India merchants were to be present on this occasion. There was a tacit understanding among the guests as to the position held by the Captain in Cairney's family. He was recognised as Kate's "intended;" and Mrs. Campbell accordingly received, with serene satisfaction, the confidential congratulations of the old ladies, who smiled and nodded, and whispered and smiled again, as they sipped their tea beside her on the sofa, in the drawingroom after dinner. No one, somehow, presumed to congratulate Kate, who had a singular power of being retired and dignified, without being in the least degree haughty or rude. The Captain acted his part with marvellous propriety and tact. Never did his clothes fit him more perfectly; never did his teeth shine with greater whiteness; never did a more constant smile of quiet power and self-satisfaction ever rest on his features. He hung over Kate at the piano, turning the leaves of her music while she played or sang, and ever and anon looking into her face with some approving or admiring sentiment, such as no lady could be displeased with. "Young Ardmore was at once cordially accepted into the very bosom of all the connexions and friends of the family. But any one at that party, who possessed the power of discernment, would have failed to discover, in spite of Kate's frank manner and kindness to the Captain, that indescribable something which pervades the look and the whole manner of one in love, and which the most watchful self-consciousness cannot conceal. Now that same night was destined, according to Mrs. Campbell's plans, to see her daughter's fate sealed for life. Her complicated arrangements had been, day after day, slowly but surely driving her daughter and Ardmore into a corner, where they must meet alone, face to face, and " yes" or no be uttered by Kate. Either word is speedily uttered, but its consequences are not so speedily ended! 66 Kate had made every attempt to escape from this position. She had craved delay; and, indeed, was under the impression that delay had been granted, and that Duncan was to return home for the present just as he was, with hope or no hope as he himself pleased to indulge in either emotion. But her mother, fearing the effects of such cold procrastination, anxious to bring matters to a close, believing that the presence of favourable circumstances was all that was necessary to secure a satisfactory result, and having lavished every attention on Kate along with every possible advice during sundry private interviews, she had at last taken upon her to inform the Captain that after the party was broken up she would manage to give him and Kate a quiet and undisturbed interview in the drawing-room. As the time drew near, and carriage after carriage drove off, and the last man departed, Duncan, full of excitement, resolved to take a quiet walk in the shrubbery, and thus afford Mrs. Campbell an opportunity of spreading her nets, a matter in which old Cairney had to be consulted, in order to get him quietly to bed with his rum punch. Impelled by habit more than by prudent consideration, the Captain smoked his cigar. But his mind was excited, and this was his usual relief in such circumstances. As he paced along at a little distance from the house, under the shade of the Jaurels, where his cigar, glowing like a fire-fly, marked the spot he occupied ;-he saw the figure of a woman with hurried step advance to the door and ring the bell, and after a minute or so pass within. The said woman had asked if Miss Campbell was disengaged? The servant, lifting up the light, and seeing the face and dress of one whom she never doubted to be a lady, replied,— "Yes, Miss Campbell is disengaged, but❞— "I know it is an untimely hour. I have most important business, however, with her. Tell her— but it is all your place is worth, my girl, if you tell any one else!-tell her that Miss Floxy wishes to see her immediately.” "Miss who?" "Floxy." But this conversation did not reach the ears of the meditative Captain, although it had more to do with him than he suspected. The servant disappeared, but quickly returned, requesting her unknown and mysterious caller to "come up." As Floxy ascended the staircase, Mrs. Campbell was coming down. They both stopped, and gazed into each other's faces. Mrs. Campbell, with an expression of mingled fear, wonder, and curiosity, at the unexpected apparition, asked, "Who is this? It cannot be !" "Shillabeer from Ardmore," said Floxy. "Shillabeer!" exclaimed Mrs. Campbell, stretching out her hand to welcome her, " in the name of wonder, what puts you here at this time of night?" Important business," said Floxy, dryly. 