CHAPTER XXVI.

Ir was the soft lapsing of the spring day into evening The windows were open, and the fragrance of the evergreens, the delicate moisture of the young grass that had drank in the sunshine all day and was now giving it out to the dew, made the air sweet with promise. Robert Alston had taken a holiday, partly to attend to a little business for Mr. Meredith, which would have made him too late for a day in the city. He had been out rambling, and returned with a great bunch of wild flowers, Kathie and his mother were so fond of them. Kathie was not in, and Mrs. Collamore sat with his mother in the parlor, so he stepped into the library and threw himself in an easy-chair by the window.

Uncle Robert came up the path, pausing to look at the hyacinth bed. In his hand he held two or three letters, and, catching a glimpse of his nephew, came across the piazza to the window and stepped in. Mrs. Collamore was taking her leave now. She seemed to pause in the hall and said quite distinctly, though in her low, even tone, —

“ We all like him very much, and think it will be a good match for Fay. I shall have only my son left. I think I should rather keep her nearer, but I must comfort myself with Louise and her baby."

Rob sprang up with a sudden, decisive impulse, and his face was like marble. "It is Mr. Gartney," he said in a hoarse, strained whisper.

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Yes, Robert." The voice was sharp, decisive.

The young man dropped back in his chair. In his

momentary madness he hardly cared how much he had betrayed.

"Robert, you would have no right in any event; rouse yourself and think a moment."

"Of what shall I think?" in a passionate, despairing tone. "That I have lost my chance with the only woman who could have helped me to live a perfect life? That all the years to come

Mr. Conover closed the library door, and, returning, stood in front of the young man.

"Robert," he said sternly," has it come to this? Have you allowed yourself to dream over this young girl until it has led to the verge of sin? Better a hundred times that she should be removed from your reach."

"As if I

"You think so!" in a bitter, hollow tone. could not dream over her and covet her anywhere! And if she stayed, if she waited—”

"Rob, my boy," and the voice was infinitely tender, the touch on his arm strong, yet gentle, 66 you have forgotten yourself and your duty. No madness can quite convince you that you have a right, that you are free —”

Robert Alston sprang up and stood straight, strong, and daring. Every pulse within his body had mutinied. There was a blaze of defiance in his eyes and a white line about the lips.

"I should have been free! I can be free!" he declared in his madness.

They glanced at each other steadily, and neither seemed to breathe.

"If you were free," the elder said, "what would it avail, since she will belong to another?"

"She would not. Uncle Robert, have a little pity on me. I can't tell you how I know it, but I do believe as firmly as I can believe anything, that if I went to Fay Collamore and told her of my love she would wait years. She would not marry. Why should I give up my chance?"

"Because it would be a sin and dishonor. It would stain your soul and sully the pure whiteness of hers. No; you could not win Fay Collamore that way, and I thank God that it is so. Rob, when you have made such a brave fight, when you have won back respect, honor, will you throw them away in this mad endeavor? I thought you were to be trusted to the uttermost. And I have news See here!"

for you.

He lighted the lamp on the table and took the letter from its envelope, handing it to his nephew. A scornful smile crossed the scarlet lip, as if the first impulse were to fling it away.

"Read it. It is your business."

It was from the asylum physician, concise yet comprehensive. "They had remarked a great improvement in the patient for the last month. Some faint remembrance had returned. She had asked for her child, and seemed gratified when a babe had been brought her. Her youth and her good physical health gave them a slender hope that there might be some restoration in time."

Robert Alston went over and over the letter, though he was not thinking at all. A horror seemed to have possession of him. Moments passed before he spoke, then he said, almost savagely: —

"You believe I ought to have forgiven her? Well, I never, never shall. I might if she were dead."

"O Robert!"

He strode up and down the room in a tempest of passion. Then, as if suddenly bethinking himself, he said: "It is nearing train time. I must go to-night."

"Let me drive you down."

"No, I will walk; I want to go alone. Say good by to my mother. There is your letter!" And he threw it contemptuously on the floor.

"Robert, we cannot part this way.

Stay-'

But he flung off his uncle's arm and made a snatch at

his hat from the rack in the hall. His steps echoed on the gravel walk an instant, then all was spring-time silence and softness again.

Should he follow him? What would he do in this desperate mood? There would be the long ride to the city, but the reaching there almost at midnight, the fierce strug.gle within himself. Ah, how would it end?

"God help him," he cried. "Save him from himself."

It had all been so sudden that now Robert Conover wondered if he had done his best, had acted with wisdom and prudence. Surely the mad boy would not dare to go to Fay.

When he could reason himself to a state of calmness he went up-stairs. Kathie had just come in. He took with him Rob's flowers and a tenderer farewell than he had left.

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Oh, how lovely!" cried Kathie.

"Dear Rob! I did try to get back in time, but old Mrs. Boden had so many last messages."

"And I have some news for you, Kathie," said Mrs. Alston. "Mrs. Collamore was here. She thinks Fay is very likely to marry Mr. Gartney; but of course she will have to go to New York to live. You will be left quite alone presently."

Kathie colored softly; she never answered when her mother made comments like this. They were gradually coming back to their old love and confidence, and if she could have the tender patience to win all.

Robert Alston went his way in a mad, blind fury. It came to him with the unreason of youth,- what if he threw himself here under the car wheels! Of what avail was life, and strength, and manhood, only to make the loss tenfold more bitter? She would go away out of his life, and what would be left? Only the hateful reminder of that boyish idiocy? But no repentance could atone for the wrong she

had done. No; if she came and pleaded on her bended knees, he would never forgive her. She had blighted the man's promising career, she had kept him from the man's dear and tender love!

He turned to the image of Fay Collamore and revelled in the vision of what might have been. Not a sweet would he miss, even if it turned to tenfold ashes and bitterness afterward. He let fancy have full play. Up to this time she had been sacred to him; he had not even dared to dream of her. In this reckless mood he would stop for nothing. And all the years to come he must miss this glowing, enchanting happiness.

He bowed his head and groaned in his misery. He had the seat to himself, and could indulge in a little weakness without prying eyes. From this mood he went to sullen despair. The night dropped down, and still he peered out in the darkness with hot eyes and throbbing brow. Of what avail had been all the struggle, all the resolving? He might as well have stayed in Chicago. There he would not have seen Fay. She would be at Brookside,—in the city. She knew all the friends in the little circle and would meet them. He should see her another's man's wife. That woke all the passion of jealousy within him.

The tumult went on, fierce, eager, sullen, and despairing by turns. They ran into the station. How strange it looked in the yellow-red glare, and the voices seemed like something heard in another world! Yonder was a train steaming up. If he were to take it, to-morrow morning he would be far away. Would it not be better? Away from temptation! He laughed bitterly.

Should he go home to the Merediths'? They would be sitting up for him, — Fred and Mr. Meredith. To go in there, serene and pleasant, and answer questions, — ah, it would madden him! Better roam the streets all night.

Something came to him suddenly, and he stood quite still, as if stopped in the way.