is!" she exclaimed, almost bitterly. "I am not so detached, and hope I may never be so."

"It is our only refuge," he replied, almost sadly. "And after all we are only anticipating the effect of time. A few months console us for death and disappointment. And nature is incessantly preaching peace and comfort.

II.

Two years passed away. Evelyn had married her cousin and found him an affectionate husband, though there was in his nature an ineradicable fibre of boyish irresponsibility and wilfulness that caused her much anxiety and frequent distress. Their married life, however, came to an abrupt termination. Poor Hector perished in the Egyptian war, leaving Evelyn a childless widow. She grieved sincerely for him, yet not as deeply as she would

Ob er heilig, ob er böse Jammert sie der Unglücksmann. You see me, how I am, and yet I have felt a misery which made life for a time | have wished to do. Her father, on the a mere burden. And now I am contented and heart-whole, I sleep well, I eat well, I play my flute, I read my favorite books. Grief is a bad habit. If it was natural, nature would be contracted in one brow of woe, for death and disaster are universal."

"Well, I take you at your word," she said, almost defiantly. "Berenice marries Hector, and SO ends the myth."

Soon after they heard the trampling of horses and the jingle of bells, and going to the door they found Alistair holding in a pair of horses harnessed to a handsome sledge.

other hand, did not affect a concern which he did not really feel. His ward had been a source of constant vexation to him; and he had never concealed his conviction that his brilliant and high-minded daughter was far too good for the thoughtless and pleasure-loving youth. Besides, Hector's death gave him back his daughter, for she broke up her house and returned to Daventry Hall. She was deeply touched by the eager joy with which the dignified and usually reserved gentleman had hailed this arrangement. He took her in his arms, kissed her fondly, and said somewhat huskily: "You should never have left it darling; but all's well that ends well." Every one, indeed, seemed delighted at her return. Even Harrison, While she went to put on her wraps, the old butler, who was very tenacious Casanove talked with Alistair, and of his dignity, welcomed her with an ascertained that the road, though bad odd blending of almost paternal affecenough here and there, was quite prac- tion and episcopal unction; while the ticable. He then assisted Evelyn into housekeeper, who was a Scotswoman the sledge, and wrapped the rugs care- and much given to the study of apocafully round her. She was pale and lyptic literature, so far forgot herself silent. Flora, with whom she had ex-as to burst into tears when she saw the changed a farewell greeting in the cottage, stood at the door and gazed smilingly at her.

"Ah! everything comes to an end," said Evelyn lightly. "I must leave you now, Mr. Casanove."

grave, sweet face of her former mistress. And so the days slipped peacefully and pleasantly away, till in the following summer Colonel Markham proposed a tour on the Continent. Evelyn, he said, was looking pale, she studied too much, ate too little, showed an aversion to innocent claret that was singularly ominous, and evidently needed a change of air and scene. Even the music she played was sombre. Beethoven was no doubt classical, but there was too much weltschmerz about him. For his

"

part, he was tired of those solemnicent as a child's. In the evening he strains in dreadfully flatted keys, that called at the auberge, and was ushered made one think of one's early follies into the sitting-room with every mark and unpaid bills, and the heart-breaking of reverential respect on the part of disasters of Liberal governments. So the aubergiste's wife. It evidently never reasoned the colonel with a whimsical occurred to her that any formal prelimsmile, but with looks of tender anxiety.inaries were requisite. The curé had For he had become more than ever at- his entrée everywhere, quoi! He was tached to his daughter now that he cordially received, and in the course of realized what her absence meant. Be- conversation offered his services in sides, the state of her health, her per- showing the strangers the curiosities of sistent sadness, which she evidently the place and neighborhood. He had tried to throw off so as not to disquiet apparently a wide knowledge of antiquiand distress him, her frequent fits of ties, and spoke with much zest about self-absorption, her increased devotion dolmens and cromlechs, of which there to her religious duties, which seemed were several interesting specimens to him a gloomy presage,—all had the within easy distance. The result was effect of rousing him from the uncon- that they made several excursions tosciously selfish acceptance of her filial gether, and were soon thoroughly good attentions which had characterized him friends. He possessed that naïveté of in the past. Once when he gently the heart, that perfect simplicity and asked her as to the cause of her sadness unaffected humility combined with culshe said: "I have not been true to my ture and unconscious dignity, that lent higher self; I should not have married a rare charm to his companionship. my cousin; and yet, I am ashamed He knew the entire lore of the district; and disappointed that the mistake has his uncle, indeed, had been curé of the not proved irreparable." parish before him, and had witnessed many of the horrors and shared in the dangers of the Revolutionary epoch.

This was a psychological paradox that was absolutely unintelligible to the clear-headed man of the world; and he inquired no further.

They went to Brittany by Evelyn's desire, and travelled leisurely from place to place, enjoying in a sober way the austere beauty of that corner of France, and pleased with the simple, sincere, and antique manners of the people, who have never yet lost their alien look and speech, and who are stamped with that air of vague melancholy which accompanies a suppressed and isolated nationality.

