Copyright Novels Published! Price, but 5 cents each. [by r) o. é" jfeggggifrrai ,7: {‘1‘} .7 was VT 1:: ‘v' ‘. - V \V’. '7'.l.‘i D» was: new Lewes-I13 oe‘Ti‘dz% CopyrightedinifiBiby'Bnnu m Loans. Hay8,1881. I No.77. VOL. III. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. PRICE, 5 CENTS. CHRISTIAN OAKLEY’S MISTAKE. BY THE AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. “Sonilldom bestagudewifetobe, For Auld Rob Gray is vera kind to me.” “ I THINK this will do, my dear; just listen;" and, l a m sterious half-whisper, good Mrs. Ferguson, life 0 James Ferguson the well-lode silversmith ind jeweler of High street, Avonsbridge, read aloud (tom the sheet of aper in her hand: “‘On the t nstant, at the University Church, Avonsbridfil. 5 the Reverend John Smith, the Reverend 01 Grey, D. D. Master of Saint Bede’s College Avonsbridge, to Chr stiau, onl child of the late ward Oakle , Esq., of that p ace.’ Will it d2? Because, if-so, ameswill send it to ‘The Times ' a once.’ “ Better ask Dr. Gre first,” answered e bride. As she spoke, Dr. re turned'roun 'from the window where he had n conversinfir—that is responding to conversaticn—with Mr. e n, ggiegy on the weather: for it was a snowy m- r y. y This recise moment, half an hour after his mar- riage— is second marriage—is hardly a. fair time to describe Dr. Arnold Grey: suffice it to say that he - was a gentleman apparently about forty-five, rather low in stature and spare in figure, with hair a1 thin and irongray. The twent dive years between and his newlymrried e showed plainly—- only too lainly—as she stood, in all her grace ul- ness of gfi'lhood, which even her extreme pallor and a certain sharp, worn, unnamrally composed look could not destroy. He seemed struck b this. His - face clouded over for a minute, and a slightly sighed. But the pain, whatever it was, was only momentary; He looked like a man who was not in the habit of acting humidifier impulsive —who never did anything without ving previo fully counted the cost. “ What were you saying, Mrs. Ferguson?" said he sddresdng her with the grave and somewhat formal politeness whids was his natural manner, but which alwa .s somewhat awed that rather vulgar though kind- carted ' | and well-meaning worn ' es t'it would save on trouble, master—" James th Mrs. Fe nalwa h is between the com- mon tin versity snags; 0 address and plain “Dr. Gre .’ ued ln’Fer'gusoa, lowering her tone to a ooaddea‘fiaiwhisper,v“l thought i was better only 90‘3"? Edwfleo Esq. ’ and nothin more. Wo dn't You “I culd like it to he and the oolorrushed andyetsensitiveface, assem veasifhehad been I oung —“ not “Mrs Gre please ." .ynmg [wilt the solgnd or her how narsne .. ..,..- on: sewers“...- o m 0 ‘ 9 flush o sharp {)wsical or 1110an Pain. Which all her self-control coal not hide. Poordearl dear! thisisa for her,aud only 3°" since her meWsaid m Fasting: that mysterious, apolosetic whisper. “ t indeed, my love, you have one - on‘t fret a bit about The right in . . Never mind her, sir; she‘ll be better by-and-by." “ hank ou- linF'ergusm I ' w kind,”re-. turned the Ira-lo: of Saint Baha‘i.“ "P i y I .to stamp on the girl of thirteen a mar This oppression of pity would have nerved any one of reserved temperament to die rather than be- t the least fragment of emotion more. Christian t ered herself u ;her face grew glide or voice steady. he looked, not at rs. erguson, but at the good man who had just made her his wife—and any one looking at him must have felt that he was _a good man—then said, gently, but de- terminedly “If Dr. Grey has no objection I should like to have stated my father’s occupat on or my own. I dohnot" wish to hide or appear to be ashamed of eit er. “ Certainly not ” replied Dr. Grey; and, taking up the pen, he added “Edward Oakley, Esq., late sin, and ' organist of Saint Bede’s." It was the last earthly , memento of one who, born a gentleman and a genius, , had so lived, that, as all Avonsbridge well knew, the I reatest blessingwhich could have happened to his aughter was h death. But, as by some strange and merciful law of compensation often occurs, Christian, inheriting mind and person from him, had inherited temperament, di tion, character from the lowl -born mother w 0 was everything that he was no , and who hadlived just 10 ‘enough in