
the past few months, and he realized that her verv
love for him had doomed her forever to a life o{
daily sacrifice in uncongenial surroundings. Dutv
bade him stay in Riverside, while everv trait of her

17+

CKi)\V\l-l) AT I-LIM.

character, her mental accoinplishinents, irresistil)1e
charm and '.me(|ualle(l j^race, fitted her for a wider
and higher s|)herc. The oUl distrust for *.'d itself
upon him. Would si.e not grow weary of Ri, ?rside,
and of him? TJut just then she looked up, her eyes
shining with haj)py confidence in him, and he cast his
feais to the winds. He !iad no ground for his fear;
it was only a :iiorl)id fancy ; in the hour of his
marriage he would be happy.

CROWXri) ,\T El.lM

CHAPTI-K XVI.

THREE months had passed since that Fchruarv
day— three months oluiiinterrupttd happiness.
The peoj.le of Riverside ahnost idolized the fair
bride at the Manse. Mrs. Lindsay, the housekeeper,
who had had misgivings about placing the reins ot
government in a "bairn's" liands, had been won
over by the unexpected knowledge which Trema dis-
I>layed in the secrets of housekeeping; while Jeanie
openly worshipped her young mistress, and went
about the house singing :

"Ilcr brow :s like tlic snaw-drift,
Her neck is like the swan;
Her face it is the fairest,
That 'ere the sun shone on."

till the old Scotch favorite threatened to pall on .he
hearers. The third of May had come round again,
and Trema was eighteen. Madame Piamoyski, in her
humble home, awoke that morning and remembered
the fact. She remembered, too, the fete of last year
and her plans !— they had soared till they had reached
the very throne of Russia. But, alas', in one year
every trace of her castles in Spain had vanished.
Both she and Trema were doomed to live the re-
mainder of their lives on the banks of the Grand
River.

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170

Ch'()\V\i;n AT ELIM.

"/^nd Trcma is cviilently contented to sta\' here,"
mused Madame Zanioyski. "Trema, around u lioni
all my plans have centered, is satisfied with this little
out-of-the-way YiUa;^^. It is a good thing she has
not the ambitious nature of her mother."

Trema meanwhile, little caring for all those
shattered air-castles, was up with the l)irds and out
in the woods gathering a boutpiet of spring flowers
for David. He found them an hour later. He had
been at the bedside of a sick villager till after mid-
night, and the svmshine was shining ])riglitly through
the chinks of the lattice when he awoke. Tlie room
had been darkened that he might not be disturbed,
but he fancied that he detected a perfume of violets,
and put out his hand.

"Yes, it is violets; and the first of the season.
She has been out to the woods and gathered them.
It is her birthday, and I should have got them for
her; but it is just like my Trema to bring them to
me. But what is tliat ? The piano ! Music on the
Sabbath! Wiiat will Mrs. Lindsay say? What will
the people think ? "

He dressed hurriedly'. And what was she play-
ing? Not a psalm tune, certainly ; but the strangest,
weirdest air. .\nd then the words ! He stood by the
window and listened.

" 'Tis a music wild and sweet, voice of Polish nation,
Which preserves her mcniury for each generation ;
Oid\' from the wild flowers now they their splendor borrow.
Ah, what he;irt that knows their fate, feels no pang of
sorrow ? "

The sad strains of the pathetic song floated up
to the minister, and dashed about him till he seemed

CROWMW AT ELIM.

177

like some ship- wrecked mariner on some lone isle i)f
the sea with billows of hartnony surging al)out him.
He forgot to question what Mrs. Lindsay would say,
or what the people would think. He only knew that
an agony of sorrow was breathed iii the words o<
the song, and that it ended at last in a sol). Trcnia
had not forgotten Poland. Greatly disturlied, he
hastened down to the drawing-room. She was still
seated at the piano, in(\ was resting her head on her
hand. She looked up as he entered, and her c'_vcs
were full uf tears.

" You have eome to seolil me for singing that
song — I see it by your face. I know I am a baby to
cry, but it is my first birthday without dear papa.
I was thinking of all the happ3' days we had spent
together, and then I thought of his troubles, and the
tears would not stay back. Rut I will not be a bain-
any more."

David McGlashan forgot the admonition he had
been about to administer, and only said : " It is not
customar}- to play any kind of music on the Sabbath
da}' in Riverside. This piano has never before been
opened on the Lord's Day."

"Has it not? Well, you must not bid me close

It now, for I want to play something I composed

for you last night. The poet who wrote the lines

must have had you in his mind when he composed

them."

She plaA-ed a charming little prelude and then
sang:

"Oh, well for me life's rarest gifts and best
Came slow and late.
Because my soul hath leaned on Jesus' breast,
And learned to wait.

178 CRoWXnO AT ELIM.

"For (lavs of lonely toil, and huinljled pridt,
And baffled will;
For hope deterred, and scltish prayer denied,
1 ihatik Him stdl.

"If drrk or I'riir, life's sunset liour sh.-ill l)e,
I cannot tell ;
I know llic Lord, my Shepherd, leadedi me,
And all is ^\ell."

When the hist sweet note had ended the minister
was leaning over the piano in nn attitude of reverie,
but all tluit he said was, "Will you please sing it
again?" And the saered song was sung again.
Trcnia jjlayetl on, anil, after a time, he found himself
singing with her the closing stanzas of the twenty-
fourth Psalm, to tlie tune of St. Georges, Edinljurgh.

Mrs. Lindsay was not unoljservant of what was
passing, aaid vented her vrath out to Jranie.

" Was there ever sic goings on in a Manse? I'-irst
mv lady rises at five o'clock on a Sabbath morning,
an' gaes racing around through the woods like a
bairn; then comes liame to sing heathenish songs,
an' desecrate the Manse wi' unholy soonds o' music.
An' what'il the minister say tae it all, thinks I. Na
doot he'll be sair vexed. But I niicht hae spared
mysel' the trouble o' thinkin' aboot it, for my lady
has bewitched him ; an' if he isna hel[)in' her tae pro-
fane the Sabbath himself! "

" Mistress McGlashan would not play the piano
on the Sabl)ath if she thought it wrong," said Jeanie,
speaking up in flefcnce of her beloved mistress.
" When she sang I thought of the angels singing
round about the throne in Heaven; and as for the
minister profaning the Sabbath— just listen to tiiatl"

C'AV)ir.\7;/; ,17" HLIM. 179

In the minister's fine tenor, oanie tlie <ir.LsLiun:

•'Hut who is He that is the King— the Kin- of^Ujryl
Who is tliis?"

Anc then the two voices were lieard in response:

" I'vtii that snnc Lord, that prcat in might.
And strong in battle is."

And they listened till the insj>irin<:r notes of the
coda had ended in the last amtn, and then Jeanie
looked up with tears in her eyes, saying:

"Yoti think music on the Sabbath is wicked. I
think it is grand. Such music is fit to i)e plaved in
Heaven."

It was the next morning tliat Trema, standing
by the window, saw a lady walking swiftly along
the road and up the avenue to the Alanse. Afar off,
Trema recognized her mother, for MadameZamoyski
walked with a dignity that sorrow had not lessened,
nor ]K>verty and hard work taken away. Trema
ran out to meet her. and looked wonderingly at
the radiant smile and flushed face.

"Such news, my daughter!" were her first words.
"I have just had a letter from grandmamma, and
she wants yfui— you aiil I— to go at once to St.
Petersburg. Tlie Count is dead— died three years
ago— and Ivan was thrown from his horse and died
in a few hours— such a horribly sudden death! The
Countess is beginning to get quite feeble. Of course,
I am sorry for that, but at her time of life it is only
natural that she should begin to feel the weight of
years. It seems she felt your father's death very
dec]Dly, despite her apparent coldness, and she wishes
to have Casiniir's child with her to the last."

ISO

Ch'cWXrf) .\T ELIM.

" T'nclc Ivan dead I" said Trcnia in an awt'-stnick
whisper, as if she were just hegitininjj;- to ^^rasj) tlie
meaning of her niotlier's words; "I ean scarcely
realize it. It seenis liard to imagine him lyiiig cold
in death — he who was so playful and witty. He was
always kind to me and I liked nim. though he and
])ai)a never seemed to get on very well. Po(>r grand-
mamma! What a trial to lose her two sons just
after the Count's death; though, truly, his death will
relieve her of a great many cares. But tell me, docs
grandmamma want us *^o go and live with her for
an indefinite period ? "

"That is the idea. She wants you to remain
with her as long as she lives. She has quite set her
heart on 3'our going. So anxious is she to have you
c )me, that she says she will divide all the property'
ecpialh' between 3'ou and your cousin, Ivan. For
Count Stroganoff left her very well off, indeed. If
3'ou do not go, ^'ou will receive nothing."

"But, mamma, she does not know that I am
married. I cannot leave David."

"Do not be foolish, child! Your husband will
have to spare yon for six months or a year, perhaps.
But he w'ill not mind so much. See how he has lived
here and worked for his people without 3'ou for five
years ; it will only be the same as it was before he
married you. Then the Countess must be quite up
in years now. She must be seventj'-six at least."

" Mamma, I should like very much to see grand-
mamma; but I do not like monev well encuigh to
make it the price of leaving David for a long time.
So, if he CTinnot take a holida\- and go too, then I
shall remain at home."

Cn'f)w.\}-n AT i:i.i\f.

1S1

"Trenia, you have hc-coiiic licadstroiig ami
thoroii<:lily intractable. It would be iuipossible (mi-
liim to y^o for an indefinite period, unless lie resi-nc<l
liis charge alto<;ether, which I am (luile sure he woidd
not do. And can you not understand, that if you
refuse to p;o, Ivan Stroganoff <;ets every tliin-,^? ' Of
course, that would be immaterial to you, no doubt,
asyou ha'e ac(mifortablehome; but think what a
(lifTerence money would niake to me. It is not a
pie.- -an^ thin<j^, I suppose, for you to see your mother
drud^uig as she has for the past year."

"Certainly not, mamma. It is a f^-^reat trouble
to me that you are obliged to do without the com-
forts to which you have been accustomed."

" Well then, be reasonable. Ry staying with the
Countess for a time, you will rot only be made
wealthy yourself, but the money thus obtained will
place me in an independent position and lift me above
a life of worry and care, which should be some con-
sideration to 3'ou."

"It seems that I shall be obliged to go," Trema
answered slowly. "How I wish David was here,
but he has gone to a meeting of the Presbytery and
will not be back till evening."

"Oh, of course, David will take a sensible view
of the matter. He will be perfectly willing for you
to go. But if he does not return till evening, I shall
not stay, as I have many things to look after. If we
do go, we will sail from New York on the fifteenth;
so that we have not many days to prepare for the
journey."

Trema passed the day in a state of feverish ex-
citement. One moment she was thinking of how

182

c-A''Mr.v/;/) .\T i:Li\f.

loiifly David would he, nnd the next, she was re-
proaching herself for forgetting her duty to lier
mother. But she came to a decision at hist. She
wouhl go to St. Petersburg and try to persuade the
Countess to settle an annuity- on her mother. As
Casimir Z.iinoyski's wife, surel\' she was entitled to
something. For herself slie did not care; her wants
were fully supi^lied. In that way she would he ahle
to return to Riverside in four or five months at the
latest. And David, she knew, would not care for
her to he away longer than that. Having come to
a decision, she was ahle to wait more tranquilly for
her hushand's return.

He came running up the steps in a glad way. It
was a pleasant sight to see her there to welcome
him.. He did not like to he ahsent from her even for
a day. She told him at once of the death t)f the
Count and of the tragic fate of her I'ncle Ivan, hut
she did not mention going to Russia just yet. He
seem.ed so happy, and she knew he would not like
the idea of her going. So over the teacu])s he enter-
tained her with all that had happened in town; of
the subjects which had come uj) for discussion at the
Presbytery and of their settlement. But Trema
listened rather abstractedlv, for she was wonderintr
how she could best tell him of her intended trip.

" David," she said at last, " where do you intend
going for a holiday this summer? "

".\ holiday! I had not thought of it. To tell
the truth, I have not taken a holiday — a real holidav
— since I came to Riverside, though the Session have
often urged me to do so. But as I had no friends in
Canada outside of this locality, and it did not strike

Cknw\i:i, .17- i:i,iy,_ 1^.,

nu- ,-is ])ai-tic-tilrirly iuliiL'stin- t(, ^o roaiiiiii;^^ ahouL
the country l)y iiiysclf. I just stayed licir. Ccrtaiulv,
wc will take a holiday this suniuicr."

■' I was not thinkin<,^ of myself, for I am afraid
wc shall not he al)le to take a lioliday togctiier tiiis
year. Grandmamma has sent word that she wishes
very much to see me, and she says if I ^o and visit
lier she will leave me half of her property. I would
not entertain the idea of goin<,^ even f(jr a moment,
were it not for mamma, but she does need the monev
so badly. You know grandmamma does not like

my mother; she scarcely tolerates her because

well, simply 1)ecause mamma is not patrician. I am
worthy her consideration, you understantl, l)ecause
I am her grandchild. Now, 1 did hoi)e that you
would take a trip this summer— to the Lakes" or
Niagara, or down the St. Lawrence— as the time
would seem to pass more quickly, and I shall i)rob-
ably return in Sei)tember."

" Are you quite sure it is necessary for you to go?
Is there no other way ? "

"Ves, David; I have thought it all over, and I
believe it is my duty to go."
" When do you sail ? "
"May 15th."
"May 15th! So soon ? "

"It is rather soon, but mamma has decided to
go then."

He sat silent for a while. The pleasure had
suddenly gone out of the beautiful May evening.
He had an unaccountable aversion to St. Petersburg
and all pertaining to it. He felt himself growing
nritable. It was a mercenary thing to visit Countess

;s+

ck(>\v\f:n .\ T r.i.iM.

Strogaiioff just to j,at iiiom-y, I'ait lie luu'w nuitc
will tli.-it TriMii.i w .-IS not inerceiiary ; that she truly
lovjd Ikt ^M-andniMilitr; that if the Countess had
been i)oor, and sick, and loiR-ly, she would have^^'oiie
to her at once, and would have cheered lur by the
sunshine of her presence. Hut the Cwuntc s was
not poor nor l)nely. She had relatives in St. IVters-
l)ur<;, and lifeloni^ frienils anil trusted attendants;
while he had oidy Trenia. But there was Madame
Zamoyski to he considered. Certainly, under the
circinnstances, it was very selfis'i of him to oltject to
Trema's jjjoinj.:. Well, he lirul had to make sacrifices
all his life, and no doubt he would have to go on
making them. Having come to this somewhat ])hil-
oso])hical conclusion, he entered at once with zest
into the arrangements; and Trcma, seeing that he
did not feel so badly as she had anticipated, became
quite reconciled and even animated over her intended
trip, and the hours flew by on wings.

On Wednesday morning, the housekee])er received
word that her sister was seriously ill, and she was
given leave of absence for a few weeks. As Jeanie
lived in the same ])art of the country, she was
allowed to go home, too, as she would be able to
travel with Mrs. Lindsay. So the minister and his
bride had to make final preparations without any
assistance.

David McGlashan accompanied the ladies to New
York, and went with them to Sandy Hook. The
good-byes were said, and he boarded a tug to return
to the city. .\s he ste])ped on botird the little craft,
the full burden of his loneliness fell upon him for the
first time. She was really gone; ever}' moment the

M, J'

1«i

CROW si: n w i:i.im. 1^5

distance was itiertasitiy; hctwccn tlicm. IK- w atclicd
tlic boat until it was a mere speck on llic horizon,
and then with a heavy heart he turned his face citv-
ward, antl watched the coast as thev passed aloti"
There was Stateii Island rislu- from the waves,
;;reen and beautiful, with a few cotta;,a's on the
beach and on the crest of the hill But his vision
grew rlini as he i^azed, and instead of the fair island
he saw a Manse on the summit of a hill, \>iili its
shades drawn, its doors closed, and no one on the
veranda to welcome him. Just then an ocean liner
steamed past them, hailing from Germany. The
passengers had crowded the decks, eager to get a
look at the ulw, strange country, and they waved
their handkerchiefs joyfully and sent glad cheers to
the passengers of the little tug, so rejoiced were they
that tlie end of their journey ha<l come. And then
David McGlashan thought of a day four months
hence, when another ship would sail into t'-e harbor,
and there would be a face looking eagerly out; ])ut
the lips would be trembling with joy instead of grief,
the blue e\es woidd no longer l)e shaded with wet
lashes, and all the world would wear a holidav look,
because Trema had come. Thinking thus he stepi)ed
upon the pier, passed along by Cattle ikirdcn, and
found his way among the crowds that thronged
Broadway; ])ut in all the faces he saw oidy one— a
face framed in IhilTy gob' n hair, whose eyes were
shaded with wet lashes.

