Year: 1877

The sunshine danced IN radient
beauty over the waters of the sullen
river, as he sauntered along it's shores
smoking in silent meditation.


Life was a continuous gala-day to
John Breighton-young ambitious,
prosperous it seemed that death and
sorrow could take no part in his des-
tiny.


Suddenly he comes upon a group
of yeoman, gathered in a lu-
gubrious circle around some object
outstretched on the yellow sands.


He joins them, and nervously puff
ing at his cigar he eyes sharp outlines
Of a slight form beneath the clinging
fold of sheet that covers it.


"What found drowned ~ queried
he.


Yes found drowned, a woman
Would thee wish to see her John
Breighton?' answered ore Of the
group. who had long lived in the vii
lage, and knew John from toddling
infancy to brilliant manhood.


"Vell, yes, not very pleasant
sight, though, l should say. Has she
been long in the water, and will l
know her Andrew ?'


"Raise the sheet and see for thyself
John ~


with careless motion he lifts the
wet, dripping sheet from her face
Merciful God what a face ?


The face had shown his holiest
dreams-the face that had won his
heart in youth-his betrothed, Hope
Vain.


One glance at the white face and
dripping hair, ana Brighton uttered
Il scream that thrilled the sturdy yeo.
man around him, and covering his
face with his hands he fled.


He knew not whittier he went, but
it mattered not. He must 20 some,
where-anywhere away from the
SLores of the hidnous river-anywhere
away from memory, away from re-
morse-anywhere to forget, anywhere
to hide form the white dead face and
dripping hair.


He blindly took q path across the
clover meadow to the station, no,
knowing it himself The landscape
seemed to spin around before his con-
fused vision, but nearly exhausted
reached the station.


He flung himself on the old settee
in the vacant waiting-room, to await
the express, which wvuld not arrive uu-
til the twilight came.


As the day went by he grew calm
er, and tried to persuade himself that
lie was wholly unconnected with the
sulcide-tried to separate himself
from the scene Of the morning which
he lived over hundred times a min
ute tried to put away the dead, white
face and winding sheet; tried to
think what he would do next where
he should go, to be furthest away
from the home of his youth, away
from memory away from remorse,
when the distant rumbling Of the
coming train was heard.


With manacal sort of laugh, he
sprang from the settee, then stopped.
God Of Mercy could it be true =?
Yes. About his neck he felt two
cold arms clinging, with their slender
icy hands clasped tightly together.


With his brain burning as with fire
the words he spoke year ago that
very hour came back to him-came
back to him just as they were uttered
word for word letter for letter.


"And you my blue eyes, if you
should die first the, cold grave
could not keep you from me; if you
loved me you would return, and again
these fair arms would clasp around
my neck as they do now.


The words seemed spoken to him
now, ringing in his ears in tones the
rumble of the express could not
drown.


He whirled quickly around, but no
one save himself was in the room he
could feel the cold arms, yet he could
not see them: they were zeal, they
were unreal.


Tighter grew the ghostly clasp, he
was choking-dying going mad.


The rushing Of the train sounded
like thousand thunders, and the dead
white face Of Hope Vain peored GRIM