The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1879-04-12 00:00:00

SATURDAY, APRIL 12, 1879.

A STRANGE MISTAKE.

BY W. C. M,
MY FATHER was an East India merchant, and, at
one time, a wealthy man; but the unexpected failure
.of a firm in Bombay, whose acceptances he held to a
large amount, compelled him to stop payment. My
:mother, who was devotedly attached to him, having
wrung from her trustees a reluctant consent, gave up
tto his creditors the greater part of her jointure, and
'every one was paid in full. My father had thus the
satisfaction of knowing that no man could say he had
'been the loser by him. Still, the shock of seeing his
came in the Gazette was one from which he never re-
'covered. He did not long survive his reverse of for-
tune, dying, leas than a year afterwards, as my mother
always declared, of a broken heart!
There remained to my mother, out of her jointure, a
sum sufficient to afford her an income of about two
hundred -pounds a year on which to support and educate
bar famcly, which consisted of myself and one sister. I
was /Ply ten years old when I lost my father, but even
at that early age I had developed a decided taste for
mechanical drawing. Indeed, my greatest pleasure, if
:allowed a pencil and a piece of paper, was to spend my
slime in copying the various drawings of machinery to
'be found in a Cyclopcedia, some volumes of which
occupied a place on the bookshelves in our little
back parlour. The decided predilection I dis-
played for this pursuit induced our doctor—an old
friend of the family—to advise my mother to article
me, when old enough, to a firm of civil engineers, in-
stead of placing me in a merchant's office, as she had
originally intended. My mother decided to embrace
the doctor's suggestion, and by practising the most
rigid economy, the had, by the time I had reached my
seventeeth ysar, saved the money requisite for the
premium geinerally demanded by firms in a large way
a business. She was, indeed, so fortunate as to be
able to, place me in an establishment the head of
which 'had been an acquaintance of my father, and
who, consequently, took me on somewhat more favour-
able., terms than usual.
lify occupation being a thoroughly congenial one, I
Made rapid progress in my profession; so that, when
nay articles expired, my services had become so valu-
able to my employers that they offered me a liberal
'salary to take the entire charge of one department of
the business. I remained with the firm some years—
until, indeed, the breaking-out of what was known as
the "Railway mania," which afforded me too favour-
able an opportunity of starting in business on my own
account to be neglected. At that period, so great was
the demand for civil engineers to plan and superintend
the construction of the numerous railways that were
being projected in all parts of the kingdom, that I
readily obtained most remunerative engagements. By
the time I had reached my thirty-third year, my
slayings, augmented by the profits derived from judi-
-cious investments in the shares of some of the lines
with which I had been connected, amounted to several
thousand pounds.
So soon as I found myself possessed of a moderate
Independence, I settled upon my dear mother—to
whose sacrifice on my behalf I was so largely indebted
gor my success in life—a sum sufficient to afford her a
'considerable increase of income. This done, I had no
'further claims upon me; my sister having been, for
some years, married to a man of property. Hitherto
I had been so absorbed in my profession that I had had
no leisure for travel beyond the boundaries of the
United Kingdom; and I now resolved to give myself
a somewhat lengthened holiday, for the purpose of
visiting the Continent. Whilst, however, revolving
this project in my mind, a most advantageous offer
was made me to superintend the construction of a
branch line on one of the railways in the West of
England ; and I accepted it.
One day I was examining the progress that had been
made by the contractor in carrying the line through a
rather deep "cutting," as it is technically termed,
when I heard a voice which, from the intonation, I
jrrdged to be that of a servant, saying—
" You must not climb up there, Miss Lucy; your
'mamma will be very angry if you do. You might fall
over and be killed."
I looked up and saw a little girl, about six years of
age, attempting to get over a low wall that formed the
boundary of a field on one side of the line. The child
Was obstinate.
"I want to see what the men are doing, and I Will
'we what they are doing," was her reply, as she made
desperate efforts to free herself from the grasp of the
nursemaid, who, encumbered with an infant on one
arm, found it no easy task to attempt to control the
movements of the young termagant with the other.
Suddenly the child in her struggles overbalanced her-
self and was precipitated from the wall. I had, for-
tunately—fearing some accident might occur—carefully
watched her movements, and, as she fell, I rushed
forward and caught her in my arms; so that the only
