off utterly—I am his wedded wife—forgive--forgive those among whom I have dwelt for so many years." me, father."

"Never-but on one condition. Those ties may be broken. Suffer them to become as though they were not, and I can clasp you to my breast once more as my daughter-but as his wife, never."

Lucile raised her bowed head, and her fair cheek glowed with emotion, as she placed her hand in that of Sidney, and said

"Then is my fate decided. I should be unworthy the name of woman--unworthy of the love which he bears me, could I forsake my husband. No, father: though you are loved deeply, dearly, my choice is made. I go forth to the world, to struggle, perchance, with difficulties of which I have not dreamed, but they will be sweetened by love, and may you not be haunted by remorse for the course you have pursued toward the child of her who lies in her silent grave. Adieu."

"Hear me a moment, before we part," said Grey. "General Montressor, you have treated me in this matter, as though I possessed not the feelings of a man, yet I forgive and I pity you; for you love your daughter better than your life, though your pride refuses to yield to her entreaties. If you can live without her, let your heart be at rest on her account. Her happiness shall be my first care, and though you have spurned my alliance, you know that you may confide her to my love with implicit faith."

In silence Victor obeyed-and stilling the mighty emotions that were wringing his heart, by the exercise of a pride, which by indulgence had become the master passion of his soul, he proceeded to the house.

"My friends," said he in a husky tone, "you behold in me a forsaken father. My daughter has chosen to follow the fortunes of Sidney Grey. Henceforth I have no child. My nephew shall be unto me as a son, but the name of Lucile shall from this hour be an interdicted word. Let those who love me, or value my friendship, aid me in forgetting that I have a child. Our revels must not be interrupted by this untoward occurrence. Let us have music."

And the sounds of revelry came from those walls, which, if nature had been allowed free course, would have echoed back the wailings of anguish for the loss of their youthful heiress. A hollow and unreal pageant was throwing its mockery over the aching heart, and burning brain, as if the sounds of mirth could bring the reality, or the spirit of melody could breathe into the soul its divine essence, and bid the warring passions cease-the sorrowful heart be joyful.

The priest, that dark and strange man, was standing under the shadow of the trees, and a mocking smile was on his pale lips as he stopped and listened to the mingled sounds which floated on the evening air. "Aye-laugh--dance-ring out your joyous meaThey turned away, and a turn in the walk soon hid sures, but each note falls on his heart as a knell. Old them from view. dotard! to be played on thus, and by me-me, his

"Stop, we part not thus," shouted Victor, maddened dependent, his spiritual director-ha! ha! ha! I can by the triumph of his rival.

laugh to think how completely this man, who lords it "Forbear," said his uncle, in a stern tone, at the same o'er his hundreds of slaves-who bows not his head to time laying a nervous grasp on the arm of his nephew. any man-is under my dominion: and if he knew whom "Rather thank Heaven that you have not a human he thus humbles himself before, Holy Mother! would life to answer for. Let them go: a pair of love-sick there not be a reckoning between us! And I-what fools--the dream will soon be over, and then you will have I bound myself to his side for? Chained, Promebe amply avenged." theus-like, with the vulture of the past preying on my "No-a few appeals and you will forgive them-re-soul. Heart of mine thou knowest I 'bide my time,' ceive them again, and all will be forgotten," said Victor. and 'twill come ere long. I urged him to the unnatu"By my faith, no,” replied the old man with bitter-ral course he has pursued toward his daughter. I ness. "What I, who have so worshipped her, to be thus played on the feelings of Victor, and used him as my deceived, and forgive? Never was a father so devoted tool. I performed the solemn rite which weds his to a child. At night my last thought was of her; my child to poverty, and will bring him with sorrow last murmured word a blessing on that heart which has and remorse to his grave, for he shall not relent. I become estranged from me. When I awoke, it was will yet shew him who has done this, and why I have with the glad thought that I should see her bright face pursued him with relentless hate. Perseverance-smiling on me. I have followed her lithe and lovely perseverance--ha! ha! ha! what can it not accomplish? figure with my eyes dimmed with the tears of affection And now I go to view yon hollow pageant-to see the and pride. She knew that she was the life of my life--childless father throw over him the mantle of pride, the pulse of my heart-yet she has forsaken me. Can which he fancies conceals the contortions of agony that I forgive such base ingratitude? Never--never!" convulse his soul; but he cannot deceive me." And Utterly overcome by his emotions, he sat down on assuming his usual meek and quiet demeanor, he glided the marble steps which led into the pavilion, and wept. among the guests. A few words spoken at that moment in favor of his child, might have restored her to his arms as dearly cherished as ever, but the priest suddenly appeared.

