"VENGEANCE IS MINE."
BY
THE
AUTHOR
OF "THE VALLEY FARM."
It was a terrible night. The rain rushed ! i'.ra in cataracts; the lightning blazed continu ally; and the thunder broke in sharp, startling peals, until earth and heaven rocked under the concussion. I have seen many tempests, but never one like that.
"The Nittany will be in a flood," said the landlord, for I was boarding, for the summer, at a mountain inn. "We shall hear of damage by morning."
He had scarcely spoken, when the door opened, mj the gust, driving in, almost flared out the eandle. A noighbor entered, horror and alarm ea every feature, so that, even before he spoke, n knew he came on some fearful errand. Both '•he landlord and I sprang instinctively to our fcet.
'•Mary Ennis " ho began.
""hat?" gasped the landlord, interrupting Mm. "She hasn't made away with herself."
"God knows!" was the nnswer "She disap peared from the house, just as the storm came op: and was met, frantie-like, going down the mountain. Her poor old father is 'most dis trieted. I am going, with Jem Wright and w>ms others, to look for her. We want more. "ill any of your folk turn out?"
I tad been long enough in the village to bo fandliar with the story of Mary Ennis. She was the only child of her parent, a venerable old man, whom all reverenced and loved for his sin gle-minded piety. Two years before, she had bcen the pride, alike of him and of the neigh borhood. Of a rare and delicate style of beauty, aeiable and unassuming, she had won all hearts. "er own, however, was given to a young gentlewan, the heir of an estate a mile below the vil'"50, who had just returned from college, and who "fell in love," as tho phrase goes, "at first sight" Ho was one of those eager natures, 'hose selfish desire to have their own way at once, and at every cost, is often mistaken for energy; and the ardent manner, therefore, in which he urged his suit, passed with Mary, as it passed with many others, for proof of his exces sive love. This characteristic he exhibited in reference to an engagement. Her father objected, in vain, to it, saying that Mary was too young, that both might change their minds; but George Barlow, for that was the lover's name, would not hear of a postponement: "he loved Mary," he said, "and should always love her; he was willing to wait till she was nineteen, as Mr. Ennis wished; but he should always fear to lose her, unless she was plighted to him:" and his inflexible, persistent selfishness carried the day. In Mary's eyes, she was, from that hour, virtu ally his wife. Her every thought she held saered to him; she consulted all his tastes; and she even found a seeret pleasure, as gentle souls like her's do, in saerificing her own will to his. He was exacting, imperious, wilful, and often harsh; but she did not see it; for her affection transformed everything. Love was a necessity to her, and now that she had fixed her affections, and that custom warranted her in giving free course to them, she grew to fairly worship him. Her love became a part of her existence. It was her very lifo. A year passed. George often went to the city, always on the pretence of business, but really from love of change. During one of those visits he became enamored of a celebrated belle, the very opposite, in everything, of Mary. It was not strange, this sudden passion. Novelty was everything to this selfish man. His reputa tion for a good estate secured him a weleome with the fashionable rival ; and her coquetry, which ought to havo opened his eyes, only fixed his admiration, by alarming his sense of security. He forgot his vows to Mary; lingered in the me tropolis till he had secured his new mistress; and then returned home to prepare for his bride and break off his engagement with Mary. Selfish as he was, however, he began to doubt, as he approached the village, whether he had not acted the rascal. Everything he saw re minded him of Mary. Here was the little pond where they had gathered water-lilies ; there were the wood-walks they had threaded so often; and yonder the old tree, at whose roots they hod found the first violets of the season. But he soon suc ceeded in persunding himself, as men bent on such erimes always do, that ho was the injured party, rather than tho wrong-doer. "She has lost my affections," he said to himself, "because she is too tame for me; if I marry her, it will