"The fact is, a dear friend of mine is extremely ill--- dying, I fear, of typhoid fever. He is an Englishman, though he fought for France in our period of disaster. He is not indeed a Catholic,' he added, with a sigh, "but I fervently believe, notwithstanding, that he is in bona fide. I wish all Catholics were like my dear heretic-kind, compassionate, charitable, simple and pure in his life.

Reaching the little village of Polrac on the northern coast, they were so much attracted by its quaint and oldworld beauty that they resolved to stay a short while there, and they obtained comfortable quarters at the Cerf d'Or, the only auberge that it possessed. On Sunday they went to the little church, where their presence excited no small interest and curiosity. The curé was "Indeed, he has lived too ascetan elderly man with snowy hair and ically," he resumed, after a pause. pale, emaciated features, lit up by a "One would have thought that he pair of soft blue eyes limpid and inno-wished to mortify the flesh, as if he

A tear twinkled in his eye, and he took a pinch of snuff with an agitated look and manner.

regulated life, and that is favorable to ultimate recovery.

had much to mortify!" he added, with a quaint smile. "Once when I wished him to share with me an excellent "God grant it; but he is very weak. capon which my good Brigitte had pre- However, he is no longer delirious. pared with special success, he said, Now, perhaps you will permit me to 'Mon père, I do not owe a cock to Æs-retire. I must visit my patient." culapius.' However, he did take a little, only he said it was fortunate I could grant him absolution."

Evelyn had grown extremely pale during this guileless talk, her features had become tense, while there was an excited sparkle in her eyes.

"If you will allow me, Monsieur le Curé, I shall accompany you," said Evelyn quietly but firmly.

"My dear child !" exclaimed Colonel Markham, "the thing is absurd. Think of the infection

"I don't think typhoid fever is rec"He has been a delightful compan-ognized as infectious. I must see him ion," the curé went on sadly. "When once more,” she added pleadingly.

I think of him I am reminded of that Her father shrugged his shoulders fine saying of Goethe's which he once with a resigned air. He knew that quoted to me: The golden age is indeed when the tiny vertical furrow appeared past, but good men bring it back. Oh, on her forehead expostulation was usea good man! And with so gay a hu- less. mor at times. And to see him now!" "What does the doctor say?" asked Evelyn, in a low voice.

"He speaks despondently, says that my friend has lived too much like an anchorite, even declares that he got the typhoid fever by drinking water or milk | instead of honest wine. Dr. Brissot is a good fellow, but a farceur at times."

"I think I know the gentleman," said Evelyn huskily. "Is not his name Austin Casanove ?"

“That is indeed his name," replied the curé, with an astonished look.

He was too well-bred to ask questions, but his look was significant enough. He relapsed into a fit of profound abstraction. Suddenly a gleam of intuition flashed across his face.

"Tiens! I understand. You must be the lady, madam, of whom he spoke to me one day."

ex

"Did he speak about me ?” claimed Evelyn, blushing keenly. "He seemed, if I am not indiscreet, to have for you a veritable culte. That is, if you are the lady whom he once entertained in his cottage, when you were overtaken by a snowstorm."

"Yes, I am the same person."

"My daughter was much impressed by him," remarked Colonel Markham. "And all I have heard of him is greatly to his credit. Well, let us hope for the best. He has led a very sober, well

When they had left the auberge, the curé said,

"Pardon me, madam, but I understood my friend to say that you had married monsieur your cousin."

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Yes, I did; but he perished in the Egyptian war. We wished him to leave the army, but he refused. He Isaid that he wished to be of some use before he left the world, for he had a presentiment that he would never return."

They then proceeded in silence along the village street till they reached at its farthest extremity a little cottage with small, arched bay-windows, and standing back from a small garden filled with flowers, which now exhibited the disarray of the declining year. The westering sun shone on the windows and illumined them with a roseate flush. On the right a sombre moor, covered with heath and dry and stunted furze, stretched onwards to the rugged cliffs that overlooked the sea. A soft evening breeze, impregnated with saline flavors and the odor of seaweed, brought with it the deep murmur of the ocean. Far to the left the dreary lande, out of which emerged mossy boulders and angular masses of granite, extended bleak and bare till it reached a low line of hills, crested here and there with dark clumps of firs.

The door of the cottage was opened

"Amen!" said the curé, and made a sign of the cross upon Casanove's forehead.

Evelyn rose from her seat, and bending over the bed gently grasped Casanove's hand, and pressed it to her lips, while the tears streamed silently down her pallid cheeks.

by an elderly woman, apparently the centuries too soon; we have not yet femme du ménage, clad in the medieval learned of thee. But all those who costume of Breton paysannes, and wear- have denied themselves and abjured ing on her head a monumental coiffe. the world are thy humble brethren. Her features were harsh and rugged, Que Ta grandeur soit miséricordieuse but the eyes were soft, and bore traces pour ma petitesse.” of weeping. She greeted the curé and his companion in low tones, and with the accent of one to whom French is a foreign tongue. Then, "effacing herself," "she allowed the two to enter the cottage. The curé led the way into his friend's bedroom. It was paved with brick and very plainly furnished. The tears came to Evelyn's eyes when she recognized the cavalry sabre hanging intense, incredulous joy illumined his above the empty fireplace. Casanove features. was lying on a low curtained bed, per- "Are you really Evelyn Markham ?" fectly inert, and apparently in a state of he whispered, with a smile. "En chair coma. His face was strangely attenu-et en os? You are not the reflection of ated, and the long, sinewy arm resting my dream?" on the coverlet seemed denuded of flesh, and showed the corded muscles with the grim precision of an anatomical preparation.