"The company are still in silent wonder at your protracted absence," said he, and lowering his voice he muttered something in the ear of his patron, which appeared to chafe his spirit anew. He arose, and after a brief struggle, regained his composure.

"Retire to your own room, Victor. That lowering| brow is unfit for a scene of festivity. For me, my duty

CHAPTER IX.
Gentle lady,

When I did first impart my love to you,

I freely told you, all the wealth I had
Ran in my veins; I was a gentleman:
And then I told you true.

Shakspeare.

Are we not one? Are we not joined by Heaven?
Each interwoven with the other's fate? Fair Penitent.

Grey and his fair bride were detained in Havana

to myself calls on me to sustain my character before | some days, before the ship which was to bear them to

General Montressor had liberated the girl who had been reared with his daughter, with the secret hope that the affection of Agnes for her young mistress would induce her to follow her fortunes. In this he was not mistaken. Agnes was the daughter of Lucile's nurse, and the affection and fidelity of the colored slaves, toward those whom they have watched over in infancy, is frequently as remarkable as that shown by the Highlanders to their foster children. The first thought of the old woman, when her daughter proclaimed her freedom to her, was, that she could now accompany her beloved child in her exile from her native land.

their new home, was ready to sail. In the meantime | coldness of death, but earth's flowers, springing from Lucile had written several times to her father, but her the dust to which we have returned, are types of that letters were returned unopened. Her efforts to see other life to which we are taught to look with that love him were also unavailing. and faith which casteth out fear. I remember your mother; and you are strikingly like her. I can see her pale, subdued countenance before me now, as she sat at her sewing, with those long, slender fingers plying her needle with unwearied industry. I remember her death, and the prayer of my own gentle parent that you might be henceforth considered as the child of her adoption." "And I well recollect all her kindness to my orphan boyhood. My mother was not born to the station in which you first knew her. She was the daughter of a Virginia planter, and, while her father lived, enjoyed every advantage which competence could command. At his death she was left destitute. Security debts to a large amount attested at once his own good nature and the villainy of those in whose honor he had conIfided. Her father resided near the Virginia University, and at the time of his death she was betrothed to one of the students. He possessed a small independence, and no sooner heard of my mother's unexpected change of circumstances, than he insisted on being united to her at once. He had no near relatives to control his wishes, and she became his bride.

"Now 'member," said she, "if you is free from master, you is still de bounden slave of Miss Lucile. b'longed to her mother 'fore she was ever married, and if it wern't for dat will leavin' de property to master as long as he lives, she would'nt be turned out of her father's house now, wid nothin' to bless herself wid; so if you wants me to die easy in my bed, you'll go wid her, wait on her, do ebery thing dat I'd do if I was free to go wi' her too. Does you hear me, Aggy, child?"

"Yes, mammy, and I is gwine to do so too. Miss Lucile's always been kind to me, and I is'nt gwine to forget it now, when her own father turns his back on her." That night Agnes joined her young mistress.

The wardrobe of Lucile was forwarded from her father's, and on opening her jewel box, she found in it gold pieces to the amount of several hundred dollars. A slip of paper was fastened to it on which her father had written "Make the most of this, for 'tis all you will ever receive from me."

That evening they embarked, and Lucile stood on the deck of the ship until the last tint of daylight faded from the sky, straining her vision toward the dim line on the horizon's edge, which showed where that isle of beauty lay; and when she could no longer see the land of her birth, she sat down and wept such tears as are only wrung from a young heart mourning over its first deep grief.

Grey sat beside her, and sought to draw her from the contemplation of the past, to view that future which was opening before them; and as she listened to the tones of that beloved voice, they brought comfort to her soul, and gradually her tears became less passionate-soon they had ceased to flow.

"I have never told you the history of my parents," said he, as they leaned together over the side of the ship, and looked into the clear depths below, in which the Heavens, with each bright and glorious star, were mirrored.

