;•.-+, 4.r Tr. Sla4- , , p; • 4, - ;• _. , 11- R. A. SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor. VOLUME XXX,- Npf-13 . ER 3t.] grltTtitato. 'Great and Little Whitton congregation was pouririg out - of ruetie church; one Sunday ifternoon, St. Mary's, situated.. is tire hamlet -of-Little Whitton. ."Grditt Whittion;:sonielhree miles .off, was altogether "a different affair, for the .parish, there, was _more aristocratic than rustic, and t/teliyini Ras worth nine .hurt ,dred a-year; Little Whitton.bi;eght ita in- , cumbent in but two hundred, all told:X:1u -livings were both' itlthe gift of ,the.!tirl , of Avon; the incumbent of Great Whitton - Was a gouty old man , on his last legs;, the . in cumbent of Little Whitton. wasfan attrac tive man seareelydhirtyithe:Reverend Ryle Ifamnagrten. - Therefore, little Wonder need Abe expressed if some' of the Great Whittbn families ignored their old rector, who had /lost his teeth, and could not by any effort be heard, and came to•hear the eloquent /11r. Baumgarten. A small, open carriage, the horse driven by a boy, jockey fashion, waited' at the church door. The. bo,yovas .in a crimson jacket,and 'yel's;et i ci'p; the postilion livery of as aristocratic faMily.' 'sweeping-seat behind seas low and convenient, without doors; 'therefore, when two ladies emerged .from iyey o,4niftei? : ilito 16 unas sisted:' The onalookeri abut fifty years of age, and walked lame;. the other was, a . youngjadi aflexeeedingfairness,_b/ne. eyes., and .somewhat haughty features. The boy' touched his horses and drove on. ' 4 91te surpass e d;liimself Or a'ee," •laegan the older. "I,thiok be dig, mamma." , "But: it.is t Icing:way to come—for me.— can't venture out in all, weathers. - If we diad him at Great Whitton; now, I conld .hear him •every Sunday." • "Well, mamma, ,there's nothing more 'easy thin'to have him—as Dave said more 'than once," observed the younger, bending .down to adjust something, ,in the carriage, rthat her sudden heightening of color might ;pass unnoticed. "It is impossible that Mr. 'Chester should last long, and you could get Henry to give him the "Grace, you, talk like a child. Valuable livings are not given away so easily; neither :are men without connections inducted to them. I never heard that young Baumgar ;ten had any connection, not as much as a ,mother, even: he does not speak of his fem. -Hy. No; the most sensible plan would bo :for Mr. Chester to turn off that muff of a .curate, and take on Baumgarten . in his stead." The young lady threw back her head.— •"Rectors don't give up their preferments to subside into curates, mamma." "Unless it is made well worth their while," returned the elder, in a matter-Of fact tone; "and old - Chester ought to make it worth his." „ . "Mammal"—whn they' were about - a mile on the road—"we never called to in quire after Mrs. Dane!" "I did not think of doing so." "Idid. I shall go back again. James!" The boy, without slackening his speed, half-turned on his horse. "My lady?" "When you come to the corner, drive down the lane and go back to the cottage." He touched his cap and looked forward again, and Lady Grace sank back• in the carriage. "You might have consulted me first, Grace," grumbled the Countess of Avon.— "And why do you chooso the long way, all round by the lane?" "The lane is shady, mamma, and the af ternoon sunny; to prolong our drive will do you good.'"' Lady Grace laughed as she spoke, and it would have taken one, deeper in penetra tion than tho 'Countess of Avon had ever been, to divine that nil had been done with a preconcerated plan; that when Lady Oraeo drove from the church' door, she bad fully intended.to proceed.. part of:tho way home, and then come back again. We must notice another of the congrega tion, one who had left the church subse quently to the Countess and her daughter, but by another door.- -It was a young lady of two or three and twenty: she ha,d , less beauty than Lady,Grace, but a far sweeter countenance. She crossed the church-yard, and opening one of its gates; found herself in a narrowsheltered walk, running through Whitton It was the nearest way to her hose; Whitton Cottage.