Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller

“ Rousing herself she walks over to the window, saying, with a faint, fluttering sigh:
"Ah, well! 'Fate is above us all.'"
How sweet the air is! The salt breeze catches the odor of the mignonette in her window, and wafts it to her, lifting the soft tresses from her aching temples with its scented breath, and with the sublime association that there is in some faint flower perfumes and grief, the bitter leaven at her heart swells again with all the painful luxury of sorrow.
"I am so weary of it all—life's daily treadmill round! What is it worth? How is it endurable when love is lost to us?" ”

“ Just to remain at Eden as long as she could was all that she asked. It always seemed to her quite impossible that she should ever become St. Leon Le Roy's wife. The blow would fall before then. She felt that she was only taking her pleasure like a butterfly in the sun, and that the nipping blasts of winter would soon lop off her gilded wings and leave her, crushed and trampled, beneath the scorner's heel.
Those joys that we hold by a frail, slight tenure we always prize the most. This love that she was fated one day to lose had become a part of Laurel Vane's life. ”

“ A woman's curl, soft and dark, fell from the locket into his hand, and seemed to twine about his fingers as if in tenderness. He shut it into his hand, and looked for the expected picture of the hated rival.
Two faces smiled out upon him. One was a man's—gentle, tender, dreamy, handsome—the other a face, dark and lovely, with a luring charm about its vivid beauty. The fury, the passion, the jealous rage died out of the outlaw's face as he gazed. His fierce, dark eyes grew soft, then startled, and the whiteness of death overspread his face. ”

“ She would endure anything rather than be cheated of her happiness.
The cold snow flecked her benumbed face and hands, the high wind swung her light form to and fro like a flower upon the vine, her breath seemed to freeze on her lips, but her courage never flagged. Out there in the night and the storm her lover was waiting. The thought kept her young heart warm.
She was more than half-way down now, and the wind began to lull. Courage, Cinthia; the danger will soon be over, sweetheart, and love rewarded for its brave struggles.
But, alas! how often bathos overcomes pathos. ”

“ For a few moments all believed that Bertram Chesleigh was dead. Elinor Glenalvan, filled with astonishment and deadly rage, devoutly hoped that he was.
Her love had turned to hate, and as by a sudden flash she understood fully the passion of remorse and despair that had brought him to Glenalvan Hall.
The vindictive wish came over her that he had died before he had spoken the brave words that had cleared the stain from the memory of the girl she had hated with such jealous fire and passion. She had yet to learn that every shadow had been cleared from Golden's name. ”

“ A moan of pain came from the lips of beautiful Azalia, and she sighed:
"Ah, love, why did you leave me, without a word, to my cruel fate? Were you false in heart? Were you only amusing yourself with the simple child who loved you so well? Was that marriage true, or only a sham, or was there treachery somewhere? Treachery! It looked at me from Jewel's eyes—treachery and murderous hate! Ah, love, you died so soon after you went away that I can not hate you in your grave, even though you doomed me to a wretched life, cursed with memories that will not die! ”

“ I am glad that you are dying, Vera Campbell! I have hated you from the hour of your birth! You were born to be my stumbling-block, and to work out my destruction!"
"I was born to be the avenger of my parents' wrongs," Lady Vera answers, proudly. "And though it kill me, I have kept my oath of vengeance!"
The wind moans ominously around the creaking gables, the thunder mutters hoarsely, the blue flame of the lightning casts its ghastly glare into the room. No one heeds the fierce war of the elements in the fiercer war of human passions raging within the gloomy chamber. ”

“ The purple shades of the gloaming were shot through by the opaline light of a new moon swinging like a silver sickle in a rosy-lilac sky, and a wind from the sea—cool, salty, and delicious—stirred the flowers, shaking out fragrance upon the languid, love-breathing air of June.
The beautiful white-robed girl, as she walked up and down the flowery paths, cast now and then glances of yearning tenderness toward one window of the house, through whose lace-curtains gleamed a dim, soft light. She knew that Dorian Mountcastle was waiting there, heart-sick and restless, and pining for her presence. ”

