chamber, and throwing herself across the bed, gave herself up to the tide of overwhelming despair that rushed over her soul. Arch, wandering along the white beach, listening to the weird murmurings of the sea, was endeavoring to measure the breadth and depth of his great happiness rationally; but he only fell into a bewildering dream, and it was thus he encountered his brother Ralph. The dark look of hatred Arch cast upon him told him that he had lost and Cecil Villers won the day.

"But she is not his wife yet!" he muttered, fiercely, under his breath. And linking his arm within Archie's, he was about to propose that they should return to the Towers, when Archie, shaking off his light hold, struck him in the face.

"You are a base liar, and I hate you, Ralph Lowenstein! If you were not my brother, I would kill you for slandering the truest of women! We must part. My wife shall never be insulted by your presence. I hope you and I will never meet again !'

Ralph received the blow without a word; he would not raise his hand upon Archpoor deluded Arch! But he was right; they must part now! And the two brothers went each a different way.

CHAPTER III.

Ir was all over and past. Cecil Lowenstein stood there in the deep recess of the window, her gaze fixed upon a distant breaker creeping, and swelling, and creeping, until it broke again upon the beach.

Cecil was at the Towers, its mistress at last. They had just returned from a long bridal trip, and Cecil, tired of sight-seeing, tired of herself and of everything, was glad to get home, glad to rest. It seemed strange to her that this grand noble mansion should be her home, yet it was not like a dream; everything seemed very real to her. There was no adornment in her new home that wealth had not already supplied, and yet there was something wanting something that seemed almost vital to her; something her life amidst all its gayety had missed, that rare gems and silken gowns could not satisfy. The golden fruit she had so much coveted was ashes to the taste. The splendor around her was depressing; the very air she breathed seemed stifling, and yet she would not

have gone back to the old life if she could; the old life, so lowly and obscure! Hers was a daring nature, and the judgment she had inflicted upon herself she bore with fortitude; there was no shrinking or turning back. It was rarely that she allowed herself to indulge in backward thoughts, though the void in her life was too painful not to be felt; and now that the bustle and excitement of the new life was over, the old days and the old love would come back to mock her, strive all she would to forget.

Archie's constant demonstrations of affection wearied her, and she could not control a feeling of repulsion and disgust whenever she was compelled to suffer his caress; but she kept up some sort of a show of affection, and Archie seemed satisfied. Such was the state of affairs, and Cecil only a few months a bride. She knew but too well how she had missed the fullest sum of earthly happiness.

She could not help thinking of it as she stood there in the deep embrasure of the window, looking out over the sparkling sea. The door opened and closed softly, but Cecil did not turn to behold the intruder. She felt by the creeping sensation who it was, and even when she felt his warm breath sweep her cheek, she still kept her gaze fixed upon the fleecy cloudlets that rolled away from the distant horizon and seemed to disappear beneath the sea. Her husband stood beside her.

"You see I have found you out even here. Why did you hide yourself in this remote chamber? Do you know this was Ralph's favorite ?"

Cecil started, and a crimson glow suffused her cheeks, but she did not reply.

"See here; have you found this out yet?" he said, going to a great carved oaken cabinet and opening one of its doors. He disclosed a portrait-painting, with its face turned inward. Archie turned it around; it was the face of his brother Ralph Lowenstein. Cecil gathered up the skirts of her long riding-habit (she had run off here as soon as dressed, only a few moments by herself.)

"O, it is your brother!" she said, carelessly. "Come, I am ready. Are the horses saddled yet?"

Arch left the portrait with its face outward, and followed his young wife, his blue eyes alight with pleasure.

Two hours later Cecil entered the same

room alone, and standing before the portrait, gazed long into the dark bewildering eyes that looked out at her from the lifeless canvas, until her own grew dim with unshed tears. Then she crept away softly, her light tread making only a faint echo as she descended the broad black staircase of shining oak.

The next day she came to look at it again, but the portrait was gone. Her face grew white.

"You will not find it," said a cruel voice at her side; and she turned to meet her husband's malignant glance. Cecil laughed one of her old defiant laughs.

"Another side to your nature exposed, my jealous lord! With what perfections are you not endowed ?" And she swept past him with a queenly grace, her face haughty and fixed, and white as marble.

When Archie was left alone he paced the chamber frantically, striking his forehead with his hands, and muttering fiercely to himself in a most insane manner. His fine, soft, yellow hair was in wild disorder, and could Cecil have seen her wretched husband then, she must have pitied and soothed him.