He arrived at Riverside m a drenching rain, and
made his way from the stage up to his home under
dripping trees. Mrs. Lindsay and Jeanie had not yet
returned, and the Manse had a closcd-up appearance.

1««r,

CRowsrn \T i:i.i\f.

IR' k't liim-cir ill at t!ic sido door, and tin- interior
of thi; house was not more cliccrtul than llii- outside
hctokened. Ivverywliere were traee>< of their hurried
departure. On the talile in the diiiin:^-r()oni were
the remains of their breakfast. to,i,'ether with the
unwashed dishes. He looked around for sometliiu!^
to cat, but nfter :i three weeks' absence there was
nothini^ eatable, so he went out a^^ai.i to the viUa^^'e
stori- and obtained sn])i)Hes.

():i his return he went upstairs to find a dry
coat. An air of disarram^^enieiit pervaded this apart-
ment, also, but its very disorder brought Trenia's
presence stranj^jely near him. ('ioini,'' to the win<low
to raise the shade, In step]ied on a slipper— a little
sliopor with eoqnettish heel and dainty bow. He
])ieke(l it tip as if he had trampled on some live thln<_r.
In the el<)lhes ])ress was her ri lin;^ ha])it with the
veil eaM_;'il U]> on t!ic hat, just as she had w:)rn it
the <l,'iy they had last ridden toi^ether. On the
dresser w is a ])air of ;^Ioves, sliniitly soiled, and
evidently discarded at the last moment; there, too,
were some violets — the violets she had .gathered that
May mornitiLj when neither had thouLrht of sejjar-
ation. He left the room hurriedly; the very air
seemed to stitle him.

He went dowii stairs and ])repared some supper,
but wh.en he Scat down to eat his meal in solitary
st.ate he discovered that he had no apjietite, and he
rose from the table in a short time and went t(^ his
study. Stn'ely it would be more homelike there!
But as he ojiened tlic door, a breath of d mi]), cliill
air nv't him ; the ashes f)f the <,''r.'ite were strewn
over the tender; a work basket stood by a low

CKowxnn 17 i:i.i.\f.

1^7

rocki r, :niil I •ii;^ (»i)«:ii, lac^' downuai .Is, (ui tlic uii-
fmislud ciiihr.jidc'-v, was a daintily h.mnd voluir.o
oi Andre CliOnicr. lie i,d.iiiccd al the oikii i)agc
and read :

"Smiis parents, sans nttiis, et sans condtoycrs,
Oulilic MJi- la tiTic. el Unu ilc Imi^ Ics iijiciis,
I'ar los va^iifs i«U' sur cittr ilc faioiiohf.
Lf (l()u\ tK.in (Ii- la France c-^t snivciu vi,r ma liomhe."

Had tlif sad w^rds oftlic nnfortunatc poei appealed
to Treina ? Coidd it he that she. too. felt far (roin
lier own npoii :i hinely shore, and was slie hunirerin;^
tor the homeland and lor her people? He turned the
l)a^es and read :

"<l fear, when thv soul inl.i lu-rs is ^n hotind,
That to te.ir it away would inllict a (leci> wound.
When her smile seems as true as the sun's loving li^lit,
Rcnicmhcr, the sa;^cs had reason to write:

'O woman li. is ever inconstant been known.
And will) thinketh to liind her soul fast to his own,
lie thinketh to hold the wild winds in his hand.
And to write deathless words, by ihe waves, in the sand.*"

David McCilashan elosed the hook impatientlv.
That vas not true of Trema. Shonhl all the world
he inconstant, she, at least, would remain faithful.
She ni!,j;liL he lonely; she mi;j^ht Ion-,' for cultured
society; for all the pleasures of a life of luxury— he
half feared that she did— hut untrue she would never
he— never. He turned to his desk. It was piled hi<„'h
with papers and notes. He had made the notes pre-
l)aratory to writing a sermon, hut he had forgotten
the conneclion, and they seemed a lot of meaningless
sentences. He had been away three weeks, and it
seemed three months. It was an effort to take up

I!'

ISS

Ch'nwxnn AT i:i.iM.

his work aLrnin just where he had dropped it. After
tryinj^ vainly to mai^e some kind of order out of the
chaos, he slioved it all away at last— papers and
books and notes, and his thoughts reverted to the
one engrossing theme— Trema's absence. After all,
he had only to live out those four months a moment
at a time; they must end at last, and when he
should go out and meet his people, their troubles
and their joys would make him forget, and he would
be surprised at the way the time would pass. So
he tried to reason himself into a brighter mood ;
but a weight was on his heart that would not be
reasoned away, and he had to acknowledge that it
was not the four months' absence that he feared, but
some other trouble, as yet vpgue and intangible but
aone the less dreadful. A premonition of coming
evil had come to him that day when he had spoken to
Casimir Zamoyski about Trema; it had oppressed
him in the very hour of his marriage, and it loomed
before him now — a shadow mountain, indistinct,
ominous, terrible. So he sat by his desk, a sorrow-
ful bent figure, with his head bowed dejectedly in
his hands.

'A'O'.'.-A'Z;/; .5 7' LLIM.

189

CHAPTER XVII.

MVXY weary weeks passed before the postmaster
lianded David McGlashan a letter with an
interesting looking envelope, and with a
friendly nod to the customers in the store the min-
ister hastened out along the river bank till he came
to a secluded spot, where he opened the precious
letter and read :

Dolce far Niente.
Petrofskoi Ostkof. June 24th.
Dearest :

Don't I know how you have been watching for
a letter from me for weeks and weeks? I can
fancy I see the look of disappointment which will
cross your patient face when there is no letter with
a foreign postmark.

Did you receive my letter via Augtista, Maine?
On May 27th, a ship passed close to us— so close
that we could hear the captain speak. Fancy how
strange it sounded to us who had not heard a voice
fcr twelve days, except those on our own ship. The
ship was bound for A jgusta, and a small boat was
launched and our mail taken to the captain. I had
written the letter to you, not in the least expecting
such good luck as to meet a homeward bound ship
in mid-ocean, but I was just as lonely as lonely could

190

Ch'i>A-\j:i) AT i:L!M_

bo for veil a:id home and Riverside; and so I wrote
a httle every day, and i was deliglited when the
opportunity came of sending it to you. No doubt
you have received it before this.

Grandmamma met us when we arrived, and gave
me two frosty touches on either clieek ; but her eyes
were shining with a gh.dne.ss which lar manner did
not express. Poor granchnamma! She shuts her
kchngs uj) so, and few see beneath tlie surface so
she gets the credit of being cold and incapaljle of
fechng, when her memory is a storehouse of broken
h(;pes, and her heart is a fountain of h)ve; though,
alas! too often the fountain is covered with a coat-
ing of ice. As we rolled along in the hands.nne
eciujpage, gramlmamma kept up a running comment
on my changcl appearance. It seemed incredil)le to
her that I should have changed from a little g-rl to
a woman in seven years. She was disappointed
too, that I was married (that is 1)ecause she doesn't
know you, dear). She had some verv brilliant
match arranged for me, and so, of course.'hcr castles
m Spain fell to the ground. Her little e.Kcianiaiions
sometm-.es in French, sometimes in Russian unused'
me, but I let mamma answer all her (luestion.s, for
my attention was absorbed in the glittering shops
and miles and miles of great houses through which
we were passing. It was dear old St. Petersl)ur-
still— bustling, bewildering, .lazzling. The same
wonderful world out of which I dropped eight years
ago. The Palace, too, when we had anTved' was
the same dear place, filled a. it is from end to end
with memories of my childhood. If I ,ni,r],t j„^t
enjoy it quietly, and had you by mv side, how happv

CA'r)ir.v/:/) 17 i:lj\t.

101

I slidul'] 1)L'I p,nt since CDiiiin;; I li.ivo been cn<'-a<;c'<l
in llie intercstin*^, thrillin.;,' husiness of receiving calls,
and trvinj^ to sav soniethinu^ in a jjolished, ele,t,^-int
way in a language I have almost forgotten, and to
I)e()j)le wlio don't care a jot for nie. I niig'nt return
to ol)scnrity to-morrow and it would not make a
ripple on the surface of St. Petersburg's social life.
But it is a great pleasure to grandmamma la Coni-
tcsse to see me launched in society, and so I must
submit to it for her sake.

Vou will see by my address that we are at the
Islands. We stayed only a few days in town. I
su;)p()se you are wondering why f did not write
immediately on my arrival, but I looked uj) the
dates of sailing, and found that my letter would
Uwt go till June 27th. I know, also, wlien a letter
slior.ld arrive from you, and shall be looking foi it
anxiously; so don't forget, in the multiplicity of
ministerial duties, to write to me. And please tell
me evcrytliing— how Mrs. Lindsay is getting along,
now that she is at the helm again; and if Jeanie
sings a new song, or if she sings at all; where the
vSunday-school is going for its picnic, and if Rob])ie
Strachan came up for the paper helmet which I made
him. I put it in the top drawer of the sideboard;
the little fellow would l)e disappointed if you did
not know anything about it. There is a flag in the
drawer for him, too. I fancy I see him strutting up
and down with it over liis shoulder.

Since I came I have been renewing my acquaint-
ance with the servants, to mamma's great annoy-
ance. She says that she cannot conceive wlicre I
get my plebian tastes. The servants are all here

192

c'AVMr.v/;/; at f.i.im.

l.c^l two vcars a;,.,. II, ,vas a vcrv slatdv p.rso,,
'-"t kuul hearted, and to me. .on,e ten vca.. -o a

Z: h Tf "^' ""'"'"^' ^'^^- -^^ incl.lent ;rr nv
h hood days was brought vividly before n,e on

t e^b "•'' '"'"''' "'"" ' ""^''^^^ ^ --^--" vase
and ve "? ' •"'"• ' "'-^^ ''^''' ^ ti.creabont.
a ue uere tear.ng np and down the sah>n-Xero

to be permitted among the costlv bric-a-brac of'^a

'rawmg room. In our play. I stumbled ad fell

a^ams a large vase, and it was ju.c totted L to

rum when grandmanuna caught it' She ga e me a

Aero m the salon. I remembered the occasion verv
-v.d ly. as ,t was the only time that she ever spo e
crossh- to me. I wondered then at her caring t
much for a mere vase. I did not wonder t -!lav
when I exammed it. It is in cloisonne and g i h
on.e, and us decorated with scenes from the! e
of Conolanus. It belongs to the Louis XVIII period
and must h.-.^-^ ,^,.^t „ i . . ^ penoa

and must have cost a good man v roublc-s. , nere ,s
a eon , ,,,^^ ^^^_,^^^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^.^^^ ,

to the ame i)er,ocl. The scene on one side is Venus
dcscenCng to her palace below the sea-vou v ,
remember m the story of Cupid and Psvche I
not know .f the other scene represents anvthin /
par ,cular^ If you were here yc u would rJvc fa
the beaut.ful things in art. I intend to beg one t
^ruKbnamma-s tapestries from her for vot. T /
Death of .leopatra,- which is exquisitelv wrou.'l
-'"I'l just fit ,n that space between the fiVcpIace a .d
'-<>l-asc,n.h. library. There is also an. L.^ee

which I very inucli achiiircd. U i- (;nc- ..f tli, Roman
tapestries by Fcrloni ; the scene is fn.iu Tasso's
"Jerusalem Delivered.- Rut I must not want too
much, or. like Aladdin of the Wonderful Lamp. I
should be transporting the ])alace and all its con-
tents to a little vilhige over the sea.

10:00 A. M.. June i'.ltll.

My (/car Fidus Achates:

I didn't finish my letter last night, because I
remembered that in this prosaic old world tliere was
no such thing as enchantment, reallv; and that I
could not transport either the palacJ or mvself to
you; that l)etwcen us lay weeks of travel" \iid
when I thought of it, and how raanv weeks must
still intervene before I should see vou, I got rid of
my heartache by the remedy best known for tlu-t
malady-tears; and as I found they were beginning
to rum the appearance of mv letter, I put it awav
But the sun is again shining, the tears are gone and
this IS your own merry Trema, come to wish you a
bright gotnl mori ing.

First thing, when I opened mv eves some four
hours ago, I thought of Riverside and "the woods at
home; so while the elite of the islands were still in
dreamland, I went out, unattended, for a walk
Don't get frightened: I did not go bevond the
confines of our park, and I was not trviiig to lose
myself, but to find some prettv little nooks where I
used to play when a child. And I did find niv wild
woods, where I had played Robin Hood ; but,"helas !
It was turned into a smooth, green glade, with
the graceful statue of a woodland nvmph the sole

^•J^■

CKowxnn at HLi.^r.

ii.-'I..tant of tlie place; wliilc the hillock, where niv
iKTo had his fortress, was ;-rov. u into a thicket
Only tlie same little brook chattered over the pebbles
and wonnd its way among the green ferns in the
ravine.

Leaving the brook I climbed up the side of the
bank by means of a (light of steps, and when I
reached the toj) I found myself in a magnificent -rove
|'« linden trees, in the midst of which is a TuHd^h
kiusk. 1 sat down on the steps of the heathenish
edifice and looked aroun<l. It was a beautiful spot-
artdicu.l lakes, artificial groves, statuarv in the
nudst of a wealth of greenery, limpid pools sin-dn-
bn-ds. blooming plants. I used t(, have an erroneous
"Pnnon that Para.lisecameafter death; now I knou-
It comes before. Now, don't wrinkle up vour eve-
brows and look so shocked. If vou have one fault-
ano you have c.ne-iorgive me if I .livest vou of one
i)C)astcd quality, but you know vou haVc lots of
good ones left; and since you will c.^alt me in spite
of myself, you must not mind if I turn preacher, and
tell you that you take the u'orld and evervthin- in
>t too seriously, and so everything shJcks and
wounds and corrodes, and breaks the great, tender
iicart of you. But what was I saving about this
pocket edition of Paradise? Oh. 'ves ; it was so
beautiful that I wanted to run awav over to the
Church of St. Isaacs, fall on mv knees befbre the
Patriarch, and beg him to give me some severe i.en
ancc to perform. Another lapsus calami, vou will
say; but, indeed. I mean it. for I feel that all this
bjMuty steals into the senses and unfits me for the
st.rn... duties of life. I know I w .uld make a most

ck'()]v\i:i) .17- /;/./.u. ,,»-

perfect priestess in the sacre.l temple of the neaiU'-ful-
but thou-h I olTered incense all dav l«,n-, and .pent
every moni.nt in the ceremonies of the shrines it
would stdl remain a reli-ion of the senses, and I
must clnnl. to tlie Holy City by a more ru--ed ,)ath
I think of your IWii in Riverside; of how little of
the beautiful there is in it; of the -rcat sacrifices vou
have made; and yet it seems the true life, and I want
to be somewhere near you-I feel afraid .-done The
spotted leopard* is always beckonin- me aside in
tnis City of the Czars.

And now there are no more thou<:,dits save one-
that after all these pages and pages, v.^u will l,e glad
to hud my signature, seeing that it will denote a
conclusion; and so I shall gratifv vou, though verv
reluctantly, by signing myself.

Your devoted little wife.

Tkk.ma.

When David McGlashan finished the letter he
hfted his head, and, lo ! the shadow mountain was
gone. It had dimmed the stars bv night, and had
clouded the sun 1)y day; and now, without warnin-
It had been carried away on the wings of a daint^v
missive from over the sea. He noticed for the first
time h(3w beautiful the river was in that t.articular
spot. He noted how the foliage of the svcamores
and elms was entwined and interlaced with wild
vines, and hung in graceful festoons over the water
A flock of geese came sailing through the stone
arches of th- bridge out into the broad river and
he wondered if they knew that the I.n.ad. smooth
stream w ^ould end for them in destruction if they

• Dante's Inferno. Canto I.. I. 3i-n«.