- A feir.paces within it, she stood agairist a tree,turntia and waited; her Ups parted, her cheeks flushed, and- her hand was laid ,upon her tieciting heart. Who was she ez !pouting? tbarit was one, - all dear to her, the signs but too `truly. betrayed. The ear oaf love is strangely fine, and she, Edith 0.1.190, - bent hers to listen; with the first sound of apprOacisiap; foot Steps, she walked hurrialy Would she be caught waiting for him? No, no; rather would she sink into the earth than betray aught of the deeplove that ran through her veins for the Reverend Ryle Baumgarten. It was Mr. Baumgarten who was follow ing her, be sometimes chose the near way borne, too; a tall'graeaftil man, with pale, classic features, and burgs brown eyes, -act deeply. He strode on and overtook 'Miss Dane. "How fast you are walking, Edith!" She turned her" with the prettiest sir of surprise possible; her fsee oserspread with lore's rosy flush. '"Oh!—is it you, Mr. li i ihngarten? I was walking fast to get home to poor mamma."' Nevertheless, it did happen that their pace slackened considerably; in - fact, they scarce ly advanced at all, but sauntered along side by side. "They have been taking me to task," began Mr. Baumgarten. "Who? What about?" • ' : ' "About the duties of the parish, secular, not clerical.. I take care that the latter shall be efficiently performed. The old women are not coddled, tbe younger ones' house holds slot 'sufficiently' looked up, and the school; in the point of plain sewing is :lin ing to rack and ruin. 'Squire Wells and his wife, With half-a-dozen more, carpeted me in the vestry, this morning, after ser vice, to tell me this." Mr. Baumgarten had been speaking in a half-joking way, his . beautiful eyes 'alive with merriment. Miss Dane received the news more seriously. "You never said anything of this at home! you never fold mamma." should I?, The. school sew ing is4he*orst grievance; ; Dame. Giles' Betsey' tpo:ls,some„ . ..,c)9tfi ,with her, • which ought to riaie'ene:tiack-iilliirt,`-but which war . rolurneri *,pair offmillor;cases! ,tho dardel=lioxed• school and nearly boned the, goreriles— Such mistakes' are .'alwapji occurring.' and the matrons of the Parish "silo up in arms." "But do they expect you to look after the sewing o r fAhe school?" breathlessly asked Edith. • "Not exactly; but they . think I might pro vide a remody—one who would." "floveitapid - theiraiol "tho go v erneei'does.wlnq she ein with such a tribe. Not that I tbink'sbei 'has much' head-piece, and were there any lady who would super vise ooeasionally, it might bo better; but-;--" "That is 'just it," interrupted Mr. Baum garten, laughing. • "They tell me I ought to help her to a supervisor, - -by4atirig to myself a wife." - • Ile looked at Edith as he siioko, and her face happened to bo turned full upon him. The *Orb - dyed it with, a' glowing crimson, even to tie' roots of laeF .: hair. in her confusion,. she knew not whether to keep it as it was; or to turn it away; her eyelids had dropped, glowing and Edith Dane could have bored her own ea.rs as heartily as . Dame 011es,bid:hoxed the uAihappY Miss Betsey's. • - cannot be thought of, you know, Ed ith." "What-cannot?" - • "My marrying. - Marry on two hundred a year, and expose my wife; and perhapt a fatally; to poverty and privationlv no:that I neverwill." • . • • ' • "There's the parsonage' must be put in repair if you marry," stammeredldith, not in the least knowing 'What she - said," but compelling herself to say something. "And a sight of money it would take to de it. I told Squire Wells if he could get my tithes increased to double their present value, then I might venture. Ire laughed, and replied I might look out for a wife whe had ten thousand pounds." "They are not so plentiful," murmured Edith Dane. "Not for me," returned Mr. Baumgarten. "A college chum of mine, never dreaming to aspire to anything better than I possess now, married a rich young widow in the second year of his curacy, and lives on the fut of the land, in pomp and luxury. I would not have done it." "Why?" "Because no love went with it: even be, fore his marriage he allowed himself to speak of her to me in disparaging terms.— No; the school and the other difficulties, which aro out of my line, must do as they can; yet awhile." . "If mamma were not incapacitated, she would still see after these things for you." "But she is Edith. And your time is taken up with her, so that you cannot help me." , Miss Dano was silent. nod her time not been taken.up, she fancied it might not be deemed quite the thing, in their censorious neighborhood, for her to be going about in conjunction with Mi. Baumgarten; although she was the late rector's daughter. The Reverend Oros • Dane, had been many years rector. of Little Whitton; at his death Mr. Baumgarten was appointed.