Poor Arch! This was the gentle, affectionate, simple-hearted man Cecil had wed. And for what? To wreck her own life and his. Cecil, to escape her husband, filled the house with guests, and Lowenstein Towers rang with gay voices once again, and the long tapestried corridors, that had seemed so dismal and lonely a short time ago, gave back startling echoes to the light footsteps that raced merrily through them. The dingy old portraits that hung in the long gallery seemed to brighten up and look fresher; the atmosphere around was one of mirth and gayety.

And Cecil was the gayest of them all. She tried to forget herself; she strove to live entirely for enjoyment. Archie was not fond of society, and spent the greater part of his time in his large and elegant study. So Cecil was freer to flirt, and she did not miss any chance that offered. Still, strive as she would, she could not help hating her life, and she grew reckless, caring naught for what people might say of her, carrying on most daring and open flirtations before her husband's very face. And Arch, who was fiendishly jealous, seemed the most wretched miserable man alive.

There was one, Alonzo Bryant, whom Arch particularly disliked. Cecil had met him for the first time while abroad, and he had become completely captivated by her beauty and wit. He was one among the present guests at the Towers.

Cecil conceived a warm friendship for this man; she found him more diverting than any one she knew. Their tastes and ideas were similar, and a confidence sprang up between them that, though perfectly innocent, was suspicious. Cecil confided to him more of her unhappy married life than any wife should confide to another; but Cecil felt the need of such a friend as Alonzo, and in his sweet sympathy and friendship found a balm for her tortured spirit, and her heart grew lighter than it had been since her marriage.

By chance one twilight Cecil and Alonzo were alone together in the music-room. It was an oak-panelled chamber opening out of the western drawing-room, with an inlaid floor. Its appointments were various musical instruments, including a grand piano. At the latter Alonzo was seated, turning over some sheet music from a pile before him. Cecil stood near, robed in a dinner-dress of some rich lustreless silk, her snowy neck and arms bare, and adorned with costly gems. One exquisitely-rounded arm lay carelessly across the music sheets, and the dreamy dark eyes had wandered to the western windows that overlooked the sea. Alonzo's hand gently removed the arm as he withdrew the sheet from beneath. The contact sent the warm blood mounting to his cheek, and he felt his pulses bound. Cecil turned her face and their eyes met. His were instantly dropped upon the sheet he held before him. She wondered at his embarrassment. He placed the music upon the rack, and, striking the keys, played a low soft prelude. "Sing it, Cecil."

He called her Cecil when they were alone together. She came closer, and rested her little snow-white hand upon his shoulder, while she sang:

"By the sad sea waves,

I listen while they moan a lament o'er graves Of hopes and pleasures gone.

I was young, I was fair,

I had once not a care,

From the rising of the morn to the setting of the sun;

Yet I pine like a slave, By the sad sea wave,

Come again, bright days of hopes and pleasures gone,

Come again, bright days,

Come again, come again !"

His voice caught up the refrain and mingled with hers. Cecil had an exquisite voice, and she never sang with more expression than then. When Alonzo's deep

er tones chimed in hers trembled for a moment; but she caught up again, and they sang on to the end. The moonlight streamed in through the windows, lighting up the room with a soft and tender radi

ance.

When they had finished, Alonzo looked up and saw that her face was very pale, and the drooped lashes sparkled with teardrops. He drew her face down to his and kissed away the tears. Then he pressed her closely to his breast.

"O my darling, how madly I love you!" Cecil heard, but she spoke not a word. Her face was all flushed now; she broke away from him and fled from the room.

Cecil had not seen Arch that evening. It was after the occurrence in the musicroom, and she sat alone in her chamber, tormented by fears that some one might have discovered them, feeling a guilty sort of feeling, and dreading every minute Archie's presence. She had not recovered from her agitation when her maid brought her a note. After she had dismissed the girl, she opened it with trembling fingers and palpitating heart. It was from Alonzo Bryant, and read thus:

"Forgive me, Cecil. I have offended you by my mad confession, but God knows I meant you no harm. I do love you hopelessly, and I would sacrifice my life to spare you one moment's pain. I cannot tell you what torture I suffer to see you pining day after day. It seems as if I must snatch you from your present misery, shield you from that man (forgive me again, Cecil), and see you happy in the warmth and light of a fond true love, that should surround and lighten all your days. Such would my love be to you, Cecil; but, good heavens, I must not speak of it! I must leave you; I cannot stay, and I know you will not wish it after this; but I beg, I entreat of you, to grant me one interview more-just to say farewell! I will be discreet; I will say nothing that can wound you.

