thought my mind would never be at rest until I had spoken to you, and told you all. Have pity upon me, not another word. Let us say farewell, and part-part for ever."

I stooped down and kissed her brow, whiter than the whitest marble in the moonlight. She raised her eyelids; and, for the second time,

our glances met.

Great heavens! what a shock flashed through my being! What devil, what demon prompted the wish, and blended with it the name of Arthur Chetwynd in my mind. The wish was slight, slight as a gossamer thread; still it was uttered-uttered in my heart. That awful reproachful glance of Clara's eyes, as she stood there, with her arms moving convulsively, and her nervous hands glittering in the moonlight, will haunt me to my death. At last, with a piercing cry, she fell fainting to the ground.

Stunned and giddy myself, from the palpable shock which I had received, it was some time before I recovered presence of mind to lift her and carry her to the house. I thought she was dead. A messenger was immediately despatched for the nearest medical man, and I entreated the servants not to disturb their master and mistress. Every exertion was made to rouse Miss Belford from the swoon into which she had fallen; and to my intense gratification, after some time, I perceived that she was recovering. But a great change seemed to have come over her features. She looked old, and her cheeks were sunken and faded.

The surgeon at last came, and reported, before midnight, that with care and quiet she would recover, but that her system had received a severe shock. Her illness was entirely attributed to the painful event of

the morning.

I could not sleep; and as I had made preparations for leaving early in the morning, I waited until the time for my departure should arrive. Just before leaving, a note was put into my hand. One glance at the writing showed me that it was from Miss Belford.

I opened it hurriedly, and read as follows:

"Go at once. For Heaven's sake, let us never meet again. Our eyes have now met twice, and each time it seemed as if a knife had been driven into my breast. A third meeting, and my life will be the forfeit. God grant that your last wish may not prove as fatal as the first.

CLARA."

I crushed the letter up in my hand, took my seat in the dog-cart that was waiting, and left for the railway-station. When there, I got into a carriage full of passengers; and this, together with the hurry and confusion of travelling, prevented my mind from dwelling too much on the events that had occurred. We arrived at length at a junction-station, where the train from the South had not yet arrived, and at which we were obliged to remain until it did arrive.

I walked about the platform, and in a conversation with one of the

porters I learned that an accident had occurred the night before in the night-express coming from London. It appeared that just before coming up to the station the guard of the train heard loud cries coming from one of the first-class carriages near to his box. By leaning out he perceived that the voice issued from a compartment in which he knew that a young man was travelling alone. The light from the lamp inside the carriage threw its reflection on the railway outside as they hurried along, and the guard fancied he saw the shadow of some one gesticulating violently. The cries became louder, and the guard signalled to the engineman to stop; but at that instant the train slackened speed, and came into the station. On stopping, the guard ran to the carriage, and on opening the door found the young man lying insensible on the floor, his eyes almost starting from their sockets, his face purple, and blood gushing from his mouth. He was immediately conveyed to the neighbouring hotel, and a physician, who happened to be travelling by the express, attended to him at once. Nevertheless he expired about an hour afterwards, without regaining consciousness. The station-master, who came up as we were talking, corroborated the statement, and said in addition that the only distinguishable words that the young gentleman had uttered were, "Clara, Clara!" in accents of sorrowful reproach. A horrible suspicion suddenly started in my mind, and was confirmed as I heard him. further relate that the physician had discovered blue and livid marks, like the impression of fingers, round his throat, and that those fingermarks seemed to have been made by small slender fingers, like those of a girl.

Merciful powers! I could hardly believe my senses.

The event must have occurred at the very time when Clara and I were standing on the path-way in the moonlight.

"Tell me," said I, as a last fatal certainty, "was the name of the young gentleman discovered?”

The South train at this moment came up, and he answered hurriedly as he left me, "The name on the portmanteau was Mr. Chetwynd."

To this moment I cannot tell you how I arrived at my rooms in London. I have a terrible recollection that my brain seemed burning, and that I was consumed by an intolerable, raging thirst. I have faint recollections of my servant hovering about my bed, and the faces of friends seen for an instant, like the faces of the dead seen in our dreams.

For six months I was prostrated by an attack of brain-fever, from which I recovered at last, broken down in health and spirits.

I resolved to leave the country, and spend the rest of my existence in some far-off land. However, with my old habit of breaking my resolutions, I changed my mind at the last moment, and went off without warning to a lonely little cottage on the coast of South Wales. I had once seen this cottage on a tour, and had little trouble in engaging it for myself alone.

In this retreat, I lived the life of a hermit, keeping out of the way of human beings, and seldom seeing any. My cottage, or rather hut, was as lonely as could well be conceived. It was situated in a small ravine between the limestone cliffs that border the shore, and a wild barren moor stretched for miles behind. Except the cry of the sea-birds, and the mournful moan of the sea as it ebbed and flowed through the black seaweedy rocks to and from the sea-line of white dazzling limestone, I could hear no sound.