— Dirs. Dane was left with a very slender pre vision, and Mr. Baumgarten took up his residence with her, paying a certain sum for his board. It was a comfortable ar rangement for the young 'clergyman, and . it was a help to Mrs. Dane. The rectory was in a state of dilapidation, and' would take More Money to put it' in 7a habitable repair than - Mr. Dane had possessed; so, previous to his - death, be 'hair moved out of it to Whitton Cottage. Gossips say • that lir. Baumgarten could have it put in order and come upoirthe - wideve'for costs; but he did not appear to have any intention of doing olVby did she love him? Curious fool be long is human lose the growth of human wilt& A deal happier - for many of us if it were the growth of human will, or under its con trol. /n too many instances is it born'of association, - of 'companionship; and - thus had it been- at WhittonCottage.— Thrown together in daily intercourse, an attachment had sprung up between the young rector atid...Edith,Dat . at; "..concealed. attachment, for he considered hie-CireiMitances barred his marriage, and she bid' her;feelingti as a mlttcr of course. He was an ambitious "NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA,, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY, MORNING: MARCH - 3, 1860. man, a proud man, though' perhaps, not quite conscious of it;'and to encounter the expenies of a family upon small, means, appeared to him more to, be shunned than any adverse fate on earth. . Arrived at the end of the sheltered walk, they_turnedin to Whitton Cottage, which was close by: Mr. Eaaingarten went on at Once to his study; but Edith, at .the sound of wheels, lingered in the garden. The COuntess of Avon's carriage drew. up. It was lady Grace who spoke, her eyes run ning in all directions while she did, as ,if they were in search of some object not in view. "Edith, we could not go ham; without driving round to ask after your mamma." "Thank you, Lady Grace. Mamma is in little pain to-day:' I think her breath is gen erally better in hot weather. Will you walk in?" "Could'nt think of it, my dear," Brae up the Countess. "Our dinner is waiting as it is. Grace forgot to order James round till we were half way home." , "Has Mr. Baumgarten got home yet?" carelessly spike Lady Grace, adjusting the lace of her summer mantle., "lie is in his study, I fancy," replied Ed ith, and she turned round to hide the blush called up by the question, just Mr.l3ad m gutted approached them. At his appear ance thablush in Lady Grace's face rose high as Edith's. "You surpassed yourself to-day,!' cried the countess, as he shook bands With,therd. "I muit hear that Sermon again. Would you mind lending it to me?" "Not at all," he replied, "if you can only make. out my hieroglyphics. My writing is plain to me, but I do not know that it would be so to all." ""When shall I have it? Will you bring it up this evening, and take tea with us?:-. But you will find the walk long, in' this hot wunther." "Very long, too far," spoke up Lady Grace. "You had better return with us now, Mr. Baumgarten; mamma will be glad of you to say grace at table." Whether it pleased the Countess or not, she had no resource, in good manners, bat to second the invitation so unceremoniously given. Mr. Baumgarten may have thought he bad no resource but to acquiesce—lout of good manners, also, perhaps. _Ho stood, leaning over the carriage, and spoke, half. laughing: "Am Ito bring my sermon with me? If so, I must go in for it. I have just taken it from my pocket." Ho came back with his sermon in its black cover. The seat of the carriage was exceedingly large, sweeping round in a half circle. Lady Grad' drew dearer to her mother, and sat back in the middle of the seat and Mr. Baumgarten took his place beside her. Edith Dane looked after them, an en• vious look; the sunshine of her afternoon had gone out; and she saw his face bent close to that of Grace Avon. . Some cloud, unexplained, and nearly for gotten now, had overshadowed. ady Avon. It had occurred, whatever it was, during the lifetime of her lord. She had chosen ever since to live at Avon House in retire.. ment, fearing possibly the reception she might meet with, did she venture again in: to the world; old stories might be risked up and a molehill made into a mountain. Lady Grace had been presented by her aunt, and passed one season in town: then she had re turned to ber mother, to share perforce in her retirement, for she