Archie entered. His face was unusually haggard, and there was a dogged sullen look in his eye. To some remark Cecil made he answered her harshly. He strode across the room to his dressing-case, and taking a revolver was hastily leaving the room, when a low cry from Cecil caused him to stop. She sprang forward aud clasped his arm with both her hands, and raised a pale agitated face to his.

"Archie, Archie, what are you about to do ?"

"Nothing," he answered, sullenly; and he did not meet her eye. He shook her rudely off and advanced to the door. Cecil sprang forward and barred the way.

"Archie, you must tell me what you intend to do with that revolver." Her voice trembled so she could hardly speak.

"I told you once, nothing!" He forcibly pushed her aside and left the room.

CHAPTER IV.

AT the breakfast-table Alonzo Bryant announced his intended departure that day. It was received with regret by nearly all, as he was quite a favorite. Cecil Lowenstein could not eat; she only made a pretence of it; her food seemed to choke her. Her usually pale face looked haggard to practised eyes like Alonzo's, and he could not help a secret thrill of happiness in thinking her wan looks were owing to their coming separation. In an ecstasy of spirit he thought, "I am not wholly indifferent to her. Thank God, when I am gone she will think of me sometimes-I shall not be forgotten!"

After the joyless meal (joyless to Cecil) was over, a number had gathered in the music-room.

"You must sing us a farewell song, Alonzo!" cried several gay voices. And a charming trio of feminine loveliness gathered around him to tease him for a song. Alonzo went to the piano reluctantly. He was longing to have a chance of interview with Cecil, and chafed at delay. "By the Sad Sea Waves" rested upon the rack where they had left it the night before.

"Mrs. Lowenstein, I am not in good voice to-day; will you be kind enough to help me through the song?" he said, turning to Cecil. Cecil drew near.

"I would prefer to listen to you alone. I am afraid I could not render it with justice this morning."

“What absurdity!" said one; "you must sing, Cecil, your voice blends perfectly with his. Now do sing, Cecil, please."

Cecil, thus urged, began the song that had so affected both her and Alonzo the night before; but after she had sung a few lines her voice failed, and Alonzo proceeded alone. A minute after, Cecil vanished from the room. She crept away to the oak-parlor, and listened breathlessly to his deep sonorous voice that came wafted through the open windows to her.

"I awake in my grave by the sad sea wave:
Come again,dear dream, so peacefully that smiled;
Come again, dear dream,
Come again, come again !"

His last tones died away; she stood at the open window, bending slightly forward, and listening for his voice again; but another had taken his place now, and, weak with excitement, Cecil sank down in a chair, and covered her face with her hands. "Alas! my dear and only friend, what shall I do when you are gone?"

She had spoken aloud, not thinking one beside herself had heard. Her hands were drawn gently down, and Alonzo was kneeling at her feet.

'Cecil, I must say it! I do not think it wrong-you are so wretched here, and we might be so happy away. Fly with me!"

Cecil started to her feet, her dark eyes dilating with terror.

"O no, no, no! We indeed must part, and forever. Why did you say it, Alonzo, to embitter my last remembrance of you? Go! You must speak to me no more!"

Alonzo caught her hands and covered them with burning kisses.

"I will obey you, my queen "'

What mad delusion had hurried him on to say those meaningless words! Arch Lowenstein stood in the doorway looking in upon them. Cecil, terrified by Alonzo's words and manner, had snatched her hands away, and thought to fly from the room, when she perceived her husband standing there. She stood, with dilating eyes, frozen to the spot. She could not utter a single word in vindication. Archie's face was demoniac. His raging soul burned through the wildly-flashing eye. He entered slowly, closed the door and locked it. Then, drawing a revolver, faced Alonzo Bryant.

"For God's sake!-Arch-" Arch quick ly interrupted him.

"No, don't you call me that! I am to have a reckoning with you." His words

were measured and slow. Cecil regained her faculties, and sprang to her husband's side, but he kept her forcibly away with one hand. She trembled violently.

"Archie, my husband, pray hear my explanation-"

"No, 1 will hear nothing. Cecil, false woman, be still! Now, Alonzo Bryant, we are quits!"

As he said this, the startling report of a pistol-shot sounded through the room-another, and when the smoke had cleared away, Cecil Lowenstein beheld her lover and her husband lying at her feet. With one long terrified cry she sank upon the floor in a deadly swoon.

V.

CECIL LOWENSTEIN was seated in the library, where a cheerful fire was blazing. It was dark and dismal without, and there was a hoarse melancholy murmur of the sea, painfully audible in that closed snug room. The rain all day had beat steadily down upon the battlemented roof of Lowenstein Towers. Cecil was very lonely and miserable; she tried to content herself with a book, but memory was too busy at work, and she found it impossible to chain her attention. Once toward sundown she walked to the window, but low gray clouds shut out the distance. The constant drip drop of the rain on the stone terrace beneath made her nervous and impatient. She was almost wild with ennui, and she wanted to get away from herself.