66 "Any one ill? Any one dead? Come up stairs. What, what is it?" continued Mrs. Campbell, as she returned towards the drawing-room. Kate was at her bedroom door, and running to Floxy, warmly greeted her, asking similar questions. "Miss Campbell," she replied, in a suppressed tone of voice," as I have met your mother, I shall speak to her alone; but don't be alarmed; Miss M'Dougal and her mother are both quite well. You will know why I am here before I leave to-night." Mrs. Campbell led Floxy into the drawingroom, shut the door, sat down on the sofa, motioned Floxy to be seated opposite to her on a chair, and asked, "What can it be?" "Mrs. Campbell," said Floxy, after composing herself, yet speaking with a trembling voice, “I owe all I possess, and all I am, to your daughter, along with Miss M'Dougal and Miss Duncombe. I wish to return some portion of the debt of gratitude which I owe to Miss Campbell. Nothing but an overwhelming sense of duty could bring me here to-night." "In heaven's name, what is it? Out with it!" said Mrs. Campbell impatiently. "I understand, ma'am," continued Floxy, "that you intend giving your daughter in marriage to Captain M'Dougal." Mrs. Campbell looked at Floxy as on a mad woman, and quietly asked, "What do you mean, woman? Have a care what you say here, to me, remember!" "I mean what I say. Please only to hear my sad story, and you will not be astonished at my having used such language to describe him." And Floxy, with an awful impressiveness, told the story of Morag. As she proceeded, Mrs. Campbell, to her amazement, became more and more composed; and when Floxy ended with a vehement burst, saying, "That is the man to whom, ma'am, in your ignorance, but in your ignorance only, you would have consigned for life the happiness of your beautiful and noble girl!" Mrs. Campbell, loosing her cap-strings, and throwing them over her shoulder with nervous energy, replied, with suppressed wrath, "'Pon my word! really, Shillabeer, you have taken a great deal upon you to come here on such an errand! You, forsooth! I wonder what servant-girls will come to ! This is a high farce, indeed! Pray what right have you to know what gentlemen may do? What right have you, indeed, to meddle with any business that does not belong to you? Not but that I may regret, as far as that girl-what's her name ?-who died is concerned-" "For heaven's sake," said Floxy, her face flushed and her eyes flashing, "don't disgust me, Mrs. Campbell !" "You! disgust you! Are you mad? I disgust you!" "Not me, but rather that woman's nature, Mrs. Campbell, common to us both," said Floxy, unmoved. "Heavens! would you bury your daughter -that sweet, dear girl-in such a sepulchre of rottenness and dead men's bones? You, a woman! a lady! a Christian wife and mother! You cannot; I know you cannot ! Let your heart speak, and you dare not!" "Go out of the house instantly!" said Mrs. Campbell, rising, in wrath, and ringing the bell violently. But at that moment Kate entered the room in evident confusion and perplexity. "I can stand this mystery and noise of words no longer," she said; “what is it, Floxy? I command you to tell me !" 66 Poor Floxy rushed across the room, and, throwing herself upon her, burst into convulsive sobbing. Oh, dear friend," she cried, "best of friends-noble, good soul, pity me; forgive me; I cannot help it; it was laid on me.' "Be calm, Floxy; what-what is it?" "Ask your mother," replied Floxy; then she added in a calmer and even stern voice : "But before the Pure and Holy One who made us, I conjure you, whom I love as my own soul, never marry that man M'Dougal! He is vile!" she added, as if grinding her teeth; "he is vile; and by his lies, his arts, his devilry, he has murdered Morag !" And Floxy rushed past Kate, hurried down stairs, meeting the servant who was hurrying up, and departed, shutting the door behind her. She immediately encountered M'Dougal. Her first inclination was to fly anywhere, if only to escape out of his sight. But they met; and as she 66 'Morag is dead!" she repeated in the same stern voice. "Now look here, my fine woman," said M'Dou. gal, speaking low but fierce. "I see what you are after; I have long suspected you. You think yourself mighty clever, but perhaps you have got your match in me. You insolent, proud jade! how dare you come here with all your infernal gossip? Little would make me" "Back, sir!" said Floxy, "you know how heartily I have ever despised you; and how well I understand your character. But never did I abhor you as I do now!" And she seemed, as she spoke, to tower up before M'Dougal's eye in the dim light. "You are a villain and a murderer! The curse of the childless is on you! and though I could not save one victim from your fangs, I hope I