=
Doctor Carajo sat in his verandah,
smoking a cigar. His chair was a eu-
rious bamboo structure, of Japanese
manufacture. The doctor sat in the
clear shadow, and gazed out medita-
tively upon a lovely prospect of semi-
tropi al sea and shore. His house,
built in the Spanish siyle, stood on
height at the verge of the antique
town—a town of narrow, Irregular
streets, and high-shouldered buildings
with projecting windows and arched
doorways. It had not altered in
hundreds of years, save (0 grow
grayer, more indolent and more ven-
erable.
In thie lovely and forgotten spot Dr.
Carajo had lived three years. Not
every man could have made himself
part of such a community without oc
oasicning a great deal of excitement
and remark ; astranger was nowhere
80 much a stranger as in that ancient
town. But Doetor Cirajo bad ven-
tured into the still and immemorial
life of the place as quietly and unre-
markably as a shadow of the evening.
Quiet and reserved he was of manner,
but he was in no sense an insignifi-
cant man.
In his bearing toward others he
was courteous but wholly cold and
unimpassioned, His reputation in the
community was unrivaled, and people
consulted him ss they might have
consulted some wiss volume contain-
ing infallible remedies for bodily ills
Doctor Csrsj y, in brief, held the posi-
tion of a kind of physical Providence,
little thought about until he was
needed, and then trusted implicitly.
Professionally he was known to
everyone; parsonslly, to none.
1
As Doctor Carajo sat smoking in
his chair that sunny afternoou, the
noise of a carriage proceeding up the
street, attracted his attention. With-
out altering his position he allowed
his eyes to rest upon the vehicle and
its occupant, The latter was & woman
dressed in white. She was in the
prime of her youth and beauty, but
her anxious and mervous manner
showed evidences of acute distress of
mind. As Doetor Caraio looked upon
her his eyes dilated and his face
flushed ; then he grew very pale. He
leaned back in his chair as if to ¢on-
ceal himself from view.
The wheels stopped before his door,
and the bell sounded in the court be-
low. By the time the servant arrived
with the information that a lady was
below who desirad to see him on a
matter of life and death, he appeared
no less serene and impressive than
usual.
“ Bring hither a chair for the lady,”
he said, ** and say that I await her.”
Having given these directions the
Doctor rose from his chair and re-
mained leaning negligently against
the stone balustrade of the baleony,
with his face toward the room which
opened upon it. As she set foot on
the balcony the Doetor bowed his
head courteously.
“ Doctor Car j»,' she began, speak-
ing abruptly and impetuously, **I
was told to eome to you—that no one
but you could cure my husband’
At that word the Doctor raised his
head and looked his visitor in the face,
while a faint, contemptuous smile
quivered for an instant beneath his
gray mustache.
The lady stopped short, her beauti-
fal lips apart, and her great eves fixed
in & gaz» of seeming amsz ment and
dismay. Presently slie mattered some
unintelligible words, raised her hands
across her bosom with a gesture of fear
or of repulsion, and her face and neck
crimsoned with a bot blush.
The Doctor contemplated her a few
moments, and then said coldly: ** Be
seated, madam. Your husband, you
were ahout to say—?"'
“ I should not have come—they said
Dastor Carajo———"
“ You were rightly informed, mad-
am. I sm Doctor Carsjo, and I alone
can cure your husband-if he be cur
able. You may place every confidence
in me.”
“ Oh, what shall I do ?” murmured
the lady, pressing hier hands over her
face. She stood dizzedly ana would
have fallen had not the Doctor by a
light touch guided her to a chair, She
sank down, a tremor passed through
her body and her eves closed,
“You appear yourself to be indis.
posed, Madam,” observed the Docler.
“The heat outside is «rat and you
have over-exerted yourself, This
scent will revive yom,” snd as he
spoke he held to her nostrils a small
phial containing a pungent perfame,
“ You sak me what you should do,”
he continued. ** You should, in my
opinion, lose no time in telling me the
circumstances to which I owe your
visit. If your husband's case is so
precarious as I sm given to under:
stand, a delay might prove fatal.” =
“Would you not be more fatal than
any delay ?”’ demanded the lady, fix-
complimentary,”
returned the Doctor, with a smile. “I
would do my best for him, as for any
other human creature intrusted to my
care. Nevertheless, If you deem It
elsewhere
that I leave you free to do what you
will.”