Injury she sustained, in addition to the fright, was a
rather severe shaking. She cried lustily, however,
demanding to be "taken back to Sarah," at once.
The ascent was too steep to allow of my carrying
the child up it, so I asked the nursemaid—who had
turned very pale and appeared quite unnerved by the
narrow escape of her little charge—the nearest way to
the house. She replied that if I went down the line a
short distance I should see the lane leading up to her
master's place. I followed the directions given me,
and soon came to an old fashioned country mansion
standing back some little distance from the road.
The garden gate was opened by a servant, to whose
care I was about to confide the little girl, when a
gentleman, somewhat past the middle age, came
quickly down the pathway and taking her in his arms
Inquired anxiously if she were hurt. On receiving an
answer in the negative, he turned to me and thanked
me warmly for the service I had rendered him—he
having, he said, learnt from the maid, who had reached
the house before me, the peril to which the child had
been exposed.
I made light of my share in the affair, and, after a
few minutes' further conversation, was going to take
my leave, when the old gentleman said,—
"Excuse me; you bear a strong resemblance to a
gentleman I once knew. May I inquire your
flame?"
"Vane," I replied,
"Any relation to the late Henry C. Vane, bar-
rister, of the Inner Temple?"
"He was my uncle."
My companion's face quite lighted up as he said,—
. " I am very glad to hear it. Your uncle, my dear
sir, was one of my most intimate friends. We were
at college together; afterwards occupied the same
chambers when studying law; and we were called to
the bar in the same year. You were, I presume, very
Young at the time of your uncle's death, but you may,
Possibly, have heard him speak of me; my name is
Sandford."
"Yes," I rejoined, " I have some recollection of
his doing so. Was it not you who saved his life when
he was very near drowning, through being seized
with the cramp while bathing in the Cam ? "
"Yes," said Mr. Sandford; "and now how
curiously things come about—it is to the nephew of
my early friend that I am indebted for saving my
niece from the consequences of an accident that might
have proved fatal to her, But I fear," he continued,
as I involuntarily glanced at a sun-dial which stood
near me on the lawn, "that I am detaining you from
Your professional duties. Before I release you, how-
ever, you must promise to dine with me this evening,
If your engagements will admit of your doing so."
As I knew of no business to claim my attention
later than the afternoon, I accepted the invitation.
"At seven, then, I shall expect you," said the old
gentleman; and, cordially shaking hands, we parted.
When I entered Mr. Sandford's; drawing-room that
evening the only person in it, besides my host, was a
lady, who, on being introduced to her, I found was
his sister and the mother of the two children I had
Neu In the oarly part of the day. Mr. Sandford, it
Incidentally transpired, was a widower with two
grown-up daughters, and his sister, Mrs. Sedley, who
Was herself a widow, was then on a visit to him.
Mrs. Sedley, with much feeling, referred to the
ncident of the morning; but soon perceiving that any
further allusion to it would only be a source of embar-
rassment to me, she changed the subject. We were
still engaged in conversation when the daughters of my
host entered the apartment. I thought as I looked at
them that I had seldom seen two lovelier faces,
although their styles of beauty were totally different.
The eldest, whom I judged to be about three-and-
twenty, was a brunette, with dark eyes and hair and
features that were almost classical in the regularity of
their outline. Her sister, who was some four or five
years younger, was an equally decided blonde, with
light blue eyes and a profusion of sunny curls that fell
down over her shoulders. The young ladies appeared
to differ as much in temperament as in person, for
While the elder of the two was quiet and reserve&tin
manner, the younger seemed to be full of fun and
mischief, the exuberance of her spirits being kept in
check only by the presence of her aunt, for with her
father I soon discovered she did pretty much as she
Pleased. So great, indeed, was the dissimilarity
between the sisters that no one, ignorant of the rela-
tionship, would ever have suspected it. Subsequently
I learnt that they were, in fact, half sisters only, the
Younger Miss Sandford being the issue of a second
marriage.
Naturally myself a silent, reserved man, the gaiety
and lively spirits of my host's youngest daughter had,
by force of contrast, , a peculiar charm for me. I
thought, indeed, that I had never seen in the whole
course of my life a more lovely, or loveable, woman.
Yet, much as I admired her, or perhaps I should
rather say, owing to the very fact of the impression
she had made upon me, I found it easier to address
my conversation to her sister than to herself.
I spent a very pleasant evening; and Mr. Sandford
having learnt that my business would keep me in that