ress which could resist all after contamination, aiPd to leave behind a love] dream of motherhood that :1 might perhaps—G knowsi—have been diviner Th their???" WI) (3 b ht accid tall i to ese ngs r. rey on y n contact with Christian daklermygon businem matters after her father’s lamentable death, speedily dis- covered for himself; and the result was one of those I sudden resolves which in some men spring from mere I passion, in others from an instinct so deep and true that they are not to be judged b ordinary rules. Ripple call it “love at first sight, ' and sometimes to wonderful stories of how a man sees, quite nn- y. some sweet, strange, and yet mysterious- face, which takes sion of his fancy with an almost supernatural orce. He says to him- self, “That woman shall be my wife;" and some day, months or years after, he actually marries her; an. She t the ’ 1- into hh hands. “ It‘s the notice ‘ even as. within a twelvemonth, hav waited silent- - ror‘rgg pagan audlmadeituplastnighhil “'3 until she was twenty-one, Dr. Grey married hrlstian Oakley. Butuntilwithnafewweeks 0 she herself had had no idea of the kind. She ntensely him, her gratitude for his fatherlyeare and kindnefls was almost boundless; but n1 him or many- in at all, was quite foreign to er hough it. How t ngshadcomeabouteven etshecouldhardly remember or 00mprehend. was a perfectdream. It seemed another personhand not she. who was sud- denly chan from Mrs. e son‘s rgoverness, without a riend or relative in the w e world, to the wife 01 the Master of Saint Bede‘s. That she could have married. or been the ht to have married him, for a ht but his own g and generous self, or that e mastershlp of Saint Bede’s, his easy income, and lie high reputation anythingIat all to do with it, never once crossed or imagina on. She was so simple: her forlorn, shut-up, unhappy life had kept her, if wildly ro- mantic, so intensely. chi true, that, whatever 0 ions she had to Dr. Grey’s offer, the idea that th could form one of them—that any one could suspect her—her Christian Oakley—of marrying for money or for a ome, did not occur to her for an instant. He saw that, this lover, who, from his many ears of seniority and the experience of a somfilw sit gargmlife, boheddrlghtbgiawn into the ep so t e ’s erp exe , rou ass ona e, innocent heart, and he was not afraid. 'Fhou h she told him quite lainly that she felt for him no - love, but onl all on and gratitude he had mmdply said, with h own tender smile, “ ever min — love you ,"’ and married her. As she stood in her white dress, white shawl, white bonnet—all as join as possible but still pure bridal white, contras ing strongly with the glaring colors of that drawing-room over the shop. which poor Mrs. Ferguson had done her luckiess best to make as fine as possible, her tall, slender figure, harmoni- ous movements and tones, being only more notice- able by the presence of that stout, gaudily—dressed, and loud-speakin woman most ople would have said that, thoug he had in a OVerness, a solitary un rotected woman, with nei er kith nor kin to ve er dignity earning her own bread by her own honest labor, the Master of Saint Bede‘s was not exactly a man to be pitied. He rose, and, having silently shown the paper to Christian, inclosed it In an envelope, and gave it to Mr. Ferguson. “Will you take the trouble of forwardl this to ‘The Times,‘ the latest of all ourmany ki nesses?” said be, With that manner nat a tleman’s, which makes the acknowledfiin o a vor appear hire the conferring of one. ,hy James Ferguson took it as such; but he was a person of deeds. not words; and he never could quite overcome the awe With which, as an Avonsbr'idgg‘person,he,the eweler of High Street regarded the aster of Saint de’s. Meanwhile t snow which had been fallin all day, fell thicker and thicker, so that the hazy 1 ht, of the drawing-room darkened into absolute loom. “Don’t ou think the children should be ere?” said Mrs. erguson, pausing in her assiduous admin- istration of cake and wine. “That I'm sure I beg your pardon, master—it they are really com . '“I esired my sisteg to send them without f ," quietly replied the m ter. I But another half-hour heavily on; the bridegroom's was to take them mrriage, w ‘ 80m 00011“? to a quiet railw‘ay station. already stood at the door, when medici- carriage was heard to drive up to it. - , “There they are!" tried Ira Ferguson. and the bride who had been sittln' g besi 0 her on the sofa. passive, silent, all butmotionless, started a . I “0h Iamso lad!" she said, in the first natural tone that had n heard in her voice all day. "I “imm”?