THE MYSTERY OF HADDON'S FERRY.

By E. D. E. N. Southworth.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE REJECTED BRIDE,

It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard; It cannot be; tliou dost but say 'Us so; I trust T may not trust thee ; for thy word Is but the vain breath of a common man; I have his own oath to the coatrary.

SIIAKSEERE,

On that fatal wedding-morning Geralcline Fitzgerald paced up and down the floor of her chamber at Greenwood, with the fierce restlessness of a caged tigress.

On the bed lay spread out the handsome suit of silver-grey Irish poplin, trimmed with velvet of the same hue in which she was to commence her wedding tour.

Around the room stood several large trunks containing her costly wardrobe, all locked and strapped for transportation.

Standing and waiting respectively within the shade of the window curtains was Desiree, the French dressing-maid of the young lady.

Presently the heiress paused in her im patient walk and demanded : " What is the hour ?"

"The clock has struck ten, Mademoiselle," answered the maid.

"Itistimemy messenger had returnedfrom the Summit. Go downstairs and inquire if he has arrived." . .

" Yes, Mademoiselle."

When the girl had left the room Geraldine resumed her restless pace up and down the floor until she was interrupted by the maid's return.

" Well ?" she exclaimed, pausing in her walk.

" Goliath has not yet arrived, Made moiselle," respectfully answered the girl. "Who is down stairs, do you know?" "Yes, Mademoiselle, Monsieur le Cur<! is arrived." " The priest?" "Yes, Mademoiselle."

" Father Bubarry here already, and — my messenger not returned.! Oh ! What if he should not find Colonel Fitzgerald ? Or should find him obdurate to my ap peal !" muttered Gerald me to herself — "bub no, no; Gerald never was so, never could be so ! He will gladly receive my message, eagerly hasten to be reconciled with me !—Desir^e !"

" Mademoiselle !"

" Who Dubarry ?"

is downstairs besides Father

" Madame Matzemo is there. " Miss Maxima Rowley ?" " Yes ; Mademoiselle; also petite demoi selle Horacie." " Horatia ! Anyone else?" "Non, Mademoiselle." "The people from the rectory have nol

come ?"

■ "Non, Mademoiselle. Will not Made moiselle now make her toilet? It is past ten," suggested the maid. "No, there is time enough yet. The hour for the ceremony is fixed for one o'clock. If / must wait for the bridegroom, they shall wait for the bride," she muttered to herself, as she resumed her restless walk up and down the floor, but pacing now ■with slow and dragging steps. An hour passed slowly on. The clock hands pointed at half-past eleven. "Desiree!"" " Mademoiselle!"

"Go down once more and inquire if Goliath has returned from the Summit."

The girl curtsied and left the room. Geraldine, wearied with her restless walk, threw herself, exhausted, into an arm chair, to await the result. A few moments passed, and Desirie re-entered the room. " Has the nian returned ?" eagerly de jnanded Miss Fitzgerald. "Non, Mademoiselle."

Geraldine sank back in her chair, and covered her face with her hands, for she felt herself paiing and fainting under this heart-sickening suspense. In a few minutes, however, she rallied her energies, and forced hei-self to inquire : "Is there any new arrival whatever? Anyone else downstairs, except the priest and the two lady visitors?" "Non, dear Mademoiselle; but be tran quil. The expected guests may yet render themselves in good time," said the maid soothingly. '' There are no m.ore guests expected except the three from the rectory. The ceremony, as you must be aware, Desir^e, is out of respect to the memory of the late Mr Fitzgerald, for whom we are still in our first mourning, to be celebrated only in the presence of our nearest family con nections. There will really be not more than five or six witnesses of the marriage." "Yes, Mademoiselle." Another hour crept slowly away. The untiring hands of the clock pointed to half-past twelve. Geraldine started up wildly from her chair, exclaiming: " Desiree, go directly down stairs and see if that man nas returned. He ought to have got back hours ago. And here !If he lias returned, bring him up to me immedi ately. If he has not, leave word with the servants downstairs to send him up as soon as he arrives."

The French girl flew out of the room to carry her message. Geraldine started up from her seat and went to one window after another, looking out upon every approach to the house. Then she re-commenced her restless, im patient traversing of the room. " Oh, Heaven ! oh, Heaven !" she cried, suddenly and wildly throwing her hands to gether. '' If, after all, Gerald should refuse to receive my letter !—but no! no !he could not be so unforgiving ! He knows me too well. He knows that I love him in spite of all.- ~ He knows that it is from the very excess of my love for him that I can not [ endure, to see him interested in any other woman ; that it maddens me to see him absorbed in any other woman's conver sation even for an hour. Gerald knows this, and he'll forgive my wicked words, for the great love I bear him. And he knows that I never try his love in the manner that he tries mine. I never, never sit by the hour talking poetry, music or metaphysics with any other man—never. I never even care to look at any other man than Gerald. Why should he wish to talk by the hour with any other woman, when he sees that it drives me mad for him to do so, and all from my great love for him ? Oh, no, no, no ! Gerald will not be obdurate. He will forgive me—he will be glad to forgive ! Oh 1 I know that even now he must be hurrying to meet me. And yet, if it should not be so—oh ! I cannot bear the thought! If he should send back my letter unread ! But I would not live under such an affliction —not while any means remain untried for a reconcilia tion. If he should send back ray letter un read, I will order my carriage and drive to the Summit House and go straight into his presence. 1 He may resist my unread letter, by forbearing to read it, but—he cannot re sist me. And why should I not go to him, if he will not come to me? He is my betrothed husband since our childhood. He is my very own, and lam his I drove him away from me, in my jealous fury. It is for me to bring him jjack, at any price to my woman a pnoe.

