THE MYSTERY OF HADDON'S FERRY.

By E. D. E. N. Soutihvobth.

CHAPTER XXXIII. X TERRIBLE INVOCATION.

Ah! ruder words will soon rush in To spread the breach that words begin, And eyes forget the gentle ray They wore in courtship's smiling day, And voices lose the tone that shed. A tenderness ronnd all they smd, Till fast decliniag, one by ono, The sweetneises of love are gone; And hearts so lately mingled seem Like broken clouds, or like the stream That smiling left the mountain s brow As though its waters ne'er could sever, Yet, e'er it reach the plain below, Breaks into floods that part for ever. Thomas Moore. For a n^oment Gerald Fitzgerald stood

gazing " 7nore in sorrow than in anger" upon the engagement ring that Geraldine had flung ats his feet.

"I will not a second time take up your ring, Geraldine," he said, at length. "I will nofc agaitt take you at your hasty word. When ,you come to yourself you will be generous enough to acknowledge the wrong you-'have done, and you will replace the ring- upon your finger. As for me, I will endeavour to forget all that has passed this afternoon." His words, instead of appeasing, seemed to infuriate htsr. " You think that fc when I come to my self,' as you call' jt, I shall be the first to acknowledge the '* wron^T' I have done, and to replace the ring- upon my finger. You count upon a repetition: of my late folly, when I came to you, liike An idiot, and, for getting my own dignity, sued to you ior a JeconcUiation. O-h-h-h ! if you only knew how I despise myself now far that pitiable weakness. And you expect me to rejpeat it. Hear me, Colonel Fitzgerald ! and as she spoke, her eyes contracted and gleamed, and her face to her very lips grew livid with intense rage—"hear me ! If ever I take up that ring and replace it oia .my finger, may it eat into my flesh like a ranker and poison my blood to deatbi If ever I Bue to you for a reconciliation, may you spurn me like a slave from your pretence Now, go ! and never let me see your face again if you can help it!" Gerald Fitzgerald towed very low, turned and left the room, leaving- the jealous young fury to come to her senses at her leisure. ' /*_. . , In the meantime, Miss Sue Greenleat and Gertrude Haddon were holding a conference in the sisters' parlour. As soon a* Lolone Fitzgerald had placed in Miss Greenleaf^ hand the book he had brought) for her, and .left the room, she turned to Gertrude, and observing for the first time her disturbed countenance, ahe said : _ " You are pale and trembling, mjy little True ! What is the matter with your ?" "Oh, Miss Greenleaf, I must go away from this place immediately," answered-the girl, inagitated tones. . "You go away? And why, pray? in quired the lady, in surprise. "Oh;' Miss Sue, because—because Miss Fitzgerald does not like my being here, answered Gertrude in the same perturbed manner. . . "Miss Fitzgerald does not like your feeing here? What an idea. Don't take such fancies into your head, my child.' " Oh, Miss Sue, it is no fancy. Ido not take fancies?, indeed I do not! But when you sent me to the drawing-room to get the book, just as I entered the door I heard Miss-Fitzgerald teliing the colonel that he, must have me sent away from this house,.; that I was—l do riot remember the-exact words; but the meaning-of them w% that I was not a fit companion- for herself* arid that therefore she required that" I should be dismissed from the house," said Ger trude, as her pale cheeks became suffused at the remembrance of the insult. "Geraldine Fitzgerald said that!' ex claimed Miss Greenleaf, flushing with gen erous indignation. " Indeed, madam, she did ; and there fore, .you see, I must go." '' She said that ? You heard her ? What did you say ?" , "I ? Nothing, madam. I grew so weak that I leaned against the door-post." "And Gerald Fitzgerald, what dr?. he

say!" , _ " Something sharp, *" do nob know ■what. I think my senses were about to leave me then, for he saw me, and sprang across the room and spoke to me. and led me in here. Then I grew better." «I see —l see how it is. Geraldine will tuin her own happiness and that of every one with whom she is connected," said Miss Greenleaf, meditatively. "Now, you see, my dear Miss Sue, that I must go away. Ido love to be here, and I love you—every one. But I must not stay, to be a cause of contention between Colonel Fitzgerald _ and his bride" elect; and, moreover, I will not," added Gertrude, with gentle firmness. " You are quite right, my dear child. It would not indeed be consistent with the delicacy and dignity of any young girl to remain here under the circumstances. I thank Providence that in a few days more Gerald and Geraldine will be married and gone. Then, my little True, we shall have you back, if Dr. Goodwin will let you come. That is very doubtful, however. After the good doctor comes to know you, my little True.he will not easily part with you,' jsaid Miss Greenleaf, affectionately. At that moment Gerald Fitzgerald hastily entered the ladies' presence —hat gloves, and whip in hi(3 hand. " I have come to bid you good-day, Miss Greenleaf," he said, in tones that he vainly strove to keep steady. "But —I thought—you were going to stay to dinner," said Miss Sue, in surprise and perplexity. ".In all sincerity, I assure you that I am .very sorry to have to go, Miss Green leaf," he Baid, taking her hand and bowing over it. "Then at least come and dine with us to-morrow," suggested Miss Sue. "I fear that will be impossible, my dear

lady." "•Then any day you please. Come without notice. We shall always be ready to receive you, and glad to welcome you." "Thanks, dear Miss Greenleaf. I shall take the very first opportunity to avail myself of your kind permission. Good day, madam ; good-day, Miss Haddon." And with a bow Colonel Fitzgerald with drew from the room.

