whether we gained or lost our cause, he | ing lest the return of Fiucer should cut was a man whom we should dread. short our interview I began to question her as to the designs of her father. Alas! Patrick would give me no chance to tell him this. My sad expe- "Alas!" she said, "reduced to derience had made me aware of how little spair as I have been by my husband's account was anything that I could say indifference and cruelty, I am still agiabout prudence, honor, and virtue. In tated by anxieties on his account." spite of what the lawyer told me, I still Then she told of her father's fury put confidence in the influence, if not against Patrick, and of his violent bein the authority of our king and bish-havior to herself. When he first heard ops. I knew that other lawyers, who of Patrick's marriage at Saint Germain, had been consulted on the case, had given favorable opinions, and I resolved, as I could not warn Patrick, to take things into my own hands, and bring back peace and happiness to my family. his rage was so great that he vowed to Heaven that the insult could only be washed out in blood. If too old to fight him himself, he would hire some one to murder him. He was so full of this project that Sara, fearing for her husband's life, and unable to calm her father, had offered, if he would give up all such schemes, to marry Tenermill. But this offer he rejected as coming too late. On returning to Paris, and consulting some lawyers, he began to think that his best plan might be to take revenge I resolved to see Sara, to urge on her all I had had in my mind to say to her during my late journey. Joe told me that he learned from Fincer's servants that their lady was ill, that she had not left her bed since she reached Paris, that doctors were constantly in attendance, and that she would see no one. Nevertheless, by my orders, Joe by legal means, instead of by murder. watched an opportunity when Fincer was out, to return to the house, and tell the servants he had met their master in the street, who had charged him with a message he was to deliver personally to their lady. He was allowed to see her. He found that she was eager to see me. It was arranged that I should be informed the next time her father was absent, and, though my visit might expose me to great risks, I should be sure of a few minutes' conversation. He planned to ruin Patrick by public exposure, and he was now, she said, busy with several distinguished men of law in getting up his case. I hoped Sara would have told me something of herself and her own views of the situation, but everything she said was vague. Over and over again she asked me for my pity. I had been struck by the fact that she had offered of her own accord to marry Lord Tenermill, and thinking that avowal offered a good opening for The next day I was sent for accord- the expression of my wishes, I began ingly. I felt deeply grieved to see to talk to her. "It is too true," I said, how ill Sara appeared to be. She" that my brother has believed himself stretched out her hand: "Come and authorized by the authority of the king, tell me," she said, "whether you still feel pity for my sorrows? You never ill-treated me, but I thought I should have found you more devoted to my interests. You have grown cold to me; and yet I cannot believe," she added, "that you really took part in that horrible conspiracy. Am I to think you my friend or one of those who wish my ruin ?" It was easy to justify myself by tell ing her the simple truth. But dread and the approval of our bishops, to your divorce, though not yet fully com- | embarking with his regiment for serpleted. No doubt your consent was vice in Ireland. infamously obtained, still it is legal. The king has accepted it. tersigned by your father. from you," I added, in my most persuasive voice, "will put an end to all our misery, and bring peace back to our unhappy family. Accept the hand of Lord Teuermill. I will undertake to shield you from the anger of your father. He recognized the advantages of the match when it was first proposed to him. I feel no doubt they will have weight with him now.' That evening, as I sat absorbed in It is coun- my reflections, Joe came to tell me One word that something seemed going on in Mademoiselle de L-'s house. He could not tell what it might be, for Patrick had won over all his servants by presents and by promises to keep his secrets, and not one of them would tell him what he wished to know. The truth was, although he could not discover it, that Patrick had moved his effects, and much of the furniture from Mademoiselle de L's house during Sara, I could see, listened eagerly at the night before, and that the horses, first, but she seemed absorbed in her carriages, and many of the servants own thoughts before I had done speak- were in the neighborhood of Paris, ing. Then she said, as if recalling awaiting his appearance or his orders. herself with difficulty to the answer A man whom they could trust was to she must make: "You give me advice be left in charge. Mademoiselle de that I shall never be able to take. I L was to return that very evening only consented to marry Lord Tener- after dark to make some final arrangemill when I feared for my husband's ments, after which they were to set off life. I never could have kept that for Germany before dawn. promise. I have blamed myself for making it." Then, lifting her head as if she heard the steps of Fincer, she cried: "I dare not keep you longer, my dear dean. Remember you have promised always to love me. I will let you know when you may come again, but go now, and cautiously." She looked more animated, more like herself, than she did at the beginning of my visit. I drew from this the happiest auguries, and indeed it was not until the fatal consequences of this interview had taken place that I realized the terrible imprudence of my own words. Then I felt that I was the guilty party in the unhappy event I have yet to tell of in this story. As I made my report of what had passed to the count and countess, I dwelt much upon my view that, if Sara had once said she would marry Lord Tenermill, there was every reason to hope that she might be brought by frankness, affection, and tenderness