‘i‘£”&2% .. d M r. won on Once, an rs. F ' had the good sense to follow taking her bus with her. “For. Is She said afterward, “the first sight of three step-children, and she, poor dear, such a men . must be e. vs unpleasant thing. For her . she was thank! that when she married James F be was a bachelor, and not a soul he! to m except an old aunt. She wouldn‘t like to poor lira. Gre 's shoes—dear me, noi—withthose two old hdies who have lived at the Lodgeever since the first Hrs. Grefildied. She wondered how on earth Miss Oakley co d mnago them." And upon James Ferguson’s “in the same we? as she managed every y," b wife soundly ra him for saying such a silly thing, ..'..h~_—-'- ’ " 9 CHIRIS’DIAN- OAKLEY’S MIS'I‘AKE. though he had, with the usual sentences of silent people, said a wiser thing than he was aware of. Meantime Christian was left alone, for the first time that day, and many days ; for solitude was a blessing not easy to get in the Fer usons’ large, bustlingnfamily. Perha she did not seek it— per aps she dared not. yhow, during t e month that had been occupied with her marriage preparations, she had scarcely been ten minutes alone, not even at night, for two children shared her room—the lovin little things whom she had taught for two years, first as daily, an then as resident 'overness, and to whom she had persisted in giving lessons till the set. . She stood with the same fixed composednese—notcomposure— of manner ; the quietness of a person who, having certain thin to go through, goes throu h them in a sort of dream, almost wi - out recognizing her own identity. After a minute she moved' sli htly, took up and laid down a book, but still mechanically, as 1f she did not quite know what she was doing, until, suddenly, she caught sight of her weddin ring. She regarded it with something very like aff ' ht; tri convulsiver to pull it off ; but it was rather tight ; an before it had passed a finger-joint, she had recollected herself, and pressed it down ' . . “ It is too late now. He is so good—everybody says so—and he is so very ood to me.” She spo e aloud, though she was alone in the room, or rather because she was alone, after a habit which, like all solitarily reared and dreamy persons, Christian had had all her life—her young, short life—only twenty-one years—and yet it seemed to er a whole, long, wea existence. . “If I can but make im happy i If what is left of me is only enough to make him happy i” Theso broken sentences were repeated more than once, and then she stood silent, as though in a dream still. When she heard the door 0 n, she turned round with that still, gentle, passive smile, whic had welcomed Dr. Grey on every day 0 his brief “ courting” days. It never altered, though he entered in a character not the pleasantest fora bride room, with his three little children, one on either side of him, an the young- est in his arms. But there are some men, and mostly those dgrave, shy, and re- served men, who have always the truest an tenderest hearts, whom nothin transforms so much as to be with children, espe- cially if the c dren are their own. They are given to hiding a great deal, but the father in them cannot be hid. Miss Oakley, like the rest of Avonsbridge, had long known Dr. Grey‘s history; how he had married early, or (ill-natured report said) been married by, a widow lady, very handsome, and some years older than himself. However, the shaigest insinuations ever made ainst their domestic bliss were that s e visited a good deal, while e was deeply absorbed in his studies. And when, after a many childless years, she Wong-h: him a girl and a boy, he e excessivel fond of his chil 11. Whether this implied that he had been so inted in his wife, nobody could tell. He certainly did not publrs his woes. Men seldom do. At the birth f a third child Mrs. Grey died, and then the widower grief, ough unobtrusive, was sufficiently obvious to make Avonsbridge first all unkindly curiosity aside, and conclude that the departed y must