bad no other home: and it is probable that the ennui of her monotonous life had led to. her falling in love with 31r. Baumgarten. That she did love him, with a strong and irrepressible passion, was certain: and she did not try to overcome it, but rather fostered it with all her power, seeking his society, dwelling up on his image. Had it occurred to her to fear that she might find a dangerous rival in Edith Dane? No; for she cherished the no tion that Mr. Baumgarten _was attached to herself, and Edith was supposed to be en gaged to, her cousin. A cousin bad cer tainly wanted her, and made no secret of his want, but Edith had refused him; this however, was not necessary to be proclaim ed to all. Strange as it may seem, to those who understand the exacting and jealous nature of love, Lady Grace Avon bad nev er cast a fear of the sort to Edith. This evening was but another of those be sometimes spent at Avon Rouse, feeding the flame of her ill-starred passion. Re told them, jokingly as he had told it to Edith, that the parish wanted him to marry.— Lady Avon-thought he could not do better; parsons and doctors should always be mar ried men. True—when their income allow ed them to be, hi replied; but bis did not. He 'stood on the lawn with Lady Grace. watching the glories of the setting sun.— Lady Avon was beginning to nod in Tier af ter-dinner doze, and they bad quitted ber. Scent . ceremony was observed at Avon . House;•no pomp or show: six or eight set_ vents composed the whole house-hold, for the Countess's jointure was extremely lim ited. Re had given - his arm to Lady Grace in courtesy, and they were both gazing at the beautiful sky, their hands partially sha ding their eyes, when a little man, dressed in black with a white neck-tie, limped op the path. It was the clerk of Great Whit ton Church. • "f beg pardon, my ladyi I thou:4dt it right to come ii► an inform the Countess.— Mr. Chester's gone.', "Gone!"•exclaimed Ledy Grace—"gone *here?" "Gone dead, my lady—departed to the bourne whence no traveler returns," added the clerk, who was of a poetic_ turn. "He dropped into a sweet sleep, sir,' an hour or two ago, and when they came to woke him op for his tea, they found be had gone off in it. Poor old Mrs. Chester's quite beside herself, sir, with the _suddenness, and the servants be running about hero and There, all at sixes and sevens." "I will be at the rectory, in, tenminutes," said Mr. Baumgarten. They carried the news to the Countess, and then Mr. Baumgarten departed; Lady Grace strolling with him across the lawn to the gate. When they reached it, he stopped to bid her good evening. "Great Whitton is in my brother's gift," she whispered, as her hand rested on his.— "I wish he could give it to you." A flush rose to the Clergyman's •face: to exchange Little Whitton for Great Whitton had been one of the flighty dream of his ambition. "Do not mock me with pleasant visions, Lady Grace: I can have no possible interest with Lord Avon." You could marry then," she softly said, "and set the parish grumblers at defiance." "I should do it," was his .reply. llis voice was soft as her own, his speech hes itating: ho was thinking of Edith Dane.— She, alas! gave a different interpretation to it; and how was he to knowthat? . Rid lofty dreams had never yet soared so high as Lady Grace Avon. Persuaded into it by her daughter—her ladyship said, badgered into it—the Rolm tees exacted a promise from her son that lie would bestow Great Whitten on the Rev. Ryle Baumgarten. On the evening of the day that the letter arrived, giving the prom ise, Mr. Baumgarten was again • at Avon.— Lady Grace had him all to herself in the drawing-room, for the Countess was tempor arily indisposed. "What will you give me for, some news I can tell you?" cried she, standing triumph antly before him in the full glaw of her beauty. He bent his sweet smiles•down upon her, his eyes speaking the admiration that ho might not utter. He was no more insensi ble to the charms of a fascinating and beau tiful girl than are other ;men—in spite of his love for Edith Dane. "What may I give? Nothing that I can give would bo of value to you." "How do you know that?" And then, with a burning blush, fur she had spoken unguardedly, she laughed merrily, and drew a letter from her pocket. "It came to mam ma this morning, Mr. Baumgarten, and it is from Lord Avon. What will you give me, just to read you one little eontence from it? It concerns you." Mr. Baumgarten, but that Edith