190

Ch'<)\.-\!:n AT HLIM.

eotiliiiiicil (•n their course, for ahead of thciii was a
precipitous fall of thirty feet. And then lie thou- lit
how, in life, Edenic restin<^ places often canie before
troublous times. He had come to such a place now.
l)Ut he was not afraid for the future. lie had hail
a ])remonition of trouble, but it had only been a
premonition, and now it was gone, he hoped, for-
ever. Xor did .t^rave df)ubts ajj^run return, even when
those dreaded weeks liad passed and Trenia -lid not
come at the appointed time. But she sent one of her
cheery letters, tellinj^' liow the nol)ility were about
to leave their summer homes on the islands for tlie
city, and that the Countess had <.^iven a grand fete,
the last social event of the summer, and that she
and her mother had remained a few weeks longer
in conseipience of it.

All the arrangements of the fete were symbolic
of the harvest season. It was, in fact, a harvest
festival. Over the driveways we-e arches of jack-o'-
k.nterns. The lawn represented a field of harvested
grain. The stately entrance to the villa was out-
lined with autumnal flo>vers. Tne piazza, which
was of generous proportions in length and breadth,
was canopied with grapevines, whose laden branches
sank drooping to the floor and formed an arbor in
which supper was served later in the evening. The
interior of the villa was included in the general
scheme of harvest decorations. Grapevines, flowers
and ripe fruit formed a frieze around the drawing
room ; garlands of poppies graced the pillars ; sun-
flowers and poppies peeped out f. om great banks of
palms and ferns; screens of plaited wheat formed
quiet nooks where cosy seats were placed in the

CROWNED AT KLIM.

HIT

shack", .'IS it were, of miniature straw-stacks. The
rich eostuiues of the lathes eoiiipleled tlie st-eiie of
beauty. This aiul niueh uujre, Trenia told in her
eharniiii;.^ way. And the minister stifle- a si<i;h at
the thought of her ahsetice, and with the courage of
a martyr, wrote her not to he in a hurry to return
but to enjoy herself for a few weeks longer.

The weeks passed (juiekly; then winter was upon
them, and it was not thought advisable to undertake
a sea voyage during such inclement weather. Trema
was glad that it had been decided that they were to
remain till spring, for as time passed she noticed her
grandmother growing mf)re and more feeble, and she
did not wish to leav^ her. She would gladh' have
given up all festivities to remain by her side, but the
Countess would not have it so. She assured Trema
tliat she was feeling as well as usual, and insisted
on her fulhlling all her engagements, and they were
many. As for Madame Zamoyski, the days weie
filled with a giddy round of social duties. She al-
ready felt that her life in Canada was a dream ;
that there was no life outside of that whirl of
dinner parties, theatre parties, balls and social teas.

198

Ch-uwxuij AT r-LIM.

CHAI'TF-K XVIII.

SrPERHLV ccstuuR.I. Ma.lanic /iamovski one
c-ven.n^. entered the salcn of I'rinee^s Ment-
ch.kofT. wl.cre she and Trenia had been invited
to (hne w,th a few distinguished celebrities. While
she stood chatting with her hostess, there can.e to
her the nu.nory of former years, and n.entallv she

St. tclN sa!,ni-,ts walls hung in rosy satin, itsceihng
nchly painted ni fresco, its furniture of gilt nxd bn",

caded sdk, and tl..n she looked past ^hedaLlin,;
groups ot r.chly-gowned folk to where Tren.a sat
lat,g nng and chatting with some friends. Princess
Mcntclnkofl also noticed at the nnnnent Treni-Vs
sparkling l)eauty.

" Your daughter was meant to be a social leader
it is a p,tv she marred in Canada," she said

"^c's," Madame Zamoyski answered "i w.s
just wondering how she will ever be able now to '^o
back to the quiet life wf her village home -

The Pnncess .hnigged her fair shoulders grace-
back' - '' "^ "''''^^'^''"^^- '^^hy should she ever go

tion''' Wl"'"'i The thought can.e as an inspira-
tion. \\hy need she ever go back? Just then the
fohhng doors rolled back noiselessly; two footmen

Lll

CKoWXi:!) AT t.l.lM

199

(livw risido tlit- t.-'pt-slrx porucnc^ ; Uic hutictshck
stood 111 the ;ir(.-lK(| (1( )tn\

" I'iiiiKr is served,*' lie said.

The Triiieess aeeoiiipanied hy Count Hranitskis
led I lie way. Trema lollowed on the arm of a dis-
liii.Hiiished Russian nolijeinau. Madame ZamovsUi
found ihat I'rinee StreelinoiV had been assi-ned to
lier; hut thouj^h lie jiroved an a<;reeable eoinpanion
and she -,^ave eourteous attention to his remarks,
yet she was still busy with that startlin^^ (luestiou:
" Why need she ever J40 bael< ? "

Oiiee again Madame /.ainoyski had tnsled of the
iritoxieant of lu.\ury, and found it good; heneefoitli
she must live upon it. How she hated povertv!
How she loved this royal magiiifieenee— the splendor
of the dinner serviee. the softly shaded eandelabra,
sparkle ofeut glass, the ineense of rare (lowers! She
must have it at any price. .\nd, alas I for all these
things she must look to Trema. Through Trema
only eould e liojjc to win favor with tlie Countess
and receive money enough to sujjply her extravagant
wants. Then, suddenly, in the midst of the light and
the laughter and the llowers, a thought came. Ma-
dame Zamoyski raised her head ; her cheeks were
glowing, her eyes s])arkling. She would do it. Why
not? David McGlashan would care for a little
while. Trema would care, too, but she would soon
forget.

'I he idea was so simple that it did not seem very
dreadful. In fact she realized now that the thought
was not new; that it had been lurking in her heart
ever since that morning in Riverside when she had
received the letter from Countess Strogunoff, and it

200

Ch'OWXi:!) AT i:i.IM.

had only iR't-iKd llif riiiiark fVimi I'rincos McTitilii-
kort" to crv^talizc llic tliou^lil into dilinitc action.
She was (kridcd now. Trctna must nrvtr rctmii to
Canacha. She would intercept ail Ictlt-rs passing
between David atid Treina, and then instil, drop hy
droj), the vcnotn of distrust in Trenia's tnind. This
plan, so simple in j^eneral outline, would re<niire a
great deal of thought to hring it to a suecessful
issue. lM)r instanee, if Treina did not hear from
lier husband in u eertain lengUi of time, she woidd
l)r()hably take jjassage in the next ship and return
home. That must be j)revented. Then David Me-
(jjashan might come to St. Petersburg to see for
himself how matters stood. That, too, must lie
prevented.

U was the very next day that the Countess, in
going over her mail, held a letter out to Madame
Zamoyski.

" Who is this letter for? " she asked. " My eyes
are not as good as they onee were, and I cannot
make out the name."

Madame Zamoyski took it eagerly w lien she saw
the Riverside ])ostmnrk, and blessed the I'ates who
had decreed that Trema should be spending that
j)articular day with a friend. A few moments later,
all that remained of David Mc('.lashan's bulkv letter
was a little heap of aslies in the grate in Madame
Zamoyski "s room.

This auspicious opening of the enterprise gave
her courage. It seemed to augur well for the success
of her scheme. And when, a few days later, Treina
s])oke in an ar.xious way about the non-appearance
of her letter, her mother replied:

ch'owxi-n \r r.i.iM.

2(11

"Do not tronhlc yourself, child. D.-ivid i«,, of
course, bccomiuj^ accustomed to your absence now.
The receiving of a letter on a certain day will no
longer prove a life and death matter to him,"

And day by day thereafter, she sought to jilant
snsi)icion in Tretna's mind. On every possilile occa-
sion sIk cast reflections on the ct)nstancy of David
McCilashan, an<l showed Trema what a small part
she played in his life, filled as it was with all a
pastor's cares. And though Trema emphatically
denied all these accusations, yet she was deejiiv
vvoun<led, especially when after a time there seemed
to be some truth in her mother's assertions, for no
letter came. After one of her mother's dissertations,
she would shut herself up in her room and weep for
hours. Though Madame Zanioyski guessed how
these hotjrs were spent, yet it did not soften her
heart, nor turn her from her purpose. It was not
her way to turn from a thing once undertaken, and
all tender feeling seemed t ) be congealing under the
baneful influence of that one all-absorbing desire.

Those were bitter days for Trema; more bitter
because she tried to conceal from every one what she
was sufTering. For to show that she was troubled
onl\' i)roved to others that her husband was grow-
ing careless towards her. In the first days of un-
certainty, she was determined to return to Canada.
But her mother had prevented that; she had worked
upon the one vulnerable spot in Trema's character—
her pride. Trema was not without pride; she would
not have been a Zamoyskl had she lacked it. She
would not lose faith in her husband while there was
a vestige of hope on which to cling; yet neither

20 -J

ch'owxnn at eltm.

would slie take any step to clear ui) the mystery of
his iiKlifference.

Another mail arrived, and no letter came. She
never realized till hope was gone, how much she had
counted on receiving one. At this fresh disappoint-
ment, there fell over her spirits a brooding sense of
desolation which she could not shake oft'. She found
it imj)ossil)le now to hide her grief under a sunny,
playful air; so she no longer received company or
])ar ' ipated in any gaities.

Spring came again, but for Trema there was
no sj)ring. In her heart was still the chilliness of
autumn. When the warm April days came and they
went to *^icir summer home on the Island, she went
for a walk in the park, but the sight of the chattering
brook and the kiosk on the hill-toj) onlv reminded
her of that first letter she had written, now nearlv a
year ago, when her husband's love had seemed as
firm and unchangeable as the granite quays of the
Neva. Rut in the midst of her trouble a new grief
came. Countess Stroganofif died. Though she had
been slowlv failing in health for some time, \ et her
death at last was totally unexpected and Trema was
inconsolable. She reproached herself for being selfish
in her sorrow, and neglecting her grandmother in
her last days. She thought with a ])ang of remorse
of the many little acts which she had neglected to
perform. She scarcely left the drawing room where
the Countess lay in state, but carefully and gently
an-.'inged the llowers on the bier, ])crforming the lasL
loving acts which it was possible for her to do.

One day. on etitcring the room, Trema found her
mother kneeling by the casket witli her face buried in

CROWXI-D AT i:i.IM. 203

the purple velvet pall whicli covered it. Slie hastilv
withdrew, l)nt was surprised at t!ie evident depth of
her mother's grief, for Madame Zamoyski had never
evinced the least affection for her niotlier-in-law.
But it was not grief for the dead which had drawn
the lines of suffering upon her face. While she was ,
surrounded by gaiety and excitement she had little *
time to think, hut now in the presence of death,
voices were whispering in her ears to stop in the
course which she had mapped out for herself, and for
a brief space she listened. She thought of the un-
necessary trouble she had caused Trema; her unselfish
devoted child; she thought how she had fallen from
honor, she who had counted honor her chiefest
virtue; she thought of tlie intrigue and deception
which she had practiced, and above all, she thought
of Casimir— her husband. If he knew, how he would
despise her ! He had always thought her incapal)le
of a dishonorable action.

"It is not too late; I can yet turn back," she
thought, "for I am rich now. so is Trema. How mv
heart beat witli happiness when the Countess told
me that she had settled a handsome annuity upon
me, ami that Trema was to share equallv with her
cousin Ivan. P.ut I cannot lei Trema rJturn even
now. During our residence 'lere the truth has been
forced upon me that I am admitted into the exclusive
sets upon sutTerance, because I married a Zamovski.
Buc Trema is admitted because she is a Zanu/vski.
In St. Pelersburg, a whole world of diirerence lies
between those t wo facts. Then Trema's intellectual
gifts and irresistible charm gain her an entrance
everywhere. Alas, that I should have to confess it.'

-'0+

CROWNED AT ELIM.

tnjt many of iny social triump}-s have been scored
through my daughter, and if I have to remain alone
in St. Petersburg, with neither the Countess nor
Trema to stand as sponsors for my social jjosition, I
suppose I shall find myself relegated to oblivion. In
the end, they will only remember that I was a mer-
chant's daughter; and Catherine will take good care
that our friends do not forget it. Then why let
conscience stand in my way ? Trema must remain.
And what pleas" e would she have with her money
in Canada, anyway? Then there is that letter I
wrote to David only last week— a cruel, false letter,
but it was part of my plan aud had to be done.
Now if I let Trema go back, I shall have to retract
and say it was a lie, and that I cannot do. Bah 1
how near I came to making a fool of myself."

She lifted her face from the i)all ; every trace of
tenderness and grief had passed, and the haughty
coldness, which of late seemed to be her dominant
expression, had returned.

CROWNED AT ELIM.

205

CHAPTER XIX.

FOR David McGlashan, the winter had passed
drearily enough. In February a thaw came,
and the country took on quite a spring-like
appearance. Spring was in the air, and the minister's
spirits rose accordingly. He looked at his calendar
and counted the weeks. There were still two in
February ; four in March, and two in April. Trema
would be home in eight weeks ! She had been gone
nearly ten months; it seemed years. He returned
the calendar to its place and put on his overcoat; he
was going to the post-office. He felt quite confident
that he would get a letter that day. He had not
had a letter from Trema for some time. On his way
to the village he began thinking of the changes he
v;ould make in the Manse. He would have the
drawing room newly decorated. Trema had said it
was too gloomy. He would have a new mantel put
in— pure white, Grecian style. The prevailing colors
in the decorations would be white and gold. It
would be a Marie Antoinette room. He would have
folding doors made between the drawing room and
a little ante-room— at present a most useless place.
He would have an organ put in. Trema was so fond
of sacred music. It would be the music room. He
smiled at his pretentious names, and his enthusiasm

206

CA'OU'.V/;/; IT EI.IM.

in house decorating. A year ago lie knew littie
enough about it, 1)ut recently he had given some
attention to the subject and was surprised to find
that tlie draping of a curtain or the harmonious
grouping of colors came as naturally to him as sing-
mg to an onole. He did not recognize the fact that
his work was an outlet for his artist nature. "I
should have been an ui)h(;lsterer." he said laughingly
to Mrs. Lindsay, when by a single dexterous niove-

- ^5' ""-*-'"»'j ariciiigcd tt l.ici- cm Lam,

which, under the housekeeper's treatment, had per-
sisted in remaining stiff and inartistic.

s enthusiasm was dampened somewhat when
h. :cu. hed the jjost-office, for there was no letter for
him. .\fter that, the day did not seem nearly so
bright. One of his parishioners met him.
"A beautiful day. Air. McGlashan?"
" Yes, but I think there is going to be a storm."'
The man looked incredulous, and passed on.
David McGlashan did not eat any dinner, and t.»M
Jeanie that Mrs. Lindsay need not iirepare his tea;
he was going out. Me returned some hours laur
and, still fasting, retired to rest; but did not >:eei'.
In the morning, however, he felt more cheerful.
"Whether Trema writes or not," he reasoned, 'she
mast eome home in a few weeks. In the meantime I
shall go on with these rejjairs."

He went to Toronto and selected new furnish-
ings; workmen were engaged, and for a time the
ALanse was a bustling place. But though David
McGlashan was so busy, he still wondered and
worried about Trema's silence. Each dav wli.u lie
received Ins uinil lu- turned aw.-iy dis.-i;. pointed, f.r

ch'o \v \i:i) A r i:i.i.\[. i.'((7

.'imoii;^- his k'tlcrs there was rever one with a Russian
pustinark. One .lay, OonaUl I'.ell, noliein;,- tlie min-
ister's clisai)p(Mnte{l faee, ^;iii :

"It iss a lon<,' time sine, i letter came from Mis-
tress MeOhishan. It will in- lakin;,' a Ion-:- time for
a letter to eome from Russia."

The minister was vexed. His wife's stran-e
silence would soon he the talk of the village. lie
woukl not watch the mail so anxiously. He would
fei-n indifference; then the postmaster would think
lie was not looking for a letter. For three days he
stayed away; then he went again on that ])ilgrim-
age which meant so much to liim. The store Was
full of customers, and Donald Bell was waiting on
them. David McCilashan went over to the side of
Lhe store wliere the p(Jst-ofFice was and Kxjked into
his box. There were several letters, and— ves ! un
t'lc to]) was a letter with— not a Russian^ hut a
Prussian post stamj). If he could only get it ! P>ut
the post-office boxes in Riverside were not oijcned
with keys. He would have to wait his turn. Well,
after waiting all those weeks what mattered a few
more minutes !