Miss Greenleaf and Gertrude looked at each other, but did not speak until they ■were aroused by the sound of his horse's hoofs galloping from the house. Then Miss Sue said:

'?As sure as you live, Gertrude, that* beautiful fury, Geraldine, has flown ab him again I" " Oh, Miss Greenleaf 1" murmured the girL "1 am sure she has quarrelled with him and broken with him again. I know it by his looks. He adores Her, Gertrude ; but oh,, she tries him! You are right, my dear girl, in one thing—entirely right. You snail go to your venerable guardian, and stay with him until this marriage be tween Gerald and Geraldine takes place— if it ever takes place—and then you shall return here and be our child. Let me see. It is now four o'clock. I will send Hanni bal off to Wildsville with a nofce to Dr. Goodwin, asking him to come here and see ne., I will not tell him in my note what be is wanted for, lest it might be lost and fall into other hands. Have courage, my child ; all will be well with you," said Mies Sue, as she rang the bell

When a man-servant answered the summons, she ordered him to go to the stables and direct Hannibal to 6add3e a horse and come around to the house, and be ready to carry a note to Dr. Goodwin. And when the man withdrew to deliver his message, she turned to her writing-desk and wrote a few lines, which she sealed up and took out to her courier.

When Miss Greenleaf returned to the sisters' parlour dinner was announced. She took Gertrude's hand, drew it -within her arm in a protecting manner, and led her to the dining-room. Then family were already assembled there. The party around the table consisted of Mrs Doy and Miss Patricia Fitzgerald, Mr Royal and Miss Sue Greenleaf, cousin Ben Bowers and Ger trude. There were two vacsmt places— those of Gerald and Geraldine Fitzgerald.

" Where are those two moon-calves, Sue ? Spooning somewhere, I do suppose, and for fetting that there is any such & thing as a inner in the world," said Mr.Royal Green leaf, referring to Colonel and Miss Fitz gerald. " Gerald has been called awayon business, and has left his compliments and uegret3," answered Miss Sue.

" Umph ! umph ! umph ! to be-taken as before, I suppose. And where is the ' dark-eyed, queenly Geraldine,' as that military spoon calls "her !{? pursued Royal. "Geraldine is indisposed after "her" long ride, and has gone to lie down." " Umph ! umph ! umph ! to be. taken as before again. Our beautiful Gersfldine's in dispositions generally consist in severe cramps in her temper. Ah, veil, it is honestly come by ! the family-temper, eh, Pat r

" The family demon, I call it, uncle," answered Patricia, decidedly.

After, dinner Miss Sue Greertleaf beckoned her brother to follow ber into the sisters' parlour, and when she found herself there alone with him she confided, to him the story told her by Gertrude, and the necessity that grew out of it of sendHng the orphan girl away until after the marriage and de parture of Miss Fitzgerald. " Well, Sue, tho young ladjy—for she is a young lady, every inch of hex*—is your protegee, not mine. You mutst do with her as you please ; but as for me, well as I like Gerald Fitzgerald and his young vixen of a sweetheart, I would see thenii both in the bottomless pit before I would Jet her jjo on their account," said Royal, in a generous fit of indignation. "It is not on their account, dear Roy. It is on Gertrude's own. I wi&l not have her here exposed to the scornful taunts of any jealous woman." "Meaning 'the dark-eyed, queenly,' I s'poee'?' "Yea—Geraldine."