part oi the country for some weeks to come, gave me
a most cordial invitation to visit him as frequently as
my professional duties would admit of my doing so.
I did not fail to avail myself of his kindness, and was
a tolerably frequent visitor at The Cedars, until, at
the expiration of a couple of months, my engagements
called me back to. London.
By this time I was very deeply in love; and,
although I had not been able to summon up courage
to declare myself, I could not but fancy, from various
little circumstances, that the object of my attach-
ment was not altogether ignorant of it. I had, it is
true, scarcely been afforded an opportunity of pressing
my suit, even if I had the resolution to do so; for,
curiously enough, it had so happened that while Mr.
Sandford's eldest daughter and myself had frequently
been thrown together, I had never once found myself
alone with her sister.

I have all my life laboured under the disadvantage
that directly my feelings are very deeply interested I
lack the faculty of readily giving expression to them.
I determined, therefore, to make known my senti-
ments to the woman I loved, through the medium of a
letter, On my return to town I addressed a corn-
munication to Mr. Sandford, stating the impression
his daughter had made upon me, giving him a concise
statement of my position and prospects, and soliciting
his permission to pay my addresses to her. I con-
cluded by begging him, if he acceded to my request,
to place in Miss Caroline Sandford's hands the letter
which / enclosed.

I awaited, with the most intense anxiety, the result
of my proposal; and, notwithstanding only a few days
elapsed before I received a reply to my epistle, my
state of suspense had become almost intolerable by the
time I did so. The answer was, however, all that
could be desired : Mr. Sandford gave his cordial
approval to my suit, and I had also, by the same post,
a letter from Caroline, worded with exquisite delicacy,
accepting my offer.
Without a moment's delay I packed my portmanteau
and made arrangements to go down to C- by the
evening train. An unlucky accident, however, pre-
vented my journey. In the course of the afternoon,
as I was crossing a street which was under repair, my
foot slipped on a round loose cobble stone, and I 'fell,
dislocating my ancle. The result was that I was
obliged to defer my visit to C- for several weeks.
Daring this period I corresponded constantly with my
betrothed, and was each day more and more struck by
the evidence her letters afforded of the refinement
and cultivation of her mind.

At last, after having been confined to my room for
nearly two months, I had so far recovered from the
effects of my accident as to be able to go down to
C—. When I arrived at Mr. Sandford's house I
was shown into the library, where I thought myself
fortunate in finding my fiancée alone. She rose on my
entrance, and without manifesting any of the embar-
rassment which might be supposed incidental to such
a meeting, came forward and offered me her hand,
saying with a smile, as she did so—
"I am, you see, the first to welcome yen, my dear
brother."

I was completely stupified by her words. Alarmed
and disconcerted, I mechanically took her proffered
hand. Instinctively I felt that some terrible mis-
fortunO was impending over me, and I grew pale with
apprehension. Before I could stammer out a reply
or nerve myself to demand an explanation of her
strange language, Mr. Sandford entered the apart-
ment; and his daughter, saying she would inform her
sister that I had arrived, quitted the library.
Much agitated, I said abruptly to my host, almost
before he could open his lips to greet me.
"Your daughter has just addressed me as her
brother. What does this mean?"
Mr. Sandford looked at me with undisguised
astonishment.

" Mean ! " he replied, "Why that you are the ac-
cepted suitor of her sister."
I was bewildered by his words. "But it was to
Miss Caroline Sandford that my offer of marriage was
addressed," I said.