He walked away and spoke to some of the
people. He saw John McLellan, and did not forget
to ask after his mother, who had been suffering with
iicuralgia. He asked Alex Davidson how he was
gVLting alo'ig with his new house, and listened with
at'cntion to a detailed de:,cription of it. Vet all the
ti'ii .■ lie was thinking of that letter in the box. He
was wondering how Trema came to be in I'russi.i;
l)erhai)s they had gone to visit Warsaw; that no
doubt accounted for her silenoe TVi*. what was the

208

Ck()\v\i:n AT i:Li.\t.

use of thinkini;, wlieii in a few iiiouu'tits In- would
know all.

At '- St Donald Bell went over and distributed
the mail. When the minister got his letter he noticed
that the peculiar foreign writing was not Trema's,
hut her maid might have addressed t]:e envelope.
He tijre it open hastily and read :

" Art EMPftKHM,
"Crefeld, Rh.nisii Prissia, Feb. I'uh, isno.
''Dear Sir :

"We l)eg to call your attention to the enclosed
testimonials from our patrons in America, which
acknowledge our goods to be the most l)eautiful
ever imported into that country. Our hand-made
sacred vessels which we manufacture in (jothic and
Roman styles, when made for exportation, receive
especial care.

"Comparison will show that our hand-made
woven silks, gold and silver brocade, etc., for the
manufacture (jf vestments, are considerably lower
in price thnn any other. Send for price list and
samples of our silks, brocades, etc.

"Awaiting your esteemed order, we are,

" Your obedient servants,
"The DuxENBiRG Manuf.'vcturing Co."

It was a bitter disappointment. He turned to
go out ; he was very pale.

"The young mistress is quite well, I hope," said
the postmaster, noticing David McGlashan's white,
drawn face.

CK()\v.\i;i> .17 i:lim.

'jit'.i

" Ouite well, yts, c|uile wi-ll," he replied, soarcelv
kiiowinj^r what he said, and yet teeliiiji that his looks
imist belie his words. But one eonsolalion there
was in the disaijpointin^ letter. Donald Hell had
taken it for fjranted that it was Ironi Treina, and
talk would eease for the present.

He drjigged himself wearily home, sat down l)v
his study fire and tried to look at the matter in a
])ractical way. He had expected a letter and been
disappointed; but what of that? It mi<j:ht come
to-morrow. Hut if it did not? If day after day
{)assed and no letter came, what then? lie <;rew
white at the very thousj^ht. A lumdred perplexing
doubts arose. He was nervous and irritable. The
sound of the workmen's hammers anno^-ed him.

"I used to think I was a patient, philosophical
sort of being," he said, as he turned towards the
stone stairway as a refuge from the ncnse. "Now ail
mv patience seems to have deserted me."

At the first landing he paused. Should he go on
up to the museum, or out on the balcony? Not lo
the museum this time. It was always associated in
his mind with that happy New Year's P)ve, and in
his present depressed state the ha})piness of that
night seemed a mockery to him. He opened the door
oi. the landing and stcp])ed out on the balcony,
which was but a ledge of smooth rock. This new
wing of the Manse had been built close to a ])L-ri)en-
dicular wall of rock, the top of which was levi.l and
overlooked the river. Xo more secluded sjiocfoidd
lie found than this little retreat. Xot a single
habitation was visible from it. Beneath his feet the
river lav still ice-bound between its rockv fastnesses.

■2\0

C'A''Mr.V/;/^ AT KI.IM.

After the tliav/ atnl a rriiii-storm, severe frost had
eoiiie, ami now the trees on tlie o[)i)osite batik
gHttcred with a tlionsand sparklin^^ jewels; the roeks
all iee-coated formed a dream-world of ice-pillars,
>;lassy cornices and j^leaniinj:; ])innacles. The scene
was beautiful, restful. Under the innuence of that
crystal calmness his spirits were soothed, and hope
returned once atrain to his heart.

.\ week passed and then a bright idea struck him.
Trema was going to give him a surprise; she was
coming home without writing. He was jubilant.
Wliy had In not thought of that before? There was
still much to do, and he set a1)ont the remainder of
the alterati'Mis with alacrity. .\11 thetimehe w(^rked
he tho ight )f his little wife. Would this please her?
Would she be suited with that? How delighted she
would be with it all I But then the Manse must
needs be bright, for after all the grandeur to which
she had been accustomed recently, it would not do
for her to return to a dreary home.

He was ha])py and all nature seemed to rejoice
with him. The weather was warm again, and with
the return of balmy airs the robins had come. The
river had lirciken suddenly- from its icy fetters and
went turn' 'itig over the rocks with a roar like a
rushing, angry sea ; surface rivulets danced and
foamed down the hillsides, the trees were beginnin -
to bud; the whole world had burst into life and
gladness.

The minister went home one da^v with a radiant
face. Dr. Rlair had bought Vinetnount ; had for-
sworn bachelorhood; and he and Hilda I5ain were to
be married the last of April. " The idea !" said the

m. .\ i

ck(iWM:i> AT i:lim.

-11

i.iiiiistcr. '•.-111(1 Hilda so yoiiii;,^— barely scvciittrii I
And wlio would have thought that the di-^niified Dr.
r.iair would have chosen Hil(la~<4entle. timid, little
Hilda? Well. I am jj^lad that I'm nearly throu^di
with my alterations and I wish Treina was here to
enjoy the weddin<j; festivities."

It was indeed pleasant to hear sounds of life at
Mnemount, for ever since Kali)h Murray had taken
possession of it the place had been closed up. Now
.all was chan<.;ed. The doctor ;ind minister wonld
call across from their res])ective ver.'indas to learn
how each other's work was |)ro_<iressing, and be-
tween the two there was .a i)Iayful rivalrv. Some-
tini'js the doctor would <,'o over to the Manse,
criticise all the minister's work, and tell how much
nicer he was going to have things ; whereat David
McGlashan would reply that when \'inemount looked
nicer than the Manse he would give him permission
to criticise.

;r-'

ch-<)\vM:i> XT i:i.i\r.

CHAI'l'IvR XX.

DR. I'.l. AIR'S wcddiii.i; <lay eamc round al last,
atid the event caused an unusual exeilenient ni
the (luiet little villa-e. Almost everyone was
preparin- to ,vm) to the eliurch to -et a -liuipse of the
honnie voun- bride. Ciiarlie Kinnear, who had been
in Toronto tor some months, had just arrived tor the
nrrat oeeasion. David .MeCdas'aan met him as he
jumped irom the staire eoach.

•" Ib.w do you do?"" Charlie eried. when he saw
his i)astor. " I thou-lu 1 was -oin- to be late. l)Ut I
must be in time after all sinee you have not^gone yet.
May I drive over to the ehureh with you?"

"Certainly; just wait a moment till I get my

mail."

The postmaster had just opened the mail-bag,
and he lianded the minister a letter— a letter from
St. I'etersbur- at last I He i)ut it in liis pocket, for
he did not care to read it with Charlie looking on.

'• Well, how do you like business, Charlie? ".asked
the minister when they started along the road.

•• iMuel Tnele George says if I kee]) on working as
I have done he will make me a i)artner s(K)n. And
what do vou think? He is going to send me to
Paris ne.xt mouth to look atter some business. I
think he is sending me on this trip as a test to sec

CA-oir V/.V) AT r.l.lM

wlictlar I ;iiii worthy ot' promotion or not. I sliall
<lo my very best. It looks as if Mrs. McCilasliau's
palmistic divinations were corrt-ct. I am really
sutvcfdini.;-, and I am really ^oin.u abroad "

" I'almistic divinatiousl Why, what do you
mean ? "

"Don't you remem])rr that nii;ht at the su;j:ar
eanip when Trema— 1 hejj: your i)ar(lon— .1/r.s. Mc-
( 'r/:isli;iii read my hand ? Vou must have seen her.
I think she thought you were aniri'y at her tor it.
lieiause she would not finish telling' me, and I eould
never joax her to tell me anytiiinj,^ a,^ain. vShe had
said that I had little love tor poetry or tine arts, hut
would sueeeed in practical tilings, and that 1 would
travel abroad."

" I had no idea tliat Mrs. McGlash.an knew any-
thing ot palmistry. I shall have to ask her when she
comes home what led her to study such a subject."

" Is she coming home soon ? "

"Oh. yes; I think scj. I have just received a letter
from her." .\nd he felt his jiocket to see that the
precious letter was still there.

" I suppose when you <.iet to be a Lrreat business
man, you will be coming back to carry off one of our
lassies? " continued the minister.

" I\Thaps I may."

" Which one will it be; Miss Cairns?"

" Who told you? I don't sec how you know,"
said Charlie, laughing and flushing.

" Oh, I just guessed."

They reached the church then, and found that
the jjcople were already gathered. David McGlashan
went to the vesLry, but before donning his clerical

CA''Ml- ././< .1 r l.l.IM .

rolns he sal ilnwii Id iiatl llu- Irttrr; iio liaii^'tT of a
(lisappoiiumciil tlii^ liiiit'; it was scaltil witli tlic
crest ol llu- Si r();,'a 111 ill's, ilo <)|)t'nc<l it and read:

Si Kni.ANIil- I I'aI.ACK,

Sr. I'u n.Ksiu kg. .1/<;/7 Itnh. lsr,U.

Rev. Daviii McniAsnAS.

" The Miitisc, Rivcisidc, I'piier (Sunniht.

Ih;ir Sir:

I am rc(|iKsUil I)y my (laugliliT to inform you
liiat since comin.Lr to St. rctc'rsl)urj.x she considers her
!narria>.;e with a ei-untry elcr^^yman a ;.^rave mistake,
which she deei)ly re>;rets. Slic now sees what her
true stains in society should he. Instead of the
company ot a few indiistrious Scotcli (Lames, siie has
for friends the exalted on s of the earth. Her iiohle
lineaLTC her many talents, her wonderful heaiity, has
caused iill doors to be o[)ene(l unto her. Ivven
crowned heads rcCv .-her gladly.

Knowinj,' your conscientious scruples in regard
to your work, she believes it will be impossible to
])crsua(le you to live in St. I'etersburg, where no
doubt the society would be uncongenial to you;
tlierefore, she believes that the only course to pursue
under the circumstances is to live apart. She trusts
that you will look tni this matter calml\ , and if you
love her you will sacrifice your feelings for her well-
being.

She has not written this letter herself, as she
feared that the contents woidd grieve you more
dee])Iy coming irom her. it will be useless to tr3- to
persuade her dillcrently by writing, as her mind is
quite made u[). Should ^-ou answer this letter, your

i!i

c-<Miiitimiicritioii will ii,,t r.,;uli us, as wc li-a\v almost
imiiifdialcly tor a trip in SoiiIIktii !:iiio|h-.

Trusting' tliat yoti will take an impartial view of
this matter, believe me to he,

Voar respeettuUv,

MiKIAM ZaMOVSKI.

He held liie note in his liand like one in a dream.
He noticed the wide border of hlaek, and wondered
vaguely at it; he examined the bcaniifid crest of the
Stro;.:anoffs, tryiti-^r in a dim way to decipher its
meaniiifr; and looked with attention at Madame
Zamoyski's fine handwritint;. It seemed as if he had
two natures, but the one which ached and sutfered
was dead, while the other could take note of all
these little ihin^^s.

Presently he heard a sound outside, and he re-
membered that he was to ofiiciate at a marriage.
He i)ut on his j.":own mechanically and when he was
ready to go in, he seemed for the first time to realize
the magnitude of the blow that had come ui)on him.
Trema had deserted him I Trema. with the madonna
face, was false; Trema, with the soft dove's eyes, had
broken her vows. And iiow more vmvs were going
to 1)e made just to be broken ; and he would have to
listen to those vows and pronounce a blessing u])on
them.

When he stood before the bridal party Dr. Rlair's
grave confidence angered him. Imbecile! Did he
not kncjw that vows were brittle as wax? He
scared new whether he was using the proper
words ot the marriage service or not; for a verse

21B

CROWXHD AT ELIM.

of poetry was rushing through his mind with the
rapidity of a whirlwind.

"O fear, when thy soul into hers is so Vjountl,
That to tear it away would inflict a det-p wound,
When her smile seems as true as the sun's loving lif;ht,
Remember, the sages had reason to write:
'O woman has ever inconstant been known,
And who thinketh to bind her soul fast to his own,
He thinketh to hold the wild winds in h'.s hand,
And to write deathless words, by the waves, in the sand/ "

The cei-emony was over at hist, and friends
flocked about the bride and groom to otTer con-
gratuh-itions ; and David McGh-ishan ofiererl congrat-
uLations, too. He felt Hke laughing-a mocking,
sarcastic laugh. It wris a.l like a puppet -show-a
:arce, that v.-as gone through every now and again
for the atnusement of the crowd.

Soon the bells chimed out merrily. The doctor
and his voung bride drove away, and the guests
who had been invited to the wedding breakfast
followed. After the breakfast there was goitig to be
a reception for the villagers at Vinemount. Tb.e
minister excused himself from the reception. He was
tired of smiling; tired of saying eulogistic nothings;
tired of looking at happy faces; and tired of i)retend-

ing to be hap]n'.

"Yes. I am tired of it all!" he exclaimed when
the day was done, and he was alone in his room. " I
am tired of life which is nothing but a gigantic false-
hood ; tired of trying to be true when truth is dea(' ,
tired of striving towards an ideal which vanishes as
I near it, like some half remembered dream. And
after ail what are ideals, but half formed dreams

i'iMi

CRDWXI-I) AT i:i.i.\f.

.'17

wliich can never be fulfilled ' Poor miserable human
creatures, fallen angelhood ! What are we ? ( )nce in
the ages past we took a wrong turn, and we hjive
been going wrong ever since. The dross of earth has
perverted our sense; our souls are burned out; oar
impulses are sick; we deceive one another, and then
we deceive ourselves, till at last we are not sure
whether we wish to reach some higher plane or not.
So we mix with the crowd and are swejit along en
mnsse as leaves are whirled in a stream, till iho feet
become weary, and the eyes are dim. and thegr.ue
is just beyond, and then— ah. what then? Well, I at
least, cannot mix with the crowd. 1 cannot fritter
my life away in absorbing nothings. T shall leave
I he ministry and i)aint pictures— pictures of fair false
faces sitting in temples of dethroned gods ; of stately
forest trees preyed upon by graceful vines till the
mighty giants slowly give up their lives to the tairy
tendrils which stealthily close about them ; of flowers
of exciuisitc beauty blooming in an arid waste, lor
their odors emit death. Thus I shall teach mankind
that nothing is so pure but it may be deadly— that
Beauty is Death."

With these aching thoughts weigliing upon his
brain, the minister at length fell asleep, h med
that he was long in waking, and that duri . ose
long hours .-f sleep he dreamed. Once in his (irean^ a
soft-eyed jianther crept close to him. and wliile he
was admiring its graceful form it crouched ready tt)
siiring, while its beautiful eyes shot sparks of fire.
Then he fancied that he was moving through an
Elysian glade where vines and mosses grew, and sank
down to rest amid the soft luxuriance. when a slimy

o^8 C-A'')U-.Vf-/) T F.l-IM-

:eptne crept out .V<,.an..n.U.iV,lu...^a^^^^^^^^^^
around a pku.t. cruslnn.u out it h • b ^^^^

this lon,^ sleep. Trcnu. came a,u ^ ^^ >/ ,^ ,,,,.
n„(l scrrc.wful-cycd; but when he called
vanished like mist. ^ -j. ^

Ti„.„ 'it list he awoke and heara in. i
Then at lasi ne better; all danger is

CkhCfhin hand. ..«iU..g through her tear, and
"•'"f.";::' Lord he praised for His goodness., we

eouiana nK.k np oor nnn.ls '- '"^ ^^^^'.^ ' e were
He ^vondered what .t all meant, an n

dreaming yet. Would Mrs^ I-'<'->,t:-taite for a
..auish. too. as Tre.ua had '"- , "j^^^" „, ^h,,,
n,„mcut fearing that th^v-ond d -ppe ■ ^_^

he notieed a hou.,uet o. )■;"' ^^ ^^, „,„ d„an>.
knew that time hail passed smce lie n.i

'"° .. What is the matter, doetor ? Have 1 been ill ? ••
"Yes, very ill."
.• For how long ' " ^^^^ ^^^^

hl,„. When they ^"■''^.^"'"f:/' , "Xr.-rew coii-
rememher everything. Im '^ ''™;^ V, „ ,,„ieh
fused and soon he fell into a tleep sitcp.
{;rdi'd not .vaUen «"> the ear,- Uou,. o da.n.^^ And

;::!:::: :;^h:ia:i::;:;::^"":-^v. he .ineied that

beams oi i c> . - j j^mmse till He

he floated away lU tlie patli oi

'ROWXED AT ELIM.

