having served its purpose as a background, will be seen no more in
this history.

Miss Bartram's inmost life, as a woman, was no longer the same.
The point of view from which she had beheld the world was shifted,

and she was obliged to remodel all her feelings and ideas to
conform to it. But the process was gradual, and no one stood near

enough to her to remark it. She was occasionally suspected of that
"eccentricity" which, in a woman of five-and-twenty, is looked upon

as the first symptom of a tendency to old-maidenhood, but which is
really the sign of an earnest heart struggling with the questions

of life. In the society of cities, most men give only the shallow,
flashy surface of their natures to the young women they meet, and

Miss Bartram, after that revelation of the dumb strength of an
ignorant man, sometimes grew very impatient of the platitudes and

affectations which came to her clad in elegant words, and
accompanied by irreproachable manners.

She had various suitors; for that sense of grace and repose and
sweet feminine power, which hung around her like an atmosphere,

attracted good and true men towards her. To some, indeed, she gave
that noble, untroubled friendship which is always possible between

the best of the two sexes, and when she was compelled to deny the
more intimateappeal, it was done with such frank sorrow, such

delicate tenderness, that she never lost the friend in losing
the lover. But, as one year after another went by, and the younger

members of her family fell off into their separate domestic orbits,
she began to shrink a little at the perspective of a lonely life,

growing lonelier as it receded from the Present.
By this time, Leonard Clare had become almost a dream to her. She

had neither seen him nor heard of him since he let go her hand on
that memorable evening beside the stream. He was a strange,

bewildering chance, a cypher concealing a secret which she could
not intelligently read. Why should she keep the memory of that

power which was, perhaps, some unconscious quality of his nature
(no, it was not so! something deeper than reason cried:), or long

since forgotten, if felt, by him?
The man whom she most esteemed came back to her. She knew the

ripeness and harmony of his intellect, the nobility of his
character, and the generosity of a feeling which would be satisfied

with only a partial return. She felt sure, also, that she should
never possess a sentiment nearer to love than that which pleaded

his cause in her heart. But her hand lay quiet in his, her pulses
were calm when he spoke, and his face, manly and true as it was,

never invaded her dreams. All questioning was vain; her heart gave
no solution of the riddle. Perhaps her own want was common to all

lives: then she was cherishing a selfish ideal, and rejecting the
positive good offered to her hands.

After long hesitation she yielded. The predictions of society came
to naught; instead of becoming an "eccentric" spinster, Miss

Bartram was announced to be the affianced bride of Mr. Lawrie. A
few weeks and months rolled around, and when the wedding-day came,

she almost hailed it as the port of refuge, where she should find
a placid and peaceful life.

They were married by an aged clergyman, a relative of the
bridegroom. The cross-street where his chapel stood, fronting a

Methodist church--both of the simplest form of that architecture
fondly supposed to be Gothic,--was quite blocked up by the

carriages of the party. The pews were crowded with elegant guests,
the altar was decorated with flowers, and the ceremony lacked

nothing of its usual solemn beauty. The bride was pale, but
strikingly calm and self-possessed, and when she moved towards the

door as Mrs. Lawrie, on her husband's arm, many matrons, recalling
their own experience, marvelled at her unflurried dignity.

Just as they passed out the door, and the bridalcarriage was
summoned, a singular thing happened. Another bridalcarriage drew

up from the opposite side, and a newly wedded pair came forth from
the portal of the Methodist church. Both parties stopped, face to

face, divided only by the narrow street. Mrs. Lawrie first noticed
the flushed cheeks of the other bride, her white dress, rather

showy than elegant, and the heavy gold ornaments she wore. Then
she turned to the bridegroom. He was tall and well-formed, dressed

like a gentleman, but like one who is not yet unconscious of his
dress, and had the air of a man accustomed to exercise some

authority.
She saw his face, and instantly" target="_blank" title="ad.立即，立刻">instantly all other faces disappeared. From

the opposite brink of a tremendous gulf she looked into his eyes,
and their blended ray of love and despair pierced her to the heart.

There was a roaring in her ears, followed a long sighing sound,
like that of the wind on some homeless waste; she leaned more

heavily on her husband's arm, leaned against his shoulder, slid
slowly down into his supporting clasp, and knew no more.

"She's paying for her mock composure, after all," said the matrons.
"It must have been a great effort."

III.
Ten years afterwards, Mrs. Lawrie went on board a steamer at

Southampton, bound for New York. She was travelling alone, having
been called suddenly from Europe by the approaching death of her

aged father. For two or three days after sailing, the thick, rainy
spring weather kept all below, except a few hardy gentlemen who

crowded together on the lee of the smoke-stack, and kept up a
stubborn cheerfulness" target="_blank" title="n.高兴，愉快">cheerfulness on a very small capital of comfort. There

were few cabin-passengers on board, but the usual crowd of
emigrants in the steerage.

Mrs. Lawrie's face had grown calmer and colder during these years.
There was yet no gray in her hair, no wrinkles about her clear

eyes; each feature appeared to be the same, but the pale,
monotonous color which had replaced the warm bloom of her youth,

gave them a different character. The graciousdignity of her
manner, the mellow tones of her voice, still expressed her

unchanging goodness, yet those who met her were sure to feel, in
some inexplicable way, that to be good is not always to be happy.

Perhaps, indeed, her manner was older than her face and form: she
still attracted the interest of men, but with a certain doubt and

reserve.
Certain it is that when she made her appearance on deck, glad of

the blue sky and sunshine, and threw back her hood to feel the
freshness of the sea air, all eyes followed her movements, except

those of a forlorn individual, who, muffled in his cloak and
apparently sea-sick, lay upon one of the benches. The captain

presently joined her, and the gentlemen saw that she was bright and
perfectly self-possessed in conversation: some of them immediately

resolved to achieve an acquaintance. The dull, passive existence
of the beginning of every voyage, seemed to be now at an end. It

was time for the little society of the vessel to awake, stir
itself, and organize a life of its own, for the few remaining days.

That night, as Mrs. Lawrie was sleeping in her berth, she suddenly
awoke with a singular feeling of dread and suspense. She listened

silently, but for some time distinguished none other than the small
sounds of night on shipboard--the indistinct orders, the dragging

of ropes, the creaking of timbers, the dull, regular jar of the
engine, and the shuffling noise of feet overhead. But, ere long,

she seemed to catch faint, distant sounds, that seemed like cries;
then came hurry and confusion on deck; then voices in the

cabin, one of which said: "they never can get it under, at this
rate!"

She rose, dressed herself hastily, and made her way through pale
and excited stewards, and the bewildered passengers who were

beginning to rush from their staterooms, to the deck. In the wild
tumult which prevailed, she might have been thrown down and

trampled under foot, had not a strong arm seized her around the
waist, and borne her towards the stern, where there were but few

persons.
"Wait here!" said a voice, and her protector plunged into the

crowd.
She saw, instantly" target="_blank" title="ad.立即，立刻">instantly, the terrible fate which had fallen upon the

vessel. The bow was shrouded in whirls of smoke, through which
dull red flashes began to show themselves; and all the length and

breadth of the deck was filled with a screaming, struggling,
fighting mass of desperate human beings. She saw the captain,