Dane and his calling were in the way, would have liked to say a shower of kisses: it is possi ble that ho would still, in spite of both, had he dared. Whether his looks betrayed so, cannot be told: Lady Grace took refuge in the letter. "I have been dunned with ap plications," rend sbe, "some from close frion ds: but as you and Grace make so great a point of it, I promise you that Mr. Baum garten shall have Great Whitton." In read ing, she bad left out the words "and Grace." She folded up the letter, and then stole a glance at his face. It had turned to pale seriousness. "How can I over sufficiently thank Lord Avon?" he breathed forth. "Now, is not the knowing- that worth something?" laughed she. "0, Lady Grace! It is worth far more than anything I have to give in return." "You will be publicly appointed in a day or two, and will of course hear from my brother. What do you say to your marry ing project now?" - She spoke saneily, secure in the fact that he could not divine her feelings for him— although she believed in his_ lovelove for.ber.— Ilis answer surprisedtber: • "I shall marry iastautly:-I have only waited for Something equivalent to this." "Yon are a' bold man, Mr. BaUmgarten, to make so sere of the lady's consent.— Have you asked it?" . . "No; where was the use, - until I could speak to some purpose? But she has de tected my love for her, I am sure: and there is no coquetry in Edith." "Edith!" almost shrieked Lady, _Gm.— "I beg your pardon: I shall not fall." "What hare you done?. Yon have hurt yourself!" . "I gave my ankle a twist. The.pain was sharp." • , • . • • "Tray lean on me, Lady Grace; pray let me support you: you are as white as death." He wound his arms round her, and laid her pallid- face upon his shoulder: for one single moment she yielded to the fascina tion of the beloved resting•place. Obl that it could be hers foreverl She shivered, raised her bead, and broke from him. , "Thank you; the anguish has passed.". . • He quitted the house, suspecting nothing, and Lady Grace rushed to her writing desk: "Hell has no fury like a woman scorned." A blotted and hasty note to the, Earl of Avon just saved the post. "Give the living to any one you please, Harry. but not to kyle Baumgarten: bestow it where you will, but- not on him. Explanation, when. we meet." Mr.ltantagarten, znennwhfie, was hast ening borne, the great news burning a hole in his tongue. -Edith was at the gain, not looking for him of course; merely enjoying the air of the summer's night. That's what she said she was doing when he came up., He did not listen: he- caught her by the waist, and drew her between the trees and the privet hedge. "Edith, my 'darling, do you think lam mad? I believe I am: mad with joy: for the time has come that I may safely ask you to be my wife." Her'beart beat wildly agaiOst his, and he laid her face upon his •breast, more fondly than he had laid another's not long before. "You know how I tare loved you: you mast have neat, though I would not speak: but I could not expose you to the imprudence of marrying while my income was so small. It would not have been right, Edith." "If you think 'so—no." "But, ohl my 'dearest, I may speak now. Will you be my wife? lam presented to the living of Great Whitton, Edith." "Of Great Whitton! Rylel" "I have seen it in Lord Avon's own hand writing. The Countess asked it for me, and he complied. Edith you will not be afraid of our faturee , you will not reject rue, now I have Great IVlatton?" She hid hor fuce; she felt him lovingly stroking her hair. "I would not have re jected you when you bad but Little Whitton, }Lyle." There they lingered, now pacing the con fined space and talking, now her face gath ered upon him again. "Yours is not the first fair face which has been there this night, Edith," lie laughed, in the exubei ance of his joy and love. "I had Lady Grace's there but an hour back." A shiver seemed to dart through Edith Dane's heart. Her jealousy of Lady Grace had been almost as powerful as her love for Mr. Baumgarten. "I was telling her my plans, now my pros pects have changed; that my first step would be my marriage with you; and, as I spoke, she managed somehow to twist her ankle. This pain must have been intense, for she turned as white as death, and I had to hold her to me, But I did not pay myself for my trouble, as I am doing now," he added, taking kiss after kiss from Edith's face. She lifted her face up and looked in his: "You would only hare liked to do so, Ry]o." "I have liked to do so!" lie uttered, smoth ering back a glimmer of conseionsness.