119

•jre.'it

a in the midst of shekinah glory, and saw the
Hi-h Priest in his Temple filling golden lamps

with holy 0,1, And lie said to the angel who stood

"What nieaneth thi> my lord.

And the angel answered: "As the Anointed One
mieth the lamps with holy oil. so He hUeth Ihs
people with His Holy Spirit, that they may keep
Their testimony l^right and elear in a world (^t dark-

"*"^ Then the Anpinted One turned and looked at
David, till he felt those eyes piereing down into his
heart and seeing there all tlie rebellion, and hatred,
.nnd unbelief whieh of late had lurked there, tlun
the eyes of the Holv One grew tender, and sad. and
loving, till David fell at His feet and ened :

"Now let sorrows inerease; let tr.jnds torsake
me; and let jov pass me by: yet will I trust Thee,
my Lord an.i my Redeemer. ;For Thy Name s sake,
O Lor-^" pardon mv inicpnty.'"

\nil with that eager cry he awoke, but the re-
membrance of the drenm lingered wit!i him.

»li

220

CRriw.\i:n at i:lim.

CHAPTER XXI.

Wnil returning' health, tlic minister realised
;h? hiltcr truth that soon tlic worhl wouhl
have to know that his wife had deserted
liini. Stranu;^elv enoui;h. witli his ihne-s all anger
and l)itter resentment a-ainst Trenir, had passed
away. Was tins not the very result that he had
lon'4 a>;(> Ibreseen ? Like a little eaptive Mrd whieh
would apjjear contented in its captivity, yet having
once gained the tVeedun ot tlie forest, nothing could
iixhu-e it to return; so i renia had been contented in
Riverside till a l)roa;;er view of the worhl was given
her. He l)lamcd himself for being so foolish as to
thiidi that one ofTiema's position and accomplish-
ments would be satisfied to be the wife of a country
minister.

But a];is for David McGlashan 1 This reasoni.ig
did not make his sorrow less heavy to bear. He
knew the world would lilame his wife when they
came to know the trutli, and he could not stand the
thoutrht that they would blame her. How was he
to let tlie ])eoi)le know that she would never return?
Hecould not let them km)w— not yet. But his secret
weighed upon him. lie was not so pleasant and
•Tenial with the ])eople whom he knew l)est. They
noticed the change in him. but attributed it to his

: i

I ;

c/v'oir.v/;/; i r r.i.iM.

221

illness. lie wont out very little; shut himself up
with his hooks, and was in a fair wav of beeoniiiiL'- a
recluse, when an unforeseen eveiit i-tused him l. for-
get his own trouble in those of others. Cholera
visited the villa.ij-e. .\ family of emiirrants from a
cholera infected vessel found their way from Montreal
to I'Jiverside. One of the family died shortlv after
theii arrival, "from a disease resemhlin.i^ cholera,"
llie people said. Then old Airs. Wi^t^ins died sud-
denly after a few hours' illness. When Dr. Blair
diaynosed his first case, he sent Hilda to friends in
Oxford County, and then went in haste to David
Mc(ilash;in.

" Von will have to tnke a holiday. Mr. McGln-
shan." he said. " I am afraid we are in for a siege of
cholcrri ; and in your weak state of health it would
be madness for you to stay here. Aiul v<.a will have
to tell Mrs. MeGlashan to remain for the present in
St. I'etersburg."

At the doctor's last words a weight passed from
the minister's heart. Evidently his friend did not
even suspect that all was not well between him and
Trcma. .\nd then he woidd not be under the neces-
sity of telling him— not just now, and tl'cn. perha-ps
what the doctoi said was true— in his .>cak state of
health he might take the cholera, and— he would
never hrive to tell. There is no one to mourn me
slionlii I not come through this safely, he thought
half sadly. Then to the doctor, he said :

" My friend, I would rather reninin."

" I cannot !iear of it."

" If I went, wh.o would t.-ike my place and con-
sole the last moments of the dvintr?"

ch'(>\i.\r:f) AT i:lim.

" Xo OIK', I tc.'ir."

" Tlicn I shall stay; my dtit}' is here."

" If you arc (It't'-rmiuccl to remain I should advise
tiiat you settle your temporal atlairs, and semi i'arc-
well messa<xes to your friends; for if \-ou ])ersist in
,s^oin;j^ anion^r llie cholera stricken, you are a doometl
man."

"Doctor, it is useless to say any more; I am
rcaily for the worst."

My Sunday tlicre were ten deaths, and more
cases reported ; hut there was service at the kirk as
usual. .\s the days ])assed the heat grew more in-
tense; the flowers drooped in the glarim: sun, and
the grass was i)arched as with fire. In a few days
the death rate had increased alarmingly. Business
was suspended. The people shut themselves within
doors as much as possilile, and there was nothing to
break the awful silence which reigned in the streets,
hut the tolling of the church bell.

In two weeks the villagei. had hecome panic
stricken and refused to nurse the sick, outsiiie of
their own households; so the doctor and mini>-er
nursed the patients themselves. One person o.iiy
came to their assistance, and that was Leyden Bell.

"This is a serious business, Leyden," the nunis-
ter said, "and you have been doing so much good
among the young men recently that I do not care tc
allow you to risk your young life in this way."

"Oh, Mr. .Mc(ilashan, is my life or my work for a
moment to be com])ared to yours ? Where vou go I
shall gladly follow."

"AT right, my boy. Now listen: the docto. can-
not prescribe for all the patients ; he is too busy, and

CA'oir.V/;/) AT /././A/.

223

I know iioLliin-^ of nicdk-ine; l)ut I have already had
a little success with my treatment. I make parched
corn into cofTee to stop the vomitin,!,^ and use l)urnt
brandy and loaf sn«,'ar for the pur-;in^^ This simple
reme.ly has helped not a few. Have vou heard of
any fresh eases ? "

"John Hailey. the butcher, died at noon."

" Is It i)ossible? I saw him this morning serving
customers at nine o'clock."

" Ves; he said to Mrs. Chisholm that he thought
of leaving town for a time; ihat he was not feeling
well : and at twelve o'clock he was dead."

"Oh. Leyden, this is dreadful! But wc will do
what we can."

There was no thought of service at the kirk now.
The minister was constantly with the sick, and the
people would not go abroad for fear of contagion.
As David McCrlashan went forth each morning, he
cast a half wistful look over each dear and familiar
spot ; for he knew not l)ut that his eves would be
closed in death before night. So the grey stone
Manse, the shaded lawn— the one green spot in the
parched up country— and the winding river were en-
veloped with a tender, ideal beauty. As he saw the
sun rise each morning, he was repeating Lanier's
experience when he wrote:

"I must i)ass from thy face, I must j-ass from

t}ic face of the sun.
. . . till vondtT beside thee
My soul shall float, friend Sun,

The day being done."

He never seemed to think it possible that he
could escape the dread disease; yet death had no

21' I-

Ci\(>nxi;i) AT iii.iM.

terrors )r liiin. Ik- was as oiu' wearied willi a Ioiil;
(lay's work, and lookinj; forward lo rcsi at tveiitide.

Lcvdcn wcirkcd laiLlifully, never sparine,' himself
a moment. He was everywhere where a helping,'
hand was needed.

" Voii are working too hard. Leyden ; you had
better go home and take a rest," said David Me-
(ilashan one day, as he saw the young man's white
faee. Leyden tried to reply, but all strength suddenly
left him and he fell uneonscious to the floor. Thev
carried him home and he lay uneonscious for hours;
then he opened his eyes and smiled when he saw his
friend sitting by liim.

"Leyden, dear boy, you must get better," said
the minister. •■ I cannot spare you."

" Had I died a (innikard,y<)u might havegrieved,
Mr. McGlashan; but now, through your eflbrts. all
is different. I was a brand plucked from the burning.
The Saviour has been merciful."

" Yes, I have never ceased to thank Him for lead-
ing you out of that dtmgerous path. But I have
learned to look to you as my r t hand. I cannot
part with you .low."

"Some one will fill my place, and accomplish
more than I have been able to."

At sundown he passed away. The villagers
heard of his death with sorrow, and in the clu'unber
where he lay, his friends gathered, the terror of the
plague overcome by the longing to get a last look at
his loved face. All who came owed something to his
earnest work. Rut for his influence in the hour of
temptation what would tb'w Ijc now? — they shud-
dered to think.

Al iiii(hiiL,flil
spraii- iij
wrarv watchers

C !<<> \V \i:it

.17 III.IM.

ram lic^^aii lo iall ; a re iVcs i i i n uc
hrc-czc spraii- up. and hope came to tr.e sick 'mi\ the

Two weeks I.'iier a iiniiee wa;
nailed lo the post ofhee (h)oi-, ami the ^lad intelli
.uenee whieli it eontaiiicd was passed ea-er!v from
li]' to lip. The notice read :

" We are ihankful to inform tiie piiMic tliat the
townoi Riverside is now almost free from tlie plamie.
A service of Tlianksyivini,' for the stayin-^ of this
dread disease will he held at the kirk" tomorro\v,
Wednesday, mornin^j^ at eleven o'clock."

At tile appointeil hour the pc'.ple were in their
places. A hush fell on the con;,^re<.:ation ;is the min-
ister entered the pul])it. Pale and thin with nuich
watchins,^ he seemed more a si)irit tlian a man. He
looked for a moment at the people clad in mournin-,
and then at the places made vacant hy death, and
a look of unutterable sadness crossed liis face. He
raised his hands, alabaster-like in their transparency,
and the people bowed in })rayer. At his words of
intercession, peace entered the hearts of the bereaved
ones. They lifted their tear-stained faces anrl looked
off across the river on the hillside, where the manv
fresh mounds told ail too jjlainly of the havoc which
thepla.i^ue had caused. Antl they were able to sav
for the first time, " The Lord gave and the Lord lu'itii
taken away. Blessed be the name of tlie Lord."

226

L'AV>ir.\7;/) .4 7' Ul.lM.

CIIAPTHR XXII.

MADAMH ZAMOYSKI and Trctna had startctl
on a V Llirougli Iuir()i)c. jusl as slit- had tohl
David Mo(ilashan that they iiitciulcd doiiij^.
She was anxious to leave St. I'etersl)urg for two
reasons. I'irst. she was afraid that notwitlistanding
what she Iiad said, David nii;j;ht eonie for his wife;
and seeondly.she was worried about Trenia's health.
She was failin;^; rapidly. The family physician had
said she would ^o into a decline it" she did not iin-
j)rove, and Madame Zamoyski hoped that constant
excitement would banish the listless apathy into
which she had fallen. So they left the city not lon;^
after the burial of the Countess. Trenia scarcely
iiKiuired wh.ere they were going. She was little
interested in the trip. She saw the domes of St.
Isaac's and St. .Mexandcr Xevoski disappear witliout
regret. .\nd there was little to attract her attention
as theysped across miles u])on miles of an uninterest-
ing waste. They ])assed ( latschina with its moscpie-
like palace, standing in the midst of a solitary- plain;
then on again, past towns with bulb-like cupolas
and ancient churches.

At Wilna. the chief town of Lithuania. Trema for
the first tiineevinced an interest in thesccnes through
which they were passing. She had heard her father

CRn\\M:i, IV /; /./.!(,

sjicak (il Wiiii.i. It. \\,-is.'i n.-mu- projniiuni ;ii I'nli^h
liistory.

They rctnaiiK-d some' tiiii-- in W.-ir^-.-iw. and Tivnia
for the Inst time in weeks l)c^s'in to appear like her-
seh. She was never tired "f '^(>\u>^ about ihe citv ;
watehin-,^ tiie i)e()ple in their smart national C()S-
tunies; visitin- tlie different i)id)Me >,'ardciis— the
Sa-ki o-rod, with its ionntains, t!ie Lazicnki <rar-
deiis, witii its >iia(]y alleys, artitleial ponds, rnins,
villas and miniature prdaees. One day they drove
<'own the Krakowskie Pr/edmie>eie. and the I'jaz-
dowska Alija Avenue, past the Carmelite chnreh
where the erown arehivesof I'ol.-ind are kejjt ; jjast
Rad/iwill Palace to the Saxon .Lrarden, past the
ehureh ol the Holy Cross, ereeted in ir.vj; j,.,^^ ^l^^.
palaeeof the Krasinskis to the i)al;iee of the Xam-
oyskis— the liome of the Zamoyskis no lonirer. Tliev
alii^hted. and o])tained permission to ,l:o t!ironL;li the
palati.'d ])nildim:.

"When did ])apa's people ^'o to Russia?" Trema
asked, as they passed from one spaeious room to
another.

" I don't remember the year, l)ut I have a letter
whieh your father wrote to me a e(niple of davs he-
fore our marrian:e, in whieh he tells aliout his "father
heint: taken prisoner. You will find the date in
that."

• It must 1)e a very intercstin.i,' letter. Whv did
you never show it to me? I should have liked to see
it very much."

"Because when your father saw it one dav he
asked me why I had kept it so loni;. and 1 told him
that I would on no account jiart with it. To whieh

228

Ck'(f\v\i:n AT r.i.iM.

he rciilicd : ' Well, if yon will kcc]) it, (lo not show it
to 'rn-m.i. for she nii>;ht resent my iiiotlur's treat-
ment of me, ami there has always heeii sueli n marked
frieti(lshi|) between the two th;it it would be a pitv
to spoil it.' Hut there is now no reason why you
should not see it."

Wluii they ii.id admired the be.iutifal ceilings,
fine w;ill> .uid iiiinal imiii tiii>,'s, M;idaiiie Z.'imovski
said :

" I thiidc you will luulerstaiid now, Treina, wliv
it was a mistake for you to m;irrv in Canada. Heini;
a Zamoyski you would undoubtedly have been the
mistress of one of Warsaw's one hundred and sixtv
palaees."

"Mother. Ii.'id 1 my elioiee ai^.'iin 1 should still
ehoo-. It.ivid MeCdashan in preference to .-my Ivuro-
pean jjrinee. I still believe him to be one of the
noblest of men. 1 have been thiidduL; everything!;
over, and I believe that I w.-is wr(;n;.r to ^.jive wav to
my i)ride. I should h.'ive left no stone unturned to
find out the liuth. I'or he is still my husband, and
dearer to me than all the work! beside. I have
written hini another letter. I mailed it when I was
out for a walk this mornin^^ I am eonfulent ( •' an
answer, and Havidwill explain ;dl this tra.ij^ie silenee."

Written another letter I Madame Zamoyski was
amazed. She thought that Trema had !.;iven up all
ho])e of a rec(jneiliation. She had thou,urht that her
l)lans had worked admirably. Now she mi<fht anv
day be found out.

With llle-■^e thou<jhts en^rossin,f? her mind, she
could no lon.iier tind pleasure in the Zamoyski palace.
After they relumed to their hotel she was still rest-

( A'"IIV/;/; .IV III.IM.

229

'^•>^s. Shr u.-mtcd t.. -ct avvav from Warsaw How
c'-nl.l a Icttrr find Trcna i." tht-y were travelling' all
llK' tunc? She would start at once for Fk-rlin. She
l>r()aehe(l thesnl)icct to her dauL^hter before retiring,'.
"<•<> to Herlin!" exclaimed Treina. "We have
liist l.ccn a tew days here. Whv shonl.l we he in a
Inirry to continue our tour? I think Warsaw lovely
J could spend an..thei two months here, at least
In.leed. I think I could live a year here and not ^.^row
weary of ,t. There are so maiiv intcrestin.' thini;s
l<» see." ■ ^'^

•Well, Trema. I am heartilv tired of this place
e<Mmtess Hrantzinkis tells me that she and the Count
start for Ikrlin to-morrow morning, and I think it
would })e nice tt) travel with them."