have saved another from your foul embrace. Yonder girl," she said, pointing to the upper window, "shall never be thine, as sure as a God of justice and love reigns !" M'Dougal, hoarse with passion, again attempted to interrupt her with a wild oath. "Silence!" she said, "you shall hear me! With her last breath she forgave you; with her last breath she prayed for you; and with her last breath she commanded you to repent, and to prepare to meet her before the judgment-seat of God! I leave with you that legacy of the murdered Morag !" And before M'Dougal could reply, and while the front door was opened, and his name called by Mrs. Campbell, Floxy had vanished out of the little gate into the public road, and from the echo of her steps she seemed to run from the house. That midnight the cry was heard in many a dwelling throughout the town, and next morning it was reported, with under breath, and anxious look, from home to home-the cholera has come! CHAPTER XXIV.-AN UNEXPECTED TURN. The news which Ned and his friend Dr. Morris heard, when they reached the Greenock quay, was all about the cholera. Those only who can remember the first outbreak of that disease in Scotland, can realize the mysterious awe and terror it so generally inspired. Apart from all false and unworthy feelings occasioned by the visitation, great self-possession, moral courage, and faith in God were required by any man, who, realizing the calamity, could yet maintain a peaceful spirit amidst the general excitement produced by the daily intelligence of those who in the morning were flourishing, and at evening were cut down and had vanished away. There was among all classes a sense of insecurity arising from utter ignorance, either as to the laws which regulated the transmission or cure of the disease, that powerfully affected the imagination. The most exaggerated reports increased the fear, which often swelled into a panic. But never was there more devotion displayed by all classes in the discharge of their duties. The ministers of religion, too, were not behind in activity, but silenced in every parish the false and ungenerous opinions, sometimes entertained by vulgar minds, of their unwillingness to visit cases of dangerous sickness. Wherever their services could avail, they were present with words of cheer and with labours of love. No sooner had Ned and his friend entered Mrs. M'Kelvie's lodgings, where Ned always "put up," than his landlady, after expressing her delight in having him again in the house, especially when accompanied by a doctor, said, "Miss Cam'ill, that's auld Cairney's dochter, has been twice asking for you this very day, and has left a note." Ned eagerly seized it, and read these few lines: Captain M'Dougal, Ardmore, has been seized with that fearful cholera. I send you the address of his lodgings. I hope Dr. Morris is with you, but whether he is or not, I beseech you to go and see him. You told me that you had some experience of this dreadful disease, and I know you have no fear. Go; for his sake, for my sake, go and help him without delay! He had a friend with him, a Mr. M'Donald, who left this morning under pretence of bringing Mrs. M'Dougal here, but I believe from cowardly fear. Go; and come, and tell me, as soon as possible, how he is. Your ship does not sail, papa tells me, till the day after tomorrow.-Yours, C. C. Ned put the note carefully into his pocket-book, and joining Morris in the little parlour, said to him, "Curly, I have just received a note from her, you know, and she tells me that M'Dougal, her intended, is ill with cholera, and asks you and me to visit him and help him. Come along then, old shipmate, and let us, by God's help, try what we can do to save him who is dear to her." Morris looked at his friend for a moment with a most loving expression, as he replied, "Let us go; I possess no cure, nor do I believe in any; but we shall help nature to battle with the enemy, and, if possible, to overcome it." "I have seen many cases in India," said Ned; "and the only thing I ever saw do any good was administering as much soda-water to the patient as he could drink, and some brandy occasionally to keep up his strength." 