--_— "Edith, my dearest, my whole love is yours." A week passed, and then the lucky man was announced. The living of Great Whit- ton was bestowed on tho Honorable and Reverend Wilfred Elliot, a personal friend of the Earl of Avon's. A twelvemonth passed away. In a sha ded room of Little Whitton rectory lay Ed ith Baumgarten —dying. Changes had ta ken place. That Mr. Baumgarten must have been disappointed and annoyed at the appointment of another to the living, could not be doubted; he set it down to the cap rice of great men: and he consoled himself by immediately marrying Edith, sending his former prudence to the winds. It is probable he thought ho could not in honor withdraw, and it is more than probable that once haring given the reins to his hopes and his love, he was not stoic enough to do so. Following close upon the marriage came the death of Mrs. Dane, an event long anticipated: a few hundred pounds decend ed to Edith, and they were employed in put ting the rectory in order, into which Mr. and Mrs. Baumgarten removed. "Itylc, we have been very happy," she faintly sighed. He was sitting by her, holding her hand in his, his tears kept back, and his voice low with its suppressed grief. "Do not say 'we have,' my darling; say 'we are.' I cannot part with you; there is hope yet." ‘.‘There is none," she wailed—" There is none. -0, Rylel my husband, it will be a hard parting!" She feebly drew his face to hers,.and his tears fell upon it. "Edith, if I lose you I shall lose all that is of value to me in life." A top at the door, and then a middle-aged woman, holding a very young infant in h e r arms, petin her bead and, looked at Mr. Baumgarten.- "The doctors are coming up, sir.», Ile quitted.his wife, snatched a ,handker chief from his pocket., rubbed it over his face, and then turned to the window, u it' intent on looking out. lie lingered an instant af ter the medical mew entered the chamber, but he gathered nothing, and could not ask questions•there; so he left it and waylaid theinnatley"came out. "Well?" be utter ed, his tone harsh with pain. "There is no improvement, sir: there can be none. If she could but have rallied— but she cannot. She will die from exhaus tion." "She may recover yet," he sharply veld; "I am sure she may. But a few days ago, well; and now—" War. -Baumgarten, if we deceived you, you would•blame as afterwards. She can not be saved." And yet, later in tho day, she - did seem a little better: it was the rally of the spirit before final departure. She knew it was deceitful strength, but it pat hope into the heart of Mr. Baumgarten. - "Ryle, if be should live, you trill always be kind to him?" "Edith! Kind to him! 0, my wife, my vrifer'he uttered, with a burst of irrepreea ibis emotion, "you must not go, and leave him and me." *1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE She waited untill he was calmer; she was far more collected than he. - "And when you take another wife, Ryle "You are cruel, Edith," he interrupted. "Not cruel, my darling; I am only look ing dispassionately forward at what will be. Were I to remain on earth, or, going where I am, could I look down here at what pas ses, retaining my human paj k sions and feel ings, it would be torment to me to see you wedded with another. But it will not be so Ityle: and it seems as if n phase of my fu ture passionless state were come upon me, enabling me to contemplate calmly what must be. ]Lyle, you will take another wife: I can foresee, with all but certainty, who that wife will be." "What mean you?" inquired Mr. Baum garten, raising his head to look at her. "It will be Grace Avon. It surely will. Now that impediments are removed, she will not let you escape her again. But for my being in the way, she would have been your wife long ago." •. ,:'.Edith, I do think you must be wander ing!" uttered Mr. Baumgarten, speaking according to his belief. "Grace Avon is no fit wife for me: she would not stoop to it." "You are wrong, Ryle: I saw a great deal in the days gone by: and I say that, but for me, she would then have been your wife.