four years still to elapse ere the conditions of the will must be complied with; and only consented to remain at home, or to meet Miss Dunbar anywhere, on the express understanding that there should be no farther allusion to that point. With this he was obliged to comply, and some wretched months dragged on. Henry came home on leave, and added much to my troubles by his evident anxiety to promote the match. I said he was not mercenary; but he was extravagant, and that makes men selfish ; and I believe he thought that my being amply provided for by Mary's fortune, would induce my father to leave more of his personal property to him than he could otherwise hope for. Peace be with the dead! I will not dwell on that." Forbes proceeded to give Sybil an account of the ball mentioned in a previous chapter, to which he had most unwillingly consented to go, not only in compliance with his father's desire, but in order, by his presence, to screen Grantley and Mary, whose last night of meeting this was to be, as the former was about to return to Oxford. He dwelt on the feelings of agony with which he himself had returned to Edinburgh, in order to complete his studies for the bar and to pass advocate, the winter after she had left it. "Then," he said, "loathing studies which had no longer an object to animate them, and destitute of that loftier feeling of piety which taught you, my Sybil, to bow amid your sorrows to the will of Heaven, I fled from myself, plunged into company, and sought by dissipation and frivolity to dull the aching of memory. But such a life was not meant for me. I soon grew disgusted with it, and, on pretext of recovering my health, which indeed had been not a little affected by distress and anxiety of mind, I obtained permission to travel for some time. Since then I have led a life of nearly constant unhappiness, finding my only resource in study; for my father would rarely permit me to be more than a month or two absent from the neighbourhood of Miss Dunbar, and I believe it was universally given out that we were engaged. Still, my own Sybil, I cherished the memory of you in my very heart of hearts, and never ceased to nourish a faint hope of better days. I contrived to hear something of you, too, oftener than you could believe possible. I had never loved a woman but yourself, yet I knew that I had given you too good cause to desire to forget me; and it was therefore with little surprise, though with agony I cannot attempt to describe, that I received Seaton's intelligence of your reported marriage." "Oh, Grantley!" exclaimed Sybil, "I cannot think how you could believe it." "Alas! Sybil, I had every reason to do so. You had no clue to my conduct. You, Sybil, believed that I had forgotten you." "Never!" returned she, "never, till I was assured that you June, 1846.-VOL, XLVI.—NO. CLXXXII. N were on the point of marriage. And I thought from your manner to-night that you looked as if it were true." "Whilst I drew the same conclusion from yours! Ah, Sybil ! no one need have envied me the feelings with which I then looked at you, and thought of the treasure which might have been mine; and that now, when all obstacles had left my path, an insurmountable one had risen up betwixt us, at which I had no reason, no right to murmur; for it had been my own apparent blame. Thank Heaven, the agony of those few minutes is over!" "And how, Grantley, did the marriage of Miss Dunbar with your cousin come about?" "Why," he replied, "it is not above a few weeks now to the time when Mary will attain the age of twenty-three; and, of course, her final decision was to be made this summer. Grantley was, a few months ago, presented to a living of about five hundred a-year, in England, through the interest of an old friend of his father's; and they determined, accordingly, to brave the anger of all parties, and declare their mutual engagement. Of the particulars I know nothing, for it was about that very time that I was— sent for-to London." "I believe," continued Forbes, after a pause, "that poor Mary has much to bear from her aunts. The change in my prospects only served to irritate them more. The dreadful event in our family of course put a stop to the possibility of her marriage for a time; and I have found some comfort in knowing that my poor father never was informed, died in ignorance of this disappointment to his cherished schemes. Now of course there is no obstacle in their way. I fear-although Mary's husband is a Forbes, and although, in the event of my death without heirs, he would be Forbes of St. Anne's-that the law will afford her no redress in the matter of the property. She has chosen the wrong cousin," he added, with a smile, "and must abide by the consequences, but they do not seem to weigh heavily upon her mind or Grantley's. They think they have a very tolerable share of worldly gear; and, indeed, part of my errand to Edinburgh was to secure a little more for them. We shall have enough, Sybil; we can afford to do this act of justice. Now come, dearest, let us have a stroll round the garden once more, for the sake of‘Auld Lang Syne." He gently drew her arm within his own, and once more they trod their old accustomed paths together. On reaching the upper terrace walk they stopped to gaze round the beautiful and quiet scene, when Forbes pointed out to Sybil the silver rim of the young moon, now again visible over the highest branches of the trees, even as it had been four years ago. "Now," he said, "Sybil, the circle has been completed where it began. Strange, is it not, that our lot should have been so interwoven with this particular spot and with leap year?” "And the Sortes Scottianæ, Grantley ?" asked Sybil. "You will show them to me now, will you not? How often I have recollected that." "I shall show them to you, Sybil," whispered he, "after we are married; not till then. They have not been altogether right or wrong; but we shall tamper with no more Sortes, Sybil. Let us put our trust in the gracious Providence who has brought us thus mysteriously to meet again." "It is only another proof, Grantley," said Sybil-"if proof were wanting that there is no such thing as chance. It was the hand of Providence which led us both hither to-night, as surely as it is the same hand which guides the fate of empires. And it is the same hand which has conducted us both, through much severe suffering, to a trust in its power and wisdom, which otherwise we should, in all likelihood, never have attained. Instead of lamenting that the glow of unchastened youth has