Come, then, I shall not despair, even though he should send my letter back unread. I will go to him in person. My own !my own ! my own ! I must not, cannot, will not let you go !" she muttered, in impas sioned earnestness, as she once more threw herself into the arm-chair. The door opened, and Desiree re-entered the room. " The messenger ! Has he returned ?" Geraldine breathlessly demanded. "Ah, non, Mademoiselle. He is a wretch, this messenger," replied the French maid, with a sigh. Geraldine fell back, half fainting, in her chair.

There came a rap at the door. " That is he !' she eagerly exclaimed. Desire'o opened the door. Miss Sue Greenleaf entered the room

" Oh, Miss Sue !" impulsively exclaimed Goraldine, in a tone of disappointment and injury, "My dear ! not dressed yet! It is nearly one o'clock! Father Dubarry has been here since ten. Do hurry and get ready !" urged Miss Greenleaf. "Are you really waiting for me?" in quired Geraldine, but only by way of saying something to cover her confusion. " Why, we are not exactly waiting for you. The party from the rectory have not come yet, nor have the most important per sons of all —Colonel Fitzgerald and his groomsman — arrived; but you should be ready to come down, my dear, the moment they do. You are to leave by three o'clock, if you wish to catch the five o'clock coach at Wildeville. Come let me help you to dress."

"No, thanks, dear Miss Greenleaf. Pray go and entertain good Father Dubarry^ Desiree can dress me in ten minutes," answered Geraldine.

" Very well, my dear; just as you please. Pray do not be long," urged Miss Green leaf, as, with her face held up, and her stately form erect, she passed out of the room.

" Thank Heaven, she knows nothing, fuesses nothing of this last quarrel between itzgerald. and myself. I wonder if Miss Doy or anyone else suspects- it ? 1 hope not!" sighed Geraldine. " Mademoiselle, shall I now have the honour to dress you ?" inquired the French maid. «< No—but-—yes !" answered Geraldine ("I will be ready to go down, in case he should come, as of course he will come, in spite of appearances ; or, if by possibility he should not come, but should send my letter back, unread, the same dress will do for me to wear in driving over to the Sum mit Manor to see him; for lam resolved to see him, to be reconciled to him at any cost to my pride,") she mentally added. " Will Mademoiselle please to occupy her dressing-chair?" inquired Desiree, as she placed a low seat in front of the toilet table. Geraldine silently arose and took the place. "How will Mademoiselle please to have her beautiful black hair dressed this morn ing ?" inquired the maid. " In close bands and plaits, to accommo date my travelling hat, replied Geraldine, forcing herself by an effort to take an interest in these details.

The skilful fingers of the French maid soon arranged the magnificent black tresses of the beauty in those simple braida so becoming to her classic head and face. And next she clothed her in the simple but elegant silver-grey travelling dress, and she was about to add the delicately em broidered linen cuffs and collar to the suit, when they were interrupted by another rap at the door. " That is my messenger at last. Let him come in at once," cried Geraldine, as her face paled and flushed in rapid succession. Desiree went and opened the door. Hetty, Miss Greenleaf's waiting-maid, stood without.

"What is this you want?" tartly in quired Desiree. "Please, Miss Daisy Ray, Uncle Goliath have come back and wants to see Miss Fitzgerald, if she has done dressing and will let him come in," said the little wait ing-maid. "Did I not send down orders that he should come up to me immediately upon his arrival ? Bring him up here directly !'* exclaimed Geraldine. Then suddenly plac ing her hand over her heart, bhe gasped in a low voice :

" Stop-±Js(sop 5 Is he^did he return alone ?" ' .

"Oh! yes, Miss, sure ; and .he have fotch a big letter for you," replied the little girl. "A letter! Tell him to bring it up to me immediately !" exclaimed Geraldine. The little girl withdrew, and the French maid closed the door.

" Desirde ! Quick ! Mix a little lavender and ammonia with water, and bring it to me! Quick!" cried Geraldine, growing very pale, and sinking back in her chair ; for the intense strain upon her nervous system in this crisis of suspense was more than she could bear.