have been the most exemplary and well-beloved of wives and mothers. _ All this, being town’s talk, Christian already knew; more she had never inquired, not even when she was engaged to him. Nor did Dr. Grey volunteer any information. The strongest and most soothin part of his influence over her was his exceedin silence. He hsdgnever troubled her with any great demonstrat one, nor frightened her with questionings. From the time of their engage- ment he had seemed to take every thing for granted, and to treat her tenderly, almost reverently, without fuss or e, yet with the consideration due from a man to his future e ; so much so that she had hardly missed, what, indeed, in her simplicity she hardly expected, the attention usually aid to an sflanced bride from the relatives of her intended. . Gre had only two, his own sister and his late wife's. These ladies, iss Gascoigne Miss Gre , had neither called upon nor taken the least notice of Miss O ey. But Miss Oakley—if she thought about the matter at all—ascribed it to a fact well reco ised in Avonsbridge, as in most University towns, that one mig t as soon expect the skies to fall as for a college lady to cross, save for purely business purposes, the threshold of a High Street tradesmn. he same cause, she concluded, made them absent from her wedding; and when Dr. Grey had said simpl , “I shall desire my sister to send the chil- dren," Christian had aired no farther. Onl for a second, 0%» the brink of t is first meeting with t e children—her an! 's children, hers that were to be—did her heart fail her, and then she came forward to meet the little group, Letitia and Arthur were thin, prim-lookin , rather lain chil- dren; but Olive: was the ye? picture of a fa er’s dar g, a boy that any childless man wonl bitterly covet, any childless woman crave and earn for, with a longing that woman alone can under- stand; a c lid who, beautiful as most childhood is, had a beauty on rarely right, frank, merry, bold; half a Bacchus and half a Cupid, be was a perfect image of the Golden Age. Though three years old, he was evidently still “the baby,” and rode on 11ft: dfather’s shoulder with a glorious tyranny charming to be- 0 . . “ Who’s that i” said he, pointing his fatfl era, and shaking his curls that undulated- like billows of gold. “ apl. who's that? ” Hardly could there have been put. by any ene‘ a more difficult question. Dr. Gre did not answer, but avoided it, .taking the whole three , to nation's side, and bidding them in a rather nervous voice, to " kiss this led ." But that ceremony tbf‘ twogel er obstinater declined. “ I’m a big boy, and don‘t. like to he kissed,” said Arthur. “ Nurse told us since we had no momma of our own, we were not to kiss any body but our aunts," added Letitia. Dr. Grey looked terribly annoyed, but Christian said calmly, “ Verty well, then shake hands only.- We shalI be better friends b -and- .” ‘ yThey shfiered her to touch a little hand of each, passivelyorather than unwillingly, and let it go. For a minute or so the y and girl stood opposite her, holding fast by one another, and staring with all their eyes ; but they said nothi more, being apparently very “ good ” c ildren. Therefore, on be ng told to sit down, they vely took their places on the sofa, and continued to stare. What could he do—the father who had just given his children a new mother, they being old enough not only to understand this, but reviously tau ht, as most people are so fatally ready to teach chil en, the usua doctrine about step-mothers, and also quite ready to rebel against the same? . f‘ This is Oliver. I remember you told me his name. Will he come to me? children generally do,” said she, in a shy ‘sort of way, but still holding out her arms. In her face and manner was that inexplicable motherliness which some girls have even while nurs- ing their dolls—some never ; ay, though they may boast of a houseful of children—never ! Master Oliver guessed this by instinct, as children always do. He looked at her intently, a agueer, mischievous, yet penetra look ; then broke into a bro , genial laugh, quite Bacchic, an succumbed. Christian, the solitary governess, first the worse than orphan, and then the real orphan, without a friend or relative in the world, felt a child clingin round her neck—a child