186 AT THE FALLS.
that astonished herself, and she felt her heart stop beating.
“Oh, yes—at first!” May replied, hurriedly, “Oh! Cora——”
“I am sure you have something totell me, my dear,” Cora said; when she broke off abruptly, ‘I think I know what it is.”
“Don’t!” whispered May. ‘Oh! it frightens me yet.’ ’
She clung fast to Cora; and Cora held her close in her arms, and was thankful that she could offer a prayer for the girl’s happiness, though all the while she felt death in her heart, and knew that however long the semblance of existence might last, life was at an end where anything like interest or hope for herself was concerned; it had died in the shudder of agony which shook the very springs of her being, when May’s happy voice broke beneath its passion of bliss and delicious shyness.
“Cora,” May said, suddenly, still with her head turned aside, “Mr. Wellesley is going away this morning—he wants to bid you good-by.”
“Going?” exclaimed Cora.
“Yes; fora day or two only. He got a telegram last night. Please go down—he is in mammi’s sitting-room. There’s nobody there.”
Cora knew what it signified; the trembling voice, the broken. words—the worst agony was over; she could bear anything now, could even see him—see the pride and joy in his face, do her part without faltering.
She clasped May more closely in her arms, kissed the bonny brown hair that hung about her shoulders, and said, softly,
“God bless my darling, and make her a happy woman!”
She went straight out of the room without looking back, gave herself not an instant to think, made no pause until her hand was upon the door of the room where May’s lover waited.
The very thought that came into her mind— May’s lover—it gave her a wild sort of strength which she knew would support her to the end.
She opened the door; there was no tremor in her limbs, no mist before her eyes—she felt dead and cold; she was not conscious even of any suffering, she was just walking about like a ghost whose penance it was to linger upon earth and watch the happiness of those still left here clothed in mortality, and bearing mortality’s sensations and happiness.
She saw him rise and come toward her; she was the calmer of the two, and beld out her white hand, and was the first to speak.
‘May tells me we are forced to bid you good-by,” she said. “I am sorry; but I trust you are coming back so soon that we can at once begin to think of your return in order to console ourselves.”
“Thank you!” he answered; and Cora was conscious of a vague wonder that his voice should sound so uncertain and tremulous in this first hour of his certainty of his own triumph.
He led her to a seat, and sat down beside her. She glanced at him once, and saw that he was deathly pale; anda fear of some evil for him banished all selfish thoughts.
“Are you in any trouble?” she asked, quickly. “Is there any bad news you wish me to break to May?”
“No,” he said, gravely, “no. away—shall I come back?”
“Of course, you are coming, I know from May. She did not tell me, but I understand everything.”
“Yes, May is very happy,” he said, “and I am so glad. Wentworth is a noble young fellow; but that is not it——”
“Wentworth!” repeated Cora, in horror.
Oh! this was worst of all; he was suffering— May did not love him.
“Wentworth!”’ she repeated.
“Yes; don’t you know your willful little cousin put him out of his suspense this morning?”
“I am so sorry; oh! do believe it! I don’t know what to say—I——”
“We can leave them to their happiness,” he went on, when he saw that she could not finish. “I am a selfish mortal, and must think of my own hopes and fears. May I come back, Cora?”
Was she going mad? Did her senses play her false?
“Oh! don’t you understand?” he cried out. “I love you; I had seen you long before you ever saw me; and, mad as it was, I loved you from the first. May knew it—sent for me here. Cora, don’t drive me from you. Give me a hope—may I come back?”
There was an odd little gasp in her throat, which made him look suddenly in her face; he read the whole truth there, and the next instant Cora felt herself pressed to his heart, and heard the words of love and tenderness which burst from his very soul.
It was all made clear in the long hour that elapsed before they were disturbed; then May danced into the room, exclaiming,
“There's a train going, and there’s a poor wretch must go on it. Is it all right?”
Their faces must have answered, for she
