supernatural influence had been thrown around her, and his flesh actually crept with awe as he asked himself, "Whether, perchance, one stronger than he, might not be contending with him for her soul ?" The suspense of the next few minutes seemed like an age to his excited fancy; but at last Aline lifted up her brow, still white and radiant with the light of heaven, and slowly and distinctly answered: "No, Henri! I will not—I cannot, wait. It would be treason alike to God and you, Henri. When the last guest leaves this house (it will be sunrise by that time) I also will depart for the house of my Father in heaven. I will not even stop to change my dress, but I will go just as I am to my convent home, and once the gates are closed behind me, believe me they will never be opened for me again until they are opened for my funeral." "This, then, is your answer, Aline ?" Henri asked, in a tone which showed that all hope had departed from him. "Not mine, but God's," she answered, sadly, for her heart was sore over the sorrow she was inflicting. "Not mine, Henri, but God's." She hesitated a moment, and then taking his hand placed a small gold cross, similar to the one sparkling upon her bosom, in it. "The cross has a language of its own for those who love it," she added, in a low voice. It will tell you, if you ask it, all that I would say and cannot." "Thank you," said Henry, bitterly, yet putting her gift at the same time into his bosom. "I asked for happiness and you give the cross. It is not like you, Aline." "The cross is happiness, Henri, if you would only think so,” said Aline, gently placing her hand in his in token of adieu. He held it one moment in his own, but he did not lift it to his lips he did not even press it. She was God's henceforth, not his― and to be thought of only as a saint in heaven; so, with a smothered "Adieu, Aline! adieu!" upon his lips, he gently let it fall, and turned on his heel to go. Aline took the signal and retreated to her expectant flock, while he passed through the ball-room as carelessly as if there was not another living creature in it, and then out into the dark, sultry night beyond, to recommence his journey. Grief and admiration still contending in his soul, he flung himself into his saddle and galloped off as quickly as if he hoped to forget his misery in the rapid movements of his horse. But he had scarcely reached the heights commanding the city ere the storm which had been brooding in the air throughout the evening, burst upon him in all its fury. Torrents of rain beat against his face; flashes of lightning well nigh blinded him; thunder rolled among the hills, backwards and forwards without intermission, until the earth trembled beneath its echoes; while through rain and wind and deafening thunder, came every now and then the muttering of the distant pond, filling the air with a weird-like wailing of strange sounds, and giving a final and indescribable touch of horror to the scene. In his present excited mood Henri rather enjoyed than otherwise this wild warring of the elements, and no presentiment of coming woe mingled with the passionate feelings which made him urge his horse recklessly forward into the very teeth of the raging storm. A flash of lightning, vivid and blue as steel, which almost blinded him, brought him at last to his senses, and forced him to draw bridle. With a slackened pace came calmer thoughts, and sadly and slowly he went over in his memory the events of the previous evening. Dripping with rain as he was, it was no great wonder that he should look back somewhat regretfully to the warm, well-lighted room he had left behind, and from thence his thoughts went onwards to visions of gaily-attired guests, of dances and of merry music, until at last he found himself standing in spirit once more in the quiet conservatory, face to face with his lost Aline. "Was she there still ?" he asked himself, "and what was she doing? Was she still telling tales to her rose-lipped darlings? or had she, in some scrupulous compliance with her parents' wishes, joined the circle of the dancers ?" It was impossible, he knew, yet he ground his teeth at the bare idea, and a sense of maddening jealousy swept over his soul, as something within him seemed to ask-"Why he alone was absent ?" Why, indeed? Even as the thought passed through his mind, the earth shook as if an earthquake had cleft it into two, and a roar as of a thousand thunders went up to the clouded heavens. Henri heard and wondered, and yet never guessed. The great pond had burst its bounds, and rushed, rapid and wild as an angry ocean, down upon the devoted city! Half an hour and the floods had risen to the second story of its stately mansions—and yet one half hour more, 'the streets were deep rivers of running water, and the gay dancers-the fair young girl-the group of little ones seated at her feet-all were buried beneath its waves! Henri heard nothing of the catastrophe until the next afternoon, when he instantly took horse for Châteaulandrin. The sun was high in the heavens as he reached the spot whence he knew the doomed city would first strike his vision, and after one wild glance forward, a cry of unutterable horror escaped his lips. And well it might. Chateaulandrin had vanished! The great city was no more; and in its place a mighty sheet of water rolled through the valley, bearing on its surface the remains of houses and furniture and uprooted trees, with the bodies of men and women and children, and domestic animals-all mingled together in inextricable confusion. Three long, long days he had to wait before the floods subsided sufficiently to admit of entrance into the city, and then at last he found himself standing at the gates of Aline's abode. Iron rails and oaken door, all had gone down before the flood, so there was nothing to prevent his entrance as he passed silently within. He hardly knew, he hardly felt-his head was confused, his heart seemed turned to stone, and he stumbled as carelessly over the victims of the inundation as if their tragic end was a mere matter of course to him. Servants lay dead at their posts in the vestibules; gossips and gamblers in the saloons had talked and gambled until death silenced them for ever; dancers lay in all sorts of contorted attitudes just where the floods had left them; and it was only after some blind stumbling among their corpses that Henri found himself standing at last on the exact spot from whence, only a few hours before he had watched Aline sitting erect, and shining like a lily, under the boughs of the dark magnolia. And there he found her still-like one not dead but sleepingsleeping in the self-same attitude in which he had then beheld her. Death had borne her away with such a reverent hand that nothing seemed changed or disturbed about her. Her soft hair was still braided smoothly on her brow; her white robes still fell in unruffled folds, modestly and maidenly, down to her very feet. One hand was laid on her golden cross, the other on the curly head of the urchin who had died gently sleeping on her knee, while the rest of the children lay closely nestled round her, as if their first impression in the terrible surprise of death had been to seek protection at her feet. Henri gazed for one moment steadily upon her, and then he cast a shuddering and reluctant glance on the masses of distorted humanity scattered everywhere through the ball-room. Aline's last words seemed to ring once more on his ears,-a strange, strong sense of gladness took possession of his soul, and he fell on his knees, exclaiming: "My God, I thank thee! Whatever may be the fate of these, surely for her there was no purgation. Free from every trammel of the earth-living for Thee and Thee alone-surely she went straight to Thee-surely death only bore her hence, to lay her for ever in the bosom of her God." JUDITH. A STUDY. BY THE REV. JOSEPH FARRELL. AH me, but Juda's harps are very sweten And passing sweet the songs that link my name A portion of the history of my race. 'Tis a proud thing to win a people's thanks, Proud to have wrought such deed as I have wrought, Proud, to have snatched a name-a woman's name- No history save the whispers of one home, As men shall talk of while the world shall last. Proud thoughts are these, but ah, not happy thoughts- Alone? Ah no, for Thou my God art here I looked with loathing on my country's foe, Whose evil thoughts had pass'd to drunken dreams. Where Thou sat'st waiting on Thy Judgment-seat. That my hand slew him I have no regret; And, when her name goes forth from her own doors, My doom began the day Manasses died. When one came running whose affrighted face Then with my widowhood began my doom. No more for me the simple joys that fill But the time came when over all the land Then my strange purpose rose within my breast, With every deed done by a mortal hand, Of outward act, are prone to leave the soil That my hand slew him I have no regret, They will not see the stains that lurk in folds Men prize success, and to desirèd ends Of which they reap the profit. So, they praise, Or unto death itself, strike a new life He was my country's foe-I lied to him But with fair words that paltered with the sense- Our very best God needs not for His ends, And for the part that human weakness mixed |