— Let lOW is past, be past: but the same chance will occur for her again. I only pray you, with my dying breath, to shield my child from her hatred, when she shall have a lent! right over him." Mr. Baumgarten became more fully im pressed with the conviction that his wife's mind was rambling. Ere was mistaken: Smoldering in her heart through the whole months of her married lifp had been her jeal ously of Lady Grace: she had felt a positive conviction that, but for Mr. Baumgarten's attachment and engagement to herself, the other marriage would have been brought about: and she felt an equal conviction that, now the impediment was about to be remov ed, it would be so. A jealous imagination is quick, and'gives thp reins to its extrava gance, but it is sometimes right in its prem ises. She had observed an entire reticence to her gimband on the subject, so no wonder that her present words took him by sur prise, and caused him to suspect her mind must be playing her false. "My dearest love," he whispered, "if it will give you a moment's peace, I will bind myself by an oath never to marry Grace Avon." "Not so, Ryle. What will be, will be; and I would not have you both loathe my memory—" Mr. Baumgarten started up in real earn est. She was certainly mad. She held his hand; she feebly droll him down again; she suggested calmness. may come to that, Ityle; you may learn to love her as.yoti have !eyed me. 0, Ryle! I pray you, when she shall be your wife, that you will shield my child from her unkind- ness!" she continued in a low wail of im passioned sorrow. "I cannot understand you," he said, much distressed: "it is nut possible I could ever suffer any ono to be unkind to your child. Why should you fear unkindness for him?" `•I should fear it from her alone; she has regarded mo with hatred; I have been a blight in her path; and so would she regard my child, our child, Ryle, should she become its second mother: that she should do so is but in accordance with human nature." Mr. Baumgarten sighed: he scarcely knew how to answer her, how to soothe her; were her mind not actually insane, he looked upon these far-fetched fears ns only a spe cies of illness, which must hare its rise in some derangement of the brain. All that she had said, touching Lady Grace, he con sidered to be a pure fantasy. "Ryle! my love, my husband, you will love our child? you will protect him against her unkindness, should it ever be offered?" "Ay; that I swear to you," he ardently replied. And Edith Baumgarten breathed a sigh of relief, and quietly sheltered her self in her husband's arms, to die. * * * * * *, * Whether it be death or whether it be birth, whether it be marriage or whether it be di vorce, time gees all the same. After the funeral of Mrs. Baumgarten the parish flock ed to the rectory in shoals—especially the young ladies who were, vulgarly to speak, on the look out—there to condole with the interesting widower, and go into raptures over the.baby. They need not have troub led themselves: Mr. Baumgarteu's eyes and heart were closed to them: they were bur ied for the present in the tomb of Edith. She had been dead about six months when the open carriage . of Lady, Avon stopped be fore the rectory, as the reader once saw it stop before Whitton Cottage, but it had but ' one occupant now, and that was the Coun tess. After the marriage of Mr. Baunigar ten the Countess had sometimes attended Little Whitton Church, as heretofore, but Lady Grace never. She had always excuses ready, and the Countess, who had no sus picion of the true state of the case, put faith in them. The Countess declined to alight, and Mr. Baumgarten went out to her. "Would it be troubling you very much, Mr. Baumgarten, to come to Avon House occasionally and pass at hour with me?" began the Countess. "Certainly not, if you with it," lie repli ed: "W I can render you any service." ' Lady Avon lowered her voice and bent toward him. "I' am not happy in my nand [WHOLE NUMBER 1,541. Mr. Baumgarten—not easy. The pre„; world is passing away from me, and I k nothing of the one lam entering. 1 like the rector of Great Whitton; he (1.:2i not suit me; but with you I feel at home T shall be obliged to you to come up or twice a week, and pass a quiet hour me•" "I will do so. But I hope nu and no::. ing, serious the matter with your health'. "Time will prove," replied Lady Av.: "How is your little boy?" "Ire gets on famously; he is a brave Bt.:: fellow," returned Mr. Baumgarten, his cy c.• brightening. "Would you like to see Lim. ' The child was brought out for the inspo tion of Lady Avon—a pretty babe in a white frock and black ribbon, the latte: worn in memory of his mother. "Ile viii resemble you," remarked her ladyship,— "What is his name?" "Cyrus. I know it would have iilenr, Edith to have him named after her father Mr. Baumgarten paid his first visit t. Avon House on the following day. La , . Grace was alone in the room when ho cute: ea, and it happened that she know nothi.t.