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published essays was alone what he consented to expend on himself.

After all, what happiness, what content even, was there in this family, notwithstanding Mr. Forrester's wary watchfulness, or his wife's ceaseless efforts? Walworth's wretchedness was becoming daily more apparent; Mildred's ignorance could not be lasting; and the children would learn sooner or later the dishonor that would cling to their name for a score of years to come. "Truly," I said to myself, "there is a ghost at Glen-Beck, but it is not the wandering spirit of the wronged old Indian. I am aware of its existence in the shadow that sometimes crosses Mr. Forrester's brow; I see that Mrs. Forrester dreads, though she never acknowledges, its haunting power. Walworth already knows the Shade, alas! too well; and Mildred has begun to suspect there is an indefinable something to fear, for which she has yet no name. God help her! It is indeed a fearful apparition."

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CHAPTER XI.

DOOM TO THE BETROTHED.

"Love feareth death! I was no child. I was betrothed that

day;

I wore a troth-kiss on my lips I could not give away;
How could I bear to lie content and still beneath a stone,
And feel mine own Betrothed go by--alas! no more mine own!
Go leading by in wedding-pomp some lovely lady brave,
With cheeks that blushed as red as rose, while mine were cold
in grave?

How could I bear to sit in heaven on e'er so high a throne,
And hear him say to her-to her !-that else he loveth none.
Though e'er so high I sat above, though e'er so low he spake,
As clear as thunder I should hear the new oath he might take:
That hers, forsooth, were heavenly eyes: ah me! while very
dim,

Some heavenly eyes (indeed of heaven) would darken down to
him.
MRS. E. B. BROWNING.

PEACEFUL valley, decked in spring verdure, lay in the broad sunlight of a beautiful day. Green fields and budding trees everywhere met the eye; birds sang

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184

TO THE

DOOM TO THE BETROTHED.

as they built their nests, and a clear stream, that wound its way past happy dwellings, made a pleasant murmur, as it rippled over the stones in its bed. Fragrant airs wafted down from the hills, and hastened the waters' flow, and stirred the tree-branches to a rustling motion. Overhead the blue spread smiling and cloudless. What loveliness was there in the freshness, the peace, the promise of this fair landscape! Summer and autumn might change, but could scarcely add to its beauty.

Ere mid-day, clouds hung dark over the valley. The soft zephyr strengthened to a breeze, then to a tempest. The spirit of the Blast, aroused, rode furious. The rain descended, the floods came. Wreck was in its path. At length, as evening drew on, its rage abated, and wailing over its own work, it died away in a dreary moan at midnight. Morning light showed a waste that summer might not crown, nor autumn clothe with beauty again. Bloom had perished, songsters fled, men's habitations had been beaten down, and the stream, so gentle before, rushed broad on a headlong course of devastation and death.

Reft of its loveliness and its promise, the valley was a desolation.

Marie, find the parallel.

I sat in the drawing-room at Glen-Beck. It was Saturday, and the children had gone into town with their mother and Mildred. I was engaged in copying for Kate a sketch of Walworth's, taken from his portfolio. An hour or two of quiet had been mine, when a summons at the bell announced visitors. They will go away, I thought, when the servant returns "not at home" to their inquiries. But I was mistaken. Poulett had received hospitable orders. If guests came they were to be admitted and asked to partake of luncheon. Poulett obeyed to the letter. There was a pause: the ladies held a consultation. Yes, they would remain. Poulett led the way to the dining-room. Presently I heard them returning. At the drawing-room door they paused.

"Would they step in and be seated?" Poulett asked.

"Who is that lady?" I heard one inquire rudely, hesitating on the threshold.

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DOOM TO THE betrothed.

"Miss Wilmerton," Poulett answered, his French notion of propriety somewhat shocked by the question.

"Oh, the governess," was whispered quite audibly among the ladies. A party of three entered and seated themselves comfortably for a chat, in the chairs Poulett placed for them opposite the window to which I had drawn my table for better light.

Of course the presence of the governess was ignored. Of course they proceeded in their conversation as if the silent girl before them had neither ears nor feeling. It was characteristic of their class. The nouveaux riches are rarely well-bred or even considerate; and I recognized in the fashionables before me women who had commenced married life with perhaps the half of a two-story dwelling for a lodging, but whom an unexpected turn of fortune, or the talent of sharply calculating husbands, had placed in a position they could not be said to grace. I did not see fit to withdraw, since my presence was no restraint. They discussed a late party in M with interest, blackened with no light touch the

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