" Then why not send Geraldine off? Since she is the one in fault, it seems to me she is the one to be bowed out, especially since she is rich and powerful; while the other poor little one, besides being blame less, is poor and dependent. Send Geral dine away—send Geraldine away." "Oh, Roy, that would never, never do ! Besides, Gertrude is not so poor anid. depon dent as she seems. Old Mr Haddon left her the ferry estate." " Moonshine ! Ib has been discovered that old Haddon left a daughter by his lawful wife Lilian Vale, who, if she can be found, is the legal heiress of the ferry in right of her father; and not only of the ferry in right of her father, but of about one-half of Wilde country, in right of her mother. This poor Gerbrude would be a beggar. Not that I would think the less of her on that account, but rather the more," said Royal. " Stay ! Good Heaven ! What is that you say about Gabriel Haddon leaving a daughter by his lawful wife, Lilian Vale ?" asked Miss Sue, aghast. "I'sSid that its has been discovered that he left such a daughter, although the poor, -wronged .man nevpr knew that he had a daughter until within a few days before his deaths" -•••Butiy-good heavens 1. If that is bo, if Lily Vale left a daughter, that daughter is the legal heiress of Forest Lodge, Stone Alone, Wildwood, Rock Hall, and, in short, of every manor now heldfc? Geraldine Fitz gerald, for you know ©«raldine's father only inherited all that property _on the sup posed failure of Alvan Vale's heirs." "I know it; and a pretty mess there would be if the girl—woman, rather, for, if living, she must now be between thirty and forty years of age—a pretty kettle of fish there'd be if she were1 to be found. But that is so improbable as jto be well nigh iin- Eossible ; it is so long 6ioce all trace of her as been lost. However, okl Dr. Goodwin's parishioners are going to a?nd him abroad this autumn for his health, and he means to take the opportunity of instituting a search in London for the massing heiress." " For a needle in a haystctck ! What clue has he to guide him?" "Oh, he has the address-of the doctor who attended Lilian Vale — or, rather, Lilian Haddon —in her confinement, and also of the nurse who took ehfa-ge of the child. But as these addresses, are over thirty years old, and the peoplif to whom they referred were even then past middle age, it seems scarcely possible that they can be living now. All this was told me in the strictest confidence by Dr. .Goodwin, but for goodness' sake don't breawhe it to a human being. I ought never to. have told you, but it slipped out somehow,.and lam very sorry it did. I am not fib to keep a secret, and I do wish Dr. Goodwin had only thought of that when he confided one to me. I never had a secret of my own in my life, and I oughtn't to be trusted with other people's," said Mr Grieenleaf witha mortified air. "Be tranquil, Roy. I caw keep a secret. 1 shall never hint this one to anybody," said Sue. "No ; for Heaven's sake don't, Sue. Just think of the effect it would baTe uiiwn ' the dafk-eyed, queenly' to hear it even1 hinted that there could be a possibility of a missing heiress being recovered to turn her out of her kingdom of half a dozen manors ? ' said Royal, in dismay. "I will never breathe it, .Roy. But we have wandered from a subject which is, after all, of more immediate interest to me —Gertrude. I have sent for Dr. Goodwin bo come here to-morrow and see us. When he comes I intend to ask him to take Ger trude home with him." '' Look here, Sue ! She is your protegee, not mine. But I'll tell you what. I— Yes, rather than you should do that, I would send Geraldine away and tight Gerald, as in that case I should have to do, for he would be sure bo call me out." " What nonsense you talk, Roy ! We cannot possibly be so rude to our own cousin and your ward. Besides, every con sideration of womanly dignity and delicacy urges Gertrude to Withdraw herself from the house at this juncture. Dr. Goodwin must take hsr away to-morrow. After Ger aldine is married and gone, I shall bring her back." "You will do well to bring her back if she goes; or, see here, Sue-—I may as well tell you now as any other time —I intend to ask Gertrude Haddon to be my wife, and if Bhe should consent I will make her the mistress of Greenwood. What do you say to that ?" " Gerbrude is very young yet, Roy. She is little more than fifteen years old. You should wuit at least thrao years longer, and it would be still wiser to wait five years before thinking of marriage for Gertrude Haddon," «aid Miss Sue, discreetly. " Bub, bless my soul alive, Sue, I haven'fe time to waife. lam forty-five years old now, I shall be fifty in five years. You 6ee I haven't time to wait." " Then you should marry some older lady. There h Miss Maxima Rowley now—" "Oh t the fiend fly «way with Mies Maxima Rowley ! Do yon think 1 am going to marry an old maid like that!" angrily. exclaimed Royal.

"Miss Maxima is just your own,<age forty-fivo. Besides Miss; Maxima-" " Drot Miss Maxima !* exclaimed. Royal, flinging himself out ofi the room, in a P*S"n«w that is the wap with ,/nen ! It never occurs to them that- it is qmto as re pugnant to a young woman to snarry an old man as it is to a yaung_man. to marry an old woman. Hero is Roy, -throwing himself in a rage at the "bare idea .or marry ing a woman of his own a.ge, yefc p resuming to think seriously of proposing marriage to a young girl of one-third his year/* 1 mused Mies Sue. ... . The entrance of her yottng protegee put an end to her meditation. "Miss Sue, I have finished packing my box," said-Gertrude, smiling, aa she seated herself near the elder lady. " Have you, my dear ? tlaan is well. Lhr. Goodwin will be here early in. the morning no doubt, and we will notiejsp him wait ing," answered Miss Sue. _ No moro was said on the •subject then. Miss Sue produced the second volume of Ronan's Well, and asbed Gerbrude to read aloud, while she-Miss Suo-H.vorked at her embroidery- And so, with thw short inter lude of the tea-table, they phased the even- the next morning;, .according to Miss Sue's prediction, Dr. Goodwin arrived andaskedtoseeMiss Greenlaaf, who had sent for him. . . , Miss Sue received him aloneyn the sisters parlour, and without entering into any dis agreeable explanations that might have compromised Geraldine in the pastors good opinion, she merely informed Mm that for certain urgent reasons she would request him to receive Gertrude Haddon as a guest at the rectory untiil after the wedding should be over. "For although the marriage, will be com paratively a private one, yet according to custom, all the numerous famify connections of tho Fitzo-oralds and Greenleaf s will assemble here for days before, the wedding, and will crowd every room w the house, said Miss Sue, with a little good-natured diplomacy. _ ~ " Yes, ray good lady: of course I quite understand that, and I will gladly take tho dear child home wi»h mo until after the wedding, and keep her as lony; after that, also, as you will permit-her to stay,"-said the unsuspecting minister. '' When can she be ready ?" he asked, rising. '4 " She is ready now," said Miss Sue. " Have her called, then, m,y dear lady. I will take her with me," said the pastor. Miss Su« went out herself?, and soon re turned with Gertrude, who welcomed her reverend guardian with respectful affection. She had already taken leave of every mem ber of the family except Miss Sue Greenleaf. She now kissed that good friend, who em braced her with fervent* affection, and then delivered her over to Dr. Goodwin, saying: "Immediately after the wedding I shall come for my darling, sir." " 1 shall be in no hurry to part with her, Miss Greenloaf," said Dr Goodwin f< as he led Gertrude out and placed her in his, carriage. In the next moment he entered and drove off.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