The nimble fingers of the French girl soon prepared the mixture, and broUgjht it to her mistress. Geraldine drank it in haste, and had but just returned the glass, empty, to the maid, when another knock at the door announced the arrival of the messenger. Desiree opened it, and Goliath walked into the room, bringing in his hand a large, white envelope. "It is not my letter, thank Heaven ! Mine was a rose-coloured one. No, he has not returned my letter unread ! Oh, bless ing on his great heart! Let me see what he has written to me !" she murmured to her self, as the received the letter from the hand of the messenger. " You may go now, Goliath. Desiree, my good girl, leave me for a few moments. I will ring when I.require you," she said to her attendant. The man and woman immediately with drew, leaving the young lady alone. "I do not Wish them to watch me while I read this dear letter. Ah ! what a thick packago it is ! What a long letter he must have written, blessings on his noble soul! He is too great to be unforgiving. What a long letter ! That is what kept my messen ger waiting so many hours. But I wonder why Fitzgerald did not come at once, in stead of writing ? Perhaps, after all, he has written this letter only to lecture me. Never mind ! He has not sent mine back unread. That is a good sign. And now, even if he has put himself upon his dignity, and keeps me to my word—my cruel word of banishment —/ will not be bound by that. I will go to him ! I, who banished him, will go to bring him back !" These thoughts passed swiftly through her mind, even during the few seconds it took her to break the seal of tho envelope and withdraw the letter, or rather the letters —for her own rose-coloured missive fell out upon her lap. She changed colour again and trembled, as she asked herself: " Why does he send back my letter after reading it ?" Breathlessly she unfolded his note to learn the reason. The second line of that stern missive told her.

"Icannot »omply with your request that I should come to you; nor, -were it In my power, do I think it were well or wine for me to do

so." Her eyes were blurred as she tried to read what followed, until she came to these fatal words :

" I have within this hour raised an impassable barrier between you and myself. I have united myself in marriage to Gertrude Haddon, to whom, Heaven helping- mo, I mean to make a faithful husband."

Geraldine read no further; but she passed her hand over and over her dazed eyes, as if to clear their vision, and then read and re read what seemed to her a sentence of death. • Meanwhile she gradually grew deadly, ghastly pale: every shade of living colour ebbed away from brow and cheeks and lips,

leaving her face like a mask of death. "Oh, cruel ! cruel ! cruel ! cruel ! she muttered low—" cruel as death antl^the grave !—and cruel to himself as to me ! Yet not all at once could she feel the full force of the blow that had desolated her lite. Not all at once could her ardent love turn to the cold and bitter and deadly hatred it wa3 destined to become. t "I knew—l knew," she continued— • 1 knew that if he suffered the devil to take possession of him, that devil would drive him to such extremities as I could never reach. He has married in haste and in wrath to be revenged upon me. But, oh ! when he shall come to his right senses, how he will turn upon himself !—how he will hate and scorn himself for what he has done !—how he will loathe and abhor the girl who took advantage of his transient madness to accept his reckless offer and be come his wife, binding himself in detested bonds for the whole of his life ! I would not for a kingdom be in Gertrude Haddon s place when Gerald Fitzgerald comes to his senses. For it is / whom he loves, in spite of all!—/from whom he has divided himself for ever by his marriage with an unloved bride! Gerald married to another! my Gerald the husband of another woman ! Oh, no, no, no, it cannot be—cannot be ! This surely is some nightmare dream. Let me wake myself!" she cried, starting up and pinching her own arms sharply. " Oh, Heaven, it is no dream ! Gerald is married —my Gerald married, and not to me ! He had no right—he had no right—he had no right to inflict this woe on me and on him self. Stop ! It is not so—it cannot be so. How could it, when he loves me ? I must have read his letter wrong. Let me look at it again !" she cried, wildly, incoherently, as she snatched up the letter, which had fallen from her hands Co the iioor, and, with fixed and staring eyes, tried to read and understand it. But her sight was blurred ; her mind was confused ; she could not see the letters; nor, if she could have seen them, could she have comprehended their purport. She felt her reason reeling on its throne. "I shall go mad or die!" she gasped; as she seized both letters, with their envelopes, and crushed them up in her hands—" I shall go mad or die ; but I must not leave these papers here, to be found and read and remembered and quoted to my shame," she muttered. And she took them to the empty fire place, lighted a match, set them on fire, threw them, down on the hearth, and watched them until they were burned to ashes. " There !" she said, with dark triumph. " I may die or go mad, but no human being shall ever know that, after I had driven Gerald Fitzgerald away, I humbled myself to him, only to be rejected and cast off! Yes, I may die, or I may go mad, but so surely as I shall live and retain my senses, so surely shall I live and labour for one fell purpose—to humble Gerald Fitzgerald to the dust, as he has humbled me—MS I" she cried, with a sudden flash of her black eyea, and a fierce stamp of her foot. She stood gazing on the carpet for a few moments, and then, with a grim nod, she muttered : "It is whispered—though these whisper ings were quickly repressed—that on the night when old Mr Fitzgerald so suddenly died Mag Magdala had told him some terrible secret, which struck him dead as by a thunderbolt. I will discover this secret at any cost. I will give it to the winds at any risk. I will pull Gerald Fitz gerald to disgrace and ruin, even though I should fall with him !" She suddenly threw her hands to her head, paled, flushed, reeled, recovered her self, and said : "But now—while I can—l must give some explanation to Miss Greenleaf." She staggered back to her chair and dropped into it, stretched her hand to the bell-rope and gave it a sudden pull. Desiree answered the summons by enter ing tho room. "My dear Mademoiselle, are you ill?" cried the girl in terror, as she beheld the ghastly pallor of her mistress's face. "Go—and tell—Miss Greenleaf—that I wish to see her—immediately," panted Geraldine, with fast failing breath. Desiree flew out of the room and down the stairs in search of Miss Sue Greenleaf, whom she found in the dining-room, put ting a few finishing touches to the arrange ment of the small wedding breakfast table.