"He left the University immediately, and proceeded to his native place to prosecute the study of medicine. I will lightly pass over what followed, for it is too painful for a son to dwell on. In he became entangled with a set of dissipated young men, and, forgetful of the new tie which bound him, he gave himself up to the reckless enjoyment of the passing moment. "The consequences were utter ruin, a broken constitution, and to my mother an almost broken heart. He left and went to a distant village, but could get no employment, and for several years they endured the extreme of poverty. Many times, to lose the sense of his degradation and suffering, he would return to the first cause of his misfortunes, and for days would lie in utter oblivion of all around him.

"He had one brother, many years his senior, who resided in Philadelphia, and but for his occasional assistance rendered to my mother in the shape of small sums of money, sent as he could spare them, they must have perished in spite of my mother's industry. She many times denied herself the rest which exhausted nature almost demanded, that she might continue a few more hours at her needle. At length my uncle wrote that all his hopes of reformation on the part of my father had been abandoned; but he would still offer him an employment which would make no call on the intellect, that had been obscured, almost destroyed by his course of life. A wealthy planter, residing in one of the West India Islands, had commissioned him to procure an overseer, and he offered the situation to my father.

"No-I have never heard you speak of your relatives, except as children, when we went hand in hand to "The prospect of employment, which would bring deck the graves of our mothers with flowers: and do him a comfortable support for his wife and child, reyou remember, Sidney, how I cried because the mar-stored him in some measure to his former self-respect. ble tablet over my mother's grave prevented me from placing the flowers on the earth which covered her, as you did on the more humble resting place of your mother? That incident has made a lasting impression on me: I would not be buried under one of those cold, dismal looking stones, if my own wishes could prevent it. No-let the sun shine on my grave, the dews moisten it, and the green grass wave above my last resting place. Marble well represents the repose, the

From that hour he drank no more; but the remembrance of what he was, and what he had once fair prospects of becoming, embittered every moment of his life. He was ever kind to my mother; but for hours have I seen him walk the floor of our humble abode, and tears would stand in his eyes as he looked on her and called her his suffering angel. He related to me what I have now told you, and made every effort to impress on my young mind a horror of everything

The man who thus spoke was a bachelor, with a clear particu-income of some thousands, but without one spark of generosity, except at the expense of others, in his heart. A man of ten thousand," murmured one. The second speaker was one of the most successful "Ah yes—so benevolent-so kind-hearted," chimed merchants in the city, and had risen to the station he in another. "The voice of distress was never unheed- occupied by his own energy and integrity: his resied." And thus they chorused the praises of their dence was one of the most splendid on Chesnut street, lost friend, until Sidney became impatient for them to and he was surrounded by a young and lovely family; proceed to business, for however gratifying the high | but amid his present prosperity he did not forget his

own early struggles, and the promptings of benevo- | dozen paintings not entirely completed, which canlence were never unheeded. not bring me into notice without patronage of some

He had been deeply interested by the appearance of kind." Grey, and his imagination rapidly sketched the pro- "Your genius shall raise you up friends and patrons bable sufferings which would result from the disap-when you least expect it," said she playfully; "for the pointment he had that morning experienced; his wish present, I am fortunately richer than you, and our uniwas to obviate them as far as possible, but his benevo-ted funds will support us very respectably until you lent intentions were frustrated. He spent the remain- have time to become known and appreciated. 'Faint der of the day in driving from hotels to boarding-heart never won fair lady,' as the old adage goes-so houses in vain. There had been such a gentleman at the United States Hotel for a few hours in the morning, but he had departed at twelve o'clock no one knew whither; and baffled in his search, Mr. Edmonds was compelled to return home without accomplishing his benevolent intentions.

Stunned, bewildered by the unexpected occurrences of the morning, Sidney mechanically retraced his steps to the hotel, though when there he shrank from communicating to Lucile the misfortunes which had met him in the very outset of his career. All the accumulated difficulties of his situation stood in vivid array before him,-a stranger in a strange land, with but few dollars left after his travelling expenses were all paid

with no knowledge of business-possessing only a few paintings, whose merit he well knew was not sufficiently striking to attract purchasers-with a newly wedded wife, dependent on him for support. He felt that her brief sunshine of happiness was over-the darkened days had already commenced.