The effect was electrical.

A smile of

She pressed his hand, and bending over him whispered in his ear,

"Do not die and leave me, Austin. I have loved you ever since I first saw

Evelyn was seized with a fit of trem-you." bling so convulsive that she sank into a chair placed at the side of the bed, and buried her face in the curtains.

The curé poured a little brandy into a spoon, and tried to introduce it into Casanove's mouth. He swallowed the liquid with a painful grimace, and

awoke.

"Ah, my good friend," he said in a faint voice, and with a long-drawn sigh,

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'you do not forget me."

"How are you now, mon enfant?" asked the curé with a stifled voice.

"Je me meurs, je crois," was the quiet reply.

"Hold me, Evelyn," he said hoarsely; "I seem to be falling into abysses; keep me back! oh, keep me back!"

Then the surging blackness of the limbo of life and death swelled up and engulfed him. He sank back, and lay inanimate, while Evelyn, sick with dread, sat trembling in every limb, but still retaining a grasp of his hand. When she had sufficiently recovered her self-possession, she intimated to the cure her intention of watching by the bedside, and desired him to inform her father of this intention.

It was a dreary vigil, interrupted only

"Do you wish the last rites of Mother by the occasional entrance of the BreChurch ?"

"As you please, mon père," Casanove replied. Then he went on in a solemn monotone, “I have loved righteousness and hated iniquity. Will not God himself say, Let him rest in peace ?"

The cure handed him an ivory crucifix, which Casanove pressed to his lips.

ton femme du ménage, and by a visit of Dr. Brissot, a stout, thick-set man with a massive, leonine head, who evidently had some difficulty in controlling his quick, petulant movements. He fixed his keen and piercing eyes on Evelyn with such an imperiously inquiring look that Evelyn was constrained to say, "An old friend, monsieur."

"Oh miracle of self-sacrifice! oh He nodded brusquely, and proceeded divine example of resignation!" he to examine his patient with a deft and murmured feebly. "Give me of thy delicate touch. He then gave Evelyn magnanimity. Alas! thou wert born instructions as to the requisite treat

ment, assuming in his rapid, intuitive] way that she purposed to nurse the invalid during the night.

"He is no worse," he remarked, "indeed rather better; but then an ebbing tide does not retreat from the shore all at once, there is influx and reflux. Still, for the present he is un, tantinet mieux. The man has lived a hermit's life and impoverished his blood. A pest on all moral pedants. Which is worse, mademoiselle; to disbelieve in your body or your soul? I shall return in the early morning. Adieu, mademoiselle."

And he bustled noiselessly out of the room, if such a paradox may be permitted.

Casanove woke up again after a couple of hours' profound stupor. He looked vaguely about him for a time, till he realized Evelyn's presence, and then his look brightened.

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:

"And what shall I do with my money, Evelyn?" he asked one day.

"Have no anxiety on that score,' she rejoined, with a demure smile. "I shall help you to spend it."

In a word, though he remained much of the idealist he had been for so many years, he abandoned that Levitical scrupulosity in meat and drink which Evelyn maintained to be only a kind of sublimated self-conceit-for in a married man that is how originality is apt to be designated. He had, however, his compensations; his wife provided him with new ideals.

G. DUNN.

From The New Review.

IN THE EARLY FORTIES.

ATTENTION was called last year to the disappearance of an old house which was supposed to be haunted, and to those who knew it in its palmy days, when the most brilliant intellectual society was collected within its walls, it was indeed haunted by pleasant

"My head, ma chérie" (Evelyn's heart thrilled at the endearing tone), my head is as full of noises as a decaying house. Did a door slam just now?" "No, dear Austin, the stillness has memories and tender regrets. been awful."

"Then let us suppose it was the gates of Hades closing. You have kept me back. Ah! it is a reversal of the old myth. Eurydice has gone down to the nether world to bring back Orpheus. Give me time, Eurydice; I follow the flutter of your garment.

One of the huge modern buildings, probably intended for flats, is now rising on the site of what was once 13, Hyde Park Gate, Kensington Gore, the residence of my father, the late Nassau William Senior, and built by him about the year 1826.

On his marriage in 1821 he took a small house in Kensington Square. From its windows Cobbett was often seen digging in his garden, and a glimpse of Talleyrand caught as he walked round the square. James Mill and his family lived also in the square, and his celebrated son John was one of my father's early friends. He was very kind to children, and I remember his dancing a quadrille with me at his father's house.

Many authors and artists lived at Kensington, and there was no lack of society. My father used to frequent the Duke of Sussex's and the Duchess of Kent's parties at the palace, and at Holland House he was a welcome guest. Callcutt, Wilkie, and Sir Thomas Law