POETRY.-The Bachelor's Dream, 66. She left me at the silent Time, 66. SHORT ARTICLES.-Shooting Stars, 90. Persecution of Mr. Peabody, 90. PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL, SON, & CO., BOSTON. For Six Dollars a year, in advance, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded free of postage. Complete sets of the First Series, in thirty-six volumes, and of the Second Series, in twenty volumes, handsomely bound, packed in neat boxes, and delivered in all the principal cities, free of expense of freight, are for sale at two dollars a volume. ANY VOLUME may be had separately, at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. ANY NUMBER may be had for 18 cents; and it is well worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly enhance their value. PART VIII. CHAPTER XXIV. the past week, visible through the feverish haze which obliterated all distinctions of day and night, and made a kind of dull eternity, broken by no divisions of time, of this terrible crisis in Vincent's history. The description, however, gained him some information, though not what he sought. The party had left the inn an hour or two before man with light thin hair and mustache, two WHEN Vincent was set down in the dark- ladies, one with a blue veil. With a pang ness and silence of the Sunday night in the which penetrated through the cloud of fatigue Dover railway station, stunned as he was by which enveloped him, he did his best to deall that he had heard and seen, and worn scribe Susan as he had seen her last, and out with fatigue and want of rest, his facul- repeated with melancholy mechanical iteraties were not at his command, as they ought tion the one circumstance he knew about to have been at the command of a man in the other companion of her flight-the blue such desperate straits, and with such a mat-veil. This dreadful piece of female drapery ter in his hands. When his fellow-passen- seemed to float through the occurrences of gers trooped away with all the bustle and excitement of travellers who had then only completed the first stage of their journey to the pier, and the night-boat which waited to carry them across the Channel, he, left behind, after being vainly stimulated by various porters and attendants with adjurations to make haste, and warnings that he would be too late, stumbled out at length into the unknown place-into the gloom of nightonly half aware of the immediate occupation that lay before him. The image of Susan grew hazy before her brother's eyes. Mary's revelation did not move him now with the quickening thrill of anguish and rage which had at first stirred him when he heard it. He had no longer his wits about him; anxiety, fear, the impulse of revenge, were all obliterated by the utter weariness which dulled all his senses, and made the necessity of throwing down his wearied limbs in some corner, and somehow dropping to sleep, more imperative than any other need. He had not energy enough to ask where the hotel was to which Mary had directed him, but wandered along in the darkness with the sound of the sea booming in his ears-sounding all the more thundery and tempestuous because it was unseen. This heavy unaccustomed cadence aided the dull effect of weariness. His own thoughts left him altogether-he was scarcely conscious of anything but the measured roll of the sea and the languor of his own worn-out frame, as he went on mechanically towards the lights before him. When he came into the brighter street, and began to encounter other wayfarers, his mind returned to him so far that he became dimly aware of what he had to do. The hotel of which Mary had told him was directly in his way, and the sight of it roused him still farther. He went in and asked first for Mr. Fordham, and then for Colonel Mildmay, without any sucThen he described the party-a tall cess. suddenly, as if upon some sudden news or unexpected necessity—where, nobody could tell. Vincent received the account of their departure dimly, scarcely able to follow its details; but he understood that it was most probable they must have gone across the Channel, and had consciousness enough left to rush as fast as his wearied limbs would carry him to the pier. Had he been in time enough, he would have leaped on board the boat without further question, and gone hopelessly far away from poor Susan and her terrible fate; but the colored lamp on the mast of the steamer was just gliding out of the shelter of the harbor as he stumbled down through the darkness into the midst of the dispersing lookers-on. Nobody there could tell him anything about that blue veil; there was no other boat till morning-and whether the party he pursued had gone in this one, he could get no information. It was very late, very dark and cold, and the ominous moan of the sea again bewildered all the confused powers he had left. He took his troubled way back again to the inn, possessed above everything with an overwhelming desire to throw himself down somewhere and rest. When he had got into a room there, he summoned once more the waiter who had first identified the fugitives. He wanted to hear over again, if perhaps he could understand a little more clearly this time the particulars of their departure. "It's my opinion they've not gone off yet," said the man: "just afore you come in, sir, going the opposite way from the pier, I see the man-servant passing by. It was Susan. Such thoughts made the daylight him when he went down-stairs; the rest was in his own hands. "Then where do you think they are ?" the morning boat-so the waiter informed said Vincent, getting up wearily. He threw on again the coat he had just taken off with a sigh of fatigue and exhaustion: as long as anything could be done he must not rest; but rest was the thing which of all others appeared at that moment most desirable in his eyes. "That's just what I can't say; but if I was you, sir, I'd make some more inquiries afore going off in the boat," said the man. "I'd send and ask at the railway, and-and at the livery stables, if they've hired