AT THE RECTORY. Angola have fallen ere her time by prldo, That sole alloy of her most loroly mould. . The ovil spirit of a bitter mood And a revengeful heart had power upon him That very hour, when passion, tnrn'd to wrath, Made his whole soul & chaos—in that hour The tempter found him. BtTLWER IjYTTON. The old Red Sandstone Church and Rectory stood side by side, both being perched upon the top of Wild Cat Cliff, overhanging fche river, ond overlooking the opposite moun tain of Eagle Roost Ridge. The old Red Sandstone G.hnroh was a picturesque edifice of the Gothic order of architecture, so completely overgrown with iyy that nothing of ite exterior cosd be seen but the old oak door and stftuwed glass windows, from which the encroach ing creeper had annually to be trimnaed away. The church was surrounded b;f an old burial ground, whow white tombstones gleamed amid the shadows of thiofcly clustering evergreen. The old Red Sandstone Rectory, strmdr ing on the south side of the church, w»s a quaint, cosy dwelling-place, with cHrfc, ruddy walls, overgrown, like those of t/he church, with ivy; narrow, Gothio, windows, overshnded by creeping vines ; high-peijjked roof, and tall, Blender chimneys, in many of which the house-swallows built their nests and enjoyed their home in uftidis turbed repose.' The house was surrounded by an old neglected garden of fruits trees and bußhes, flowering shrubs, flowers and herbs. The day after Gertrude's arrival -was spent pleasantly rambling about this attractive spot. In the evening Gertrude read aloud to the rector. ,

Gertrude opened the book and began to read aloud, while the old man sani back in his chair, and so the evening paused happily with both, until ten o'clock, when the aged pastor told Gertrude to close her book, as that was the habitual- hour for worship at the rectory. A chapter in the Bible was read, the evening prayers wore offered up, and then the family circle separated. Gertrude bade her guardian good-night, and went up to her " chamber of peace." She awoke about sunrise, and she immedi ately arose and dressed, for she knew that they kept early hours a<fc the rectory. She did not meet her guardian after break fast until she met him at the dinner-table. There was a troubled look in the doctor's eye as he took his seat and said : "I am very much troubled about Gerald Fitzgerald's love affairs." Gertrude's heart almost ceased its pul sations as ehe listened.

"If ever a ' course of true love' dashed itself over interminable falls and impractic able rapids, wibhoub any prospect of ever reaching a smooth, clear passage, it is hia course!. ,'. ■ Gertrude's face paled fcricl fljjghod and paled again ; bub she made no comment. The doctor continued:

'■• While you were in the drawing-room I received a note from Royal Greenleaf sent by a special messenger, I and asking me to come and mediabe botwoen the estranged couple; for the marriage is broken off again." "Broken off again !" echoed Gertrude, in a low and faltering tone. " Yes, broken off again. I might as well speak plainly to you, my little Gertrude, for I know the reason why you left Green leaf's, and I commend the delicacy and dignity of your action in that matter ; but no sooner had you left than Miss Fitzgerald chose to construe your voluntary departure into an act of submission on the part of her white slave, Gerald Fitzgerald. So she. sent for him, and when he obeyed her summons she magnanimously forgave him for all the wrongs and insults ehe had heaped on his head." " But, since they were reconciled, how does it happen that the marriage is again broken offr' whispered Gertrude, scarcely above her breath.

"The witch, Patricia, seems to be at the bottom of the business now ! She lias made all the trouble ! She has the fault of fami liarity ! She is as thoughtless as she is in nocent ! She has been making too free with her handsome cousin, who has the misfor tune to be Geraldine's betrothed, and Ger aldine has again flung her engagement ring into the face of her affianced lover, and ordered him to leave her presence forever." " Oh, Dr Goodwin !" breathed Gertrude, in a tone of grief and humiliation as deep as if the wrong and shame had been her own.

"Yea, my love, it is so. If only Fitz gerald would have the manhood to take the jealous fury at her word, and keep away from her for ever! I know, how ib Will all end.""

