verse the case," he said, with increasing excitement, grasping her wrist and compelling her to listen to him, "suppose that you had learned to love some favoured one with your whole being, that never prayer was uttered by you which included not that other, that you looked forward to a life spent with him as a consummation of bliss not ending here, but continuing on into eternity;-then imagine some terrible fate coming between you and the loved one, more terrible than if the man dying of thirst should be denied water, the weary man rest. Would you not be tempted, mind you, only tempted, to curse that fate?"

"And so you curse me, Albert?" she said mournfully, "pray rather, for those who despitefully use you and persecute you."

"No, no," said he, drawing her towards him with inexpressible tenderness of manner, "how can I curse what is mine, and you know that you are mine, Sybil, now and forever. There is no escape from a promise given calmly and willingly as you gave yours. Sybil, I cannot let you go, you are too precious, too much a part of my very life; yes, thank God, you are mine."

Alas for Sybil, her task became more difficult each moment; it was almost as hard to gain her end as to live the false unnatural life of the past few months, but she had plunged boldly into the stream, and nought remained for her but to seek, with what strength she could, the opposite shore.

"I know," she said, "I know that you have my promise to be yours, and that you love me. It is because you do love me so fervently that I make this appeal to you. Oh, Albert, you would never be quite happy, with your exacting nature, in a life without affection on my part; there would always be a cloud over our home as if God had forgotten us in dealing out his sunshine; our mornings would be cheerless, our evenings gloomy because of the want of perfect sympathy, and I feel, I feel in my inmost heart that ours would not be the true life. There is a better, a happier state of being, when the pulses bound at the sound of a beloved

voice, when the blood runs swifter at the approach of a coming step, when the heart, satisfied with its destiny, says, 'I am content! This could never be our united experience," said Sybil, her cheek kindling at the picture she had called up. "Then let me appeal to the very love which you have for me, to release me from the promise, which I gave before I had a realizing sense that I was acting out a grievous wrong, a sin. Say but four words, Albert, four simple words spoken because of your generous nature; if only breathed in a whisper I shall hear them; say to me, 'Sybil, you are free.""

In the earnestness of her appeal, she arose and laid her hand upon Albert's, while her beseeching eyes were raised expectantly to his. She might have said as other women had said before, after a solemn promise to be constant,-" Go,"one word having the power and significance of many, but the memory of perju ry would have haunted her through a lifetime. She wished him to resign her by an act of his own will.

There was a pause, a long, painful pause; a mighty struggle raged in Linwood's breast; he felt like a shipwrecked mariner who sees that the frail plank to which he clings must inevitably be swept from his grasp, and yet with the certainty of his doom hanging over him, is loath to loosen his frantic hold.

'Have patience with me, dearest," he said at last, "you have appealed to my love, that strong, absorbing, second nature of mine; have patience with me awhile; I would be alone with my thoughts, and make the trial in imagination, to see if I can do what you ask; like the martyrs of old, I would measure my strength of endurance and consider if I could bear unflinchingly the cruel tortures, the fierce devouring flames which assail me and which at last must reach my heart."

Saying these words he put her away from him gently, and paced the room restlessly, as though he were a criminal pacing his narrow cell. His eyes rested upon her not for a single instant, he seemed to be-oblivious to her presence; his thoughts all introverted, himself was the one subject of his contemplation.

At last there was a cessation in that quick, nervous tread and he stood before her and gazed at her long and earnestly. His look was haggard, his whole expression was changed and years of suffering seemed to be stamped upon his face.

"Sybil, look up," he said; "if upon the outer man is pictured what I feel within, then there will be something for you to remember in all the years of the future. Not, dearest, that I would have the memory a suffering, a sorrow, but because I would have you feel that it is no light thing to which you have appealed, no passing fancy, but a principle of my life mingling with my being, as the heart throbs in my breast, or the blood flows in my body; had my love been less, had it been selfish, did I not count myself as nothing in comparison with your peace and happiness, this sacrifice would never have been made, but since you wish it, dearest-Sybil, you are free!

