142
CHRISTIAN
roan’s
M~WI,MM
TROUBLES.
not bear her touch—she seemed to see the trace of his kisses upon those pale lips, the shadow of his caressing hand upon her streaming hair. When the girl was in bed, Christian sat by her until she fell into the deep slumber of exhaus- tion; then she went down stairs to seek counsel in reflection.
Late in the evening there was a knock at the door; Christian knew who stood there, but she rose up and opened it, looking out with her} white face as Robert Gray tottered into the room.
“Christian,” he groaned, ‘Christian!’
“I know,” she said, ‘‘ Lucy Dean is here.”
He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands, while she stood before him white and cold.
‘‘Curse me, Christian, reproach me; anything is better than this!”
“Of what avail now, Robert—it is too late.”
“It was all my mother’s doing! Oh, Chris- tian, I meant no wrong! I was mad, and that poor girl was so gentle and kind! It is all over now—I am a wretch—a lost, despairing man.”
Christian did not heed his words; she walked } up and down the room for many moments, and } then returned to him.
‘Are you willing to atone for this wrong?” she said. :
With my life! When I found that my mother had driven her away, I followed here, and some goo. angel sent me to you.”
Robert, you must marry Lucy to-night.”
“Oh, mercy, have mercy, Christian! And you——”’
‘Hush, you would not dare!”
“Forgive me, no! Do what you will, Chris- tian, I am ready to obey you.”
Wait for me here,” she said, and taking up a shawl that lay on the table, she left the room.
A heavy storm of sleet was falling, but through the night and the tempest Christian Ford has- tened on. Half way to the village she stopped before an old-fashioned house, went round to the side, from whence gleamed a light, and knocked softly at the door.
It was the parsonage, and the old minister was sitting alone in his study. He opened the door and saw Christian Ford standing there, white as a ghost, but perfectly calm.
‘‘What has happened?” he exclaimed, in alarm; ‘‘are you ill, Christian?” :
‘*Well, very well,” she answered, in a hollow voice. ‘I have come for you to go to my house; there is no time to lose, and I will explain to you as we go.”
The minister prepared himself without a word, and followed her, for there was that in Christian Ford’s face which would have brought obedience to any command.
On their way she told the story in a few brief words, which fell with difficulty from her parched lips. When they reached the house, they found Robert Gray sitting there with his face bowed in his hands; and Christian left the old minister alone with him, while she went up stairs.
She entered the chamber where the girl was sleeping, and spoke her name; low as the voice was, it roused the sleeper.
“What is it?” she cried, wildly, raising her self on the pillow; ‘who spoke?”
“It is —Christian. Be quiet, Lucy; I have something to tell you—Robert Gray is below.”
‘“‘He has not deserted me,” she cried; “he will save me. Oh, Robert, Robert!”
For an instant Christian gave way; she stag- gered against the wall, and clasped her hand over her mouth to repress a groan.
“Christian!” Lucy called; ‘I can’t see you.”
“I am here. Get up, Lucy, and dress; you S are going to be married.”
The girl sprang to her feet, wild with the fever which had been consuming her for hours, repeating the words almost in a shriek.
“Be quiet!” Christian said, sternly. She brought a white wrapper, and put it on her, brushed out the tangled hair, and gathered it smoothly in its place, folded a shawl about the 3 tottering form, and seated her in a chair.
The minister was speaking words of encourage- ment to the wretched youth when Christian re- turned to the apartment.
‘All is ready,” she said; ‘‘follow me.”
The old pastor was forced to support Robert up the stairs, while Christian went in advance without once looking back. When the door { opened, and Lucy Dean saw the young man ‘ standing white and pale before her, she began to sob like a frightened child, moaning,
‘Forgive me, Robert, forgive me!”
Then his true nobility of character mastered the selfish agony he had felt. He went up to S her, took her hand gently, saying,
“Don’t cry, Lucy; don’t tremble so. I am here to make all the atonement in my power.”
The old pastor motioned them to rise, and Christian stood leaning against the wall, watching with her strained gaze, but uttering no sound. When the brief ceremony was concluded, the clergyman knelt
- down and offered up a prayer. For the first
3 time Christian wept; those tears harmonized her again. Before that there had seemed a mental catalepsy upon her which turned her heart to stone.