As night settled down upon the Towers, Cecil became more restless and lonely, and despairing how to pass a long evening, bethought her of the music-room. She had not entered it once since that day of the tragedy, long months ago. So Cecil ordered that the registers should have fires, and to be notified when the room was rendered comfortable.

Cecil took her maid with her for com pany, but she could not help a shiver when she first entered the room. She unlocked the piano, and found it in tolerably good tune. After the first touch of the keys, Cecil became interested. She was very fond of playing, and continued from memory, not noting the time. By-and-by she commenced looking over some of her old music. Susan had fallen asleep in her chair, and Cecil was comparatively alone. What possessed her to take up that old

song she knew not. She placed it upon the rack in a sort of dream, and began to sing it. She felt terrified when she found her voice echoing those last words she had heard Alonzo Bryant sing, while his voice came wafted to her through the open windows of the oak-parlor :

"I awake in my grave by the sad sea wave:

Come again, dear dream-”

Her voice faltered, and ceased; her hands fell crashing upon the keys. A tall form stood near the doorway leading from the western drawing-room. He approached still nearer into the light of the chandelier; he threw aside his heavy cloak, and Cecil sprang to her feet with a cry. It was Ralph Lowenstein. He stood there before her with arms folded across his breast, and spoke never a word. Cecil held out her hands. "Ralph! Ralph!"

Still that cruel silence, and the dark scornful eyes that seemed to burn into her very soul. She trembled so that she could hardly stand, and sank again upon the piano stool.

This was the man she loved-who had once loved her; but he scorned her nowwould not give her one word!

"O Ralph, forgive me-speak to me! I am so, so wretched !"

"When you can recall my brother from his grave!" His voice seemed so vehement, so harsh! She clasped her hands in an ecstasy of despair.

"O Ralph! he was mad. He would not listen to me. The greatest wrong I ever did him was to wed with him when my whole heart belonged to another."

"Your whole heart!" ironically. "You are so cruel, Ralph! Indeed, I loved you better than I ever dreamed I could love. The wealth that I coveted so ardently, when mine, never gave me happiyess. I tried not to be harsh to Archie. but my married life was very, very wretched. I know you will sav I deserved it all but O! I do not think I merited quite the misery that I suffered."

Cecii covered her face and wept “But that cannot palliate all that Archie suffered. That cannot relieve you of the crime of his death. You murdered your husband as much as though you pointed the fatal weapon at his breast with your own hands. If I knew my forgiveness would spare your life, I would still withhold it. I loved you once, Cecil Villers, but I despise-I abhor you now!"

Cecil's only answer was a little wounded cry. There was a silence of a few minutes, and then Ralph Lowenstein spoke again:

"You may wonder why I am here. You have borne to Archie no heir, and this estate passes entirely out of your hands. You are aware, perhaps, the present master-"

"Is Ralph Lowenstein! And that I am indebted to you for this present shelter. I am indeed aware of it, and that I must rely on your hospitality this night. On the morrow I will relieve you of the presence of your brother's bountiless wife!"

"Not quite so hard as that, Cecil; you have a fair income fastened to you through life. But I am glad you comprehend your position at the Towers so well, and have decided to leave it. Its new mistress-my wife-will be introduced to it soon, and I believe I am right in judging that it would not be pleasant for you to meet her."

This was the last blow to Cecil. For this she had denied herself the honest love of the only man that she felt could have brought her happiness; had sold herself to a man she detested, bringing utter misery and ruin upon both, only at the last to find herself forced back into the old, hated, lowly position from which she had started, but with a heavier heart, and a darkened, ruined life. All this passed like a flash through her mind, and she recognized the retribution.

Ralph was surprised at her silence. He had expected that she would weep and rave; he did not guess the blank despair that was crushing her heart, and that sealed her lips. Very white and still, she sat there with the light of the chandelier shining on her amber-golden hair, and the listless jewelled hands crossed upon her lap; the lustreless eyes drooped, the paie lips compressed. Ralph for one moment felt a strange pity for the woman who had once so scornfully rejected his love-who had brought so much disgrace upon the fair fame of the proud, honorable Lowensteins. Then his heart chilled toward her, and he was pitiless still

He caught up his cloak and threw it across his arm, then turned and addressed her once again:

"I will say good-night' and 'adieu.' I shall return again in a few days, but by then you will have left the Towers. If you have any advice or aid to ask regarding your future, command me; I am at your service-"