Her joy told itself in her suddenly clasped hands and an inadvertent, "Oh! Albert, I thank you."

"She thanks me, Oh! God," he exclaimed bitterly, "she thanks me, she might have spared me that."

"Forgive me," said Sybil, her eyes filling with tears, "I only meant

"You meant what you said," he answered mournfully, "and I must not blame you for your truth; but Oh, my beloved, my own precious one, my lost treasure, the years will be very dreary to me now; summer will bring me no sunshine, winter no joyous fireside, time no glad, elastic renewal of youth. Stars will shine, but not for me, Sybil, for you alone gave beauty to my life, and you alone can take that beauty away. Remember me, dearest, as ever thinking of you, ever praying for your welfare, and so mingling your memory with each noble inspiration, each successful effort, each triumph in my profession, that my love of you and love of it will be one and the same. Every blue sky will tell me of your eyes, dearest, those tender, soul-eyes that won me with their wondrous beauty; every golden sunset remind me of your wealth of rippling hair; every line of grace in earth or air bring me in thought

to you. Say to Vernon that I have gone, for I cannot see him with this weight of anguish crushing me, gone forever from him and you. Yes, I must go," he answered in reply to her appealing look, "for were I to stay, my eyes would haunt you ever with their mute sorrow, while turning upon you especially their old loving glance. And now, Sybil, farewell; if you ever think of me, if ever you say to yourself' where is the wanderer now?' imagine me as toiling for fame, not for any joy it might bring me, but simply as an object in life, something to sweeten a bitter memory, something to blunt the sharp point of an eternal agony. Seated there with your head bowed and revelling perchance in your release like an uncaged bird, (I blame you not, dear love,) you little know at what a price you have bought your freedom; behold in it a crowning sacrifice of affection, the very perfection of love, yes, Sybil, you are free."

Softly he raised her head and kissed her brow, and smiling strangely that she wept, bade her not waste her tears upon his sorrows-then laying his hands lingeringly upon her fair, drooping head, he looked once again at her wondrous beauty, as though to impress it unfadingly upon his memory, and departed from her path forever.

CHAPTER XXVI.

"The banquet and the song;
By day the tourney, and by night
The merry dance traced far and light,
The masquers quaint, the pageant bright,
The revel loud and long."

Rich? ask'st those if he's rich? Observe me, Sir!

His money bags are torpid they're so full! Crammed, glutton-like, with lumps of spendthrift gold,

That swell their sides and sleep!

Barry Cornwall.

"Good resolves a moment hot, Fairly begun but finished not."

Mr. Clayton's house was still a central

point of gaiety, and Isabel a star that shed lustre over it, but at times there was an inexplicable expression of joy in her lovely face which was apart from and independent of the crowd who gathered nightly around her, a look as though she were listening to music unheard by other ears, or saw beautiful forms visible only to herself. But her secret, whatever it was, did not interrupt her life of thoughtless pleasure, for who so exquisitely attired, so bent upon enjoyment, so glittering with costly gems as the fair mistress of that palace-home?

Nor was its master changed in aught since the opening of our story save in the outward, bodily change that years had made. Now, as then, he was flushed with success; everything that he touched seemed to turn to gold; no speculation, however wild, but yielded him abundantly, no investment so extravagant but that it brought him a return ten fold.

Pale, hollow-eyed men, harassed with toil and failure, besought this flourishing Croesus for his assistance or simply his advice, since he was so successful in all that he undertook, but the last he was not always ready to give, because it might teach them his secret of luck,-the first never. Heads of Charity Societies appealed to him in vain. What had he to do with charity, when he paid an exorbitant tax to support the poor? Little bare-footed children pleaded with him for a penny for some starving mother, but he scowled forbiddingly upon their upturned faces, and sent them away empty-handed.