""Prithee look no more so pale,

But list a new hope when the old doth fail.""

when breathed in such a voice as thine, and enforced "Who would refuse to listen to the whispers of hope

with such a smile?"

Lucile opened the dressing case and gave him the gold, which had been her father's last gift.

"Here," she continued, "are my jewels. They are not of great value, considering that I was the heiress to such vast wealth as my father possessed; but such duced to the necessity of parting with them.” as they are, they may become a resource to us if re

"May heaven avert such distress as that would por

tend," said Grey fervently. "No, dearest—your jewels must remain untouched so long as any other means of subsistence are within my reach. In the meantime the sum before us will suffice until I become acquainted

here."

"As you please," replied Lucile. "We must seek boarding in a less expensive house than this, and perhaps the keeper of the house will employ Agnes, and thus allow her to gain a support for herself without being separated from me?"

"You cannot do without her services, my love. What would become of you, with your creole habits, without some one to wait on you? These delicate hands do not look as if they could accomplish much. No-no-you must not part with Agnes."

His intention had been to accept the home offered him by his uncle, while he diligently pursued the cultivation of his art, and by the study of the few fine paintings within his reach, correct as far as possible the defects of a self-formed and imperfect style. In the meantime, a portion of his attention he designed to give to portrait painting; and the resources thus obtained were to be devoted to the purpose of raising a fund to convey him to Italy-the land of his dreams"Oh, I can learn to wait on myself; and I think it the wished for haven to which all the aspirations of his would be positive injustice to Agnes to keep her with soul pointed. After a struggle for composure, he en-me, while I am unable to pay her the wages her sertered the room where Lucile was eagerly expecting him.

"Here you are at last, dear Sidney-I thought you would never return, my impatience has been so great to hear from your uncle. How is he? What said he? Was he pleased to see you? Tell me all in a word."

vices can command-and I know the faithful creature too well to believe that she would receive money from me which she saw I needed myself. So, dear Sidney, allow me to arrange this matter if you please."

"Well-as you will, my dear little wife. Why, from whence did you obtain all this stock of wisdom, ma belle ?"

Lucile blushed and smiled. "It has been taught me, I suppose, by my affection for one who possessed few of the gifts of fortune. I can make any sacrifice, Sidney, sooner than suffer you to abandon the art to which your soul has so fondly clung from boyhood, to gain a pittance in some other occupation, in order to

"It is soon told," said Sidney mournfully. "The old man is dead, and we are friendless." He then proceeded to relate what he had learned. Lucile listened in silence: she saw at a glance the full extent of the calamity which had befallen them-though he concealed from her that he owed the loss of his uncle's property to her consent to become his bride; but her spirit rose to meet the evil, and she looked on the fu-shield me from a few privations which my mind is fully ture with an unquailing eye.

prepared to encounter. Let us not despond--for believe me, I would not be elsewhere than by thy side; and heaven never linked two hearts in as pure a bond as ours, without pointing out to them the pathway which would lead them to happiness."

"Your faith is a consolatory one, Lucile, and I will e'en trust to it. My regrets are not for myself, but for you. I fondly anticipated bringing you to a comfort

"Poverty is not the worst of ills, dear Sidney, as I well know," said she. "We are now entirely dependent on our own resources, and no false pride should prevent either of us from doing what is necessary to secure an independence however humble. I have contemplated the possibility of disapppointment, and weighed the probable consequences of an union with you before I consented to link my fate with yours-able home, where no harrassing anxiety and uncertainty therefore, my mind is not entirely unprepared for the difficulties which we are likely to encounter. Let us calmly examine our situation, and the extent of our resources-then decide our future course."

for the future should dim a ray of your beauty, and the disappointment is proportionably severe."

"Think not of me. If you could look into my heart, and see there the happiness it gives me to be near you,

"I have but fifty dollars in the world, and some half with the consciousness that death alone can sever me

from your side, you would indulge in no fears for my future peace."

“Noble-admirable girl! I knew thee not till now! No lot can be dark which is brightened by such affec

tion."

With a light heart, Grey proceeded to make his arrangements. He went into the bar-room, and looked over the numerous cards which adorned the walls; and after making a few inquiries of the bar-keeper, his selection of a boarding-house was soon made. He then called for a carriage, and driving to a retired street in the city, found the domicile of Mrs. Patton, a neat and unpretending mansion, in which he engaged rooms that promised to be very pleasant. Within two hours from that time Lucile was established in her apartment, the windows of which looked out on a green and shaded walk, which reminded her of the verdure of her own sunny land.