any carriages or anywhere else as could be thought upon. There's an up train as is just off; shall I send to the station and make inquiries if they've been seen there?" "Do," said Vincent, dropping back again into his chair. He threw himself on the sofa when the waiter left him, and was so deep asleep when that functionary returned, that, stranger though he was, he had not the heart to wake the worn-out young man. It was morning before the young minister awoke out of that profound slumber-woke chilled and aching and confused, in the dark, with the untouched meal, which he had ordered the previous night, still on the table, the candle flaring in its socket, and he himself totally unaware how long he had lain there. He stumbled up making an effort to recover himself, but only to find, when he looked at his watch by the expiring light of the candle, that it was still early morning-too early to do anything-and that he must have slept for hours. In the interval that elapsed before the first sounds of awakening life in the house, he had time to go over all the succession of events which had made this last week more important than many past years. Of all that had happened, two particulars remained most deeply impressed upon Vincent's mind-Mrs. Hilyard's face in that railway carriage looking out upon him, calm, deadly, conscious of its terrible purpose-and poor Mary's burst of inconsolable weeping, expressive beyond all power of words, when he had asked her for But a man, accustomed only to the habits of an honorable and virtuous life, is sadly at a loss when he has to contend with the devices of guilt and cunning. Vincent went to inquire at the other hotels-went to the pier, the railway, the livery stables, as his friend the waiter suggested, without hearing anything of the party of which he was in search. He spent all the morning so, always baffled and growing hopeless. Another steamer sailed at midday, by which, if he obtained no information in the mean time, he had resolved to cross over to Calais, and try whether any clue were to be obtained there. With this thought in his mind, he was making his way through a back street towards the hotel, where already the prompt curiosity and interest of the common mind in anything mysterious had made him almost a person of consequence. Round one of the houses in the street a little crowd had congregated. As Vincent approached, a policeman darted forth from the throng, jumped into a passing cab, and drove off at a noisy pace, making more demonstration than speed. "He'll get her, sure enough," said one of the bystanders, as Vincent came up. "Murder will out. He'll run her down afore she's far from here. She aint got such a start, but that Jim will soon be on her heels; and I shouldn't wonder if there was a good reward. He's a gentleman, though he's a bad 'un—that's clear." "Yes," said a woman; "it's only them as calls themselves gentlefolks as ever do put a poor girl crazed o' that way. Poor soul! They say she aint no more than twenty or so by her looks; and if it wasn't murder, and law, and the crowner, and all that, oh, wouldn't it be served him right, the villain, to drive a poor thing out o' her senses, and ruin her, and bring her to shame! It's him as Jim should ha' been after, and not her as is drove out o' her wits, and don't know what's she a-doing of; and I hope she'll get clear out o' his hands, and get off, were dizzy with the spectacle, or some feeble "You must come out of here," said the man at the door, grasping him rudely by the arm. "Nobody's allowed in here but the doctors and the police. Who is it that's kept her word-eh? What do you mean? You'll speak to the inspector, you shall, be "O sir, it's a poor thing as has been ruined and betrayed, and she's been and took a pistol and shot him, and the police is after her. I see them come in last night. There come three in a cab, though this aint no place for gentlefolks. I said to my mas-fore you get out o' here." ter, says I, they aint no good, folks like that a-coming to the Swan; and look ye here, what's come of it? There was one on 'em was lovely-that one in the blue veil." "Where is she?" said Vincent, as he yielded mechanically to the touch, and followed the guardian of the death-room into another apartment. Maybe you can tell us ?" said the suspicious policeman. "She's kept her word, eh, has she? I'll put down them words. You'll wait for the inspector before you get out of here." "And the others," said Vincent, waking slowly out of that trance of horror; "where are those unhappy girls? they have nothing to do with it. One of them is my sister; let me see her. I have come after that— that accursed villain there. God forgive me; he has gone to his account-I have followed him to rescue my sister. Call the people of the house; they will know where she is. What do you mean by keeping your hand on me ?" "Make way!" said Vincent, with a stifled cry. He pressed in through the crowd, conscious of nothing round him, putting aside with mechanical care the women and babies who clustered closest to the door. His visible excitement was irresistible, and could not be set aside. The policeman at the door suffered him to enter in the whirlwind of passion which enveloped him. He sprang up the stairs in two or three steps, pressed to a half-open door, within which he saw some people assembled, and, unawares thrusting aside a man who stopped him, went into that chamber of death. Several people were round the bed-one a surgeon, occupied with the prostrate figure there. Vincent, over the heads of the spectators, gazed with burning eyes at that horrible spectacle. No thought of Susan was in his mind, as with haggard face and horror-stricken soul he gazed at the shattered head bound up in bloody bandages, scarce recognizable, except by sharp eyes of love or hate, which lay on that mean pillow. "She has kept her word," he said to himself, with a groan of horror. He did not observe the start and rustle round him, which proved that he had spoken aloud. He was far too deeply absorbed to think