Desiree, in an excited manner, began to say: " 0, Madame ! Mademoiselle Feezegerie is vera ill." But Miss Greenleaf cut her short by asking: " Did your young lady send for me ?" "Yes, madame. Certainment." " Let us go to her, then," said Miss Greenleaf, leaving the dining-room and hastening to the chamber occupied by Geraldine, She found Miss Fitzgerald seated in her chair, looking more like a corpse than a living woman. "Geraldine! Geraldine! My dear girl, what is the matter with you ?" anxiously in quired Miss Greenleaf, hastening up to the chair and taking the cold hand of the sufferer. " Miss Sue," began Geraldine, in a voice she fruitlessly endeavoured to render calm and collected, " I might just as well tell you the truth—and, indeed, it now seems necessary to do so." She paused, pressed her hand upon her chest, and struggled for breath. Mademoiselle Desiree took a cut glass vinaigrette from the dressing-table and placed it in her hands. Geraldine mechani cally inhaled it, then let the vial fall un heeded to her, and strove to continue. " I have quarrelled with Gerald," she panted. " Last night I took just offence at his excessive attentions to Horatia Rowley, and to his neglect of myself. And —I broke with him—bade him to leave me —for ever?—bade him never—dare—to come into my presence again—" Here her head sank upon her breast, and she paused so long that Miss Sue took her hand and said with gentle sympathy: " I am very sorry, Geraldine ; but do not take it to heart, my dear. All will come right. It is a little awkward to have had a misunderstanding with Gerald just at this time; but that is all. And fortunately there are no stranger guests in the house. This has happened before, and the quarrel has always been made up, as it will be again. Only let this be a warning to you, my dear, never more to indulge in such tempera which—" " Peace ! peace ! peace !" cried Geraldine, wildly snatching her hands from the lady's clasp—"Oh, peace! Ido not know what lam saying! He has taken me at my word ! He has gone away, never to return. There will be no wedding to-day. There never will be any wedding—any wedding. Oh ! I mean-there has been a wedding— that is to say ! Oh, what am I talking about ?" Here the unhappy girl put her hand to her head and gazed with a bewildered and piteous expression into the kind and sympathising face of Miss Sue. " Geraldine, my dear child, you are not well. Let me help you to bed," said Miss Sue, as she gently took the sufferer's hand to lift her up. But Geraldine threw off th# kind hand, exclaiming: "No, no, no !—not until I have burned the letters !—not until I have burned the letters ! I may lose my life or reason, but I will not lose my dignity ! No human being shall ever know—shall ever, ever— Oh! I tell you I must burn the letters !" she cried, starting up \vith crimson face and flaming eyes, and rushing across the room ; but before she had run half a dozen steps, she threw up her arms and fell heavily, face downward, to the floor. Miss Greenleaf and Deelree hastened to raise her up,

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

okrtrude's honeymoon

For myself alone I would not he ambitious in my wish, To wish myself much better; yet far you. And only to stand high in your account. I would in virtues, beauties, riches, friends, Exceed account, but the whole sum of me Is some of nothing; which to term, in short. Ik an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpractic a; Happy in this, she is not yot so old But,she may loam : happier than this, She is not bred so dull but she cun learn ;

Happiest of all is that her gentle spirit Commits itself to yours to be directed. As from her lord, her yroveruor, her kinff. SIIAKSPERE.

This carriage containing the newly-married pair rolled slowly down the steep mountain road leading from the Old Red Sandstone Church to the River Turnpike.

For the first few minutes the occupants sat in perfect silence. Gerald Fitzgerald was vainly trying to convince himself that he had acted well and wisely in breaking with the brilliant leopardess to whom he had been so long betrothed, but whose caresses were almost as fatal as her claws, and with whom he could never have hoped to live in peace or honour ; that he had done better and more wisely still by promptly raiding an im passable barrier between himself and Geraldine, in securing as his wife the lovely child-woman beside him.

But, ah ! in spite of all his reasoning, his wounded heart still ached on and on ; for he still passionately loved the beautiful fury who was the bane of his life; and, now, since the receipt of her letter and the send ing of his own, a strong re-action had set in, and he bitterly regretted the rash and reckless marriage into which he had rushed, not in love and not in prudence, but in wrath and in desperation !—the fatal mar riage to be forever repented, since it would forever separate him from her,who,for good or for evil, he must for ever worship ! But though now his soul was filled with despair, he preserved an outwardly calm and cheerful aspect, for he possessed great powers of self-control. He resolved that, from no act, word, or look of his, should the gentle girl beside him, who had _so unconditionally given her whole life to him, ever know, or even suspect, how much worse than vain he felt her sacrifice to be. He could not bring himself to talk to her just yet. but he smiled on her from time to time, with much tenderness. And Ger trude ?

At this moment she was happy. The simple maiden better understood her act than tho wise man understood either hers or his own.