"Quite true! That is ray eldest daughter's name,"
was the response.
"There has been some unhappy mistake in this
matter," I said. "It is your youngest daughter hove.
I always understood that her name was Caroline."
"And do you mean to tell me," rejoined Mr. Sand-
ford severely, "that you have actually made a pro-
posal of marriage to a lady—not knowing with cer-
tainty her Christian name ? "
"But you, her aunt and sister, invariably called
your youngest daughter 'Car."
"Yes, that is the diminutive of Carmen."
" Carmen ?"
"Yes, Carmen. It is Spanish ; she is named after
her godmother, a native of Seville."
"Besides," I continued with some warmth, for there
appeared to be, I thought, a disposition on the old
gentleman's part to cast the whole burthen of the
mistake on me, "Row was I possibly to know that
your eldest daughter's name was Caroline? By your
servants and guests she was, of course, always addressed
as Miss Sandford ; and I never heard her spoken to, or
of, by any member of her family otherwise than as
"Bee." Naturally, therefore, I supposed her name
was Beatrice."

The justice of my retort evidently struck Mr. Sand-
ford, for he replied calmly and without any of the
asperity of tone that had characterised his previous
remarks,

•
" ' Bee 'is merely her pet name, the allusion being to
the bee of the fable. After her stepmother's death,
the duty of presiding over my household devolved
upon Caroline, and she devoted herself to it with such
earnestness, that, on one occasion, her sister laugh-
ingly called her the "Busy Bee." The epithet seemed
so appropriate that it was applied to her by others,
until, finally, in the family circle she came to be
addressed by no other name. lam willing to admit,"
continued Mr. Sandford, "that there is some excuse
for the misapprehension under which you laboured;
but look at it as we may, this is a most unhappy busi-
ness. What do you propose to do ? "
"I scarcely know," I replied, "my mind is in so
perturbed a condition that I find it difficult to come
to any immediate decision in the matter."
"But some conclusion must be come to, and at once;
it is a question that admits of no delay. Caroline knows
that you are here. In a few minutes you will see her,
and you must either be prepared to meet her as her
future husband, or she must learn the cruel truth."

"I am quite aware," I rejoined, "that, having
asked your eldest daughter to become my wife. I am
bound in honour to marry her should she desire it.
Let then the decision rest with her. Whatever it may
be, I am willing loyally to abide by it."
"Can you doubt what that decision will be?" said
Mr. Sandford, bitterly. "What girl with a particle
of self-respect would accept a man who plainly tells
her that he marries her simply from a sense of duty,
while another woman—and that woman her own sister
—is the real object of his affections. No! If you are
prepared alone to pay the penalty of your mistake, the
course you propose is impracticable'
"What, then, do you advise?" I said. "Believe
me, I desire to act like an honourable man, and to
follow the path duty prescribes, whatever may.be the
consequences to myself. lam in your hands; do with
me as you think beat."
"Yours has been the error," replied Mr. Sandford,
gravely, "and you must admit that it is but just that
you, alone, should bear the burthen of it. My eldest
daughter loves you; you have entirely won her heart.
For weeks past she has had, as she believes, the right
to regard you as her future husband. As to her sister,
she has not the faintest suspicion of the nature of your
feelings towards her, and you have awakened no eorre-
eponding sentiment in her bosom; for you she enter-
tains simply a calm sisterly regard as her future
brother-in-law. What I propose, then, is this,: that
the secret of this most unhappy mistake should rest
for ever between us two, and that you should marry
the woman who loves you, and to whom you have
plighted your faith."
"But," I objected, "should I not be doing her a
greater wrong by offering her a divided heart than by
causing her the temporary pain a frank confession of
my error would inflict?"

"But why should you offer her a divided heart?"
paid Mr. Sandford, warmly, with that curious igno-
rance, or, perhaps, more correctly speaking, forgetful-
ness of the feelings of youth where the affections are
concerned, so frequently met with in those who have
passed the middle period of life. "She is lovely,
amiable, acomplished. Once her husband, you will
soon forget the transient preference you have felt for
her sister."