“Yes, { know you in that speech,”
exclaimed the lady, in a low but pas-
sionate tone. “You would leave me
free—too free. You say you would do
your best for any human creature left
to your care; but the human soul in-
trusted to your care you would leave
free to fall into temptation and be de-
stroyed! Bat, perhaps, God will be
more merciful than you think.”
“I will not say IT am surprised at
you attacking me, Madame,” said the
Doctor quietly ; put I eannot pretend
that, under the circumstances, I un-
derstand it.”
A brief silence ensued; then the
lady leaned forward, her hands clasp-
ed on her kness, and her face raised
toward Doctor Carsj), who still re
mained leaning negligently against
the balustrade of the balcony.
“I am at your mersy,” she said;
“and even such a revenge as yours
should be satisfied to gee me here ime.
ploring your help. 1 take sll the
blame of what has been upon myself,
But no punishment you could inflict
on me could be half so hamiliating as
this which I inflict on myself, I ask
you to save him! In asking it I give
my life for his ; for after such a deg-
radation, life would be a burden and
ashame, If you have been waiting
all these years for a chance to wreak
your hatred on me, your time has
come. It will never come again!”
The wild and reckless emphasis
of this appeal, enhanced by the hush-
ed voice in which it was spoken,
seemed to have some effact upon Doe
tor Csrsjo. He stroked his gray mus
tache sand meditated a little,
“Do you love this—husband of
yours, Madam ?” he flaally ing iired.
“Eaocugh to beg his life at your
hands,” she answered, sinking on her
knees,
“Asa physician,” continued Doctor
Carajo, *“I have my professional cus-
toms, While always ready to exer
cise my skill in behalf of human saf-
fering, I demand in return certain
equivalents. From some one thing,
from some another, money but sel-
dom, for I am wealthy; but I compel
my patient: to feel that when the cure
is effected we are but quits, I have
already told you that it will give me
pleasura to attempt the relief of yur
husband ; but I omitted to mention
the equivalent. Are you pre pared to
give it ?'
“Anything—even my life!”
“Not your life, by any means, I
shall merely require you,as soon as he
is restored to health, to leave this
town, never to return. You will leave
it alone, concealing from your hus
bwnd your route and destination.
Never henceforth will you either see
him or hoid any manner of communi-
cation with him. Do you agree ?”’
The lady had risen to her feet, and
was pressing nne hand over her heart.
Her eyes searched Dr. Carajo’s conn-
tenance with terrible intensity, “Will
you falfill your part of the contract 7’
she demanded.
“1 will,” he replied,
Her bosom rose and fell ravidly, her
face quiverad, and was now pale, now
red. At last she said with as gasp, aa
if her words tore her life up by the
roots : “Then I consent. Gd hear
me, snd judge between us!”
“Be it so,” rejoined the D ctor,
gravely. ‘‘And now, If you please, I
will accompany you to your hus-
band. O 1 the way you will inform me
as to his ailment, H shall be brought
to my house, and you shall witness
my treatment of him. Afwerward-—"'
he made a significant gesturs, The
lady moved her head in assent. But
as they left the balcony a thought
struck her, and she turned again,
“You will not let him know that
yOu-—are—72""
“I will let him know that I am
Doctor Carajo, Madam, sald the other,
bowing coldly and making way for
her to pass,
III.
Doctor Caraj v's private room was as
cool, as ¢ ilet and as secluded as the
Doctor himself. The floor was of fine
Pompean mosale, partly covered with
rugs of delicatily woven Indian mat-
ting. A delicious eoolness aod fra
grancs prevaded the apartment which
was entirely removed from all outside
noises and influences,
Three persons were present in this
room-—Doctor Care}, the lady and a
man who lay at full length upon the
couch, He was tall and powerfully
formed, with broad shoulders and
massive limbs, His features expressed
strength and vigor ; too rugged to be
called handsome, but full of masculine
pith and ability. Upon his forehead
and on his arms, which wera bare, sp-
peared a number of small spots or
blotches of a purplish hue. Bat for «
slight intermittent movement of the
chest, indicating a subdued respirs-
tion, the man might have been sup-
posed to be dead.
“The opiate will exhaust its effect in
a few minutes,’ observed Doctor
Qarajo, bending over his patient and
eying him eritivally.