66 I dare say it is as good as anything else, or as useless. But it is much if we can only make him trust us, and believe that we can be of service to him. So speak hopefully. The mind has more to do with killing or curing, than is dreamt of in our philosophy." And so they both went out to visit the suffering M'Dougal, telling Mrs. M'Kelvie not to be alarmed if their business should detain them until morning. It is unnecessary to narrate the history of that long night; how they both were welcomed by their patient; how he snatched hope,-half his cure, from their looks and words;-how they treated him,-Ned with his powerful arms, and Morris with his ingenious contrivances; how they laboured all night, and cheered him amidst his sufferings from body and also from mind, for he thought his last hour was come-and how Ned tried, in a human sympathizing manner, and when fitting opportunities were given, to administer relief to his soul, which, from halfuttered confessions and fears, seemed to be in great misery. All this must be imagined, not described. Ned dropped a most comforting note from time to time to Kate, assuring her that though it was a very bad case, there was no cause for despair, as Captain M'Dougal had a good constitution, etc. etc., until on the afternoon of the next day he had the satisfaction of pronouncing him to all appearance out of danger, promising, however, that, agreeably to her request, he would see her in the evening, and report personally. It is difficult to analyse the feelings with which Ned anticipated his approaching interview with Kate. The "William Pitt" was ready for sea. In a few hours he should again be pursuing his course across the waste of waters; but the light which had so long shone upon him was then to be extinguished for ever, and the ideal being who had been with him, day and night, for years, was now to become the wife of a Highland laird. He had often resolved at all times to trust God, but a great crisis in his life had come, and could he trust Him now? Could he, as a child, resign himself into his Father's hands, and say, "Be it as thou wilt?" Could he yield himself to God? Such were the questions which in a confused, yet sufficiently practical form, suggested themselves to him. He had no desire to avoid them. But never was he so conscious of his weakness. Faith, he began to think, had been hitherto more a fancy than a reality to him, and in his inmost soul he felt that he could not meekly submit to the loss of Kate, but that he would become heartless and reckless. Yet this feeling, in its turn, brought a sense of shame of ingratitude-of moral turpitude, to his soul. Perplexed, pained, almost agonized, he left his lodgings without being able to impart his thoughts to Curly even. He wandered along the quays. It was a lovely evening, deepening into night. Gleams of glory, and golden touches from the setting sun, lingered in the clouds that stretched in bars across the Argyleshire hills. Soon the moon rose, and every mast and rope of the shipping stood out in relief against the clear sky. The sea beat with gentle ripple upon the pier. Voices and cries came from boats and ships in the harbour. The long past-his home, his parents, his early teaching, his school-boy days, the "John," Jamaica, Tom Revel,-all, all came before him; yet how long had she mingled with all! Could he resign her if it was God's will? That was his battle, and he fought it, though the struggle was fierce. alone he looked up to the sky. His eye rested on the pole-star as on an old friend. It scintillated there as fixedly and calmly as when he had watched during many an anxious and inquiring hour of his sea-life. Its very silence and unchangeable All ness amidst all the changes and noises in the weary life of man, came to him as a revelation of a living One beyond the stars. Why should he not trust Him who maintained the heavens in order and beauty, and who was his Father? Why not confide in that God who had been all his life so bountiful to him? Why not let Him choose his portion for him? Was He not wiser and more loving than all? Was he not safe in His hands? Might not His kindness be shown in withholding as well as in giving? "I shall trust Him!" cried Ned. "I shall! Come what may, I shall! Give or take, my God, as seemeth good to thee!" Then fell a great weight off his heart, and a sense of strength and freedom possessed his soul. "Now," he said, "I am prepared, I think, for the worst that can happen; if not, then I feel assured that He will prepare me. He then proceeded to the Glen. "Can Miss Campbell see Captain Fleming?" he asked the servant, and was informed that she was ordered to show him up immediately, giving time only to old Cairney and his wife to get out of the way, as they were terrified lest they should come into personal contact with one who had been attending a cholera case, assumed by them to be contagious. Kate had no such fears. The absence of the old people was an immense relief to Ned. How to speak to Kate alone had been a problem that was thus unexpectedly and satisfactorily solved. He was shown into the drawing-room, where he was soon joined by Kate, who, with peculiar cordiality, and with sundry ardent expressions of gratitude, received him, and heard from him a full account of M'Dougal's illness. 