"Oil, very well, mother; thou-li I should have
preferred rem.-dniuK lonk'tr in Warsaw. Mother, you
mustn't for^a-t your promise about that letter. Will
you let me see it now?"

When Madame Zaniovski brou-ht tlie letter
Trema opened it tenderly. It seemed 'Mve a messa-^e
from the dead. It was written in the neat, tine hand
which her father always wrote, and was dated three
years before her birth.

My rtenrcst Mirinm : ^'"■"''"■- >'"' '^'^'' ^■'*•'^•

After your self-sacrificin<? promise of this after-
noon, I feel that you should know more of mv early
history, and why I. a Zatnoyski of Poland, should be
teaching music in London. Often I have been on the
verge of telljng you something of mvself. but was
restramed l)y thinking that I was simpiv vour music
teacher, and you would not be interested in anvthin-

■j:w

Ch'()W\i:i) AT ELIM.

I had to say. Iiow little I drcanied that you had
learned to eare ior ine — an uninterestinj:^ stranj^er.

And now, if I have scarcely mentioned my child-
hood's hoi.ie, it is because many thinj^^s in my home
life are not pleasant to recall. My father died when
I was one year old. He had been taken piisoner bN-
the Pussians, at Poland's downfall, in 1795. But
at the accession of Paul, he was released and offered
a liinii military position, which he accepted. Aly
mother, also, was of the Polish nobility. Her father
had suffered the same fate as mine, and she went
with him to Russia. In lSO!t, .ny ])arents were
married, but the seven years" imprisonment had
told on my fatlier's health. They lived very happily
for tw() short years, then he died. A cou])le of years
later, my motiier married Count Stro<^anoff, a Rus-
sian. It was n"t the happy marriage that the first
one was, for Count Stroganoff is a stern, arrogant
man. However, as a child I saw very little of him.
My n)other was my world. She seemed to lavish .all
her love upon me, and this ha])})y life continued till
my little brother, Ivan Stroganoff, was about four
years old.

It ha 1 been lier habit to come into the nurserv
at bed-time and tell me stories — very often of events
in Poland; ibr, though she was only eight years old
when she came to Russia, yet the exi)eriences through
which slie had ]) issed were too terrible ever to be
effaced fro!ii her memory. .\nd she would give me
llie details of tiiat dreadful time m all ih.eir awfid
vividness, till the crash of battle was in my ears,
and I im,'ii;ined that I heard the cries of wailiiiir
which rent the aii". A> the tale progressed, and she

CRr)\y\-j:i) .17- /;/./u. o.'Jl

would clescrHK' how lier beautiful home was demol-
ishtd and the Vistula ran blood. I would clench my
little fists, foriretting that Russia was my birthplace.
Tins story never lost its interest, and th(,ugh I
would be almost sickened with the horror of it, yet
I would beg her to tell it to me again and again.
But young as Ivan was at this time, he seemed to
comprehcml it all, and one day when she was telling
me the story at my special request, he slapped her on
the mouth and said : " Stop. I am a Russian ! " She
was dumbfounded at the insult, as well as at the
n-velation. She saw that she was sowing discord
between her two children.

She never told me stories of I'oland again. And
she came less and le^s to the nursery. "l felt this
chan-e keenly, for I had already noticed the atten-
tion that was paid to Ivan. When he was ten vears
old he had a tutor (as well a-, a German and French
master), a wardrobe keeper, two personal attend-
ants, and a valet, while I, who was four vears his
senior, had only my tutor.

Though I \Nondered why Ivan should have so
much, the real reason never occurred to me till one
day we were playing on the lawn and I did some-
thing to displease him, when he stopped in his i)lay,
and pointing to me with his finger, said, " Pauper P'
Then, seeing how angry I became at the insult, he
said more tauntnigly still, " Behold the pauper! '' I
was beside myself with rage. I could have trampled
him under my foot, but I did not touch him. I
seemed paralyzed with anger, till even he became
frightened at my expression and started to run
away, calling over his shoulder. " Mushik, mushik ! "

232

CR()]V\ni) AT EI. IV.

I fi. ng myself on a garden sea* in a moment my
anger was gone, and my wounded jn-ide found vent
in tears. It was all too +rue. I was a i^auper. I
was not Count StroganofTs son. Ivan was heir to
the estate, to the palace, and was master of one
hi idred and twenty servants. I was not heir to
one rouble, for my father had not been able to re-
trieve his fallen fortunes in the short time which
elapsed between his freedom and his death. No; I
was living on charity. I was no better off than a
common mushik. I spent some hours in t!.- very
depths of despair, until my tutor found me and
inquii-ed the cause of my tronl)le. It was a relief to
pour out my grief to him. He was kind and sym-
pathetic, and told me not to take Ivan's taunt too
much to heart; that though I was poor, I was not a
mushik; that the Zamoyskis were as illustrious in
Poland as the StroganofTs were in Russia; that it
was not my fault if political events had brought ruin
on nu' house.

"Do not spend your time in repining." he said,
"but learn all you can, and some day you may turn
3'our knowledge to Poland's Ijenefit."

I think he did not pay much attention to what
he said; he juft v.-anted to make me feel better for
the time. But his words became my guiding star.
From that hour my whole thoughv was Poland, and
in i)roportion as I loved the land of my fathers I
hated Russia. In my drea.ms I saw myself one of
Poland's liberators, and always there was at my
side Prince Adam Czartoryski, my Polish Prince—
n:y hero.

For the next two years I studied diligently, and

■^

ck-(j\vxi:i) A T i:i.iM

at the a<^e of sixteen I
I

was readv to enter V.\<j {

233

niver-

sity. I wanted to l;o to Warsaw. T'nis, at first,
was objeeted to, hut as my mother was anxious that
I shouhl .u:o, permission was at last obtained. M\-
mother lelt my departure very mr.eli, tor tlioutjh she
had been less demonstrative in her maniier in^those
later years, yet she loved me still. I think that the
eause of the ehan.-^-c in her manner to .vards me was
that Count Stro^anoff was intensely jealous of me,
and imagined that she eared more fot- me tl:an Ivan,'
and to preserve harmony in the household she openlv
showed me less affeetion.

I foiuul myself in a new world at Warsaw. The
name ot Zamoyski seemed an open sesame to e.erv
honor. I led in all thin<,-s, and the other students
seemed willing to let me lead. I was home twiee to
St. Petersl)urg for my holidays. The last tinie I saw
my mother was six weeks before that never-to-be-
forgotten November 30th. She had changed sinee
the time when she told me stories in the nurserv.
She was no longer sunny or ])layful. but had. becon'ie
a reserved and unapproachable woman.

A new interest was added to my life at the Uni-
versity when I found that there were otliers who,
like myself, looked for the deliverance of Poland froni
her enemies. We formed a little clicpie. and when the
moment came we were ready. Of the failure of that
insurrection you know. But Prince dc Tallevrand
still w-rote encouragingly to Prince .Vdam "Czar-
toryski, our leader, and advised him to go to
London (where he. Prince Talleyrand, was 7dling
the position of Ambassador for Lon's Pliillip) and
plead his country's eause in ])erson. Prin.e Ad.'ini

2r>i

CRnwxni) AT ELTM.

and myself cnmc as lie aflviscd, and so ended all my
boyish dreams.

I ni!i>t have been born under an unfortunate star,
for, havint; the advantai^es of noble birth, edueation,
and distiuLjuished friends, at the age of twenty-five I
have less of this world's goods than many who have
iK'gun their career as a street sweep. But I mrstnot
enlarge upon my woes.

And now if, after what I have told you, you are
willing to give u]) home and friends for unfortunate
me, I can only thai. God for your devoted love,
little oTie, and I shall try to over-rule circumstances
and bring a measure of prosperity and joy to our
lives.

YOTR DHVOTKD CaSUMIR.

They arrived in due time at Berlin, but Madame
Zamoyski did not feel satisfied as she imagined that
she would. She found that Trema had left particular
instructions with, the postoffice authorities to have
her mail forwarded to Berlin.

" I need a maid," the Madame was thinking one
morning as she was walking in thel'nter den Linden,
"lam so sorry tliat Catherine would not leave St.
Petersburg; she was such a helji. I need a trust-
worthy maid who would watch the mails for me.
Trema must not hear from David. Now. if I had
some one in my employ who was not working for
money merely, but from gratitude of some kind — that
would lie the thing. But in a foreign country it is
impossible to engage anyone imder those conditions.
There is ) young gii i 1 What can Vie the matter with
her? How white she is I And what a distressed

CR()\VXl-n AT ELIM.

2v35

look there is in her heaulii'ul dark eyes.' KvidciUly

slic is not a (ierman."

She addressed the ;^irl in German, and when she

did not seem to comprehend, repeated lier (piestion

in French. The girl rephed in a curious mixture of

FVench and Italian.

"Madame, I am far from home; witliout friends,

without money. I am hungry— I am starving. I

was about to take this poison to end mv life."
"My poor child!"
.\t the expression of loving sympalhv, the girl

liurst into tears. Tiiey were tlie rtrsc kind wor'ls she

had heard for months.

" There, there, my child. Do not cry, l)ut tell me

all about it," said Madame Zamoyski, seating her-
self by the girl's side.

Her story in brief was this : Her home was at
Capri. She had r><>ver left the Island, !)ut as she
grew up she had longed to know what the world
was like beyond her island home. Six months a<'o
her wish was gratified. She had I)een engaged as
maid by a (jcrman lady— a tourist at Capri. When
the lady was leaving the island she asked I-'ilomena
to go with her to Germany. Filomena was delighted
with the thought of seeing the world. \\\ v.\d dame
went to the hotel Tiberio for her trunk. It is the
custom at Ca])r! for women toearry burdens on their
heads, as the paths are too steep for mules. When
the old dame had carried the trunk down to the
Granda Marina (Great Beach), and they were wait-
ing for the German lady to arrive, the old woman
had told I-'ilomena's fortune. She p'redicted that t!ie
young girl would be sorry for leaving her home, and

2:\c,

CA'Oir.V/:/^ AT EI.IM.

that she woiihl ccmic to <,Ticf in a foreign land. Then
after vainly attetn])tinfi to dissuade iMloniena from
lcavin>,r home, she ,i,^'lvc her a Httle Ijox saying tliat
the drug wliich it contained was a cure for all
troubles; that they who took it just fell asleep, and
left no sign. Filomena did not believe any of her
predictions, but as the box was pretty she kept it.

Filomena and her mistress went up through Italy
to Switzerland, and stayed there before going on to
Berlin. It was at Berlin that disaster came. A
domestic in the hotel stole some of the German lady's
jewels, and contrived to throw the blame on Filo-
mena. She was put in prison, and was only released
some months later, when the domestic found her
conscience troublesome and confessed. As soon as
she was set at liberty she made incjuiries about her
mistress, and found that she had gone on to her
home in Hamburg.

Then followed weeks of misery for the poor
young girl. She understood but little German. She
had no letters oi reference, and no friends. She
sought employment in vain. The time came when
her last ])fennig was gone, and she had nothing to
look forward to 1)ut starvation. Last night she had
dreamed of Capri ; of her home perched high on the
mighty rock, and of the vineclad hills. Once again
she was among the cymbal-playing youths and
maidens who danced and sang on the great flat roof
in the radiant moonlight. Then she awoke, and
Capri was far away. She would never again climb
its precipitous paths, nor with her merry companions
tread m the winepress, nor watch old Vesuvius toss
up his cap of smoke. She was slowly starving. She

CRoWXni) AT i:j,i^f, 237

had that ni()rnin<,r ;^ro„e out as usual in quest of
eniployment. only to meet with disappointment as
before. Utterly hopeless and miseral)le she had sat
down under the limes in the T'nter den Linden. Slie
had wondered how many davs it would take her to
'he. She still had the little box; she took it out
and looked at it. It was horrible to die bv inches ;
better take the poison and end her s-«ering. She
was just about to put the fatal drug to her lips
when Madame Zamoyski addressed her.

"This is my story, Madame," she concluded.
"You may deliver me up to the authorities if vou
choose. My life cannot be any more horrible than it
is at present."

"My dear girl." answered the Madame, taking
possession of the little box, "I have no idea of
dehvermg you up to the authorities. I believe your
story ; it is a most pathetic one, and I am read'y to
assist you if you will allow me. I left mv maid in
St. Petersburg, and shall be pleased to have vou in
her place."

"Oh. Madame!" exclaimed Filomena. "how
kind you are! I will gladly be vour maid, vour
faithful slave— anything. How shall I ever be "able
to thank you?"

"A willing service is all the return I wish."

i.':;s

CKdWM'.l) AT I-LIM.

f f

CHAPTER XXIII.

AI'TIvR scvL-ral weeks sojourn in I'leriin. Trenia
l)e;^an to despoiul. She thought that it was
al)t)ut time that she was hearin<^ from Havid.
But, imibrtunately, Iier letter reaehed Riverside at
the time of the cholera; the town was quarantined,
the mails neglecle<l. and David McGlashan never re-
ceived the letter. In the meantime, Madame Zamoy-
ski thouLTht it l)etter not to remain too lonj^ in one
place till there was no longer the ijossibility of any
communication between David and Trema. So,
much to Trema's annoyance, she was carried off to
Switzerland ami tiien to Mentone. Not that she
had any objecti(Mi to these beautiful places, but she
was afraid David's letter would go astray. Other-
wise, she would have been very ha])i)y in these plav-
grounds of the world. Switzerland had charmed
her, and Alentoae she thought a very good place in
which to dream away one's life. Indeed, the whole
Riviera, beginning at St. Raphael and ending at
Genoa, w.-is (Hie long, changing, shifting scene of
beauty — a succession of (juaint towns, of s^ipphire
bays, red clifls, and rocky, lighthouse-crowned islets;
while Mentone, itself lay half hidden among lemon
and orange trees. In the distance, llie cliffs and
lortificaiions of X'entimiglia gleamed white in the

CA''Mr.v/;/j AT 1:1.1 M. ^,^9

sun; whili' afar ..tV rose the purple liills which hem
n. S.-in kemo. If Trema's davs had not been one
I<)n- worry, slie wouhl have been verv happv in
picturesque, dreamy Mentone, with the surf of the
Mediterranean siti^Hn^^ the Httle town eternallv to
sleej).

One evenin^^r, while admiring the view from the
balcony of the liotel. she saw three persons step
ashore from a yacht. Their striking appearance
attracted her attention. She noticed the eldest
.gentleman Hrst; he had such a princely air about
him. As he came up the path he removed his hat,
and the breeze j^layed in his white hair, tossing it
back from a forehead of imperial dignity. As thev
approached the hotel, he raised his eves to the
l)alcony, and their dark brilliancv was in stron-
contrast to the snow-white hair. The genJeman
who walked by his side was quite as distinguished
as his companion, though he was a vounger and less
handsome man. Behind them came a magnificently
attired officer.

" Mother, come here ! Who can those gentlemen
be? " she asked, in an excited whisper.

"The younger gentleman to the right," said her
mother, coming to her side, "is His Highness, the
Prince of Monaco, whose palace is perched high on
the clifiF yonder; and the person in uniform is a staff
officer. The elderly gentleman is a stranger around
here. Why, I do believe," she added excitedly, "it is
Prince Adam Czartoryski ! "

And Prince Adam it was, indeed. His two com-
panions waited in the garden while he went up to
the balcony alone.

210 cl^■l>\\■\[:n AT i:i.iM.

"I h.'ivt' not ct)iiic ill vain," lie sriid, as lie drew
near. "This is, without (l()ul)t, .\ adanie Zauioyski "

"Your Ivxeelleney has a j^^ood nieniory. Wiiat
a jtleasure it is to see you onee aj^ain, luoii I'riiiec.
Allow me to j)reseiit tiiy dauf^hter Mrs. MeCdashan."

" Is it i)ossil)le that this is the little ;,'olden-liaire(l
fairy who was sueh an interesting.; eoni])anion at
Lueernc?" said the I'rinee, taking Trema's hand and
lookin<; kindly into the smiling blue eyes. "And
married, too! I assure you that I was more than
surprised to hear it; for it seems to me no time
sinee Casimir eame to me with all the troubles of his
loveafVair. It makes me feel that I must he getting
very old to address Trema as Madame."'