What answer could I make? True, Caroline was all
that her father said, and my reason admitted that
any man on whom she bestowed her affections might
esteem himself most fortunate in being the object of
them. But love is not to be given at the dictates of
reason. As Mr. Sandford spoke, Byron's lines passed
through my mind, and almost rose to my lips in pro-
test against his assertion—
" Why did she love him 7 Curious fool be still,
Is human love the growth of human will."
My affections were, unhappily for me, no longer at my
own disposal. The image of Carmen fully occupied
my heart and left no room for that of any 'other
woman. But I had promised to adopt whatever course
Mr. Sandford should prescribe, and without further
hesitation I consented to act as he desired.
Scarcely had I ceased speaking, when the door of
the library opened and Mrs. Sedley entered the apart-
ment. After greeting me kindly, she said to her
brother "You must not keep Mr. Vane here all day.
Recollect," she continued smiling, "we were young
once ourselves." Then turning to me she said, "You
-will find 'Bee' In the draWing•room.
I hesitated, stammered out some inarticulaie' reply,
and hastily quitted the library, leaving Iles. Sedley
doubtless under the impression that my confused

' manner and abrupt withdrawal were the result of my
impatience to greet my promised bride. As I ascended
the staircase my heart beat audibly, and I felt that I
was deadly pale. Indeed no man could have looked
at that moment less like an ardent, expectant lover
than I did.
Caroline, who was seated at a small work-table near
one of the windows, rose to greet me as I entered the
room, a modest blush mantling her cheek as she did so.
She did not fail to observe the change in my appear-
ance, but evidently attributed it solely to my recent
indisposition, for she anxiously inquired if I had quite
recovered from the effects of my late accident. I ad-
mitted that I still suffered some slight inconvenience
from it, and endeavoured to express my appreciation of
her solicitude on my behalf. But I was conscious that
I did so, badly—my manner both then and throughout
our interview being distrait and absent, though
Caroline did not appear to notice it. Perhaps the cir-
cumstance that I had always hitherto shown myself
a silent, reserved man, rendered the coldness of my
demeanour less noticeable than it would have been had
I been of a naturally more animated temperament. I
was, however, but too well aware how ill I was play.
ing the part of an accepted lover, and it was no little
relief to me when we were joined by the other mem-
bers of the family, and the conversation became
general.
As time passed on, I found, each day, my position
become more painful. Neither Mrs. Sedley nor Car-
men having the slightest suspicion of the actual state
of affairs, afforded me frequent opportunities of being
alone with Caroline; and had not the matter, as re-
gards myself, been far too serious a one for mirth, I
should sometimes have been amused at the transparent
little stratagems they contrived for leaving us to-
gether. If, under these circumstances, I attempted
any of those protestations of affection naturally ex-
pected from an accepted suitor, I experienced an
almost insuperable difficulty in uttering them, con-
scious that my heart belied my lips. As to following
the course recommended by .Rosilarad to a lover "when
gravelled for lack of matter," that would have been
still more difficult for me to practise.