" But, dear Dr. Goodwin, what can you do in the premises? You are both wise and good What can you do to make a permanent peace between these two ? softly inquired Gertrude. , "To make a permanent peace between them ? Nothing on earth, except to separ ate them for ever. I would do that if 1 could, and it would be the kindest act I could per form for them both, if it were practicable ; but I am afraid it is not." "What then, will you do?" again in quired Gertrude, with an interest she could not repress. . " Since I cannot do the only wise thing to be done, and to separate them for ever before they commit the suicidal crime of marriage, I will do nothing—certainly nothing to reconcile them to each other again. " But—please fovgive me, Dr. Goodwin— are we not taught ' Blessed are the peace makers ?'" whispered Gertrude—she could scarcely speak above a whisper. " Yes, my dear,"' said the good doctor, reverently bending his hoad; "but to bring this incompatible young couple to gether in marriage would not be to make any real and permanent peace, but to make endless war. The marriage ought never to take place. If they separate now with the understanding that the separation is to be a lasting one, they will, in time, forgive each other and be very good friends ; but if they marry, I am sure that their mar riage will nob secure the happiness of Geraldine, and that it will assuredly- ruin the life of Fitzgerald. I have written to Royal Greenleaf and ftxpressed those senti ments as a reason why I decline to inter fere. Nevertheless, my dear girl, I feel very anxious about the mad young pair, or rather about Fitzgerald, who is so madly, fatally in love with this young fury." "I hope he will not humble himself again to Miss Fitzgerald," murmured Gertrude, involuntarily > almost inaudibly, but very earnestly, for she felt the humilia tion of her hero more deeply than if it had been her own. " Many a man since Marc Antony's time has lost the whole world for a woman, and I greatly feax»—" What he greatly feared waa never uttered, f/or the sound of girlish voices, with laughter and exclamations of surprise and delight, accebmpanied by the pattering of many light stepa, were heard in the hall without, and were instantly followed by the opening of the door, and the tumultuous entrance of Patricia Fitzgerald and her school friend, May Faire. Dr. Goodwin repressed his great astonish ment at their unexpected visit, and arose with old-fashioned courtesy to welcome them. "•IJttst in time, and hungry as a hound !" exclaimed Patricia, taking off her cap, toss ingr ib to the other end of the room, and dr.twing up a chair, Beating herself at the table, saying, a« a parenthesis: " How >&o you do, Dr. Goodwin ? How are you, Gertrude ? Surprised to see us hore.are you "not ? Bless you, I am sent from Greenwood in disgrace for flirting with Cousin Fitz gerald ! I only did it to tease Goraldine, and punish her for treating you ao abomin ably, Gertrude. But lam sorry for Gerald. How could he help it if I would make love to him! But—Lord help us !—Qeraldine didn't go for me, who well deserved her ari£or. She went for Gerald, who was not to blame. And didn't she give him fits ! Whip your horses I But here, I am talking at j random, instead of delivering over mammy's letter," concluded Pat, as she dreVa note from her pocket and handed it to Dr. Goodwin. "]£he worthy doctor, who had in the mean tinke welcomed May Faire, and handed her a cjhnir, now took the letter with a bow; but before he opened it ho rang the bell, aud gave to Boykins, who answered it, the order: j V Get plates for these two young ladies, •jkho have not yet dined." Ar...fcb.e servant left to obey the order, .the dot'fer opnntfd his letter. It proved to be from Mm Doy Fitzgerald, and it ran as follows: Gbeejtwood, Thursday. My Dbir Dr. Goodwin :—I take a liberty ■with yon. t»-dny that I should scarcely dare to tafco with aijjr other friend. I send you, with out previous warning:, two young girls, as visi tor* to your w»rd, and aa trespassers on your hospitality. Will you pardon this unwarrant able intrusion, and take care of the children until aftor Tuesday next! which ia the third day that has been set for the marriage of the colonel and Miss Fltzfforald, and whioh I pray Hoaven imy pass off without a catastrophe, I under stand that my brother wrote to you this morn ins- His letter will, perhaps, prepare you to comprehend the situation. You see I send off Patricia in expiation of what has been donft, and send May Faire with her in apprehension of what wtajr happen. Patricia will explain further, if you havo any questions to ask. You need not mind talking before ' May Tairo ;' she knows all about it. Geraldlne's reok'ess vio lence of temper has made herself and her jealousy a by-word in the family. On Tuesday next, then, please the fates, we will marry oft* our young firebrand; and when she is safely married and away, I shall fool as if a very danterors bomb-shell were removed from the premises. Erer your friend, Dorothty Fitzgerald.

While the good doctor read and re read this letter, Boykins had placed plates, knives, forks, spoons, napkins, and all else that was needed for the new-comers upon the table, and Gerdrude herself had set a chair for May Faire, and invited her to take it. Patricia, as we have seen, was already seated at the table, self-invited.

" It seems," said Dr. Goodwin, folding up hie letter, returning it to his pocket, and resuming his seat at the table, " it seems by this note from Mrs Fitzgerald that the colonel and Miss Gerakline are again reconciled."