"Yes, time tlies (juiekly. May I ask what hajjjn-
ehanee brought you to these shores just now, nion
I'rinee?" asked Madame Zamoyski.

" I was visiting with His Highness when I re-
ceived a letter from Prince Mentschakoff, in which he
said that the daughter-in-law and granddaughter of
the late Countess Stroganoflf contemplated staying
some weeks at Mentone. Tpon making imiuiries I
found that you had already arrived, and I lost no
time in coming to see you. I hope I find you both
well. Your daughter is looking rather frail. Docs
Mrntone not agree with you?" he asked, addressing
Trema.

" Mentone is not tlie cause of my poor health.
I was feeling miserable when I came here. Though
it is getting ahuost too warm now for comfort. But
they say that it is (me of the most delightful places
in the world in winter time."

" Yes, it is indeed ; but now it is rather warm. I

C h<i W .\I. li 1 ■/ 1. !.l Af,

I'U

I think I sIimU 1i,-ivc u, (.-.in-y yen !..,ili ,,\Y to inv
chalc-au ni M..nUc-niuci. Ii •.vill'sccin like- ol.I limjs
lor you to -o hack thcrr. Madame Xaiiiovski. I
suppose cviMi Trcina rciufiulicr^ somciiiin^ of it,"

'•Indeed I do. nion I'ruue. It seems tn me al-
ways like a tairy world. I shall he very -1;m1 Lo sec
the chateau a;j;aiii."

"I hope your present visit will not dispel vour
early fancies. Thin-s often appe.ir s(; diffen.-nt when
one is -rown up. Now, I must call my friend. Ik-
will think I am ne,i,dectinL,' liitn."

When Aladame Zam-.y-ki and Trem.i had ]kx'\\
introduced to His IIi,i.,diness, ihey passed a pleasant
half hour in merry chat; and then followed a lively
discussion over the respective merits of Mentone and
Lucerne.

••I think you must come up to m\- palace and
have luncheon on the lerrace," said the Triujc of
Monaco, "and you will not a-^ain complain of tlie
extreme heat of the Kiveria."

The week which followed was a pleasant one.
Both Trema and her mother were verv .i^iad to see
Prince Adam. To Madame Zamoyski he was esi)e-
cially dear, as he had seemed like a father to herself
and Casimii . He v is anxious to liear all aI)out her
hushand's last illness, for he had loved him as a sou.
and had heen sorely grieved at Iiis death. .V-id it
was a relief to Madame Zamoyski to :-[)eak of Casi-
mir. Slie loved to recall his last words, hir i,ro,,dness
and patich.-e durinu: all his trouhles and liis trials.
And then rrincc Adam had many thin-s to tell of
Casimir's student days, and incidents of the siege
of Modlin, all of which were very intcrestiuLr to the

'il'

t'A''Mr.V/:7* .17' i:i.iM.

ladies, ,'is tln'v had iicvor heard them before. Then
tile I'lii'eeot Moiiaeo was very kiml, and tiiade the
days j)Ieasaiil ior them witli hltle trii)s on his yaelit.
The visit to the islets of St. Honorat and Ste. Mar-
j^nerite had been espeeially ])leasant.

Hut the days at .Mentone eame to an etid, for
I'rinee C/artoryski found that it would be necessary
for him to return at once to Montfer iiiel, and as
Trema and her mother had accepted his invitation
to visit hiia at the eliAteau, they began at once to
prepare tor the journey.

Tliat eveiiinLj Trema received a tnuch jiost-marked
letter. She opened it with trembling' i"m.i,'ers to find
that it was from Beth Cairns. Beth was ^oinj.; to a
readies' ColleLre in Toronto, while Stewart w.as at
the I'liivvrsity, as her mother did not mind her beinj^
away from home when her brother was in the satne
city. Slie liked the school very much. She had been
home ar Ivaster; and there was so much news to tell,
and she intended writin;j^ before, but the excitement
ofp:oingback to school had quite driven letter writ-
ing ftom her mind.

"Just think. ' she wrote, " Hilda Bain is going to
be married to Dr. Blair to-morrow, .\pril 29th. Isn't
it strange? Who woidd have thought it? Do you
remember the yacht race? Charlie and I were the
two unfortunates of the party. Dr. Blair and Hilda
are going to live at Vinemount. But what is the use
of my telling you all this when Mr. McGlasliar. keeps
you fully ]M)sted. I saw him Easter week, and he
was looking very well— a little thin, pcrliaps, but
then he is always thin. He has been very busy, the}'
tell me. He and Leyden Bell lire doing a wonderful

.•^.,.

C'A'oM-.v/./i .17 i:i.i.\i.

248

work .-mioii;,' the hoys. I haven't time to e.-i)laiii for
tlierc is the bell. The time alhitted to us lor ^orres-
poiuJence is uj), so j^'ood-ljye for this time.

" Vour affeitioiuite friend,

" I5i;tii C.xik.ncs."

When Treina had read the letter she llini;.; luTself
on a eoueli and \vei)t hitterly. It was the first word
she had heard fro- home for months, and she was
so lonely. Then, it was the end other foolish dreams.
Siie had ima-ined that David was ill -that some-
thinij: drcadtui had haijpened to him, and ih.it everv
one was afraid to tell her. Hut Hetli said he w.as
looUin;,^ well, and that he was very bus v. Her
mother was ri;j:'ii ; he cared more for his pari di than
he did for her. She was no lonj.,'er anvthinLC to him.
There was, besides no nope of ^cttin^j; a letter from
him now, for if Heth's letter conld find her, there was
no excnse for not ^^ettin-i^ one from him. It was
(|uite clear that he no longer cared for hci . he was
evidently (piite contented to have her in Ian-ope.

She sat for honrs by the win(U)w in deep dejec-
ti(m; her face pale and wan; her eyes fi.Ked on the
distant monntains, thoii,i,di sh-' saw them not, for
instead of hu.i^e tors of red jjorphyry risin.L,^ sheer into
the air from bases of Mediterranean i)ine wood, she
saw the little town l)y the river, tlie Manse on the
hill-top, and one who was dearer than all others—
her absent husband. She thon.i^dit of that never-to-
be-forgotten New Year's live, which Ikaii had re-
called, and of the happiness which li.ifl shone in his
eyes when their two yachts had anchored together
among the lotus leaves. She thought of the night

..,

244

CROWXr.D AT ELIM.

of Ikt birtlnhiy party, wiieti he had asked her to be
his wife. How happy they were. It was a peep
into Para('ise. Was there no Uive and no constancy
in the world? She thought till her head ached, and
then she threw herself on her bed, but only to toss
and moan the long night ho'^rs through.

She started on the journe\' in the morning with
a headache; and neither her mother nor the Prince
knew how she suffered on that trip. When they
arrived at Meaux, Prince Czartoryski was anxious
that they should see all the interesting things to be
seen in that ancient town, and conducted them here
and thero, till Trema was obli^^d at last to plead
weariness, and they went on . Montferniiel. It
was late at night when they reached thei' destina-
tion, and Trema retired at once to her room.

The foIl(i^ving morning, Filomena went to her
mistress saying that Mrs. McGlashan w-as talking
strangely, and would not say whether she would
have her accustomed cup of coffee. Madame Za-
nioyski found her in a raging fever, and wxnt in
haste to the Prince, whcj at once sent a s^^rvant for
his physician.

It was a bad case of brain fever, the doctor said.
For da;, s Trema lay in a state of semi-consciousness
with but ov thought, terribly real — that she was
sinking in a waste of waters; the waves were clos-
ing over her, and she could hear nothing but the
noise of their surging in her ears. How tired she
was with the continual buffeting. Then, at last, she
seemed to rest on a shining wavelet of the sea. low
nwe it was to rest after those weary days and nights.
She hoped the sea would stay calm ; she would like

CROWXEn AT ELIM.

245

to glide on like that forever. But suddenly she
imagined that a voice sounded over the waves like
a bell, and she started up, saying anxiously :

" I must go ; David is calling me."

All through the night she kept repeating the
words. And she would look up into the faces of
the watchers and say pathetically :

" Why do you not let me go ? Do you not hear
him calling me? "

246

CA'oir.v/;/; at elim.

CHAPTER XXIV.

OXE day Prince Czartoryski came from consult-
ing the physician \.ith a grave face, for he
had said that he could do nothing more
till the mental tr()ul)le which was weighing on the
invalid's mind was removed. The Prince sought
Madame Zamoyski, and Ijcgan eagerlv :

"We must send for Mr. Mcf^lashan. Trema
wants him. His name is constantly on her lips. We
must send for him at once, though i fear "

"And undo all m\ . ork ! " Ala lame Zamoyski
broke in imi)eriously. And then, for the sjiace of a
minute, there fell a silence so profound that she could
almost hear the heating of her heart; for at her
words the light of a revelation had broken all over
the grave, stern face of the Prince. The dark eyes,
that had always looked at her so kindly, now pierced
her very soul, and she (piailed before their angrv
brilliance. What had she done? The secret which
she would have guarded with her life was out; those
hasty words were her undoing. Slie would have
given almost anytliing to have recalled them.

"So that is it," he said at last. " Vou have l)cen
trying to se]>arale your daughter and her husband.
That is the weight that has rdmost crushed out
poor Trema's life. Put what made you? What

I li

CROWXED AT I-LIM.

247

possessed you to treat your child in such an inhu-
man manner? "

"She had married out of her station." was the
defiant answer. " She was destined for hi-her things
than to he the wife of a country parson in the back-
woods of Canada."

"But her destiny was no longer in vour keeping.
The irrevocable step was taken when 'she married.
Her place thereafter was by her husband's side,
whether he wao a prii.ce or peasant. And, more-
over, from what I have learned of David McGlashan
I believe him to be a noble man. the peer of anv
woman, no matter what her station."

"Your opinion, no doubt, has been formed from
my daughter's romantic ideas," she answered, with
curled lip. " But you should not base an opinion on
the authority only of a young girl of nineteen."

"Pardon me. Madame Zamoyski, but if I re-
member rightly, you were less than Trema's age
when you took your fate into your own hands and
married Casimir Zamoyski. I wil' not sav whether
you did right or wrong, but surely under 'those cir-
cumstances you would allow your daughter liberty
to place her affections where she chose. But the fact
remains, she is married; and neither vou. nor I, nor
anyone has the right to attempt to estrange two
faithful hearts."

"It cannot be so dreadfully wrong. Princess
Mentschakoff suggested the idea', and there is not an
aristocrat in St. Petersburg who would not al)et me
in what I have done."

"Oh. Miriam, Miriam, what has changed you?
You gave the promise of noble v.-onianhood. I

'I "

248

CROW MCI) AT ELIM.

remember you as I saw you twenty-two years ajro—
winsome, lovin<,^ not caring for au;j;lu in all this
world but your husband's love. When I saw you
two years later you were workin-,-, slaving, denying
yourself of the very necessities of life for your invalid
husband. Then you undercook a journey on an
errand which woukl have paralyzed some women
with fear. Surely those were traitsof anoljle nature.
What changed you that you could do such a wrong?
Let me tell you— it was your pride. On our first
acquaintance I detected the Haw of obstinate, arro-
gant pride in an otherwise fair character. In your
trouble in Paris I euLreated you to go toyour father,
for I had learned enough to know that he was long-
ing for your return. Hut he, like you, was proud,
and he would not ask you back unless you wer.t to
him. I need not recall your answer. He is dead.
You did not know ? " Miriam had lifted her face, as
pale as marble.

"You knew and never told me!" she exclaimed.

"Pardon me; but I had no cause to know that
you were interested. He left the bulk of his property
to public institutions, seeing that for twenty years
you had never troubled yourself to find out whether
he had forgiven you or not. His solicitor told me
that he waited till the last before making his will,
hoping against hopt that you would some day
return."

"How coidd I know that he wanted me?"s]ie
answered, angrily. Her pride had overreached
itself; all of her father's wealth might iiavel)een hers.

"Your pride has been the bane of your life," con-
tinued the Prince. " It lias been the incentive to one

CROWXED AT ELIM. 04.,,

of the most cruel acts that a niotiicr could indict on
her child. Was Air. AIcGlashan unkind to his wile
that you wished to scpar.-te them :^ W.-is your
dau-hter unhappy in the sphere she had chosen?
Xo; but your pride must oe appeased. Treina must
shme as a star on the society of St. I'etersburLr
Such heartlcssnessi "

■'I never meant '■ she began, almost inaudibl v.

"No. of course you never meant anvthin- so very
dreadful at that first brilliant oatherin- in St. Peters-
bur<,^ when you saw how well suited Trema wns to
such society. Then Princess Mentschakoff su-gested
an idea to you. and your thoughts took Vleliuitc
form. You lay awake at night thinking over the
details of your plan ; it was never absent from you
m waking hours ; it came to be the center of all your
thoughts and actions. Your judgment became

warped, and your conscience "

"Spare me!" she cried, throwing out her hands
towards him. "Do not go over the a'.xful sta-es
that have brought nic to this hour. How vou know
It all I cannot divine; but if I have sinned,'this hour
of humiliation surely atones for it all."

Even in his anger, her humbled pride touched
him. Wiien he spoke it was in a gentler tone. " Mv
daughter," he said, " if I have guessed at the truth i't
1^ because I am speaking out of a Ion- experience
Sin seldom confronts us tull-grown ; it crec])s insid-
iously into our hearts. Had tliat hrst thou-ht pre-
sented itself to you in its full proportions with all its
disastrous consequences, had you recounized it as a
suggestion from Satan, you would have shrunk from
It in dismay. But you nursed the viper in vour heart

250

CROWXEn AT ELIM.

till it had mastered all your tlioii;j^1;ts. It has not
made the sin "greater to have it diseovered ; it has,
indeed, lessened it. I-\)r all may yet result happily,
if you will oTdy <;o to Trema and Mr. MeGiashan
and tell them the whole ' tory."

At the mere sug^estif)n Madame Zamoyski's
pride svrged up a;.^ain. " I certainly cannot, and will
not, do any such thing; not even to restore my
daughter's health. Her death is to be preferred to
her knowing what I have done, or to her living the
life of an exile in that wilderness of the frozen North.
As for David McGlashan, I'll risk his heart breaking.
He is too intent on his parishioners, and his sermons
on original sin, to miss his young wife."

"Madame Zamoyski I " the Prince exclaimed
with angry vehemence. "Do you think for one
moment that I shall condone your cruelty? Just as
soon as Trema is able to bear it, I shall tell her all I
know of this business, and I shall tell her at once
that David is coming. It may help her."

" For Casimir's sake, will 3'ou not have mercy? "

" Casimir's daughter is to be considered as well
as his wife. For such heartlessness as you have
shown I shall have no mercy."

C'A'<Mr.\7;/; AT ELI St.

CHAPTER XXV.

TRHMA was out of" d.-iiij^'er ; fully on the road
to rtcovcry. But what joy was it to Madame
Zamoyski that her child's life had been s])ared,
since slie would always look u])on her in(it!icr with
deadliest hate and scorn. Prince Adam would not
delay the recital of that dreadful story even one dav.
T' .li^dit. Trenia would know all.

The ni^dit was beautiful as Madame Zamoyski
knelt alone l)y the open window. The warm air
came to her freighted with the perfume of countless
roses. Out on the lawn the st tely old trees seemed
brooding in the soft moonlight. Even the turbulent
Marne was quiet that night, and glided serenelv
along in its winding journey to join the Seine. It
was a night to dream— to leave the prosaic old world
and float away on the wings of serial fantasy. But
it was not dream-castles, nor future splendor, nor
coming happiness that occupied Madame's thoughts
as slie knelt in the moonlight with her face lifted to
the stars.

Presently she threw out her hands witli an im-
ploring gesture. "Oh, Casimir, do you know up
there in Heaven how I am suffering? Did vcu ever
come, I wonder, to a place where you seeiiied. to 1)e
hedged in In- events of your own making ? And vou

252

CRO\V\r:[> AT EI.JM.

were so interested in the i)reseiit liiat yon foryot to
look heyciiid the he(l;4e, till, I)y a toiiel) iVoni the
w.'iiid of an aven.^inj; Nemesis, the wall drcjpjjed out
ot si<,dit. and you were standin;^ in the midst of the
desolation you had made? Sueli a time has eome to
me, my ])eloved, and in the wilden ss of my life there
are but two paths left for mc. One is lonp, and cold,
and dreary, even tluni-h it is li<,dited by your love.
For I see you up yonder with a coronet of stars in
your hand, like that majestic fi<:[ure whom St. John
saw in his vision, and those stars are lighting the
])ath of duty for me; but I cannot, cannot walk in
It. I cannot live on, and face a scornful world, and
an accusing conscience. I could lirave a father's
wrath, and face pr)verty, and stand before the Czar
of all the Russias for you, my Casimir; but I canned-
live on now.