She loved without self-love. She loved her husband with all her heart, soul, and spirit, purely and simply, without one thought of how much love, or good, or happiness, she was to get in exchange for the gift of her whole self. He had asked her to be his wife, and she had consented. Yes ; more! He had willed her to be his wife, and .she had obeyed him. She was his wife ; she'belonged to him now and for evermore ! She was sitting by his side ; that was enough ! Oh, yes, quite enough happiness for the present; and as for the future, she took no thought of it— the future was the Lord's alone.

Her face was always lovely in its serene meekness ; but now it seemed transfigured to a calm, divine beauty, that touched even the embittered spirit beside her. He smiled on her, not withlove, certainly, still less with passion, but with an infinite tenderness, as he took her little hand in his and greatly inquired :

"Gertrude, are you auite sure you are happy with me ?" " Yes, sir ; very sure, if only I may help to make you happy ; and, oh, indeed, / think it, is in me to so," she murmured, earnestly, as she pressed both hands to her true heart, and then blushed softly at her own vehemence.

''You do not fear to trust your future with me ?" he inquired, almost com passionately, as he looked down in her face. " You are sure you do not fear to trust yourself with me ?" " Oh, no, no, no, sir ! Indeed, I do not!" she answered, fervently, shaking her head and raising her eyes to his with a timid yet beaming smilo.

"Child, dear child, you look as though you had taken a spring into the light, in stead of ' a leap in the dark !'" he ex claimed, in wondering pity.

"Oh, sir, it is—it is for me a passing into the light !*' she murmured ; and then again blushed and cast down her eyes in a sudden shame at her own earnest truthful ness.

" Gertrude," he inquired, very gently, "will you promise me one thing?"

"Yes, sir. I will promise you anything," dhe answered promptly.

" Well, then, promise me (his : that from this time forward, . .whatever wish may arise in your mind, however extravagant it may seem to you, you will, without hesi tation, at once express it to me, so that I may gratify it. Will you do so, Ger trude ?"

" Oh, Colonel Fitzgerald !" " Will you do so, Gertrude ?" " Yes, sir, certainly, since you desire

me. "That is right. Listen now. If ever you wish to go to any part of the world, no matter how far off, you will tell me, so that I may take you there." " Oh, Colonel Fitzgerald 1" "You have promised, Gertrude you keep your promise ?" " Yes sir, I will."

Will

" And in the cities through which we are about to pass, if you should see anything you wish to possess, you must let me know immediately, that I may procure it for you." "Oh, sir—"

" I have your word, Gertrude. Will you keep your word ?" " Yes, sir, certainly I will."

' Very well. I shall endeavour to antici pate your wishes, my dear child, but never having had sisters, I am a novice in the ex perience of young women's tastes ; so you will have to teach me. When we leach Washington, my dear child, I shall take measures to make such settlements as shall render you independent in a financial point of view. That, indeed, will be but simple justice." "You are so very* very-good to me, Colonel Fitzgerald, that—l do'not know what to say; but, oh, I hope, I do hope that the Lord will enable me to merit some of all this goodness," said Gertrude earn estly. " Sweet girl, I know one thing, and that is, that all I can ever do for you will never be enough," answered Gerald Fitzgerald, with a deep sigh. ("JJo, all lean do f oi lier can never be enough, since I cannot love her as she deserves to be loved— since 1 cannot choose but love anocher— the woman I have cast off.") The carriage had now descended from the mountain road upon the smooth river turnpike, which ran along under the shadow of Wild Cat Cliffs on the right, and with the shore of the Wilde River on the left.

As they bowled along this pleasant road they came in sight of the magnificent old Summit Manor House, perched upon the top of the cliff, its dark red wall glowing in the gorgeoiis sunlight. Gerald Fitzgerald called Gertrude's attention to it.

" There is our future home, my little Lady of the Manor. What do you think of it?"

" It is a palace very grand and beautiful in itself, much grander and more beautiful in its position," answered Gertrude, gazing at it with admiring eyes.

" Well appreciated, my little lady," he said with a smile. ...

Meanwhile the carriage passed on, leaving the Manor "House far'behind.

"We shall soon come in sight of Had don's Ferry, my dear Gertrude, where, of course, we shall have to cross the river. We must stop at the houses for a few

moments, however, to water the horses. This will give you an opportunity to take leave of your old home and old servants, as you would like to do, I presume, my child," said Gerald Fitzgerald, kindly. "Oh, thanks. Yes, indeed, I should, Colonel Fitzgerald," she eagerly exclaimed. "Then we will certainly stop there— Mm Fitzgerald." She looked up suddenly in droll astonish ment and anxiety, as fearing lest in some way she had already displeased her new made husband. But she saw on his face an expression of comic solemnity, which she in her turn met with a smile.

"Mr dear little bride," he said, "can you not teach those meek, sweet lips of yours to call your husband by his given name ?' I call you Gertrude always when I name you. Can you not call me Gerald ? To all the world I may be Colonel Fitzgerald, but to my little wife I must^be Gerald. Do you understand, little one?" " Yes, sir." " No, not ' sir;' Gerald. Come, now, let me hear you say Gerald."