toward whom, by the laws of God an man, she was bound to fulfill al‘. the duties of a mother—which had always seemed to her the very sweetest in all the world. Her heart leaped with a sudden ecstasy involuntary and uncontrollable. “ My bonny boy 1” she murmured, kissing the top of that bil- lowy curl which extended from brow to crown—“my curl "—for Oliver immediately and proudly inted it out to her. “And to think that his mother never saw Poor thing ! poor thing 1” Dr. Grey turned away to the window. What remembrances, bitter or sweet, came over the widower’s heart, Heaven knows! But he kept them between himself and Heaven, as he did all things that were incommunicable and inevitable, and especially all things that could have given pain to any human being. He only said on returgifi, “I knew, stian, from the first, that you would be a good mother to 111 children." She look up at him, the tears in her eyes, but with a great light shining in them too. “ I will try.” - Poor Christian ! If her hasty marriage, or any other mistake of her life. needed pardon, surely it ml; t be won for the earnest sincerity of this vow, and for its eel -forgetful, utter humility— “ I will try. ” For another half hour, at her entreaty, the children staid, though Letitia and Arthur never relaxed from their dignified decorum farther than to inform her that they were sometimes called " Titin " and "Att ;” that their nurse was named Phillis; and that she had ned in the because " lslhe said she t:ypoul‘d‘ri? come in.” Still, havin expected nothin ,t eyoangs m erwas not disappointedgAnd when the fines left, 0 yer having held up his rosy mouth voluntarily for “ a good largo kiss, the sweet. ness of that caress lingered on her mouth like a chrism.of conse- cration, sanctifyin her for these new duties which seemed to and have been sent wi out her choice, almost without her volition. When Mrs. Ferguson, room . Md With any amount of sympathy, found the oung step-mot er inhaling her hand to the retreating “fringe th s composed smile, w ch asked no con- dolence, and oflered no confidences, the good lady was, to say the least, rised. " But." as she afterward confessed to at least two doaen of or most intimate friendl. “ there always was something ioodd, sodiftffirent floral-(11110? y1f ladiesMid mm.- Oak!t 0y. ’ owever, to e young y arse s e , exeep sug- , rather meekly, that it was time to change her dress. “ And just once more let me beg you to take my shawl—mym best—instead of your own, which you have had a year and a . 3h i’;1siglhinlg, “ if you had only spent more money on your wed ot es " ‘ owcould Ii"eaid Christian, and ped,seelngDr.Grey enter. This was the one point on whichws’dne had resisted him. She could not accept her trousseau from her husbmd’s generosity It had been the last struggle of that fierce, poverty-nurtured inde- pendence, which nothi short of perfect ovecould have extin- guished into happy hurdfilty, and she had held to her int resolute and hard ; so much so, that when, with 8 quiet t1 peculiarly kitrr:““”\—- ‘ " ‘ .._$_v—~ 0 i CHRISCL‘IAN OAIiLEh"S lVIIS'JTAKE. 3 L his own, Dr. Grey had yielded, she had afterward almost felt [ Good-bye to what—or to whom? : ashamed. And even now a slight blush came in her cheek when All that the fire revealed, as she laid the packet on it, stirrin it she heard him say cheerfme : 3 down into a red hollow, sothat not a flickering fragment shoal be " Do not trouble her, Mrs. Ferguson, about her shawl. You i left unconsumed, were four letters—only four—written on dais? know I have taken her—that is, we have taken one another ' for ‘ pager, in a man’s hand, sealed with a man’s large heraldic s . W . res-n ‘ A better, for worse,’ and it is little matter what sort of clothes she wears." Christian, as she passed him, gave her husband a grateful look. Grateful, alas! Love does not understand, or even recognize, gratitude. ' But when the door closed after her, Dr. Grey’s eyes rested on it like those of one who misses a light. If ever there was a man who, without the slightest obtrusive- ness, or self-assertion of any kind, had unlimited influence over those about him, it was Arnold Grey. 