".\nd the otlier path? Oh, it is dreadful! Did
the flowers ever smell sr) sweet, or did the moon ever
shed such a radiant light as it does to-night? Ye
are so wondrously beautiful, earth, and sky and
stars : and there are long years of usefulness ])efore a
woman who is only thirty-eight. Little white pow-
der, sliall I scatter you out of the window? And
then the sun will rise as of old, and the birds will
sing in the lovely s])ring time, and we shall all be
happy. No. no; there can be no to-morrow for me !
My child is better. Trince Adam is telling her to-
night. To-morrow she will despise me. David
McCdashan will c( :ne to know all the ruin I tried to
bring upon him, an! I shall be an outcast from those
I hold dearest. lUit when to-morrow comes, perhaps
when they see me here, they will think less bitterly of

, -

Ch-<>wy/r[) AT ]:i,i\f_

368

f. t

me; and in tlie (luiet hush their tones will grow
tender when they si)eak of me. And when vcars
have passed they will forget the wickedness,' and
remember only the good."

In the early morning hours Prince Adam was
aroused by Filomena. She was weeping bitterly,
makmg her broken French almost unintellible, but
he managed to gather that there was something
wrong with her mistress, and following the maid, he
found Madame Zamoyski kneeling by the window
evidently in a dreamless sleej).

"Miriam. Miriam!" he called, and then drew
back with a sudden fear, for her brow was cold with
the chill of death. He stood for a moment horror-
stricken. Could it be possible that she was dead ?—
she who last evening had bade him farewell in all the
I)ride of life.

Filomena had Hung herself by the still kneeling
figure of her mistress, and was kissing the lifeless
hands passionately. Prince Czartoryski was sur-
prised at the young girl's excessive grief. He drew
her away from the window, and, placing her on a
sofa, questioned her kindly reg.irding her mistress.
And she tcld him, in her pretty, foreign wav, that on
going the previous night to assist her mistress to
disrobe, she had found her kneeling there in the
moonlight, and not wishing to disturb her. had sat
down in the anteroom. cx])ccting to be called any
moment. Being very tired she had fallen asleep, and
only wakened when the sun shone in the window.
And on going to her mistress she had found her cold
in death.

254

cix'(>\\\/:ii AT i:i.iM.

"lUit the J)<)x!"slic cried, with a fresh Imrst of
tears, poiiitiii.i; with a trembhiig finder to a tiny
ivory box wliicli lay on the win(h>w seat.

"What about the box?" asked th-j IVinee. t. kirg
up the easket.

"Oli.yourllij^hness,! am so wretched. .\,,'i(l-inic
Zanioyski got that box from me, and it may have
tempted her."

" I (h) not understand," said tbe Prince in i)er-
plexity. " Did tlie box contain anvthin--?"

"Yes, your I- xcellency," she answered, as her
head drooped low in abject mis. ry. A: d then, no
loii.yer al)ie to keep her secret, si e told liini of how
she came to !)e in (k-rmany ; of her troul)ics in Berlin,
and of Madame Zamoyski finding' iier in lie walk of
the I'nter den Linden.

"And now," she said, as tlie tears welled up
afresh in the dark eyes, "she who saved ine from a
horrible fate, is drad herself from that fatal drug.
What shall I do now that she is gone?"

Prince Adam let her weep awhile, and then said,
kindly :

"I see that yon loved your mistress. Do vou
love lier daughter, too ? "

"Yes, yes; I love them both— the Ingliss ladies."
" Y(ju know Madame Mc(;iashan has been verv

" Yes," lifting Iier eyes, rjucstic . 'nglv.

" .\nd it woidd i.e very serious might even jirovc
fatal if she knew lliat her mother came to her death
by her own hand ? "

iMlomc!!,-! bowed a silent assent

"Well, see; I will take this box and lock it awav.

ch'n\\\i:i) IV /;/. /.u 255

and when the iloctor comes 'nddhcrs vvlio will ask
vou many (|ucs; iotis. you may tell them of falling
asleep in the aiite-chamlier. and of finding her here
bvthe window in the niornin;.'^; hut not a word more
of what you h;ive told me Do you promise? "

"Yes, your Highness, i promise."

"And now for the .itfeetion \' liich you hore vour
mistress, I shrdl send you home to Cai)ri. I happen
to know a family who are going there for a few
months, and 1 shall m; ke arrangements for you to
Ro with them. Xow, we will break this sad news
to the others of niv household. Come."

.VndTrema never knew. Heart failure was given
as the ca' ^e of death, and she acerpted the state-
ment un(iucstioningl ,. The Prmce had told Trema
of her mother s death at a time when she was nurs-
ing ,-ei eful thoughts against her; for she had been
most bittc ly angry. But when the message came,
her anger clianged to sorrow out of which all bitter-
ness was sifted. Though Trem i grieved deeply for
her mother, yet the Prii -e's disclosure had lifted from
her heart the heavy load which she hafl borne for
months, and she rapidly gained in strength. Soon
she was able to take a daily walk to her mother's
grave in the little graveyard at Montfermiel, and
before m.ny weeks had elapsed, they ..ere counting
the dt-ys till they would sail for America; for Prince
Adam was going to accompany her, though he said,
laughingly, that he would prove but a feeble escort,
as he was now in his seventy-eighth year.

They spent a few days in Piris before taking .ship
for Canada, and to Trema's unspeakable asto! ish-

.")(J

ck'onxi:!) AT /:i.iM.

nicnl. she CMC (lay .net Charlie Kinm'ar..n ihrAvtnnc
<lf I Opera. In the excess ..f l,er jov she scarcdv
knew whether to ha.i.u^h or t<. erv. She made hin. ^o
with her to their hotel, ami on tlie wav i.lie.l hini
with (luestions. IL- tohl her al.out liie eiioiera. and
congratulated iier on hein^- out of town durin- tiie
awlu! time. When he told her how Mr. McCdashan
h-nl worked amon^' the sick and dvin-. she turned m,
pale that he thought she was ^oin^^ to faint, and to
chan-e the sul.ject he said that he and Helh were to
be married the eomin- winter. Trema was deli-hted
hut was not so pleased when she found that thev
wou'd live in Toronto. She comforted herself with
the thou-ht that she would sometimes j^o to the citv
and visit r3eth and Charlie in their new home Two
days later the Prince and Trema l,a(le Charlie fare-
well, and set sail for Canada.

CN()\V.\i:n \T LLIM.

CHAPTER XXVI.

DAVID McCLASHAN sat by his study tabic ob-
viously to prepare his strniou for the coming
Sabbath morning. lie had chosen for his text
Jeremiah viii, 22 : "Is there no balm in (mIckI ? Is
there no physician there?" Surely if any one might
preach from those words with accejjtance it was he;
for he had been sorely afflicted and had proved the
efficacy of that balm which is mercifully provided of
God for our healing. On that April day when he had
been so grievously wounded, he had refused to have
that sacred balm applied for his annointing. Ihit
later, in those days of renewed consecration, he had
taken the ke\'s of all the rooms of his soul to his
Physician, and laying them at his feet had said :

" Dear Master, come and choose where Thou wilt
lodge, or what Thou wilt have, for all I have 's
Thine." But now, when he thought that he was
living so near to his Physician that nothing could
again harm him, he felt all the old bitterness and
rebellion returning. Why should all loss and pain
and suffering be his portion while others had so little
to try them ? he asked bitterly-.

So he was not composing his sermon, and he was
not writing any of the things tliat lie had intended
to write; he was listening, instead, for a light foot-

\'\

o-s c'A''Mr.\7;/) .17' ni.iM.

s'.ei) on tlR- -ravel. I-:vcn th(ni-?h he knew that it
woiil;l never eome a-ain, yet he liked to think how
she would run up the walk; how the door would
open, and how she would spring towards him with
her nierrv lau-h as of old. Or if she were in the
mood she would shove all his books and papers
awav, with the imperious manner of a young i)rm-
cess. and l)e-j him to listen to what she had to tell
him. Perhai)s she would slip in softly, as she used
to hn-e to do. and eovering his eyes with her little,
cool fingers keep them there till he guessed who was
his prisoner. As if it were hard to guess !

To-night she seemed so near he fancied if he put
out his hand he could toucli her dress, or if he turned
his head he would fmd her standing there. But he
would not turn his head, for then the hallucination
v.-ould vanish, and he would feel that cold grip ol
despair which alwavs settled on his h.eart when he
returned from those mouicnts in dreamland to the
bitter reality of it all. He thought it was becoming
a mania with him to be always listening for Trema's
return, and he tried for the hundredth time to break
the spell which was upon him.

Suddenly he stojjped in his musing, and lifted his
head to listen. There ^vns a noise outside. A car-
riage Nvas stopping by the veranda, though, doubt-
less, it was one of nis congregation. He heard the
front door open, and Jeanie give a little cry of delight,
i)ut he did not stir. Not even when the library door
was thrown open, and two soft arms were clasped
about his neck. But when he was almost smothered
with her kisses and she was calling him V., every
endearing name she had used in the old days, he

Ch'(>\V\i:i> AT HLIM.

2J9

knt'w it was no dream; yet he did not stir or cry
out. He only sat still and held her in his arms as if
he would never let her <;o. He was ^lad with a joy
too threat for speech— he had not the words to ask
for explanations. What mattered her long absence ?
What mattered the lonely hou/s now that she was
there? And so he held her close, aying no word at
all. But at last he put her from him and looked a*
her, and then he knew that she, too. had suffered.
Beautiful e'le still was; beautiful she would always
be; but days of illness and suffering had left their
trace, unci her frail loveliness was emj)liasizc(l by the
dcei) m<-urning in which she was ciatl. It seemed as
if he could never feast his eyes enough upon that
loved face. Then, as if recalling something which he
had forgotten, he said :

" Trema, where is your mother? You did not
come alone? "

"Oh. David," she answered, with (juivering lip,
"do you not know? Did you not receive Prince
Adam's letter telling of dear mamma's death? He
came with me."

" Madame Zamoyski dead ! Is it possil)le? "

"I know how im])OSsible her death must seem to
vou. for she was always in the best ol health, ami tio
one ever suspected that she was troul)led with her
h.art; vet it was so. and the end came very sud-
denly. But Prince Adam says I should not fret
about her death, for she died without any i)ain; it
was just like ialling asleei). And then she was never
really ha])py since papa died. I reniend)er that she
ofteii said she wished that she was at rest. too.
£5^il^'*_and Trema lifted her head in surprise— " if

200 Ch-'>\VM-:i> .\T I-LIM.

vou di<l not ktiow oi nianuna's dcith. then ntnther

did y.n, know of tho other mattci—of the reason

^' ''she -<U no further. The thought of his generous
love in t7d<inu her back ^vithout a word of explana-
tion overwhehncd her. It seemed that td. that
moment she had not caught even a ghmpsc - i ->
nrineelv heart, or conceived the depth of his won-
derful love. And then the recollection of all that she
had suffered since she had parted from him overcame
licr and laving her head on his shoulder, she wept as
it licr heart would break. And he. knowing that
tears were good for her. let her weep on. Severa.
timrs she attempted to tell him of the plot which
had nearlv ruined both their lives, but it was so
hard to tell all; it would make iiim feel bitterly
towards her mother, who was sleeping far away m
the little churchvard at Montfermiel. Yet ah must
be told, and that, loo. before she introduced Prince
Adam, who was waiting in the drawing room, ho
she gathered courage to Lell him. and as he listened
to the recital a passionate intensity of perfect relief
of tender, grateful peace, stole into Ins heart and
smoothe.l out the lines upon his brow. What he
th )u-ht of Madame Zamovski he did not say. tor
joybells of thankfulness were ringhi'/ too ccstaticahy
ia'his heart to permit of bitter thoughts.

When the storv ^.•as finished, Trema took h.cr
husband to the drawing-room to meet Pnnce Cvar-
tory^ki. And when the intri duetion was o%- r. and
David McCdashan had given his guest a eordia
greeting, then, indeed, tongues were loosed and
si)eech flowed treely.

CHowxnn AT i:Li\f.

261

Meanwhile, in the dining-room, Mrs. Lindsay
was se1jctin<? the finest table-linen, and taking the
])est silver from its many \vrappin«,'s, for were they
not to entertain a real, live Prince? And Jeanie, in
the kitchen, was capering around in delight, at the
imminent risk of spoiling the oysters which she was
])rei)arin,<; ; for those had been sad months when the
voimg mistress was away.

It was the next evening at sunset that David
McGlashan and his voung wife were standing on the
balcony overlooking the river. She had been very
busv that dav. With girlish eagerness she wanted
to see everything; and much had taken place in those
months of absence. She had examined all the im-
provcnents. and even David was satisfied at her
dcli'dit in all that he had done. She was delighted
to have Hilda for a neighbor. She had been over
Yinemount and praised it all till the young bnde
blushed with pleasure. She had listened with sym-
pathetic attention to her husband's vivid description
of those awful davs of cholera, and was so grieved
at all the poor villagers had suffcied, that her hus-
band saw most plainly that -ler heart was ^ndeed in

the little town.

"I believe vou are really glad to get back, he
said, smiling, "'and that you did sometimes think of
us all at Riverside."

"It would quite spoil you, sir, to know how
many precious hours I wasted thinking of you," she
replied, playfully. Her husband smiled, too. and
then b'? +ace became suddenly grave. It was so un-
utte- ablv pathetic to see her trying to cover all her

202

ch'n\v\r:n at ei.im

suffering in thnt light wav. For 1 • had learned that
niorning from Prince A'lam how very ill ^he had
been; how she had been 1)roi.^ • back to him from
the brink of the river of death, 'i he Prin " ha<' old
him, too, of those hours of delirium in which she had
called incessantly for him.

Trema looked up at the ^rave ""ace bent above
her. She saw the tender solici ide wrif n there,
and her face became sweetlv serious as she cimti ued:

"Indeed, you do n(»t low, yoi cannot guess,
how I longed to be home again, '^^'iglit ainid the gay
scenes of St. Petersburg, and the beauties of Ger-
many and of Switzerlan<l, which mamma was so
anxious that I -hould see, I longed for you and
Riverside. I uiiL'lu as well have been journeying
through a wilderness, for my lieart was not there.
I thought of the Children of Israel, and Riverside
seemed to me like Hlim When I was so ill and ^o
weary, those bi'atitiful lines written by Mrs. Ju(ison
on the encampment of the Israelites at Ivlim, re-
j)eated themselves in my memory with a persistencv
that made my poor brr.in wearv :

' Willi t::v^vv hasto, the iViiiuinq; pil^jriiiis rush,
Where I-;iiin'-i eool ;ui(l s;Krc(i waters f,nish ;
I'rono 1)11 the liaiik. \v!ure iinirnitiriii;; fountains flow,
Tlieir wearied, taintinp, listless forms thev throw.'

And SO it seemed to me that I would never feel rested
till I was b;ick at Riverside.

" In my (bwim- I could see it all— the river rij)-
pli?ig in a low murmur (jver the pebliles between the
great high rocks; the green fields, dotted with daisies
and buttcrc'.ips, and the Manse up here on the
height. I could ieel the silent freshness of the Mav

ci<(>n\i-n AT i-i.iM.

203

morninj^s, when tiie orioles .siiii,' in the orchards, oiul
the violets are first lifting their shy heads to the sun.
I could feel a.u'ain the inelTable stillness of the nights
in June, when the roses nod sleepily to one anothcr-
and a scent of lilacs is in the soft, warm air. You
see how very tired I must have l>een of the glitter
of courts and the pomp of social life. Though I did
sympathize with uear papa, when I saw the grand
old Zamoyski palace in Warsaw, and I could well
understand how he wished to he reinstated in the
old home It was his ambition that I should wear
the coronet of some Polish house; Init all the court
I care for is my home, and you liave crowned mc
with vour love."

; r>«.s "i^iRinnQ -.