“ Life! The thought came to her suddenly and painfully. She raised herself slowly and heavily, as if the weight of her sorrow crushed her down to earth, and the full realization of the terrible change broke over her. Leslie Dane was dead. That graceful form, that handsome face was hidden beneath the damp earth mould. The dark eyes of her artist husband would never shine down upon her again with the love-light beaming in them, those lips whose smiles she had loved so well would never press hers again as they had done that night when he had blessed her and called her his wife. ”

“ What a contrast there was between them—the man crouching there in his low-wheeled chair, wasted and worn with illness and a tortured mind, a helpless paralytic, and the beautiful bride in the bloom of youth and health, gowned in white silk and lace, her golden hair an aureole about her graceful head, the fire of diamonds girding her round white throat, pale roses breathing out perfume against her breast.
“Gods! How beautiful you are, my Daisie!” breathed the man, with a gesture of despair. “How I envy the men who will dance with you at the ball to-night!” ”

“ La Reine Blanche was fading like the frailest summer flower. The lily bloomed on her cheek instead of the rose.
Under her large, blue eyes lay purple shadows, darker and deeper than those cast by the drooping lashes. A look of patient suffering crept about the corners of her lips and hid in her eyes. Her smiles were sadder and more pathetic than sighs, her form grew slighter and more ethereal in its perfect grace, her step lost its lightness and elasticity. Some said that the beautiful actress was dying of a broken heart, others said that she was falling into a consumption. ”

“ Alston Mead had never fully recognized before all the rare beauty of Leola, for until now it had been shadowed by her secret sorrow—the thorn that was always piercing her heart.
When the girl looked up at him now her eyes were like stars, sudden roses had bloomed on her cheeks, and her lips were trembling with smiles of joy.
“Oh, it is like some sweet dream!” she cried, half fearfully, her white hands clasped above her wildly throbbing heart.
“It is no dream, my darling; it is a blissful reality,” her father cried. ”

“ They were blissfully happy in this dream that Floy was dreaming there that May night in the grim shadow of Suicide Place.
But suddenly a dark, portentous cloud overspread the sky, and a low rumble of thunder shook the earth.
The soft voice of the sea changed to a hollow roar, as though a storm were lashing its waves into fury, and the tender music wailed itself into silence like the cry of a broken heart. The winds rose and lashed the rose-trees in a furious gale, till the air was full of their flying petals and spicy perfumes. ”

“ He bowed his head humbly before Irene.
"Miss Berlin, I crave your pardon," he said. "Pray do not think me rude. Your face startled me as if I had seen a ghost. You are the image of one—who is dead."
He looked at her strangely as if expecting her to refute his words, but she only bowed her graceful head and drooped her deep blue eyes before his earnest gaze. Her heart was throbbing wildly with the wonder if he would claim her before all these curious, gazing eyes. It would not have surprised her if he had said:
"You are Irene Brooke, whom I married and whom I thought dead. ”

“ Cora Ellyson sat speechless by the side of Ernest Noel for several minutes as the sleigh rushed on through the whirling snowflakes.
Her face was as white as the snowflakes, her very lips pale, and her eyes flashed with a dangerous anger that startled her desperate lover. In their dark gleam he read, indeed, a murderous hate too deep for words—a hate that could kill, so great was its fury. Choking with grief and rage, she remained speechless, though her writhing lips struggled for words. A despair too deep for utterance possessed her soul. ”

“ Le Roy!"
Slow, cold, stinging, every word fell on Laurel's heart like a drop of ice. She sprung to her feet and faced him, her dark eyes blazing with scorn and wrath.
"Yes, I am Laurel Vane. That is true," she cried; "but every other word you have uttered, Ross Powell, is a base and cruel lie! I never belonged to you; I have never seen you but once or twice in my life, and then I feared and hated you as one hates the slimy, crawling serpent! I have never belonged to any man but Mr. Le Roy." ”