'I am so glad, so thankful," she said, "for his own sake, and for his mother and sister's sake. How much we all owe to you, Captain Ned, and to Dr. Morris !" "No thanks, please," replied Ned. "He bore it like a man; and was on the whole wonderfully composed. At first he was unhappy, but as his chances of recovery increased, so did his hopes rise with them. And now, for your sake, Miss Kate, I rejoice to think he is out of danger." 66 Ned, you cannot know what good you have done by helping to preserve that life." "Kate," he said, "I am to sail to-morrow. We may never meet again." A pause. 66 Oh, don't pain yourself by any explanations to me. I don't ask them, and do not assume any right to receive them. But one thing I must, I shall," he said, rising and pacing the room with noiseless step, "I shall get quit of. Kate!" he continued, coming near her, "never, never did I presume to tell you how for years I have loved you, or how I have locked you up in my heart from the first time I saw you. Look at this." And he took out a note, blackened from the time it had been kept "there is an old note of yours, I received long ago;-so long that you cannot remember having written it. I have carried it in my pocket, and read it a thousand times. There is nothing in it; but it was your own writing, and it had your name. You will smile at my folly, but I know you too well to believe that you can smile with derision on any evidence of love-deep, sincere, respectful, devoted-from any human being." He turned away to conceal his suppressed emotion. But poor Kate was in no mood for smiling She sat with her hands covering her face, while low sobs heaved her bosom. "Kate, I beseech you, pardon my selfish intrusion. I only wished-have I done anything wrong?" "O Ned, dear, don't break my heart, I only am to blame." Her words vibrated through his heart-to hear her call him Ned, dear, as she had never done before. But it only convinced him the more that his case was desperate. "This is cruel, unmanly of me!" he exclaimed; "yet I thank you for the comfort you have permitted me to have, in getting my heart out once and for ever. Give me your hand, Kate!" and he took hers, "I know you won't forget me; and if you ever wish one friend on earth who will stand by you and yours, in fair or foul, through life and in death- But I cannot trust myself to say more; your own heart must speak for me.' He still kept her hand, while her other was pressed with her handkerchief to her eyes. "Farewell," he said, as his hot tears fell on it, and kisses impressed it. "Farewell-once more farewell! God bless you and him! May he prove What? Was Ned not aware that he was pre-worthy of you! Farewell, my first, my last, my serving the life of Kate's husband! After some further conversation, the time came when Ned had to leave. He had noticed an agitation of manner, a nervousness, a want of repose in Kate which he had never seen before. But poor M'Dougal's circumstances satisfactorily explained these unusual appearances. But can Ned now say farewell for ever? He cannot yet. Give him a few minutes to compose himself. The internal struggle is not quite over. He quickly rose to depart; but as quickly sat down again. "You sail to-morrow, Ned?" remarked Kate, with saddened voice. only love." And he turned away to leave the room. "If you allude to Captain M'Dougal," said Kate, still with covered eyes, "I am not to be married to him, never!" Ned stood motionless as a statue; astonished, silent, from contending and overwhelming feelings. Not a word was spoken for a moment on either side. "What have I done!" he murmured. Then falling on his knees beside the sofa, he seized her hand again with a strong grasp, and said, "Kate, is it impossible !-can it be !-God have mercy on me, I hardly know what to say!" And he hid his sunburnt face in the shawl which fell from her shoulders. Kate rose up, and threw her arms round his neck, and Ned knew that she was his own for ever. NORMAN MACLEOD. (To be concluded in next Number.) Low and common and poor they were, Raggedly living up a court, Breathing a thick and tainted air, With drunkenness for sport. He was only a common sweep, Black with his honest working grime, In dirt and ignorance lying deep, But free from vice and crime. Both were youthful, and she was fair In the cool of the summer's eve, 'Twas sweet to turn their backs on all, And the stifling court to leave. He looked and loved-she looked and thought: Another voice had caught her ear, Her married life was smooth enough While her face never lost its bloom, Till children wore it coarse and rough, Crowding their little room. |