'I‘hrou bout a life 5 ent entire] within the college walls, he had, from reshman to fel ow, from t ence to tutor, an so on to the early di nity of mastership, the most extraordinary faculty of making peop e do whatsoever he liked—ay, and enjoy the doin of it. Friends, acquaintances, un- dergraduates, even down to c ildren and servants, all did, more or less, sooner or later, the good pleasure of Dr. Grey. Perhaps the secret of this was that his “ pleasure ” was never merely his own. None wield such absolute power over others as those who think little about themselves. Had circumstances, or his own inclination, led him out farther into the world, he might have been noticeable there, for he had very great and varied acquirements-more acquirements, erhaps, than originalities. He had never written a book, but he had read almost every book that ever was written—or, at least, such was the belief current in Avonsbri'dge. In his study he was literally entombed in books—volumes in all languages—and Avonsbridge supposed him able to read them all. How far this was a. popular superstition, and to what length his learning went, it is impossible to say. But nobody ever came quite to the end of it. His stron - est outward characteristic was quietness, both of manner, speech, motions, sp , it appeared, out of a corresgonding quietness of soul. Whether it ad been born with him, or t rough what storms of human passion and sufie ' he had attained to this permanent central calm, who could say? rtalifiy nobody knew or was likel to know; for the Master of Saint e’s was a person, the de th of whose nature could not be fathomed easily with any line. oe- sibly because, old as he was, it happened, as does hap n in some 3:0“, that the right plumb-line, by the right hand, never been prod et- And Christian, his wife? he had run u stairs—ran almost with her formerl ht step, for her heart felt %htened with the childish smile of ii e Oliver —to the attic whic for the last nine months she had oocu iod— the nursery, now made into a bedroom, and tenanted by erself and the two little Fergusons. No special sanctity of appro riation had it; alerge, somewhat bare room, in which not a t g was her own, either to miss or leave behind. For, in truth, she had nothing of her own; the small personalities which she had con- trived to drag about with her from lod to lodging having all gone to pay debts, which she had insis —and Dr. Grey agreed— ought to be paid before she was married. 80 he had taken from her the desk, the work-table, and the other valueless yet well-prized (quinine triflee, and brought her, as their equivalent, a sum large h to pay both these debts and all her m eexpenses, w sum she, ignorant and unsuspicious, took grate ully, merely an “ he was very kind.” e proceeded to fasten her collar and complete the minutie of her dress .with that careful neetneee which was an instinct with Christian,asitiswithallwomenlywomen,tho hhowthis r can. I us 900 motherlees girl had ever learned we at all was a marvel. She answered chiefly in soft monoeyllablee to tmerpetual stream ofKnFerguson'e talk,tillatlestthegood couldnolonger restrain herself. - “ 0 door, if you would 0% meek—only let out gur feel- hfle e;foryoumuetfeelt .eo;I’meuneI ,justas if. t were own wedding-day, or Isabe ’s or Sarah Jane’s. And when theydéeemetobemarried, poor lamina! Ihopeitwillbeee good a match as you are making—only, perha , not a widower. “Mignon:me on, MissOekley, my ear, weshallmise you so - And the good woman, who had a heart—endheartsarcworth . the orphan-bride to her breed bosom, and shed over her a torrent of honest tears. " you,” Christin said, and returned the kiss gently, but no tears came to her as. “And now,” added re. “Teen, recovering herself. “1’11 8° endseethntev isrlgt;mdl’llgetmywarmtaitan on they were mere dust, Christian rose. “ It is over now—quite over. In the whole world- there is no- body to believe in—except him. He is very good and he loves me. I was right to marry him—yes, quite right.” She repeated this more than once, as if compelling herself to acknowledge it, and then paused. . Christian was not exactly a religious womané—that is, she had lived among such utterly irreli 'ous people, that'whatever she thought or felt upon these su jects had to be kept entirely to herself—but she was of a religious nature. She said her prayers duly, and she had one habit—or su rstiticn, some might sneeringly call it—that the last thing efore she went on a journey she always opened her,Bible, read a verse or two, and knelt down, if only to say, “ God take care of me, and brin me safe back again ;” petitions that in many a wretched compell wandering were not so uncalled for as some might suppose.