" Oh, no, bless you !" exclaimed Pat, who was bupy as a drumstick ; " bless you, no. But mammy says she feels sure that Gerry will send for Fifcz and pardon him once more, now that I am slain and offered up as a burnt sacrifice to her jealousy." " Hum!" said the doctor, dryly, as he fecqmmerioect hi 3 interrupted dinner. "•You see," continued the irrepressible Pat, "how it was that I was sent away; and now what do y6u think was the reason why May Faire was.sent with me? Give it up? Well, I'll tell you. At breakfast one morning she dropped her fork—(she's the awkwardest little wretch on the face of the earth). So she dropped her fork, and Fitz, instead of waitine for a servant to do his duty, immediately arose, picked up that diabolical and mischief-making imple ment, and gave it to her with a smile and a bow."

"A simple and natural act of politeness due from any gentleman to any la.dy, ;> said the old-fashioned doctor.

" Yes, I know; but mammy thought it juwt as well not to have it encored. So she sent May into exile with me," said Pat, as she pushed her plate away, and leaned back in her chair, as a sign that she had finished her dinner, and thought it about time that her young companions had done the same. A few moments later, the whole party arose from the table and adjourned to the drawing-room, where the good doctor beggedthem to feel quite at home, amuse themselves as theyliked, and excuse him, as he had to go out and make some paro chial calls.

In the course of the evening Baby Boy kins with the freedom and cordiality of a faithful and.esteemed old family servant, came into the drawing-room, to express her delight in seeing the young lady visitors, which mad© the whole house look like living again, as she described it. Later in the evening the old woman showed her appreciation" of their presence in a more substantial way, by getting them a most excellent tea, with plenty of such cakes and sweetmeats as children and young girls dote on.'

The evening was finished with family prayers. Then Baby Boykins, with re newed delight, showed the two young guests to a very nice' double- bedded cham ber opposite to the room occupied by Gertrude. :

The interval between that Thursday and the Tuesday of the expected wedding was passed very pleasantly by every inmate of tho rectory except Gertrude; whose whole soul, absorbed in one fatal love, could find no room for the simple enjoy ments that made others happy. On the Friday afternoon Royal Green leaf came over, radiant with happiness and reporting " all serene" at Greenwood. As Mrs Doy had predicted, when Pat had been sent away from the house, Geraldine despatched a flag of truce to Gerald, suni m6ning him to a conference. He had come, like a true knight, at his lady's call. She graciously pardoned him again. They were now reconciled once more, and the marriage was certainly to come off on Tuesday morning. Royal Greenleaf himself had come over to announce this joyful news, and to bring affectionate greetings from all concerned, even from Geraldine herself, who was now in the most radiant and con descending mood, and had sentcordialnotes to tbe doctor and to his three young lady guests, supplementing Miss Sue Greenleaf's Formal invitation to them to be present at the quite wedding on Tuesdry. Mrs Doy Fitzgerald had also written, saying that she felt sure May Faire would not distress her friendsby absenting herself from Greenwood on such an occasion, and beggincr that Patricia and Gertrude would ignore all un pleasantness, and honour the nuptials of the heiress with their presence, and so pro mote family harmony. At first, the three young girls declared that they would not go rto tho colonel and Miss Fitzgerald's wedding. Pat swore she would see both Fitz and Gerry pickled before she would demean herself by going ; May Faire said that she should iike very much to go, but should not think of doing so without the company of her friend Patricia; Gertrude said nothing until pressed for an opinion, when she declarod that she never had thought of going, under any circumstances whatever. But what young girl's dignified resolution can hold out against the attraction of a wedding to which she is cordially invited ? On Saturday afternoon Pat began to say that, after all, she should like to see how the bride would look, and hear what the bride groom would say, and that, indeed, it would be a great pity to disappoint May Faire, who had come all the way from Cave Court to be present at the wedding, and who could not go without Patricia. In a word, Patricia decided to pocket her pride and go to the wedding, and May Faire joyfully jumped to accompany her. And Gertrude ! Ah ! Heaven only knows what wild, mad hopes had smouldered in the depths of her heart during those days, when Gerald and Geraldine -were con tinually off and on, on and off, upon the marriage question ; when everyone disap proved the marriaeo, and predicted that it would finally be broken forever, as it ought to be for the best interests of all con cerned.

Did she, almost unconsciously, hope that; when the ill-omened engagement should be finally and for ever annulled between the ill-matched pair—after years should have passed, perhaps—that Gerald Fitzgerald, being free, might possibly— possibly— look on her and love her ?