“How long will this last?” asked
the lady, who had now assumed =
wo
demeanor outwardly as qulet and self.
d as the Doctor's own.
“We may expect three separate
stages,” the Doctor answered,” ex-
tending over several hours,
“Js there any hepe?” asked the
lady.
“The polson is one of the most in-
sidious and deadly known to science,
and also one of the rarest,” the Doctor
replied
“I have an antidote here which, had
it been given immediately, would,
have overcome Lhe evil”
“And how should you give it now?’
demanded the lady.
“It would still counteract the poison,
but at the expense of the patient’s life,
He has not now the strength to un-
dergo the necesssr ; struggle.”
* What shall you do?"
“1 shall administer drugs which
will have the double eff :ot of inereas-
ing the vital power aud weakening
the action of the poison. Human skill
can do no more. Hush ! he will open
his eyes in another moment. He
must not be aware of your prerence.
tep into that alcove and make no
sound. You can there see all that
passes, Let nothing that he may say
induce you to discover yourself unless
I give you the sign.”
The lady moved to the side of the
ecruch, bent quickly and kissed tbe
foreshead of the half conscious man
and thea drew back and vanished be
Lind the curtain of the alcove,
iV.
The man drew a deep and quick
breath, moved slightly on his cushions
and opened his eyes, “You are my
physician, I suppose? I feel better—
free from pain and more strength-—
thanks to your skill, no doabt. How
suon do you promise to have me up
again 7"
“it is now 6 o'clock in the morn-
ing," said Dr, Carsj», “By this noon,
at furthest, the crisis will bave
passed.’
“The crisis! Humph ! Then I'm not
out of danger yet? Tell me the truth,
Doctor; I'm pot afraid to hear it.
Death or life—whiebh is it?"
“Since you have chosen to ask, I
will reply,” said the Doctor, after a
pause, “You may live, but it is more
probable that you will die.”
“Humph! Well, such is life—and
death. I have lived—I have been alive
—a8 much as most men. And this is
tobetheend ? Theend! A strange
iden, that!’ He was silent s moment
or two, and then said: “Where Is
Lenore 7"
A slight contraction overshadowed
the Doctor's brow and passed awsy
again.
“I presume you refer to your wife?"
he said.
“Certainly —'he woman I love—my
wife, If thera's any meaning in words.
id
Where is she 7
“It was indispensable, for her sake
aud your own, that she should remain
apart from you for the present. She
will bs summoned as soon as safely
will allow, or as soon &i hope yan-
ishes.'’
“Poor darling! What would be-
come of her wera I to go? ' muttered
the patient half to himself. *'I must
tighten my grip for her sake. Not
die! no—n0! Bhe gave herself to me,
body and soul, and I must stand by her
to the end. There, again—the end!
Isthis it? Itisn’t what I expected.
Me to die, and she to live on? It
mustn't be! my darling—my Lenore!
What a life we bave had these three
years past ! what a love | Never a
day's shadow ; never a regret, Ha!
Doctor, you are thers, arn't you?—
and I've probably been thinking
aloud, as my habit ls. Well, I like
your face ; your're a cold man, but an
honest one, You may hear whatever
comes ; and maybe 'twould be as well
to make you my father-confessor out
and out! You're as honest as any
jack. priest of em all—eh, Dootor 7’
“1 have never betrayed the confi
dence of man or woman,” said Doctor
Carajo, quietly.
“Humph! Well, I am myself in-
differently honest, as the worldrgoes,
but I can’t speak quite so fair of my-
self as that, But tis society saps our
principles, What law Is so strong sa
thelove of a man fora woman? And
the strongest must win, Binand vir
tue are a matter of words-—he the re.
sponsibility his who utters them, and
the suffering his who believes them.
The wise man knows he is free and
that life is short, and the firaof youth
burns but once. The treasure belongs
to him who can keep 14; vain to buy
it with money or bind it with cords
or with vows. It will go where it be-
longs, and there tis safe,”
“What, then, do you hold love to
be?" Ingnirad Dr. Carujo,
“I hold love to be all that my blood
and marrow, wy flesh and pulses and
my five senses tell me that it isthe
delight of a man in what is strange,
yot familiar; like, yt unlike; man,
yot woman ; forbidden, yet allowed.