- » Be- fore this momentous journey she did the same ; but, instead of a Bible, it happened to be the children’s Prayer-Book which she took up ; it opened at the Marria Service, which they had been inquisitively conning over ; and t e first'words which flashed upon Christian’s eyes were those which had two hours ago passed over her deaf ears, and dull, uncomprehendin heart-— ‘ ’ “ For this same shall a man loam hu father and his mother, and be joined unto his wife, and thei two shall be one h.” She started, as if onl now she egan to compre end the full force of that awful on—“ one flee ,” and “till death us do art.” P Mrs. Fergurson tried the door, and knocked. " Dr. Grey is waiting, my dear. You must not keep‘your hus- band waitin .” “My hus dl" and again came thewild look, as of a free creature suddenly caught, tied, and bound. “What have I done? oh, what have I done? Is it too late?” Many a woman has married with far less excuse than Christian did—married for money or position, or in a cowardly yielding to family rsuasion, some one who she knew did not love her, er whom s e did not love, with the only sort of love which makes marriage sacred. What a nice such women must have endured, if they had any k of eminine feeling left alive, they them- selves know; an what Christian, far more guiltless than they, also endured, during the three minutes that she kept Mrs. Fer- guson waiting at the locked door, was a thing never to be spoken of, but also never to be forgotten duri the ongest and‘happieet lifetime. it was a warning that medenger—even her—to the end of her days, say to every young woman she knew, “Beware! marry for lose, or never marry at all." W on she descended, every ray of color had gone out of her face—it was white and passionless as stone; but she kissed the children all round, gave a little present to Isabella, who had been her only bridesmaid, shook hands and said sword or two of thanks to honest James Ferguson, her “ father ” for the day, and then found herself drl through the familiar streets—not alone. She never would be one any more. With a shudder, a sense of dread indescribable, she remem- bered this. She could have shrieked, end leaped out of the car. riage, to run wildl an here—to the world's end—when she felt her hand taken, so ut firmly. . "yydear, how cod you are! Let me make you warm. it I And then, in his on quiet, tender way, Dr. Grey her up in her shawl, and rolled a rug about her feet. She took no notice, submitted passively, and neither spoke "a word more till th had driven on for two or three miles, into a country road 1 to a village where Avonsbridge people sometimes went for summer lodging. "Why'u-e we here? This knotour right road. Where are we I! “ not mean to come this way, but we missed the train, andcennotreach London to-night; so I th ht we would ecroseeountrytoE—-—,"neminga etcat .town,“w ere gum rest, and go on what orw one you please. Will that “Oh yes." ' ‘ "You are not dissatisfied? We could not help Inkling “1:51:03 see.” I (C no.9! , The quick, sharp, querulous answers—them refugeof a ll shawl for you to travel It s a terrible snowy day still. You'll titious stgrzzgth that was momentarily breaking dM'm—ahe saw it come down stairs presently?” _ all, this man, this generous, hearted man, who knew “ " whatsorrowwas,endwoforewoieyeerhldwatchedherwitb But the instant Mrs. Ferguson wesgone Christian locked the no d .h ed m 'grtgeveléngfiltrunk a sealed “at r‘mn 0m m“ ,un 0 3m. u 1. mm 'bodono—it is right. I ought to have dine it before. Good-bye! forever.” withherhendsallshaklng,tookfro the sentences which love donetteeehes, especially the love which, ‘l door. The same 100k. 01 more than -eetual fear—crossed her coming late in life, had a column. and unselfishuss which youth- face. She stood motionless. “it to collect herself, and then, ' ‘ ' r ' fulloverarel possesses. ' 4 - _ Christian {ooked up, end’clceed her'eyee'agein in-erpcdvo h leeeneessedtosee. ~ I -. er husband watched her still. Once he sight—enthused sigh