I contrived to pass some weeks away in this place, my only companions being my fishing-line and fowling-piece. My mind became apathetic, and I gloomily dreamed on of living there till my life was over. But this was not to be.

It was an afternoon towards the end of autumn; I had been wandering about the limestone ridge all day long with my gun, and coming home tired, lay down among the heather to watch the sun setting behind a long bank of purple clouds edged with glowing gold.

Almost insensibly, and utterly against my inclination, my fancy travelled back to the memorable time that I spent in the north of England. I traced each event in turn, and called up in imagination the graceful and lithesome form of Clara Belford. My heart was softened,my stubborn resolution vanished,-I felt all my deep love returning,-and I could not help wishing in my heart of hearts that she was with me. Immediately afterwards, I trembled with a vague apprehension and a strange foreboding of evil. I rose up sadly, and walked homewards in my old apathetic humour, while the shadows of evening fell darker and darker about my path.

The next day the weather changed. There was a heavy gale from the south-west, and great masses of black cloud rolled overhead. The fierce wind blowing in from the Atlantic swept up the Bristol Channel, roaring as it passed up my little ravine, and then moaning far away over the waste moor-land beyond. The drenching rain seemed part of the wind and the clouds, and never ceased beating against the window and roof of my cottage.

All day long, wrapped up in my oil-skin cape, I wandered about, watching the little vessels far out at sea battling with the wind, and the great angry waves rolling in with a thundering sound, and breaking in snow-white foam among the rocks below.

Night came on, and the storm increased in violence. I retreated at last into my cottage, barred the door and window, and lighted my reading-lamp. My stock of books was very small, consisting only of a few volumes treating on the occult and mystic arts.

I had been reading for some time, raising my head at intervals to listen to the wild sough of the gale, and the dull, monotonous roar of the waves, when I thought I heard amidst the tumult a cry like that of a human voice. Whilst I was pondering whether it was only a sound of imagination or not, I distinctly heard it repeated. It seemed close at

hand, nay, just at the outside of the door. A strange terror took sion of me, and I rose up trembling.

posses

Once more the storm dashed the rain violently against the cottage, and then I heard the wind go moaning away up the valley over the moor. There was a lull after that, and then I heard a slight rapping at the door. Slight as the sound was, it filled me with terrible apprehension. A cold sweat broke out over me, and I trembled from head to foot. As I stood there terror-stricken, I heard, or fancied I heard, my own name called from without. Great heavens! I recognised the voice, ay, even amid the raging of the storm. In an instant I staggered to the door, and opened it. Holding it open against the storm, I saw that a dark indistinct figure was crouching on the threshold. My heart told me who it was. I lifted up the fragile form, and, closing the door with the other hand, bore the dark burden into the room. Wet through and through by the driving rain, worn out and utterly overcome with long travel in the pitiless storm, I held her in my arms, and, drawing back the dark shawl from her face, I gazed once more on the pallid features of Clara Belford.

She was insensible; but oh, how changed! She was barely twenty years old when I saw her last, little more than a year ago, and now she looked old, very old, and haggard. Her cheeks were sunken, and her dark-brown hair, that I remembered so beautifully bright, hung dishevelled over her face and shoulders; it was silvery white.

I placed her in my only chair, and chafed her hands, and called her by every endearing name I could remember; until I saw her pale lips begin to move.

The storm still raged without, and I was compelled to listen with my ear close to her mouth. Every word sounded distinctly, although she only spoke in a faltering whisper.

"Faulkland, you called me yesterday,-do not start,-you called me to you as you lay on the heath at sunset. I could not choose but obey; and I am here. Once before I entreated you not to use the power that you possess over me willingly. You have done so: I was compelled to obey, and I am here. I have travelled many a weary mile. I remember now nothing of my journey; I have been drawn like a needle by the magnet. Hush! let me speak, for I feel that my strength is failing. I have somehow that faith in you, that I cannot believe that you have killed me willingly. Yet now,-I must say it,-each time that our eyes have met, a fatal wish was lingering in your heart. Each wish, slight as it was, was accomplished, and each accomplished wish took with it part of my little life. Now, Faulkland, let me go in peace."

I was rendered speechless by terror, by pity, by remorse, by a hundred conflicting sensations; and as she ceased I raised her drooping head, and the wet gray hair fell over my arms and breast. I saw her heavy eye-lids raised once more-slowly, slowly; once more I gazed upon those deep, dark, violet eyes. It was fatality! What else could have prompted the thought, then and there as I gazed, that it were better for both if we

both were dead? As the fatal wish flashed across me, I felt her shudder in my arms; I saw her beautiful eyes glaze over with the opal hue of death; I felt her slight form grow heavy in my arms, and slip from me to the ground.

The wild storm howled and moaned dismally without, and the breakers dashed sullenly among the surf below; whilst I, wishing for the death that would not come, stood in the flickering lamp-light with the corpse of Clara Belford at my feet cold and still.

A. G. G.