Year: 1876

read farther-oh Heaven my worst fears
my most agonizing apprehensions, were con-
6rmed! There, in broken terms, was portray
ed the struggle going on in her mind-the re-
luctance to fulfill this promise, combined with
the conviction that it was incumbent upon
her not to break it, invested as it was with
an especial sacredness as having been made
to the dead, and the dead so beloved "Nev,
er," she wrote, "shall your bounty to the
friendless orphan be repaid by such ingrati'
tude, my more than mother! The sacrifice
shall be made, though my heart breaks in the
effort But you, so good and kind, have
doomed me to wretchedness, and destroyed
the fairest hopes of my life." A groan of in.
expressible misery escaped me as 1 read
these words. I wished that had never been
born, rather than live to bear the weight OF
woe like this. But there was yet more in
store for me-my cup was not full. Frantic
to discover whether she had yielded her afec-
tion to another, read on with delirious haste.
Yes, the torturing confession met my eye
she loved, or had loved-and the object OF
her love was-Rudolph. A few bitter, an.
guished words revealed the truth. Her sorrow.
full striving to crush down this unhappy love,
the fruitlessness of her struggle, and mingled
with these, passionate prayers to Heaven for
aid, and strength to bear the lot which it had
fallen upon her to endure. Beyond this there
we're but few scanty allusions to passing
events. The journal had been dropped previ'
GUS to our marriage, and taken up again at
intervals in a listless, incomplete way, as
though the writer's interest in it had failed,
and her weariness of soul had made it too
great task to be pursued.


I closed the book. Although the written
part of it comprised many pages, I had mas
tered its contents in a quarter of an hour,
and sat for short space of time like one
stunned. What should 1 do? What, in fact,
remained for me to do, but to bear my woe as
best I might, in secresy and silencef Of what
avail would be reproaches now? Indeed, how
could reproach Olive for conduct prompted
solely by sense of duty? She had con-
ceived herself bound to marry me- And that
she did not love me was surely no punishable
crime. She had never professed to love me,
therefore could not accuse her of falsehood.
That she had striven faithfully to act well
her part in the condition to which she had
been doomed, simple justice forced me to be.
lieve. She was unfortunate-not culpable-
and if the unfortunate should be visited with
retribution, who, alas, go unfortunate as [?


The discovery that was not loved-that
Olive had married me against her will-that
there could, in consequence, be no hope of
anything but unhappiness resulting from our
union-might, of itself, frightful as it was,
have been softened in some degree to me by
time One gets Injured to almost any grief
when the first shock is once over, and philoso-
ply, if not resignation, comes to ones aid.
But what rankled most in my heart was
jealousy. 1t was passion to which | had
ever been too prone to yield, and now it was
most fercely excited by the revelation Of
Olives love for another Whether this love
still existed, or whether she had by this time
succeeded in conquering it, had no means
of kuowing-but it had existed, and this
knowledge, combined with selwyns hints, was
enough to cast me into an abyss Of torment
from which saw no outlet Of escape.


Mechanically, replaced the journal in the
drawer-repaired the injured spring so as to
conceal, temporarily, the damage it had re-
ceived restored the desk to its accustomed
place, and then left the house, leaving pen.
cilled line to state that I would be absent, on
business for a couple of days. In my pres
ent condition, I could not meet Olive, and I
desired a brief interval of reflection, that /
might arrange my distracted thoughts, and
decide upon the best course left for me to
pursue.


rTO be Continued