Love ia passion-incarnate happiness ;
a surrender that is victory ; to receive
by giving ; the generosity of selfish
ness; a fire that creates by consuming;
a madness that is wisdom, It is the
inarticulate language that transcends
all sweet speech of
flesh to flesh. There's a string of par.
*
adoxes, for you, doctor, whereof yu
will comprehend nothing. Nor do
I myself, for the matter of that; I
only know that the look and touch of
a certain woman will take a certain
man captive, body and bones; and
that the more he is captive the better
be likes it. That was my case, I
found a treasur :» made for me to enjoy ;
"twas “aid that another man owned it,
but I knew naught of him. If it were
his he would haves kept it. I have
proved my right to it; and if it were
to take over again I would take it!"
“Love, therefore, is wholly & phys.
eal matter?’ sald Doctor Carsjo, with
a smile.
“Yes; and yot by that inspiration
man has invented poetry, and the
soul, and Heaven, and all manner of
the like glorious hallucinations. Love
canpot dle, we say ; no—nor will the
sun ever cease to warm the cold, or
water to refresh the thirsty. But
ne ther sun nor water, nor love itself,
will animate the dend ; so what is one
mora than the other ?"’
“Burely a convincing argument,”
remarried Docter Carejo, still smiling,
and with a glance toward the curtain.
ed alcove. ‘And lovers parted on
earth are parted forever. The only
wonder is that, for s) slight a cause, a
man should compromise himself so
deeply. The world is wider than a
woman's arms; and power, learning
and revenge are rweeler than ber
kiss.”
“I have not found them 80,” replied
the other, closing his eyes,
A long silence followed, during
which Doctor Carsj vs patient seemed
to lle in a half waking dream. The
physician. watched him carefully.
And all this time Doctor Carajo kept
his face averted from the ale.ve,
whence came no sound nor moveinent
When, at length, the patient opesed
his eyes once more, un Change was man-
ifest in his appearance, Hs voice had
lost its depth and strength, but was
clearer and more penetrating than ba.
fore, The expression of his counte-
nance was ecmposed and meditative,
“Where is Lenore 7"
“Her time has not yet come,” re-
plied the Doctor.
“My mind behol is her clearly,” re.
joined the other. “My thoughts dwell
with her and commune with her own.
In that sympathy of mind all love
consists, Without it, the blind passion
of the heart and the senses are mis-
leading and mischievous, They are
the force, but intellect is the guide;
and when their force is gone, the in-
tellect remains true to its cholee, The
delight of love is in the persecution of
ita harmonies, and age, sickness or
absence has no power to obscure it.”
“Then, were you to see Leoore no
more it would not disturb you?”
saked the Doctor,
“Bodily prmsence is not without its
uses,” answerad the other, calmly,
“To be a king you must have a subj ot,
and the body is the sutjsct of tne
mind. By ruling it the mind realiz =»
and confirms its aims and ccnclu-
sions ; and on the other hand the
tions, sets the mind in motion and
gives it strength. Without the body
love wouid be a dream; as, without
the mind it would be but a sensual
and promiscuous instinet, Neverthe-
less, love having once atiained bodily
incarnation, I conceive that hence.
forth the sctual association together of
the lovers is of secondary importance ;
though, perhaps, the mind needs to be
refreshed occassionally by renewed in
tercourse with ita mate, providing it
with fresh Incidents and develop
ments to consider and interpret.”
“Your philosophy is certainly per-
sunsive,” ebserved Doctor Carsjo.
“ Bat, from this point of view, what
think you of the so-called sanctity of
the marriage bond ?"’
“It is an Ingenious device for the
preservation of outward social order,”
gaid the other, ‘but not in iteell
worthy of an intellectual man’s re.
spect, The laws of the mind srs evi.
dently above tne control of social Jaws,
Were all men ruled, ss they ought to
be, by the intellect, bonds of any kind,
marriage or other, would cease to be,
Households would still exist and fami-
lies would be reared; but the free in-
tercourse of mind with mind, with all
that that implies, would be admitted,
and, a8 a consequence, the pars on of
jealousy would vanish along with
other relies of barbarism. In other
words, marriage based upon inteliect-
ual sympathy would no longer be
would disappear with the artificial
morality which has created it.”
