remained for a year without any symptoms of returning

reason.

"His distress, when he finally became conscious of the length of time which had elapsed since he left Rose, was too much for his weak frame. A relapse ensued, and for months longer he vibrated between life and death.

"When consciousness again returned, though weakened in body and enfeebled in mind, he commenced his weary search for Rose. He could hear nothing except that part of her story which he gleaned from Mrs. Bond, and which only served to aggravate his distress. Since then he has traveled unceasingly in steamboats, railroad cars, and stages; haunted hotels, haunted villages, and loitered trembling in churchyards. There is no misery like suspense, and acting upon an already enfeebled frame, it sapped the very fountains of life, and reduced him so fearfully as to render him quite unable to bear the sudden shock of joy which so unexpectedly met him.”

"Poor Vincent !" exclaimed John; "and I have grudged him his happiness."

"Dear John !"

"Where was Charley born, Gertrude ?"

"In a Lying-in Hospital; in which poor Rose took refuge when the sorrowful hour drew near.

"Then," said Gertrude, resuming her story, "Rose's husband had a cousin of the same name as himself, ex

travagant, reckless, and dissipated, who, though only twenty-five, had run through a handsome property, inherited in his own right from his grandmother, besides making unreasonable demands upon the paternal purse-strings. The old gentleman at last remonstrated, and the young man's affairs being even worse than he had dared to represent, he became desperate and unscrupulous.

"The father of Rose's husband, who, spite of the profligacy of his nephew, cherished a warm attachment for him, had willed him his property, in case of his son's death. This the young spendthrift was aware of, and when he first heard of the old gentleman's illness, he planned with three desperados to murder his cousin, and remove the only obstacle to his immediate possession of the fortune."

"How was this discovered ?" asked John.

"It was revealed by one of the gang on his deathbed, though not until after the instigator had met his own doom at the hands of a woman whom he had betrayed and deserted.”

"Then," said John, after a pause, "Rose and her husband have no immediate means of support. It is happiness to know that I can be of service even now." "But Vincent is not a man to incur such an obligation," said his sister, "enfeebled as he is."

"He must-he shall," said the generous John, "at least till he is stronger and better able to substantiate

his claim to what is rightfully his own; he may get even more than his own," said John, "when the old lady in New Orleans finds out that he is the father of the beautiful child she fancied so much; the family likeness must have been well handed down in Charley's face."

"That is not strange," said Gertrude; "cases have occurred in which the family likeness having been apparently wholly obliterated, has re-appeared in the third or fourth generation."

"Well, Vincent's story passes belief," said John; "truth is, indeed, stranger than fiction."

18

CHAPTER LXIX.

HAD Cousin John no war to wage with self? Could the long-hoarded hope of years be relinquished without a struggle? Could blissful days and nights, in which to breathe the same air with Rose, win even the faintest smile, were reward enough for any toil,-could such memories cease at once to thrill? Could he see that smile, in all its brightness, beaming upon another? -hear that voice ten fold more musically modulated whispering (not for him) words he would have died to hear and not feel a pang bitter as death? Tell me, ye who have made carth-idols only to see them pass away?

No-cousin John felt all this; Rose lost all was lost -nothing to toil for-nothing to hope for-nothing to live for.

Was it indeed so? He dashed the unmanly tears away. Was he, indeed, such a poor, selfish driveler that the happiness of her whom he loved was less dear to him than his own? Was it no joy to see that sweet eye brighten with hope, though kindled by another? Was it nothing to see the shadow of shame pass from

that fair brow, and see it lifted in the world's scornful face in loving pride to him who rightfully called her "wife ?" Was it nothing that Charley's little heaving heart had found his own papa?

"Shame-shame-was his manly heart powerless to bear what she, whom he so loved, had borne in all her woman's feebleness ?"

t

"I knew it would be so, John," said Gertrude, gazing into her brother's calm face, in which the traces of suffering still lingered. "I knew you could conquer"—and tears of sympathy fell upon the hand she pressed.