“ From the curtained darkness beyond a fiend is gliding toward you!
The shrouding hood of the long cloak has fallen back from the face of a woman—a bold, handsome face with steel-blue eyes, and glittering golden hair. In her upraised hand glitters a long thin dagger, on her face is stamped in awful, ashen pallor the fell purpose—murder!
But he sleeps on lightly, dreaming, perhaps, of Kathleen, while this beautiful fury glides soundlessly across the thick moquette carpet, gains his side, poises her shining weapon on high, aims for his heart, and—it descends, it pierces his breast! ”

“ Pacing the floor of her sumptuous apartment, like a beautiful, angry tigress, she brooded over her bitter defeat, and wondered how she could punish her cousin for the triumph she had won.
Nothing she could do to Violet seemed too cruel to satisfy her thirst for revenge.
She would have liked to see her cousin dead in her coffin, and stand by and hear the clods rattling harshly down upon her grave. The sound would have been music in Amber’s ears. From a beautiful, imperious, loving girl, she was transformed into a jealous, angry, revengeful woman. ”

“ Who was to know the bitter secret, the ceaseless dread that ached in the fair breast, that rose and fell beneath the knots of velvety pansies that were her simple and favorite adornment?
Vera has seen and learned a great deal since that night when her father's mad frenzy had been the means of saving her from the horrors of a dreadful death.
She has traveled, she has had masters and governesses; luxuries of which she never even faintly dreamed, have surrounded her and become daily necessities. Pleasure has wooed her softly to its flowery paths, love has been lavishly laid at her feet. ”

“ How superb she was in her just anger and resentment! Her changeful eyes darkened and flashed with pride, her lip curled, her cheek glowed, her light step seemed to spurn the floor.
"Mamma, mamma!" The soft, frightened voice of her child, waking suddenly from his rosy sleep, recalled her to herself. In an instant she was by his side, bending over him, kissing his brow, his lips, his hands, his hair, in a passion of grieving tenderness.
"My darling, my comfort, my pretty boy! I am so glad that you are a boy! You will never know the pains, the penalties, the trials and crosses of a woman's life. ”

“ You do not believe that old Meg can read the stars, you jest at her art. But the time comes when you shall weep. Look up yonder at that old gray house, so dark and forbidding, among the trees. It has been accursed and uninhabited for years; but to-night I see in the shining stars a new shadow hovering, vulturelike, above it. You are mixed up in it—you, whom fate has sent here to-night. For you I read woe and despair. You will go mad for a woman's love! ”

“ Her dark eyes opened and stared up into their faces with a mute despair awful to behold.
She must die! That was the only triumph that was left her out of the full cup of happiness pressed to her lips overflowingly but a moment ago! She might cheat the scaffold of its prey—that was all! Life with all its pleasures and luxuries lay before her just a moment before—now, darkness and the grave! Like one in a dream she seemed to recall words carelessly heard in the past that lay behind her forever beyond recall:
"The wages of sin is death!" ”

“ Men's hearts beat fast with love for her beauty and admiration for her genius, yet, although their hearts lay at her feet, no one dreamed that it was possible to win her.
There was a look on the fair face beneath the diamond tiara that bound the dark hair that forbade the thought. There was a story written on that face—a story of poetry, and passion, and sorrow.
The dark eyes did not dwell on men's faces. They looked down as if in mournful retrospection. The scarlet lips but seldom smiled. The cheeks were always pale. ”

“ Love, ambition, and jealousy combined had transformed Maybelle from a merely selfish, domineering girl into a relentless fiend. She felt as if she would like to murder innocent Floy with her laughing blue eyes, and her saucy, winning smile so frank and ready. Why should this girl, socially her inferior, and with only a babyish kind of beauty, have won in one brief, fateful day the prize that Maybelle had schemed for long, weary months, and which she would have sold her soul to win? ”

“ Arnold had wished to diminish Bonnibel's beauty by giving it so meager a setting she failed in the endeavor. The jewel was too bright to miss extraneous adornment.
The somber black dresses could not dim the gleam of her golden hair, the sparkle of her sea-blue eyes. Her white brow and throat were like the petals of a lily, and with returning health a lovely rose-tint began to flush her cheeks.
Her beauty was a royal dower of which no spite or malignity could deprive her. ”