" Yes, sir—Gerald. J> "No, no, no, no! What a stupid little pupil you are, to btS sure ! Gerald; not ' Sir' Gerald. lam not a baronet, nor even a knight, therefore not' Sir' Anybody. I am simply a gentleman, and to you I am Gerald. Come, try again, my child." "Yes, Gerald," she murmured, softly, slowly, shyly, and then her meek face sud denly brightened with innocent delight, like that of a child who has succeeded in re peating a pleasant lesson. "Gerald. That is right. I never thought the old historic name half so musical before. I must press the sweet lips that uttered it," he murmured, as he gazed down on her lovely, beaming face, and stooped and gave his first voluntary kiss. Apparently it was not so distasteful a duty, after all, for he suddenly passed his arm around her waist, drew her to his bosom, and repeated the experiment many times. And Gertrudo was made happy in the belief that he truly loved her. In a few minutes they came in sight of the ferry, with its old-fashioned double Rtone house standing back against the cliff, its old, overgrown and intertangled garden, running down to the beach, its two boat houses each side of the little pier, and its fleet of boats ready for service. As they drew up to the gate they caught sight of Aunt Jess sitting on the sill of the door, with her well-worn hymn-book on her knees (probably upside down), singing a re vival hymn not to be found in that or in any other volume :

" I lef' my sins in de wilderness! In de wilderness! In de wilderness! I lef my sins in de wilderness! Glory hallelujah!"

Raising her eyes she caught sight of the carriage and its occupants, started to her feet, and dropped her hymn-book, ex claimed :

" Well, I clar' to man ! ef here don't come de bride and groom, Marse Colonel and Miss Geraldine, in de common Wilde villyun hack, widouten no outriders! Nebber heerd of such a ling in all de days ob my life. But ' dem as libs de most sees de longest,' as de ole sayin' says. Heap o' sense in dem dere ole sayin's. ' So muttering she stooped and picked up her hymn book and hurried around to the alley leading to the back yard, shouting : " John ! John ! John ! Here s de wed din'ers we been 'spectin' comin' to cross de ferry !" Meanwhile the carriage drew up to the garden gate, and the coachman got down and opened the door. Colonel Fitzgerald alighted and handed Gertrude out, drew herarm within his own, and led her through the rustic gate and up the garden walk to the ferry-houa£. The front door was ajar, and they entered without knocking, aud met Aunt Jess, who had at the same moment come in at the back door. ~.,.. . v

"Well, aunty, how do you do?" said Colonel Fitzgerald, taking her dark hand cordially. " I have brought your young mistiess to bid you good-bye before she leaves the neighbourhood. You must give her your best wishes. She will need them, poor child, for she is now my wife." During this salutation Jess stood aghast in pure amazement, her eyebrows going up and her chin going down. But when Colonel Fitzgerald ceased to speak, she found her voice, and exclaimed :

My-y-y—eyes !"

"Come, old nurse, will you not wish us joy ?" inquired Colonel Fitzgerald, smiling at her grotesque astonishment. " Well, 'wonders we'll never see !' as de old sayin' says. Heap p' sense in dem ole sayin's," cried Jess, still staling. " Come, Gertrude, love, let me take you into your own old parlour and find a seat. We must leave our old nurse here to recover her wits at her leisure," said Gerald Fitz gerald, as he turned to the door of the sitting room.

" Stop, honey; I's 'covered of my wits as fast as I can," exclaimed old Jess, hurrying past them and opening the door, with all the politeness consistent with her intense amazement.

Gerald Fitzgerald led his bride into the room, and placed her in an easy chair. " You know, chillun, I wasn't lookin' for dis. I was lookin' for what we'd been a 'spectin' dese many years—Marse Gerald and Miss Geraldine, bride and groom ; now when I see Marse Gerald and Miss Gertrude bride and groom, it sort o1 'stonished me, jes' like 'puttin' new bottles into ole wine,' as de ole sayin' says. Heaps o' sense in dese ole sayiu's, chillun, 'deed dere is. Hear me good, don't yer? And so, Marse Gerald, you done married our Miss Gertrude sure enough ?"

"Yes, aunty, I have married your Miss Gertrude," replied Colonel Fitzgerald, sink ing into a chair beside his young bride. "'Deed is yer now, for true?" repeated Jess, a little incredulously. " Shall I show you the marriage certifi cate ?" laughingly, inquired the Colonel. "G'longway from here, Marse Gerald! Fink I can't take yer word for it 'dout seem' de sitifickit? 'Side which, what I know 'bout fistifickit! 1 can't read it—dat is, I can't read nuflin but my hymn-book, and I couldn't read dat if I didn't know the hymns by heart! I shouldn't know a diffitickit ef I was to see one ! And so you ralely is married to Miss Gertrude ?"

"I really am," said Gerald Fitzgerald, laughing in spite of his aching heart. " And is you married to him, too honey ?" asked the puzzled old nurse. " Of course I am, Aunt Jess," said Ger trude.

" Well, Lord ! I don't ondersfrand ifc. I'm 'feared as I'm a-getting luny !" said Aunt Jess, scratching her red, yellow and plaid turban until it drooped over one eye. "Yes, I's 'feared I's getting luny, Marse Gerald and Miss Gertrude.