of himself, or to remember that he had any interest in the matter. She had kept her word. There he lay, no longer capable of harm, that villain, without ruth or mercy, whom the young priest would not curse at her bidding, yet whom he had cursed it violently, as the first means that occurred in the anguish of his heart. Murdered! Vincent's heart stood still; his pulses refused to beat; his very life forsook him at the sight. He stood there, gazing with the fascination of horror, unaware of the curiosity that now centred upon himself. Either his own eyes "'Cause o' what you said. She's kep her word," said the policeman. "You just give an account of yourself afore you leave here. I don't know about no girls; there was one with him-light-haired, twenty year old or so, pretty looking, as is the one as has done the deed. Jim Daly's gone after her. He'l bring her back, I reckon, to-night, and then you'll see whether she's kep her word or not." Vincent sat down mechanically, and gazed at the speaker with uncomprehending eyes. The fact that he himself was detained did not strike him at first, for Susan must be here; neither was his intelligence sufficiently disengaged to understand that his sister was accused. Close by him was a bell; he rung to him of throwing light on the matter. The sound brought up the terrified mistress of the house, attended half-way up the stair by a throng of curious women. The landlady was only too glad to be permitted to speak. She poured out upon him the tragic history of the night and morning. As Vin- At this crisis, while Vincent, half-crazed cent listened-often breaking in upon her with the intolerable horror of this new blow, at first with questions, but at length, as the struggled fiercely with the man who had horrible truth dawned upon him, suddenly mounted guard upon him, the inspector, a regaining his self-command, and following cool and wary Scotchman, made his appearthe tale with breathless dismay and terror ance. The sight of a person endued with -the true state of the case became dread- some authority recalled the unhappy young fully apparent. Susan, and no other, ap-man to himself. Before this new judge the peared against that lurid firmament. It whole case was stated, and Vincent eagerly was she who, when the sharp report of the pistol startled the house, was met on the stair, ghastly and pallid, escaping from the scene of the murder. The people of the house were profuse in regrets that they had suffered her to escape; but "when she came she was that innocent and distressed-looking, sir," said the apologetic landlady. "She kind o' clung to me, sir, and said as they were a-going to be married; for I could tell as they weren't married, and something was wrong. She kept close by the t'other miss, the poor soul did; and how he got her by herself I couldn't tell nobody. I reckon he druv her to it with some bad usage or other; that's all as I can tell. I think, for my part, as she snatched up the pistol to save herself. I don't believe as it was wilful. My man says as it's no worse nor manslaughter at the most, and that isn't hanging," cried the compassionate woman. Vincent started with the sudden force of passionate dismay and indignation as this horrible truth burst upon him. He thrust away the alarmed policeman, who was off his guard. "Where is she!" cried the young man. "She! Don't you understand me? the woman who followed him, tracked him, vowed to kill him-have none of you seen her? Fools! do you think an innocent girl could do it? Where is that woman? Has she come into the house like a ghost without being seen? I tell you she vowed to kill him, and she has done it. Search the house; perhaps she is still here." described Mrs. Hilyard, whom in other circumstances he might have tried to screen and cover, but whom now he was feverishly anxious to have identified, as having been at least seen by somebody in the house. But his little audience looked at him with incredulous faces, the policeman suspicious, the woman compassionate, the inspector attentive and taking notes. Nobody had seen her; nothing had occurred to direct attention from Susan; no passing figure or suspicious footstep had complicated the direct unbroken evidence which seemed to connect the unhappy girl with this crime. The inspector, however, who was sufficiently experienced to know that the clearest apparent conclusion is not always the true one, yielded to Vincent's entreaties so far as to have the house searched. No one, of course was to be found. Up-stairs, in one of the bedrooms, lay a flimsy piece of gauze, which excited Vincent almost beyond the possibility of self-control. It was the blue veil -fatal ensign of misery; he seized it in his hands, and would have torn it like a maniac. Then a wiser suggestion came to his disturbed mind. Where was the girl? She had disappeared stealthily and unseen. She had not gone with Susan, who had left the house alone, as all the people about could prove. Who had conveyed away this helpless, beautiful child, for whom the disguise of the veil was no longer needed? Even the inspector was roused by this thickening of the mystery. It be"Lord bless us! the poor young gentle-gan to appear probable that some other man's gone out o' his senses. There's been secret agent had been somehow involved. nobody here but the young woman," cried The suggestion, however, made the people the landlady. "Not a soul, sir, you may of the house indignant. The landlady's take my word; it was nobody else as done it. O Lord! what's the good of struggling? Let him go through all the house, if that's what he wants, p'liceman. There aint nothing to conceal in my house. I feel for him, I do. He's welcome to search all through, he is. There aint no woman a-hiding here." sympathy for Susan turned into hot resentment and indignation. She began to feel her own character involved in the proof of her statement, that nobody else had entered the house. Affairs were still in this state, when Vincent, having satisfactorily proved that he arrived only the night before, and |