“ The leaves are turning red, and brown, and yellow, the petals are falling from the flowers. Not that Vane takes note of this. One flower that faded in the summer gone, is worth all the world to him. For a time ambition, energy, hope, seem to forsake him. Always before his eyes floats a vision of a fair, dead face with waving tresses, tangled with seaweed; always against his breast he feels the pressure of small hands pressing against him, pushing him from her in the mad resolve to die in his stead. For in his heart Vane feels that it was not alone for Maud's sake she died. ”

“ Vincent Carew had been a singularly handsome and imposing gentleman, and the fine artist had done full justice to his noble subject. The dark eyes seemed to hold the very fire of life and the smiling lips almost about to breathe a blessing on his wronged, unhappy orphan child.
As Kathleen paused in front of the magnificent portrait of her lost father, the hard, defiant look on her face faded as if by magic, and the burning light of her large Oriental dark eyes was softened by a rush of tears. Almost unconsciously she sunk upon her knees and lifted her clasped white hands appealingly. ”

“ The opal ring threw out a hundred changeful, shifting lights, and she suddenly recalled the words Cecil had uttered when he placed it on her hand:
“Let me put this little ring on your finger, precious. It is an opal, and is gifted with the power to show whether lovers keep their faith. If false, the gem will grow dull and lifeless, its brightness all gone; but if true, it will glow with the fiery hues of the furnace. Wear it always, my darling, and let it be the test of my love till the happy day that unites us forever.” ”

“ The wretched young creature turned again and looked at her husband, but he still preserved his quiet, statue-like position, his arms folded over, his lips set in a thin, hard line, his eyes blazing with a gloomy, lurid fire beneath the broad, massive brow that was beaded with great, chilly drops of dew. It was the darkest hour of his life. His humiliation was almost greater than he could bear. There was no tenderness, no pity in his somber gaze as it met the wild, appealing eyes of the girl who had deceived him. ”

“ And Grace Winans, brave, patient, tried by fire as she had been, was still only mortal. If he came, strengthened, purified, enobled by suffering and sad experience, they must still meet, she thinks, with a sharp heart-pang, as over a grave—the grave of their child; the winsome baby whom she sees in fancy at his childish play on the nursery rug, toddling over the floor, laughing in her arms, catching at her long, bright curls—what shall she say to the man whose folly has deprived her of all this joy, when he comes to ask forgiveness? ”

“ The unhappy girl shuddered as she recalled the oath of silence sworn upon the dead hand of Pepita, whose ring she wore—Pepita, whose awful fate was so much to this man kneeling at her feet, yet must remain forever a secret in her breast.
In her heart swelled up a wave of pity and regret for hapless Donald Kayne. She felt no anger that he reviled her; she could only sympathize with him in his great despair—despair that matched her own. Appalled by her silence, he cried:
"Still silent? Why, then, you have no woman's heart in your breast. Your beauty is cold and soulless like a marble statue. ”

“ The rich curtains of silk and lace are looped back from the windows, and the view outside is the beautiful Bay of Naples with the clear, blue, sunny sky reflected in its blue and sparkling waves. A garden lies below the windows, rich, in this tropical clime, with beautiful flowers, and vines and shrubbery, while groves of oranges, lemons, figs and dates abound in lavish luxuriance. Within the room that was furnished with princely magnificence and taste, were a man and a woman, the man old, and bowed, and broken, the woman young and more beautiful than it often falls to the lot of women to be. ”

“ The words fell coldly on Lawrence Ernscliffe's hearing, chilling the hot and passionate tide of resentment that hurried through his heart.
He thought with an uncontrollable pang of all that bright, fair beauty he had loved so long and so fondly lying cold in the grave—those lips that had kissed him so tenderly sealed in death, the white lids shut forever over the heaven of love in those soft blue eyes.
"Will that content you, Lawrence?" asked the old man, wistfully, pausing with his hat in his hand. "A month is not so very long." ”