' Ho wed to she, She wed to he,'

as de ole song say. Heap o' sense in dem ole songs, too ; but somehow I can't believe it. Say, honies—Marse Gerald and Miss Gertrude—is you two married togedder for surtain ? I on'y jet' ax for inferation, not as I has any dejections to the match."

" Come,come,Jess,this is getting monoto nous," said the colonel, smiling through his impatience.

"Gettin" mono—what? Does yer mean money ? 'Cause ef yer do, I dunno whar it's to come from. There hasn't been fifty dollars took in the ferry for the last two weeks to my certain knowledge. But did you two tell me as you was actilly both married togedder 'till deaf do you part?" '' Jess, you are tiresome," said the colonel, rising. " Yes, Aunt Jess, we are married," said Gertrude, patiently. " But what's come o' Miss Geraldine ? Dats what I want to know?" inquired Jess.

"Miss Fitzgerald is at Greenwood, and in good health at the last hearing," said

Colonel Fitzgerald. " And now, auntie, we hope you will give that aged tongue of yours a long autumn holiday from as>king questions."

" And, Aunt Jess, set the table and arrange the best lunch you can get for us; for we have not broken our fast since early morning," suggested Gertrude, who, womanlike, on hospitable thoughts intent, was caring more for the wants of her hus band than for her own.

"That was a provident idea of yours, little housewife," said Colonel Fitzgerald, patting her on the shoulder. Aunt Jess bustled about, set out the table with a clean, white table-cloth and this best china service, and soon arranged upon it a rustic feast of light bread, fresh butter, cream, milk, peaches, pears and grapes. The newly - married couple partook slightly of these refreshments, and then arose from the table to return to the carriage, winch was waiting for them at the terry. It was then that Gertrude asked to be excused for a few moments and went upstair 3to her own bedroom, where she had left some of her wardrobe when she went to Greenwood, and from which she selected a few changes of clothing, which she packed into a travelling-bag to take with her to the carriage. She had changed her white Organdie dress, in which she had been so hastily married and brought away from church, for a grey merino, which she found hanging up in her closet. While Gertrude was so engaged, Old Jess was trying to " interview" her young master.

" Well, now de young madam's gone up stairs, 'haps yer will tell yer ole aunty all how and about it, an' why yer didn't marry Miss Geraldine," said the old woman, in a wheedling tone. " Now, if I answer that question, will you promise me never to ask any more ?" inquired Gerald Fitzgerald. " Yes, Marse Colonel, dat I will. And I is yer old nuss." " Well, then, Miss Fitzgerald cast me off and Gertrude accepted me ; that is all."

" Well, Marse Colonel, for your sake I's glad of it; for your own sake, you's done well. For dat Miss Geraldine — umph-oome, honey !—she's injuns, she is. But our Miss Gertrude —oh, honey, she's a hebbenly angel, and she always was, from her baby hood up. Be good to her, honey, and ef so be yer ebber repents ob what yer has done to-day, don't take it out on her, honey, don't take it out on her, dats all I got to say—don't take it out on her." " Why, Jess, how dare you ! What do you mean ?" impatiently exclaimed Gerald Fitzgerald. " And what the demon do you take me for ?"

"For man, honey, dats all; jes' for man. Man allers lay his sins and sorrows on wimmin, and takes his spite out on dem, allere; from dat ole cowardly sneak, Adam, as laid all his pickin's and stealin's on Eve, down to dis day. Dough as for myse'f, I don't believe as Eve ever had anyfing at all to do wid stealing dat apple. 'Taint no ways likely. I believe it was all Adam's own doings from fust to last, and den, when he got found out, he went and laid it all on Eve. But dats neider here nor dere. What I mean to say is, Marse Colonel, if yer go and 'pents ob what yer's done in haste dis day, don't go for to lay de blame all on her, nor likewise take yer spite out on her. Dere ! I's done my duty and said my say. ef yer kills me for it de nex' minute !" said Aunt Jess sturdily.

"Jess! how dare you speak in that manner to me ? Yet why should I be angry with you, faithful creature ? You do your duty bravely by the orphan child I have ventured to make my wife. Be atease, good, honest nurse. Gertrude's happiness shall be the first object of my life. Be sure of that, good nurse," said Gerald Fitzgerald, with much emotion.

.... " Dats .you, Marse-XJerald ! -.Dats you, yourself ft Now keep to dat, 4roney, in temptation's hour. Make her happy,honey. Put her in your bosom, and wear her there, for she is a pure jewel-chile. And here she comes now. Don't let her see us talkm'," said old Jessie, as she moved away from her master's side, and affected to be busy with clearing away the lunch.

Gertrude entered in her travelling-dress, with her heavy leather bag in her hand. Gerald hastened to relieve her of it, say ing :

" Was there no one to bring this down but you ?"

" Oh, John Brooks or Aunt Jessie would either of them have done so, if I had called them. But the bag was very light, and I have carried much heavier weights," said Gertrude, smiling. " Bid your old nurse good-bye, my love. We must be going even now," said Colonel Fitzgerald.

"Aunt Jessie, goodie. I shall see you again when I come back this way," said Gertrude, warmly pressing the hand of her old nurse.

"Good-bye, my dear young mistress. May de Lord bless and prosper you, my good child !" cried the old woman, warmly kissing the hands with which Gertrude had caressed her.