Some months elapsed, and Lucile would have been perfectly happy, but for the continued silence of her father. She had not believed it possible that he could remain callous to her appeals. She still continued to write regularly, though the hope of forgiveness had almost faded from her mind: yet she had not repented her clandestine marriage. How could she repent, when the affection of Grey never slumbered? If he saw the faintest shadow on her brow, he would not leave her side until it was dispelled.

Grey had formed a few acquaintances among men of his own profession, and several of them had visited his studio. Their criticisms on the productions of his pencil were valuable to him, as they enlightened him yet more on the utter impossibility of a young and unknown artist, imperfectly trained in his profession, making any progress in public favor, until years of intense study and unwearied industry had given their last polish to his labors, and the question frequently recurred to him, how was he to exist in the meantime? Already was their pittance nearly exhausted, and he saw before him no means of replenishing his little store. In vain had he placed a sign on the most conspicuous part of his window bearing in goodly-sized | letters the words, "Sidney Grey, Portrait Painter," and filled up the lower part of the sash with two of his best heads. The children and servants of the neighborhood admired and criticised them each day, but they brought no "human face divine" to the artist, to transmit to posterity, in all the glory which white lead and vermilion can bestow.

Many times did his spirit faint within him, and his hand fall nerveless by his side, as the possibility of failing in his efforts presented itself to his mind; and if such were his doom, to what a destiny had he chained the being, whose affection had been the solitary flower in his sterile path!

sources of uneasiness, he During the winter he had

In addition to his other began to fear for his health. suffered excessively from the cold weather, and a severe pain in his breast had frequently compelled him to lay aside his pencil for days at a time. Yet all this was studiously concealed from Lucile; and when she expressed her fears that he was not as well as usual, he would seek to re-assure her by assuming an air of gaiety, and rallying her for indulging in such fancies. Late in the spring he completed a fancy piece representing a gipsy girl in a storm. She was standing under the shelter of a tree, endeavoring to regain her bonnet which the wind had whirled among the lower branches; and in the oriental style of her beauty-the dark dilating eyes, and lustrous hair, might be traced a striking resemblance to Lucile. She smilingly remarked it.

"I saw you once in the same attitude," he replied, "and in truth that suggested to me the idea of the picture."

Through the interest of one of his friends, he procured a place for it in the public exhibition of pictures. The painter, unknown to all, mingled in the crowd and heard the strictures on what he considered his chef d'œuvre.

"What a glorious head," said a connoisseur with his blackened tube placed to his eye. "I do not know who could have executed it. I have never before seen such

spiritual beauty in any face."

"Ah," thought the lover husband, "the original is yet more lovely than that;" and he fancied the radiant smile with which his return would be greeted, and mentally repeated the celebrated remark of the English statesman, that "the best part of beauty is what a portrait can never express." But his attention was recalled to the answer which was made to the first speaker.

"Yes-as you say, the head is glorious, but the rest of the picture is not at all in keeping. It is wonderful that the same hand should have executed both. The picture wants perspective, and the foreshortening of the arm is defective, the hand is good enough-nay uncommonly good, for a young artist, and me just now that this picture was executed by a young man from Cuba. He possesses uncommon genius, but his faults are many and glaring. The drapery is in very bad taste."

told

"True-but those flowers growing at the feet of the figure, and that sandalled foot, are exquisite. The painter has studied from nature alone, and where he has imitated her, he is unrivalled. A year or two in Italy would render him master of his art."

They passed on, and another group occupied the space in front of the gipsy. "A mere daub," drawled a fashionable exquisite. "Look at those folds--there is no grace-no elegance about them."

"But surely, there is beauty enough in the face to compensate for that defect," said a young girl, with a bright ingenuous countenance, who leaned on his arm.

"No,-Miss Wilmere, you mistake. The drapery of a figure is to a picture what fashion is to beautywithout it 'tis nothing. The man that painted that thing had better follow the example of that-a-awhat's his name-in the Disowned ?-go and burn his picture, brushes and all, and

VOL. IV.-91