„ of his expected visit. It startled her to.em - tion. However she may have striven t, drive away the remembrance of Mr Bast.l 7 garten, she had not done it; and her feeliu;, • of anger, her constantly indulged of jealousy, had but helped to keep up htv passion. Her countenance flushed crimsca!, and then grew deadly pale. Mr. Baumgarten 'took her hand, • alma,: in compassion; he thought she must be ill, "What has been the matter?" he inquired "The mattes! Nothing," and she grey: - crimson again. "Is your visit to mamma: Do you wish to see her?" "I am here by appointment with Lad :- AVon." The conversation with his wife, relating to Lady Grace, had nearly faded from Mr. Bautngarten's remembrance. Not the words: they would ever be remembered; but be.nt taelted no more importance to them than he had done when they were spoken. The Countess came in, and Lady Grace found that his visits were to be frequent. Did else rebel, or did she rejoice? 0 read erl if you have loved as she did, pass ban re ly, powerfully, you need not ask. The very presence of one so beloved is as the more ing light: dead and drear is his absence the darkest midnight, but at his coming is as if the bright day opened. So had t h , t felt when with Mr. Baumgarten; so did feel now; although he had belonged to another. From that day they, saw a great deal o• each other, and in the", quiet intercourse u• social life—of invalid life, it may lie said, fur Lady Avon's ill-health was confirine:i— grew more intimate than they bad ecrr been. Lady Grace strove to arm hers,•ll against him; she called up pride, anger, at, t many other adjuncts, false as Ahoy Acc:,• vain, for the heart is ever true to itself ac.' will bo heard. It ended in her strugglin,4 no longer; in her giving herself up, one more, to the bliss of loving him unchecked Did ho give himself up to the same, by way of reciprocity? Nut of loving her; it it had not come to it; but he did yield 'to tit .‘ charm of liking her, of finding pleaStiro 7 , 1 her society, of wishing to be murk freqee'nt ly at Avon Ilouse. Ile had loved hiS' but she was dond and buried, and there r • very few men indeed who remain const-,1,t in heaft to a dead love, especially if she !vs, been his wife. The manners of Lady GE:;. -, . possessed naturally great fascination: 'xi): then must they not have been, when in in tcrcourse with him she idolized? She r more quiet than formerly, more confident:, more subdued; it was a change as if she lit i gone through sorrow, and precisely what was likely to tell upon the heart of dr. Baumgarten. But there was no acting in Lady Grace; she was not striving to gal.: him, as she had once done; shb simply pv herself up to the ecstatic dreiufs she was in dulging, and let results take their elance. Mr. Baumgarten may be forgiven if he also began to feel that existence might yet lie made into something pleasant as a dream. The Honorable and Reverend Wilfred El liot, claiming a dead earl for a father, and a live earl fur a brother, was nut of course, a light whoib_beatns could be hid under it bnshel, the more particularly as the live eat was in the cabinet. It therefore surprised nobody that when the excellent old Bi. llO P of Barkaway was gathered to leis father.. Mr. Elliot should be promoted to his vacat shoes. The good bishop's life hod been pi longed to the patriarchal age of ninety, Lot for the last twenty years of it he Lad Iteen next to incapable; therefore the see of Bar kavray hugged itself as being in luck, on the principle that any change must be fitr the best. Great Whitton, on the contrary, hugged itself in like manner on the san.c principle, fur the Honorable and Rercrend —to speak mildly—bad not been popular. The earl of Avon, as luck or the other op posite would have it, was on a few ,day visit to his mother when Mr. Elliet,receited his mitre. "Don't pot such another as Elliot into Great Whitton, Ilenry," observed the,Coun tess to her son, "or we shall have the parish up in arms." "What was. the matter - with Elliot?" drawled the earl, lighting a cigar.. "Didn't he please them?" "Please !betel Ile made , every soul in the parish, laborers and all, attend daily servee in the church' between eight 'and nine, al lowing them ten minutes for breakfast .nr.d ESI
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