White hairs silvered his head, reminding him of the flight of time; death aimed a fatal arrow at friends and companions to tell him that the grave was the end of all, and still the toil was only for gold, no other treasure did he lay up than that.

Albert Linwood had entered like a shadow among them, and like a shadow had passed by. In a few words to Isabel he had told her what had come to pass, and then bade her farewell forever. Something like a tear dimmed her eyes as she listened to his touching words, but a thoughtless smile succeeded almost be

fore he had passed from her sight; she had other things to interest her besides the story of another's sorrow.

To Florence, when Isabel carelessly related the account of Linwood's visit and its cause, the intelligence came like a death-blow. Her existence suddenly became a blank, for her schemes had proved useless, her toils futile, her life a wreck, made so by her own imprudence and folly. With no object to interest her, more and more restless she became, more and more repining and discontented, until even Isabel deserted her once intimate friend or welcomed her only when she could be entertaining and cheerful to her guests or herself.

The soft, mild, earnest of Spring which saw the parting between Sybil and Albert was followed by a spell of severe and almost unprecedented cold, one of those atmospheric phenomena for which there is no accounting, when the chilling ice and snow treading close upon a genial smile of Nature blight the fair promise of a season of fruit and flowers. The ice hung in long festoons upon the newly budding trees, the sod was frozen and hard, the sleet came down in one white, pitiless sheet, and the sudden change of temperature was a trying ordeal even for those who were housed and comfortable.

But upon the poor, especially the improvident poor, the visitation of another wintry spell was an unlooked-for event, -the more so because the unusual severity of the weather shut them out from many employments that it was their custom to be engaged in, but though neither help nor advice were withheld by those who had their welfare at heart, the demand for money to supply their necessities was so great that their friends almost despaired, under the new appeals which were made to them for succour, to satisfy even their moderate demands. In answer to one who was interested in their destitute condition, and who applied to Mr. Clayton for a mite from his overflowing treasury, he replied coldly that he had nothing to spare, inasmuch as if he gave to one he would be obliged to give to all of the applicants who daily besieg

ed his doors. Failing to move Clayton's stony heart, and knowing the thousands that he bestowed on useless luxuries, the zealous advocate was not to be discouraged, but sent his wife to the rich man's wife with a touching account of a family in utter poverty, whom she might relieve by a trifling amount spared from her superfluities.

The weather was cold, as I have said, and the day particularly so when the appeal was made. In a luxurious chair, whose downy cushions alone would have imparted warmth to a freezing body, sat Mrs. Clayton, when the friend of the poor was ushered into her presence. A glowing fire burnt upon the hearth, a footwarmer supported the feet of the dainty lady whose form was wrapped in a superb cashmere robe, lined and doubly lined for warmth, and the cold air was excluded by every contrivance that art and ingenuity could fashion.

She was watching the snow-flakes as they softly descended with a dreamy smile upon her face; her eyes were directed towards the window, but her thoughts took a wider range and dwelt upon the future, the coming eventful latter days of Spring, when she trusted that upon her breast, as lightly as laid those feathery flakes upon the earth, a little child would rest as pure as they,that long wished-for, long-denied gift of God, the secret of her happy, mysterious smile.

The door opened and a servant approached and said to her that a lady with out desired to see her upon a matter of importance.

"Show her in," said Isabel, quite willing to be amused or interested by any one;" bring more coal and keep the fire glowing this freezing day."

The servant left her and ushered in the humble and conscientious pleader of the poor man's cause. Well-bred and refined as she evidently was, she could not repress a look of astonishment and curiosity at the luxury around, but soon remembering her errand she thus stated the case

nothing but a crazy shutter excludes the cold, and when it rains, the floor, from the dilapidated condition of the roof, is inundated with water. They have no money because the father can obtain no work, and the mother is too ill to think of exerting herself in any way for their maintenance. The worst feature of the case is, that a little child, who might be relieved by timely aid, a bright-eyed nursling of only six weeks old, must soon die unless it can obtain the nourishment which the mother is too weak to give it."