early vanished from us, let us adore the power which has, by that very means, bestowed a better comprehension of its own mysterious ways." "And a temper of mind," added Forbes, "better suited to such a world as this. Ah, Sybil, what a happy home ours will be! There is an old bower in the garden at St. Anne's which has often reminded me of our favourite seat here. It must still be a little while, yet, dearest, not very long, till I show it you. It will serve to remind us of the past, Sybil, should we run any risk of forgetting it." And They lingered yet a little while in the beloved garden till Sybil, catching the sound of wheels coming up the avenue, was forced to leave it in order to meet her uncle's carriage. They parted at the door, with a whispered promise of meeting on the morrow. on the morrow they met accordingly; nor was it long ere Grantley Forbes, as Sybil's affianced husband, leant over her once more in silent rapture, blent only with so much of melancholy recollection as to add to its intensity, and listened in the summer twilight to the notes of her guitar as they accompanied the well-remembered words of "Somebody." The announcement of their intended marriage gave universal satisfaction. The affectionate Juliet Maitland forgave our hero even his personal attractions in consideration of his constancy, and agreed that her dear Sybil had every prospect of happiness with him; and Charles, from his distant exile, despatched the warmest congratulations to his beloved sister, and consoled himself for the loss of her as his housekeeper by anticipations that in his approaching furlough he should be able to choose one" for better or for worse," who would not be liable to being taken from him. Grantley Forbes-the other Simon Pure-and his hard-won bride, were married a short while before the couple whose happiness they had so long unintentionally marred; and although Miss Marjory Dunbar could never be prevailed upon to name either of them with complacency, or to accept of an introduction to Sybil, there is no record that any one else ever had cause to regret the match; and they were universally and justly believed to be as happy together as their long attachment deserved. It was before the close of the year 1828 that Forbes and Sybil stood together in the old arbour of the garden at St. Anne's, and gazed upon the moon, rising bright and beautiful even over the nearly leafless trees that sheltered it. "She shines as if to welcome us to our home, my beloved," said Forbes, as he pressed his lovely wife to his heart. 'May no future leap year ever present an omen less auspicious!" 66 Fluctuating as is the happiness of this world, that prayer has hitherto been heard; and forasmuch as there is a species of happiness independant of the fleeting joys and sorrows of earth-receiving the blessings of mortal life as bountiful gifts, not as necessary possessions, and looking beyond them all towards a dwelling where kindred hearts shall be united in far more complete and holy fellowship than their closest union here can give-forasmuch as there is such a species of happiness, and that such is the portion of those whose story has occupied these pages, it may perhaps be safely predicted that with them the prayer shall be heard unto the end. THE GAMBLER'S LAST STAKE. BY MRS. CRAWFORD. OH! how can I meet thee, my own faithful wife? Ah! the tear in thine eye-it is scarcely yet dry-- And sadly I trace, in thy beautiful face, The pale records of want and of woe. Why, why dost thou shudder? Oh, speak, my love, speak! They well may be so; I have lost my last stake; I have beggar'd my wife and my child. But I've vow'd me a vow, I've recorded it now, That while life shall remain, I'll not enter again O my own darling wife! that sweet smile and that kiss, Ah! how could I hope such forgiveness as this? "O my husband! I fear for our little one here; "No, I cannot take that; I have done thee foul wrong, Ah! I've cherish'd it fondly, I've treasur'd it long, "But take it, dear life! the last gift of thy wife, And come to us quickly again; We've no food and no fire, the sweet babe will expire, "Oh, wretch that I am! what! my wife's wedding-ring! Well, well then it must; I will hasten and bring He kiss'd her pale charms, and he rush'd from her arms, And he pass'd the vile door he'd oft enter'd before, "Ah! this soon will be gone, and then what shall we do? No, I cannot sin thus. Ah! but one lucky throw- Here, again let me try! on this cast of the dye, Death! my last stake is gone! Ah! lost, ruin'd, undone! Hold, hold my rash hand! O my wife, my poor wife! Though I'm sick of the world, though I'm weary of life, Oh! I never can bear to behold her despair- 'Tis done! Ah! I bleed! God forgive the rash deed, And save-save-my wife and my child!" The foregoing lines are intended to depict the dreadful force of evil babit, as exemplified in the inveterate passion for gaming. In the present instance the gambler has lost his last shilling; and as he returns, dejected and miserable, to his desolate home, and his rejected wife and child, he makes a solemn vow never to enter a gaming-house again. He informs his wife of the final ruin which has overtaken him, and at the same time of the firm resolution he has made; and she welcomes him back with the tenderest affection. But she and the infant are reduced to the last extremity; they have neither food nor fire, nor any means left to procure them. Suddenly she pulls her wedding-ring from her finger, and urges him to hasten and obtain with that the means of preventing them from perishing of hunger and cold. He cannot endure the idea of making so painful a sacrifice; but there is no alternative, and he at length consents, and hurries away from her with a promise to retura immediately with the necessaries so urgently required. And now mark the sad effects of gaming in hardening and utterly depraving the human heart. Proceeding to expend the money which he has procured for the ring, he unfortunately passes the door of the very house which has been the cause of all his misery and ruin. He pauses-he hesitatesand in hesitating he is, of course, lost. He thinks this little sum, should luck be now on his side (and he flatters himself it will), may be the means of more amply supplying his necessities, and ultimately of retrieving his fortunes. He enters he hazards this last stake, this sacred deposit, the very life-blood of his wife and child. All is lost; and, maddened by despair, he rushes from the fatal place to put an end to his miserable existence. |