to say so again. Rose and her husband were much pleased with the news I brought them, and we sent off an express to Lord Tenermill, who was on the point of It was the day after my visit to Sara Fincer that all these things were to take place. Patrick, although he told us nothing of his plans, came the night before his intended departure to pay a last visit to Rose and Count SI was there, and, notwithstanding his reluctance to let me speak of his affairs, I contrived to tell him about my interview with Sara, and implored him to see in it, if he had ever doubted, my affection, my zeal for his service, and a change in my views. At another time probably he might have been touched by this, but now he was preoccupied, and he heard me coldly. Meantime I thought it advisable to endeavor to see Sara again, and sent my Irish servant to arrange with her another interview. Instead of being, as at first, eager for my visit, she desired to put it off until another day. Joe replied that he found her up and dressed, dressed with great care, and, as he said, "most beautiful." Her expression seemed quite changed. She appeared to have recovered her spirits. I attributed this to her having made up her mind to forget Patrick, and to be happy with Tenermill. Alas! I was very far from under- if the evil genius of our family was standing the situation. All was the never tired of occupying himself with fruit of my own imprudent disclosure our affairs. in our first interview, when, with a view of exalting the goodness of Patrick, I had informed her that Mademoiselle de L had, with his consent, gone for the present to a convent, and that they had agreed not to live together as man and wife until better times. Patrick's chamber was in great disorder, as could be seen by two lighted candles standing on a large table. Things lay scattered on the chairs, and on the floor. Sara found an empty seat, however, standing behind the open door of a large closet, and she sat down on it, rather glad that on Patrick's return she would not at first be visible. She did not wait long. She heard voices in the corridor. One was the voice of a woman. It was that of This put two new ideas into Sara's head. After she heard this, she paid no more attention to what I was saying to her; she was only occupied with the thought that the relations of Patrick and Mademoiselle de L- to each Mademoiselle de L- whom Patrick other, were exactly parallel to hers with Patrick in Ireland. She formed the project, if he were alone in her rival's house, of making her way to him, and by every demonstration of affection, to win his heart. Since she came over to France she had never had an opportunity to speak alone with him. She would seize it at once. She was thinking how she might accomplish this all the time I was talking to her. She knew that Mademoiselle de L had only hired the chief rooms in the house opposite, and that the concièrge was not in her service, nor in that of Patrick. She sent for her own landlady when I had left, who entered into her views, and the concièrge was gained over by a sum of money. He knew that the rent was paid, that the house was going to be given up, and that much of the furniture had been removed, but he knew nothing of the intended journey to Ger many. Sara attributed the design of leaving the apartment to Patrick's anxiety to escape her observation, and it made her more eager than before to accomplish her purpose without delay. As soon as it grew dark she left her house with her landlady, leaving her maid in her chamber, to say she was asleep, and must not be disturbed. The concièrge let her through a side door into Patrick's chamber. He told her that he was out, but she resolved to wait for him. Alas! it seemed as was bringing from her convent, that she might make some last arrangements for her journey. On entering the chamber he begged her to sit down. The servants disencumbered a large sofa, and brought it forward, at the same time pushing back the table with the candle-sticks against the heavy open door of the closet, so that Sara was in a sort of prison. Then came what for her was a scene of anguish. Patrick spoke to Mademoiselle de Lwith words of the most tender affection, and at last seizing her hand, though she endeavored to prevent him, he drew her towards him, and for the first time taking her in his arms, he passionately kissed her. Shame, fury, - every passion that can possess the heart of a wronged and jealous woman took possession of Sara. She sprang up from her seat, pushed violently against the closet door, and in so doing, knocked over the table on which stood the lighted candles. They fell, and all was sudden darkness. Only a voice in that darkness was shrieking "Traitor! Perjurer!" as Sara rushed towards the pair closely folded in each other's arms. Alas in another moment she lay senseless at their feet. Patrick had laid aside his rapier as inconvenient on a journey, and was wearing only a short sword or hunting-knife. Suddenly attacked, he knew not by whom, he had drawn this weapon, and Sara, stum- arrived, and he might have been kept bling forward in the darkness, fell upon its point, as he held it in his hand. The noise in the room brought in the servants with lights, and then to Patrick's horror, the assailant whom he had pierced proved to be the hapless Sara, lying unconscious at his feet with blood flowing from her wound. He ceased to think of Mademoiselle de L. All his care was to succor his unhappy victim. Mademoiselle de L too, was anxious to assist her, but Patrick, fearing the effect on Sara, should she open her eyes and see her rival, took his young wife by the arm, and led her away abruptly, leaving her with her own women, while he returned to Sara. As he did so he found himself stepping in blood, and this sight overcame him. He fell speechless into a chair. Sara, who had been laid upon the sofa, at last began to show signs of consciousness. Patrick went to her side at ouce. He kneeled beside her, and waited anxiously for the arrival of the surgeons. from entering had not my brother's valet judged prudently that it was best that he should see his daughter, and telling him the truth about what had taken place, he led him into her