for e bridegroom. and then a light, my mampuer than 4 CHRISTIAN OAKLE Y’S NIISTAKE. love, or rather the essence of all love, self-denial and self-forgetful- ness, brightened n his whole countenance. h‘i‘léilow very tired) she is ; but I shall take care of her, my poor 9) The words were as entle as if he had been speaking to one of his own children, and e drew her to him with a tender, rotect- ing fatherliness which seemed the natural habit of his 1i e, such as never in her poor, forlorn life had any one shown to Christian Oakley. It took away all her doubts, all her fears. For the mo- ment she for ot she was married, forgot every thing but his good- ness, his ten erness, his care over her, and her great and sore need of the same. She turned and clung to him, Weepinglpassionately. “ I have nobody in the whole world but you. O , be kind to me I” “ I will,” said Arnold Grey. .._—.__. CIIAPTER n. “ You'll love me at! and I can ta Juno reaped that bunch of flowers you carry Your love's proytraeted growing"y I From seeds of April's sowing." SAINT BEDE'B is one of the most ancient of the minor, colle es of Avonsbridge Its foundress’s sweet, pale, sufiering face, c ad in theolose coif of the time of the wars of the Roses, still smiles over the fellows’ table in hall, and adorns the wall of combina- tion-room. The building itself has no great architectural beauty except the beauty of age. Its courts are gray and still, and its grounds small ; in fact, it possesses only the Lodge garden, and a walk between tall trees on the other side of the Avon, which is crossed by a very curious bridge. The Lodge itself is so close to the river, that from its windows you may op a. stone into the dusky, slowly rippling, sluggish water, which seems quieter and deeper there than at any other college past which it flows. Saint :Bede’s is,,as I said, a minor college, rarely numbering more thanfifty gownsmen at a time, and maintaining, both as to sports and honors, a mild mediocrity. For years it had not sent any first-rate man either to boat-race, or cricket-ground, or senate. house. Lately, however, it had boasted one, quite an Admirable Crichton in his way, who, had his moral e ualed his mental qua]. ities, would have carried all before him. s it was, being discov- erediuofienses not merely against University authority, but oh- noxious to society; at large, he had been rusticated. Thou h the matter was kept as private as possible, its details being own only to the master, dean, and tutor, still it made a nine-days’ talk, not only in the,college, but in the. town-~until the remorseless wave of ‘ daily life, which so uicklycloses over the head of either ill-door or well-door, 010803 completely over that of Edwin Uniacke. Evensuch an event as the master's second marriage had scarcely power to stir Saint Bede’s from its sleepy e uanimity. ‘ It was, indeed, a peaceful place. It had no gran entrance, but in-a narrow back street you came suddenly upon its ancient gate- way, through which you passed into a medieval .world. The clock-tower and clock, with an u right sundial affixed below it, marked the first'court, whence, t rough I). pamage which, as is usualin colleges, had the .hall on one hand and the battery on the other, you entered the second court, round three sides of which rancloisters of'very ugly,very.plain, but very ancient architec- ture. In a corner of them cloisters was the door of the Lodge—- the master’sprivate dwelling. , . . Until eighteen months ago, the date 0(1):, Grey’s a pointment, there had. not been a woman’s; face or a child? foot agent it for a hundred and fifty years. All the masters h been unmarried—— grim, e fellows—advanced in years. . Dc. Arnold Grey, whose ellowship had, terminated early, and, whq fig afterward been tutor and dean, was the youngest master that, _ever.been known at-SaivntBede’s ;. and his election. m' ht coase‘qu .tly have been unpopular had he not been personalfiy so,.muchuhked, and had there not happened immediately afterward that scandal about Edwin Uniaclsa. v Therein he acted so promptlyland wisely, tm the sleepy, timid old dons, as well as the Uniacke family— or ‘ lad .wuxhighly connected-v-Were thankful. that this unlucky business had not occurred in the time of the late master, who was both» old and-;foolish.,