I could not, it is true, flatter myself that even had I
never made a mistake as regards the name of the sister
to whom my offer was addressed, Carmen would have
accepted me. On the contrary, the careless familiarity
of her manner, her whole demeanour, indeed, towards
me entirely negatived the supposition. I could not say
with the hero of Whittier's ballad "It might have
been !" Yet none the less did I suffer. Not to marry
the woman I loved seemed a far more endurable ill
than to be compelled to marry the woman I did not
love. Ere the expiration of many days the constant
conflict between love and duty had become almost in-
supportable to me. On one thing I was resolved, and
that was to terminate it as soon as possible, for I was
in constant dread lest I should be guilty of some in-
advertent betrayal of my real feelings. In fact, I must
have played my part better than I thought, or else
Caroline must have been strangely blinded by her
affection for me not to have discovered that I had no
love to offer her in return. I determined, then, to
hurry on my marriage as much as practicable, feeling
that, once my future was irrevocably decided, my mind
would be more at ease. Caroline seemed surprised at
the eagerness with which I pressed her to name an
early day for our union. Indeed there must have ap-
peared to her a curious contradiction between the
coldness of her lover and his urgency for a speedy mar-
riage. However, my request being supported by her
father—who doubtless thought that, under the circum-
stances, the less delay there was in the matter the
better—she, at last, so far yielded to my wishes as to
consent that our marriage should take place the fol-
lowing month.
Time passed on, until at last it wanted barely a
week of the date fixed upon for the wedding. While
at breakfast, on the day in question, it was proposed
by Carmen that we should all go out in the afternoon
for a sail upon a river about a mile from the
"Cedars." The weather was lovely, and her
suggestion met with general acquiescence. Al-
most at the last moment, however, Mr. Sandford
found that it would not be possible for him to
form one of the party, some letters received by the
mid-day post requiring his immediate attention. Mrs.
Sedley, also, having a slight head-ache, preferred not
exposing herself to the heat ot a July sun, and stayed
at home. There remained, therefore, only Caroline,
Carmen, and myself to undertake the excursion, and I
therefore selected the smaller of the two boats belong-
ing to Mr. Sandford as being the more easily managed,
There was very little air stirring when we first
started, but the breeze gradually increased until it
blew rather•freshly, though steadily, and the sky being
almost cloudless, our sail was most enjoyable.
We had been on the water some time, when
Caroline, looking at her watch, declared that we must
return home at once, or we should be late for dinner;
punctuality at that meal being a point on which her
father was rather particular. In tacking, the rope by
which the main-sheet was made fast, by some accident
slipped from the cleet to which it was attached,
causing the sail to fly loose. The boat, of course,
losing steerage-way, fell off before the wind, and
rather a heavy wave washed into it. Even then, how-
ever, there would have been no danger, had ni:4
Carmen lost her presence of mind, and on the impulse
of the moment, committed the common but fatal error
of attempting to stand up in the boat. As is usually
the case, under these circumstances, she overbalanced
herself and fell, upsetting our frail craft as she did so.
In another moment we were all three struggling in the
water.

As I rose to the surface I mechanically grasped at a
passing object, which proved to be one of a small pair of
sculls belonging to the boat, which must have filled
and sunk immediately, for it was nowhere to be seen.
At the same time I looked round anxiously for my
companions, and perceived they were both within a
few yards of me, the buoyancy of their dresses—those
were the days of crinoline—keeping them temporarily
afloat. I was at that time a man of more than average
strength, besides being an experienced swimmer, so
that, notwithstanding we were nearly in the middle of
the river, which in this part was at its broadest—r
had but little doubt but that I should be able to reach
the shore with one of the girls. But to swim the
distance burthened with the weight of both was, I too
well knew, utterly impossible.. The moment was
agony Yet, I thank Heaven, I hesitated not for one
single instant in my choice. To save Caroline was my
first, my most imperative, duty, and resolutely I bent
myself to it. Making Carmen grasp firml y the
oar, I bade her be of good courage, promising in a few
minutes to return for her. Yet my heart sorely mis-
gave me as I spoke, for though she had then no diffi-
cultrin keeping afloat, I doubted whether, when once
her dress had become thoroughly saturated with water
the frail support of one light oar would suffice to keep
her from sinking. However, it was useless to debate
that question; in such an emergency seconds count like
hours, and the one thing for me to do was to strain every
nerve to bear Caroline to the shore as quickly as it was
in human power to do so.