The very thought would ..have caught away her breath for ,joy. Her idea of heavenly, delight was—to be loved by Gerald Fitzgerald,.and to-live with him for ever; to have the privilege of being always near him, to see him, to hear him, to wait on him, to work for him, to suffer for him ; for no toil, no suffering endured for him, but would have been transmuted by the power of love into heavenly joy. How could his betrothed bride behave to him as Geraldine had done ? To Gertrude's worshipping heart such conduct seemed the most grievous re bellion, the most awful blasphemy and sacrilege, and she wondered equally at the insanity of the woman and the majestic pationce of the man. She wondered and she worshipped, bowing- down -her whole, soul before trim. " Nor woe ,th"is any form *qf' idolatry in that young heart. Yes, Gertrude* love was pure from earthly stain ; but, ah, it was not free from earthly pain ! As the fatal wedding-day drew near, the thought of Fitzgerald's marriage with Geraldine grew more and more agonising and insufferable. » It was.not only that this marriage must forbid her ever to think of him as she had thought, and must compel her to maintain a cruel struggle in her own heart to eject his memory; it was not, either, that this marriage would separate him utterly from her, whose whole soul was filled with, adoration of him, and who felt in some occult way, by inspiration or intuition, that she belonged to him for ever, and could never, in all eternity, belong to anyone else ! It was not all this only that over whelmed her with despair ;it was the con viction she felt that this marriage with the beautiful but jealous fury must desolate his life ! Gertrude could think of nothing but the impending marriage, and could not recon cile herself to the thought. She could not sleep, she could .not eat. She lost flesh and strength daily, and grew pale and thin ; and the meek, dark eyes seemed heavier and sadder than before. She had decided to go to the wed ding ; but on the Monday night preceding the appointed day, as she lay feverish and sleepless upon her bed, sometimes tossing restlessly from side to side, sometimes gazing out through the uncurtained win dow at the foot of her bedstead—out upon the gleaming headstones in the adjoining church-yard, sometimes folding her hands, closing her eyes, and praying earnestly for Gerald Fitzgerald that he might be pre served from all. evil, and for herself that she might have strength to bear her hence forth lonely life and grace to do her duty in it, suddenly a wild desire took posses sion of her eoul—a desire to see him only once more, to hear hi 6 voice, to meet his gaze, to clasp his hand, and then—since it must be so—to see him no more on earth. Then she resolved to go to the wedding to see him again and for the last time, if only to see him in the,act of plighting his troth to Geraldine, to bind him to her for ever. Gertrude arose early to prepare for the wedding. It was a glorious day in September ; the blue sky was without a cloud, the green earth without a faded leaf, the bright waters untroubled by a ripple.

Gertrude was wearing mourning for her grandfather, but on this occasion she left it off, and put on a pure white organdie dress, with rose-coloured ribbons on her bosom. at her wrists, and in her brown hair.

When she was dressed she went and tapped at the door of Patricia s room, which was opposite to hers, across the hall. Pat came, half dressed, to open the door. "I shall go with you to Greenwood to day," she said.

" Sensible fellow ! I thought you would; Now go down—that's a brick "and hurry Babby Boykins with the breakfast. We must be off in half an hour, sharp," said Patricia, abruptly closing the door. Gerbiude went down, but found no occasion to hurry Babby. The breakfast was ready and waiting. The lar°-e carriage from, Greenwood had also arrived, and was waiting to convey the wedding guests to the same place. Dr. Goodwin, in his best Sunday suit, was walking impatiently up and down the terrace in front of the house, eager as a boy to be off to the wedding. In truth, Pat and May were the only laggards. But they soon came hurrying downstairs, dressed for the marriage festival—Pat in a pink organdie, and May in A blue berege. Babby Boykins quickly put the breaks ast upon the table, and the young party gathered around it. Dr. Goodwin said grace, and they all fell to, and ate rather too fast, I fear, for the good of their diges tion. The hurried breakfast over, Ihe young people flew upstairs to put on their bonnets* but they did not hurry over that business. Everybody knows how long ife takes to put on a bonnet.

Gertrude, however, soon tied on her little chip hat with its straw trimming, took a white Paisley shawl over her arm, and ■^'ent downstairs. As she passed^ the upper hall window she caught a glimpse of a black horse and his rider thundering down the mountain load leading to the rectory. The horse was in a foam, his black flanks bespattered with white flakes. The rider's form seemed familiar, and the glimpse of it sent an electric thrill through the frame of Gertrude.

She went trembling down the stairs and entered the parlour, and sat down to wait, expefcing, fearing—she knew not what. The parlour was deserted. Sho had scarcely perceived this and seated herself, when she heard the house-door thrown hastily open, hurried footsteps enter the hall, and quick, peremptory tones demand ing : "Is Miss Haddon here ? And—" " Yes, sir," from the voice of Boykins. " In what part of the house ?" " In the parlour, sir." " Alone ?*' " Yes, sir. Shall I show you in ?" " No, I can find my way there." Gertrude heard all this ; and while her heart seemed to stop in its pulsations, the door was thrown open and Gerald Fitzgerald strode into the room. He wore his wed ding-dress, the conventional full dress of a "gentleman of this age ; but his face was deadly pale and grim'; his lips were so firmly closed under his dark moustache that/ Mb chin seemed to protrude; his dark, deep-set eyes gleamed like stilletto points; his whole manner showed strong emotion forcibly repressed. Without any ordinary greeting he stepped at once to the side of Gertrude, and taking her hand, and gazing into her Boft eyes, said, hurriedly : " Child !, if you should see me on the brink of a precipice, and this little hand could save me, would you 'be afraid to hold it out to me ?" " No, no!" cried Gertrude, thrilled through every nerve and fibre of her frame, carried beyond herself, and never moving her meek, brown eyes from the steady gaze of those eager, strong; dark orbs that Held them fast. " Would you hold out your hand to save me?" " Yes ! yes ! I would !" " But if I should pull you down ?" " I could perish with you I" " Gertrude ! I am on the brink of hell! You can save me, if you dare to do it I" "I,will! I will! Oh, tell me how?" " Be my wife within an hour !" (To be Continued next Wednesday). ,

WONDERFUL ENGINEERING.