"Ah, then, they have an infant," said Isabel, showing for the first time an interest in the recital; "and is it pretty, and attractive, and has it sweet, winning ways?"

"That, I scarcely know," replied her visitor; "all that I do know is, that the child is very near death, and we have had so many calls upon us lately, that it is impossible to assist these as effectually as we would like to. Could you not from your abundance spare enough to keep that father from despair, and the mother and child from starvation ?"

Isabel's heart was touched; she expected her purse to be plentifully replenished in the evening when her husband returned, she said, and then would send an abundant supply of money to relieve their necessities.

Her visitor then carefully designated where the donation was to be sent, and was most particular in her directions; a neighbour she said, as poor almost as they were, who had rendered many a service to the suffering family, would be the recipient of the donation, and lay it out in a judicious way for their comfort. Then calling heaven's blessing upon Isabel's head, with grateful acknowledg ments, she departed.

Mrs. Clayton passed the remainder of the morning absorbed in a new novel, and forgot, in imaginary griefs, the real ones of which she had heard, when the dinner hour arrived and her husband returned. He shook the feathery flakes of snow from his dress in a playful manner, and looked as though he had enjoyed the frore air without, so well had he

been protected by furs and the warmest garments against its severity. His spirits were high, too, and he entertained Isabel with an account of that day's glorious achievements, in which he had outwitted two sharp business men, and had come off victorious with several extra hundreds. The dinner passed cheerfully; then came Isabel's siesta, an hour of deep and uninterrupted repose, almost always necessary because of her late hours and evenings of excitement. On this afternoon, too, she had especial need of rest, in order to be able, with refreshed spirits, to attend a grand festival which had occupied her thoughts for many days, a Fancy Ball, in which she was to appear in the character of Night.

Her sleep was long and refreshing, and her first thought on awaking was to make arrangements for arraying herself for the long-talked-of, long-anticipated ball, in a toilet which, though exquisite in its simplicity, was remarkable for its richness and perfect taste.

Her robe consisted of black velvet of the softest and most silky texture, relieved on the bosom by a fall of the most elaborate lace which art could manufacture or money purchase. Her hair was combed plainly over her brow, and above its glossy smoothness rose a tiara of diamonds in the form of a crescent, from which descended a black veil almost reaching to the feet, and which, together with her dress, was literally studded with small stars composed of the same precious stones. Upon her arms and neck were glittering bracelets and a necklace of jet and diamonds, and never had Isabel so well deserved the epithet, "beautiful," as she did on this night, when she stood before Clayton in her imposing and radiant costume.

"You are magnificent," said Clayton as she flashed upon his sight in all her brilliant loveliness, "even the gorgeous Night will find a rival in you this evening."

"I knew that you would like me," she said with a smile of gratified vanity, "my mirror told me that you would approve of my dress and me, and now, Clayton, tell me if I am not right in thinking that

that I could not merely dismiss with a 'yes,' or 'no.' I could not love anything that I was not proud of, and Robert Clayton's wife is most loved when he is most proud of her."

"And are you proud of me to-night?” she returned with pretty coquetry.

"What a question to ask when you know that you are peerless, and when I have told you that the Night herself, the inspiration of song, the beloved of the poets, will look at you with envy through her ten thousand starry eyes."

Isabel was satisfied; she knew her power, she mistrusted not her fascination, but there was a yearning in her heart to assure herself that the mere externals were not what Clayton alone prized, a yearning which all women must have who possess that fleeting, perishable gift of perfect beauty, so dangerous in more than one sense. Nor is it a satisfying possession; there is a continual struggle to preserve it and to meet the expectations of friends, and when it fades,-as fade it must,-unless a mind is well regulated to bear changes and disappointments, its decline is a positive period of suffering to her who has owned it. Far preferable must be that happy medium state termed "good looking," upon which years make no impression, except in many cases to improve, and where not cognizant of any great falling off, one feels somewhat of an approach to the happy consciousness of " "growing old gracefully."