At last, after what appeared to me an age, but which
was in reality but a very few minutes, I reached the
strand and bore Caroline's senseless form—for she had
fainted—up the river bank. Fortunately a fisher-
man's cottage stood nearly opposite the spot; and
to a woman, who had witnessed the accident and had
come down to the river side to render what assistance
lay in her power, I handed my lifeless bnrthen. Then
looking round I sought eagerly for the form of Carmen,
and discovered that with the assistance of the oar she
had still been able to keep herself from sinking,
altheugh she had drifted with the tide some little dis-
tance down the stream. I ran rapidly along the bank
of the river until I reached the spot to which she had
floated, then, plunging into the stream, with a few
swift strokes, I was enabled to reach her, the set of
the current having gradually borne her nearer to the
shore. She seemed much less affected by her prolonged
immersion in the water than I had anticipated, and
was able, with but slight assistance from me, to walk
to the cottage. When we reached it I found that
Caroline had recovered from her swoon, but was still
very weak and in a state of terrible anxiety with re-
gard to her sister. She was seated in an arm-chair by
the kitchen fire, the good woman of the house
having removed her dripping garments and supplied
her with a change of clothes. As soon as Carmen
entered the apartment, Caroline rose to her feet,
staggered forward, and clasped her in her arms.
Then releasing her, she turned to me and poured out
fervent expressions of gratitude for my having saved
her sister's life. Our hostess now busied herself in per-
forming the same kindly office for Carmen that she
had done for her sister; and even insisted on my
putting on what she was pleased to call her husband's
"best Sunday suit."
I was very much exhausted and felt quite unequal to
any further exertion; but I knew how necessary it
it was that Mr. Sandford—whom some vague rumour
of the accident might by this time have reachel—
should be informed without delay of his daughters'
safety. I was, therefore, after a brief rest, about to
start for the " Cedars,"when the son of the mistress
of the cottage came home from his work, and him I
despatched with a note, stating what had occurred and
where we were to be found. In a very brief space of
time Mr. Sandford's carriage, containing himself and
Mrs. Sedley, drove up to the cottage, and in another
moment the girls were in their father's arms.
With as little delay as possible we returned home
having previously liberally rewarded our hostess for
the kindness and hospitality we had experienced at
her. hands. When we reached the "Cedars," Mrs.
Sedley insisted on her nieces retiring early to rest,
arid I-myself Was not sorry when, shortly aft'arwarcle,
Mr. Sandford kindly advised me to follow their
example, saying I looked very much fagged and
fatigued. I was indeed worn out, both in mind and

' body. The mental strain I had undergone for some
time past had told severely upon me, and this, cono-
bined with the physical exhaustion resulting from
my exertions during the day, had left me almost com-
pletely prostrated. I retired to my couch, but as is
often the case when one is over-tired, I could not
sleep for some time. When, at last, I did so, my
slumbers were restless snd disturbed and I awoke the
next morning feverish and unrefreshed. I felt, in-
deed, very unwell and altogether too weak to leave my
bed. I was gratified to learn, however, that I was the
only sufferer from the events of the preceding day,
neither of the girls having, apparently, experienced
any permanent ill effects from their immersion in the
water. At least so Mr. Sandford informed me when
he visited my chamber on hearing that I was indis-
posed. He insisted on sending for the family physi-
cian, and that gentleman—although, ef course, he
spoke encouragingly to rze—l subsequently learnt ad-
mitted to Mr. Sandford that my illness was likely to
be of a very serious character. I had, he said, not
only contracted a bad cold, but my nervous system
generally had received a severe shock. His anticipa-
tions were realised. Before night- I was in a high
fever, accompanied by delirium, and I gradually grew
worse, until for some days my life seemed almost to
hang upon a thread. At last the fever having
reached its crisis, took a favourable turn, and I began
slowly, very slowly, to mend.
During all this time Caroline was most devoted in
her ministrations to me; and I did not fail to note the
ehange that anxiety and want of rest had made in her
appearance. As I did so from day to day, a strange
and hitherto unknown tenderness towards her seemed
to spring up in my breast. In fact, her ceaseless care,
her tender solicitude or me were such that that heart
must have been cold indeed that could have resisted
their influence. Curiously, too, it seemed to me as if,
since my illness, a vide gulf separated my present
from my former self. My mad and futile passion for
Carmen I could now look back upon as entirely a
thing of the past, lead I felt almost as if I had
awakened from some disordered dream. Daily during
my progress towards convalescence, did Caroline be-
come more dear to me; and when I once again pressed
her to appoint the'clay for our marriage, how great
was the contrast between my present state of feelings
and those I had experienced when I last preferred
the same request. Tirol I had performed simply
what I conceived to be apainful duty. Now I looked
forward eagerly to the time when I should call my
own the woman I had learnt entirely to love.

In due time we were married. - Since then some
cares and sorrows I have known; but, blessed in the
affection of a devoted wife, and in the possession of
children who resemble her, my lot in life has been, on
the whole, a singularly favoured one; and I have
never, even for one moment, had cause to regret the
strange mistake, which at the time—shortsighted
mortal that I was—l believed had for ever destroyed
all my hopes of future happiness.