" Good-bye, Aunt Jess. Take care of yourself and the ferry," said Colonel Fitz gerald, as he tucked the arm of Gertrude under his own and led her out.

Old Jess, however, followed behind,

They all reached the pier where the flat boat waited to take the carriage over. Again Gertrude bade adieu to her old servant, and entered the carriage, which was immediately driven upon the boat. Colonel Fitzgerald followed, but stood without nepv the side of the carriage, and took an oar to help the ferry-man, John Brooks, to pull the great boat across the river.

This so expedited their speed that the passage was made in a few minutes.

The carriage was driven off the boat on to the Eagle's Roost Pier. John Brooks came to the door, hat in hand, and took a respectful leave of- his young mistresa. Colonel Fitzgerald then entered the vehicle, and placed himself beside Gertrude, and gave the order to drive on. The first mile of the journey, along a rocky and rugged road at the foot of Eagle Roost Ridge, along the east shore of the Wilde, was so rough and difficult as to prevent all comfortable conversations.

After that the road grew better as the carriage neared Wildeville. Thoy were but i two miles from the village when their at tention was arrested by a noise far behind them—the sound of swiftly-galloping horses' feet, accompanied by loud shouts. " Stop ! Stop ! Stop ! Stop !" " The man is shouting for us! What can he want?" said Colonel Fitzgerald, as he pulled the check-string and st jpped the carriage. "It is Boykins, from the rectory," said Gertrude, as she gazed through the back window of the carriage on the rapidly advancing rider, *• What can be the matter?" (To be continued.)

THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1887.

6



A Rattlesnake's Bite. — The quick venom of the rattlesnake has not killed so many peopie as the more insidious but deadly poisons found in the air of foul rooms. The aeration of the body by the lungs becomes impossible some times, and the failing health, growing weakness, and loss of appetite are harbingers of approach ing death. For sttoh cases Hop Bitters are the potent and all-powerful remedy to drive au fevers out of the system, purifying the blood and giving a new and happy lease of life. Get genuine.



Children starving to death on account of then Inability to digest food, will find a most marvellous food and remedy in Scott's Emulsion ok Puke Cod Livttt Oil with Hvk>phosphitks. Very palatable and easily digested. Read the following testimonial : " 1 ha ye prescribed * SCO'ITS EM U LSION' in cases of children suffering from wasting and mal-hutrition, andean report most favorably of its good effect; it has been in each case taken most readily. . _ _ _ W. Psßkws. M.R.C.S., Medical Supt., Burleigh Hospital. Enjj. M*WWUl*B»Ubg«le«a?aUCh«BwaSi, «t 6d and a» 64j,



Notices/^ B OTTLED THE NEW ZEALAND BOTttTv* COMI'ANY Having purchased the above fa* -d REGISTERED THK SAME, BoUft t ho A^ M* pnvatc trade that thcyTeSepft^ SUPPLY THIS WELL . KNOWNB FROM THEIR CELLARS, MARKET PLACE QUEEN STREET (NEAR ANCHOS H OTEI)i The largest and best stock in AnX\ , choose from, no^i^to Deliveries as usual twice daily by ourcttk N.8.-We bottle nothing but DunedinX* r* for ginniri *h ■■mi "li i nrti >[[rf| ,hmi,,J|.. W YOU~CAN'T AFFORD homes of New Zealand must fail to secure rt«i! full effect unless they succeed in induciS housekeeper to use * YW' BUHNS'S Al SOAP. It is a simple but useful article. Those who fail to use it are still more simple, and fiot halt v useful. \ ii " X. [i —-> iin mihiT ": i "N,. You may have heard of it a tHfJtJ&AND TIMES without using it ONCK If you will reverse the position and USE IT ONCE: You will praise it to others a THOUSAND TIMES.—I have spent hundreds of pirand! in convincing the women of New Zealand that their labour can bo greatly lightened byusiiw BURNS'S Al SOAP (the World Rmtowito Cleanser!), butl have fallen short of my am bition if I have failed to CONVINCE YOU. '\ Tl WHOLESALE AGENT- A. BUCHANAN. CUSTOMS STEEELEAST, • - ' -■ '"~* pUHS GUNS (JUNS Rifles Rifik REVOLVERS REVOLVER 3 GUNPOWDER! Shot, Caps, Cartridges, Wadding, Wire oartbldges, Loading apparatus, AMMUNITION Op Evert Description, Fishing Tackle, Cntlery, Fireworks, fid B. EVITT'S, 254, QuKEN-STREEt guaranteed, D. EVITT, GtJNMAKER, . rinKEN-STREET, AUCKIiA» v PRICE IJSTSSMTTOAOTADDR^ m v-'-a aco o*• x* optician, Mathematical and Nautical InstbUment Maker, - SHORTLAN^D_- S T R B Always Is Stock- Spectacles and Jfretftaes bt W ** w Rarometers, Thermometers, »j Just Receivkd- Settlers' Telescopes-^erful. v&» OPPOSITE THEPOST^C^ 0; ■^ DYERS. BSJABLISHBD^ STI XX DYING TO Lj^^ "^ Curtains or Table Covers wy tf