“A desirable consummation, in.
deed," remarked Doctor Carajo. “And
so you would, without repugnance,
behold L.snore in possession of another
of more sympathetic intellectual en-
dowments than yourself ?'’
“The question seems a fair one,”
returned the other, doubtfally; “but I
have, perhaps, omitted some essential
point in my analysis. Allowing the
possibility that such an intellect as
you suppose might exist, I still cannot
him as having rights over
The fact that we have be
sh other has created be-
something that did not exist
something neither physical nor intel-
lectual, yet more substantial than
either. I confess it perpleoxes me and
my mind is weary. I mustrestawhile
before considering it further.’’
Aud even as he spck ys, he sank into
a lethargy.
VY.
The interval between this stage and
the final one lasted but a few minutes,
but was marked by even a greater
change in the aspect of the patient,
The light in his eyes had the ap
pearance of proceeding from some
source beyond matter, and to see
things which material sight has no
cognizance of. His voice, reduced al-
most to a whisper, nevertheless
thrilled upon the ear with a distinot-
ness and force that outdid the noi:
ness of the sturdiest langs.
“LL: nore!’ he exclaimed command-
ingly, “come to me!"
“Hush !"” sald Detor Carajo, with a
frown. ‘She is not here.”
“Hhe is behind that veil,” returned
the other ; “let her come forth.”
At first there was no response to
this summons; but by and by the
curtain was grasped from within and
slowly drawn aside. In the opening
appeared the figure of Lenore, white
in face and figure, like a ghost obey~
ing a v hostiy mandate. As her glance
met that of Doctor Carajy's patient
she faltered and uttered a low ery.
“You are dying, my love!’ she sald;
‘“he has killed you!”
“By no mmeans,’’ said Doctor Carajo,
sullenly “At this moment I would
buy his life with my own. Himsan
skill has done its utmost,”
‘Do not come too near,” murmurad
Lenore's lover, as she advacced
towsrd him. *‘“We have no time to
lose,”
“Am not yours? D> you not love
me ?'’ she cried, in a volce weighted
with unshed tears, and helding out
her hands to him.
“There is a spiritual barrier between
us,” he said. **D> not let your fleshly
nand disr-gard it. It seemed to me
that I loved you ; it seems so still. But
there has never been a true union be-
tween you and me. The license of
the body, the arrogant insanity of the
intellect—~these parody love and ban-
ish it. Can happiness be founded on
murder ? and we murdered marriage,
Lenore!"
“But I never loved him, nor he
me,’ she sald passionately. And then,
with a sweeping gesture of the arm,
she poluted to Doctor Carajo. “That
is the man! Let him snswer if what
I say is not true.”
The Doctor shrugwed his shoulder.
“The question is a futile one,’ he
sald, “Bin, like God, is no respecter
of persons. Take it, if you will, that
I was | stly served. Her responsibil-
ity toward the covenant she broke is
the same, and ther:by she is con-
demned. But I deprecate this dis.
cussion, and the foolish revelation
which occasioned it, If I were the
person she asserts, I have long ceased
to beso. His name and his heart—be
it good or evil—are mine no more. I
am plain Dr, Care}, a man of science
and an observer.”
“Your heart is at least the same in
its coldness and reyengefuluess !" said
Lenore bitterly.
“Coldness ! I loved you!” exclaim-
ed Doctor Cars), with sudden and
strange vehemence, ‘‘I tried to win
y sur love, but you withheld it. Mine
was no surface passion, to be expressed
with a flow of words and protesta
tions ; and because I could not speak
you thought me indifferent. Then in
my absence, you met this man and
betrayed me. I would not condescend
to pursue you and supplicate you, or
to seek a vulgar vengance, I left you
to the retribution of time and change.
And this hour rewards me."
“Can such love as ours be wrong 7"
demanded Lenore, turning to her
lover, “Is it not its own jastifica-
tion
“No, Lenore; nor must we seek
J wtifieation,” answered the dying
man, “We have polluted the sacred
sy mbol which is the image of creation,
As light is married to heat, form to
substance, and truth to goodness, so is
man married to woman, The sanctity
of that union is above and independ.
ent of individual conditions. For
the sake of one selfish pleasure should
we oppose and defy a law in which
are bound up the purity and welfare
of mankind ? or should we say that
because this man fails to be a worthy
husband we may violate the warrant
whereot he, whether worthy or not, is
the representative?’