Particulars of the Movement of a Bis Bridge.

Two thousand people saw. a wonderful achievement of engineering skill at Holmea burg Junction, on the New York division of the Pennsylvania Railroad, Monday, June 27th. Thirty-two men moved a distance of fifty feet the iron bridge, weighing 160 tons, that spans the Pennypack, and they ac complished the great task in the remarkable time of eleven and one-half minutes. The engineers of the road had been long making preparations for the work. Some time ago the company decided to build a four-arched stone bridge in the place of the .iron struc ture over the big creek. The irori bridg_e had tobe moved westward1 fifty feet that it might be used until the stone bridge is built and ready for. service.. The removal of the bridge had to be magic-like, and between the; running of fast trains. Six weeks ago the men began the big undertaking with the building of trestle approaches to both sides of the creek at the point where the iron bridge was to find a new bed. The trestling has an averaga height of twentyrfive feet, and is on a level with the grade -of the.old road bed. The timbers of the western approach" is about 276 feet, while thfe-easterit ap proach ,is 300 feet long. Piles were then driven in the middle of the stream, on which -was reared a: strong, trestle work fifty feet long, and on a level with and contiguous to the stone pier under the bridge. Trestles of the same length and height were then built on both, banks of the creek and in/a continuous line from the stone abutments. These timbers were to serve both as the resting place and as the carriageway over which the Wenty four-fpot-wide and 180-foot-lpng bridge was to be gently moved to its. new founda tion. The iron rails were then laid along the new wooden., pier in the stream ana two rails on either of the new wooden abutments, and then the rails were, slipped under the centra and both ends of the bridge. The rails were well greased. It was said that the bridge would be slid along the greased rails several Sun days ago, but the big crowd that gathered to see the feat was disappointed. It was only on Saturday that the "crabs" were raised to the improvised plat form that was laid over the bottom chords of the bridge, forming something like a lower deck. A "crab" is a wind lass with an iron chain, is made, of heavy iron, and is triangular in shape. Four compound and four single geared "crabs" were placed on the bridge, two at each end arid four in the middle. The end of their chains were then fast ened to the head of the new wooden pier on the new abutments, and. the bridge was ready to be wound across the slippery rails. A trial late on Saturday afternoon showed that everything was in good working order, and it was determined to move .the bridge after 11.04 o'clock, when the first mail train which leaves New York at 9 o'clock swept by, and before the approach of the Philadelphia express which leaves Jersey City at 10 o'clock and passes Holmesburg Junction at 12.19 o'clock.

Long before the hour people began to flock to the scene. They came on trains, on foot, and.Jn nondescript vehicles, An army of workmen appeared. Over. 300 Italian and Irish labourers were marshalled on both sides .of the bridge,, while four gangs of carpenters were uriderit. George W.; Mershoriv the Master Mechanic of the New York division, had charge of the re moval; He placed two men dh each side of a crab, making a force of 32 men to man the machines arid move ' the bridge. Every man was at'his post, and the great throng of people was watching with eager interest, when the whistle of the " fast line " was heard, and the train thundered over the bridge, seven minutes late. As it dashed away Superin tendent Ford gave the word to his army of. labourers, and it was a scene of transitory animation as they tore up the rails and cut away the" fastenings of the bridge. The bridge had no sooner been released than Master "Mechanic Mershon gave the signal and the thirty-two men began to windthe "crabs."

As the; bridge began to slowly move, men went in front of it, pouring oil over the tallow - greased rails. Superintendent Crawford and the other officers held watches in their1 hands as the big iron structure moved calmly ~ toward tne end of the tre.ptling., 'At one time the eastern end began to lag, but it was only for a few moments, and,soon the bridge slid over the rails foot • by. ; foot to its resting place without a mishap, and in the brief period of eleven and one-half minutes, while a mighty roar went up from the people. With lightning-like rapidity the toilers on both sides of the creek tore up, and laid down.frogs, switches, sleepers, and moved the.rai.ls to their new bed, They soon had the rails connected with the two tracks on the bridge . A half hour after the bridge had been cut loose a heavy construction train was run over the structure, and at 2.19 the Philadelphia express dashed across. The work.was.a.success, and next morning contractor McFadden's men began to tear down. tire old stone pier and abutments, and before two months the now stone bridge will be i» service; — - ■■":''-

THE ATTCRXANB EVOKING STAR, SATTODAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1887,

4



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