chamber. Furious as Fincer was, the scene before him softened him. The doctors were dressing the wound. While they did so, Sara was lying with her head on Patrick's breast, supported in his arms. Anxiety and grief were depicted on his face. It was impossible to consider him the enemy of one whom he was so affectionately attending. It was the first time Fincer had seen Patrick since his boyhood. It made a great impression on him. He began to forget that he saw before him the man who, more than any other in the world, had offended him mortally. When the doctors pronounced Sara's wound dangerous, but not fatal, and thought she might be removed to her own house, he did not oppose my brother's wish to go with her, and to wait upon her. All the household of Fincer, who knew the situation, were surprised to see my brother lavishing all his cares on the woman whom they this painful scene. He flung himself believed him to have treated so inhuupon his knees, and in piteous words, implored her pardon, and kissed her hands. Her first words were a reproach. Patrick could not endure in silence manly. He passed the night beside Sara's bed, sometimes asking her pardon for his cruelty, sometimes endeavoring to console her by his words and his caresses; sometimes walking up and down the room in silence, and then resuming his place beside her with increasing agitation. His valet de chambre during the night had not left him, but early in the morning he slipped away from Fincer's house to tell me what had happened. Hardly had she gone before Fincer came to the house, in a state like that of a mad man. I have always supposed that, having heard of what had My first emotion on hearing this was passed, his intention was to take the terror. I fancied Fincer was sure to life of his daughter's rival. The ser- take revenge. I entered his house with vants and the landlady had abruptly dread, and asked if I could see him. told him that his daughter had been The servants replied that he was with murdered in the opposite house. He my brother in his daughter's chamber. jumped to the conclusion that, if it I could hardly believe my ears. I had were in Mademoiselle de L -'s come there hoping to deprecate his house, the deed must have been done anger. However, thinking that my by her hands. She was gone when he presence might still be useful, I went LIVING AGE. VOL. III. 106 affair," he said. "Was there ever any one so guilty or so miserable as I am?" Rose and her husband came, but were not admitted, strict orders having been given that no messages, and no up-stairs, and found Fincer and Patrick | ingly; and when the doctors decided sitting each on one side of poor Sara, that his daughter still demanded the evidently thinking of nothing but how utmost care, I could see that he was to assist and console her. They rose glad to think this would keep Patrick when I came in, but they received me beside her. very coldly. I took a chair offered me by a servant, and we all remained silent. Fincer kept his eyes down; Patrick took Sara's hand, and kissed visits should be allowed. Patrick's it tenderly. Then at last he spoke. valet de chambre, however, I myself "You have heard all about this sad allowed to enter. This man, being an Irishman, was altogether in the interests of his country woman, Sara Fincer. He told me he had seen Mademoiselle de L- at her convent, and when he told her all that had occurred both at her own residence and at Fincer's house, she had let fall several expressions of concern, and had given him a letter to his master, which no doubt contained complaints of his desertion and his attention to her rival. I told him to give me the letter and to go back and inform Mademoiselle de L- that his master was not likely for some time to leave the bedside of Fincer's daughter, and was too busy, too anxious, and too unhappy to send her any other answer. I scarcely knew how to answer him. It seemed hardly a time for exhortations to duty and to virtue. I confined my remarks to some vague reflections on the mysterious ways of Providence, and added, by way of turning my remarks to the benefit of those to whom they were addressed, that under dark clouds often shone the light. They made no answer. Then Fincer rose, and, taking my hand, led me into an adjoining room, where he made me take a chair, and asked me what opinion I thought he ought to form of my brother's past conduct, of his grief, and of his tenderness for Sara, of his sighs and groans. "I have been struck,” he said, “by his air of mildness and of honesty. Perhaps Sara, on her part, may have neglected her duty as a wife. If so, tell me. By pursuing a different line of conduct she may regain his heart; I shall be glad of it; for it is clear to me that he is not voluntarily guilty, and that what has happened should not be imputed to him as a crime." I was amazed. The man who spoke thus was no longer the terrible Fincer. I thought it my duty to flatter his hopes of a reconciliation between husband and wife, and to confirm him in his good opinion of my brother. I even spoke of Mademoiselle de Las but a weak obstacle to a renewal of his former vows. "It is most important," I said, "that Patrick should, for the present, receive no letters from that lady, nor see any one who comes from her." Fincer agreed with me, and gave orders to his servants accord "If she gives you any letters," I said, "bring them to me. If she bewails my brother's fickleness, tell her that he is too completely overcome by sorrow for what has taken place to think of anything else." The man was intelligent, and understood me. At that moment arrived a servant from Count S- asking to see me. He brought me word that two couriers were waiting for me at the count's, one of whom had been sent by M. de Sercine from Saint Germain by order of the king, who wished to see me that very day. The other was the man we had despatched to Tenermill. I made haste to go to the count's house. Tenermill's man told me that though he had used all diligence he had not reached Dunkirk till the squadron was just putting to sea. He had taken a boat, however, and had overtaken the transport which had Tenermill on board. My brother had received his news with emotion. Then he went |