“ She stares at him with whitened lips, and a shudder of horror chills her heart. Such truth is stamped upon his face that it seems impossible to doubt. Yet she asks herself, with little, awsome chills creeping over all her frame, is it possible that she, Vera, has actually lain in the gloom and darkness of the grave? Has that warm, throbbing flesh, instinct with life and vitality, been closed around with the blackness of the coffin? Has the black earth been heaped upon her living form? ”

“ Elaine gazed at her daughter like one dazed. All the youth, the joy, the childishness seemed stricken from her forever by the terrible revelation of to-night. The slender young figure stood apart from her in desperate grief, seeking no friendly arm to lean on in its terrible isolation; the beautiful young face was cold and rigid with despair; the blue eyes, black now with her soul's emotion, flashed scorn through proud tears that would not fall. A woman's outraged soul, forlorn yet proud, shone through the tense young form.
Suddenly a firm touch fell on Irene's arm. ”

“ Harold Castello gave a low laugh and answered, lightly:
“I was your lover then, my Violet, and dared not take all the kisses I wanted. Now I am your husband, sweet, and you are mine, all mine! and I can feast myself at will on your sweet, red lips! And the more I kiss you, my darling, the more intoxicated I grow, for your breath is like wine—it thrills me with bliss, it makes me dizzy!” ”

“ She had schooled herself to calmness, and no heartless queen of society ever bore herself with more nonchalant ease and outward coldness than did Laurel in the hour when she re-entered the home she had left long years before, a wretched, despairing child, for whom life seemed over and done. Now, as she stepped across the threshold, a beautiful, proud, successful woman, whom the world delighted to honor, she remembered that broken-hearted child with a pang of bitterness that steeled her heart to the softness that had melted it for a moment. ”

“ All the faces of fair women around her paled into insignificance as Lulu looked at that pale, clear profile, as classically chiseled, as "faultily faultless," as if cut in white marble by some master-hand; the vivid line of the crimson lips, the black, arched brows so clearly defined against the pure forehead, the ripple of pale-gold hair that, escaping its jeweled comb at the back, flowed in a cascade of brightness over the black velvet dress, that fitted so closely and perfectly to the full yet delicate figure as to reveal the perfection of gracefulness to the watcher. ”

“ A low, shuddering cry, and Nita struggled out of those fond, clasping arms, and faced her lover with startled eyes.
"Dorian," she breathed, in mingled joy and pain—"Dorian, oh, why are you here?"
"I followed you, my sweet. Ah, Nita, I know the story of your mad attempt to end your life. Love, love, why did you do it?"
"Fate was against us, Dorian, and I could not live without you, I begged you to die with me, but you were cruel. Life was more to you than love. That is a man's way. But, being only a weak woman, I chose death—only they were so hard they would not let me die." ”

“ Lady Vera waking from her long and death-like swoon, wakens also to a dream of happiness. The terrible incubus that weighed upon her so heavily is lifted from her heart. The loveless fetter that bound her is snapped asunder. Leslie Noble, whose very name has been a shuddering horror to her for more than two years, is dead, and she is free—free! What exquisite possibilities of happiness thrill her heart at the very thought! ”

“ Brooke and Bertha were almost as much unnerved and startled as the old housekeeper had been. They stared in speechless amaze at the fair, young face, like, yet unlike, Irene Brooke's—like it in the bright, captivating beauty that had been the girl's glorious dower, yet changed because a woman's soul with all its love and sorrow had subtly transformed it, adding the one only grace it needed to make it simply peerless. ”

“ Lulu looked down at the hand lying so still and lifeless on the counterpane. A tear-drop that had fallen from the eyes of the poor black boy lay on it, shining purely as a pearl in the subdued light. Lulu would not wipe it away. It was a precious drop distilled from the fountain of unselfish love and sorrow; it seemed to plead mutely to the girl for the man who lay there so still and pale, unable to speak for himself.
"There must have been much good in the poor young man," she thought, impulsively, "or his servants would not have loved him like that." ”