“If the love thst, for these three
years past, has been my life, be wick.
edness,” sald Lenore, “then why
should I desire truth and goodness 7"
“The love which opposes love of
humanity is, in its essence, not love
but hatred,” the dying man answered.
“It is with such love that we hereto
fore loved esch other; it Is grounded
in mortality, and must pass away.
But thers is in us that cut
lpr Cae grip prs
pride of Intellect» soul which cannot
tal. My soul, which until now I have
never known or acknow is
Jaman yay 0
=
“And do you love me still 7’ asked
Lenore,
“Whether it be 8 new profanstion
or a promise, I love you still,” he
murmured; “nay, I have never truly
loved you until this moment.”
“We shall meet hereafter,” she sald,
“Let not your heart imagine it,”’ he
replied ; “the wages of sin is not im
mortal happiness. Pray only that he
whom we have chiefly wronged be
less a sufiersr thereby than we our
selves,”
“Let not that disturb you,” ssid
D wtor Carajo, gloomily, “if what
this dying man has said be true—and
it may be so for aught [ can tell—you
have injured each other more fatally
than you have injured me. I sek no
more, Heaven may promise you what
happiness it will; 1 shall not cross
you there.”
“Farewell, Lenore!” sald her lover,
in a tone whose solemnity overawed
its tenderness,
“Must I stay here alone ?"’ she cried
out in agony. *'Let me go with you!”
“Not so!” R joice, rather, that your
road of retribution lies in this world.
As for me. 1 go to a strange country,
whose wey: and boundaries no man
knows.”
There was asilence. ‘‘He is gone!’
muttered Dr. Carsj), turning away.
But Lenore pressed her hands over
her hesr..
“He is here,” sald she.— Julian
Hawthorne,
I
Valuable Information.
—
Rights in the Road.
The following statement as to rights
in the road, promulgated by Judge
Bennet, may at some time be of use
to the readers of the Jownal. Bome
of them are at variance with prevail
ing opinions: :
If a farm deed is bounded by, on or
upon a road, it usually extends to the
middle of the rondway. The farmer
owns th soil of half the road, and
may use the grass, trees, stones, gray-
el, sand or anything of value to him,
either on the land or beneath the sure
face, subject only to the superior
rights of the public to travel over the
road and that of the highway surveyor
to use such material for repairs of the
road ; and these materials may be
csrted away and used elsewhera om
the road. No other man has a right
to feed his cattle there, or cut the
grass or trees, much less deposit his
wood, eld carte, wagons or other
things there.
The owner of a drove of cattle that
stops to feed in front of your land, or
a drove of pigs which root up the soil,
is responsible to you at law, as much
as if they did the same thing inside
the fenoe.
Nobody's children have a right to
pick up the apples under your trees,
although the same stand wholly out.
side of your fenoe.
No private person has a right to cut
or lop off the limbs of your trees in
order to move his old bara or other
buildings along the highway, and no
traveler to hitch his horse to your
trees in the sidewalk without being
liable, if he gnaws the bark or other
wise injures them.
If your walls stand partly on your
land and partly outside of the fence,
no neighbor can use it without your
permission. Nay, more ; no man has
a right to stand in front eof your land
and insult you with abusive language
without being liable to you for tres-
pasting cn your land. He has a right
to pass and repass in an orderly and
becoming manner ; a right to use the
road but not to sbuse it,
But notwithstanding the farmer
owns the soll of the road, even he
cannot use it for any purpose which
interferes with the use of it by the
public for travel. He cannot put his
pig-pen, wagon, cart, wood or other
things there, if the highway surveyor
orders them away as obstructing pub-
lic travel. If he leaves such things
outside his fence, and within the lim-
its of the highway as actually laid
out, though wome distance from the
traveled path, and a traveler runs into
them in the night and is injured, the
owner is not only liable to him fer
private damage, but may also be in-
dicted and fined for obstructing a
public highway. Bul if he has »
fence or wall along the highway, he
must place it on his land, and net
half on the road as in ease of division
between neighbors. But ss he owns
thesoil, if the road is discontinued or
located elsewhere, the land reveris to
him, and he may enclose it to the
centre, and use it asa part of his
farm. — Ez,
The Wise Father,