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CHAPTER XX.-THE CLOUD GATHERS.

wishes. Ah! dear Madeline, will you let me act for you? Indeed, indeed, you have not

IDA finished her history;-tremblingly, and strength for this interview! Will you trust to scarce intelligibly, had she entered on the narra-me-will you give me leave to do what I think tion; she dared not look towards her friend, but best?"

sat with averted eyes, breathing short, and wait- Madeline sat down again and buried her face in ing in a kind of terror for her answer. Madeline her outspread hands. "What do you want to was silent so long that Ida, dreading she scarcely do?" murmured she. knew what, rose at last and went to her, putting her arms about her, and praying forgiveness as though she had committed some grievous offence. Then Madeline laid her pale, weary face upon that kind bosom, and answered her very gently, "Did you think, dearest, that this would be new to me?" "New! how, what do you mean?" rejoined Ida, astonished.

"I was prepared," replied her friend, "but I am so weak that I cannot speak of it as I ought. How should you guess what has been burning in my heart during these last few terrible days! From the moment in which I first recognized

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She stopped, and was for a moment overcome; then she resumed hurriedly, in an altered, unnatural voice, "From that moment I knew what must be; I knew that the time was come, that the trial was at hand. You have seen the struggle, Ida, but I have brought my will to the altar, and the sacrifice shall be completed. No martyrdom; no, no! This poor tardy atonement may have the agony of martyrdom, but God forbid that I should claim the glory. That is reserved for such as have fought well; but the repentant traitor who is suffered to die for his sovereign has no fairer hope than that his name may be forgotten. I will act to God, not to man; yet from man comes my punishment. Oh, for a heart to forget earth and life altogether! Oh, for eyes blind to everything save the vision of the great white THRONE!"

"I want to show him the book which you gave me," replied Ida, kneeling beside her, and again winding her arms round her waist; "I want him to understand the past, to know you as you are. It is due to him; he has a right to demand it; he can do justice neither to you nor to himself now. And how could you show yourself to him, either in a letter or in conversation? You could not, you know you could not; pride, shame, grief, everything would be against you. He would still see you disguised, masked, an involuntary counterfeit of what you are not. You would fulfil the letter of your duty only to violate its spirit."

Madeline rose impatiently. "Never!” cried she, "never! you ask what is impossible. I cannot do it; no woman could. What! appeal to his pity, lay bare the shrinking wounds of my heart; beg as an alms what he withheld as a gift. At this moment he believes me as indifferent to him as-as he was to me, and I would sooner slay myself than suffer him to think otherwise. Nay, if I believed that I were capable of betraying myself by a glance or a gesture, I would hide myself in the depths of the earth sooner than encounter him. I am still a woman, though a most erring one, and the last poor lingering virtue of shame is still left me. Oh, Ida!"

All Ida's courage and self-possession seemed to have returned. She fixed her clear, deep, loving eyes upon Madeline's face, all glowing as it was with unsubdued passion and bitterness of soul, and asked earnestly and timidly, "What is it that you mean to do then?"

There was so much excitement in her manner, that Ida was terrified and knew not how to answer her. In a moment she perceived this, and taking "I mean," replied her friend, vehemently, "to Ida's head caressingly between her hands, as if | do right, much as it costs me. I mean to submit she were a little child, she said, tenderly kissing myself to-to-his will; to confess that I have her forehead, "Don't be frightened, darling; it done grievous wrong, to give up the disposal of is hard indeed that you should have aught to do my future life into his hands." with these troubles and sins, my own timid, tender bird! I am quite calm and composed; there is no fear of the fever returning—you must make allowances for me. Even you, little as you know of the wayward disobedience which makes duty "I shall say," answered Madeline, hastily, agony, must feel that it is hard for me now to do" that it was a fit of passion; a character so undisciplined and self-willed as mine then was is capable of everything."

right, and I know you pity me. But it should be done at once, should it not? I must not lose time. I will go to him directly. Where is he?"

She rose as she spoke, but paused ere she moved towards the door. "Is his feeling all anger?" asked she, turning away her face.

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"And if," said Ida, still in the same soft, deprecating, peaceful tones, "if he asks you, as he surely will, what it was that led you to leave him, how will you answer the question?”

"Will that answer be true?" inquired Ida. "True! yes, was it not an act dictated by the wildest passion?"

"Will it be THE TRUTH?" reiterated Ida, her voice faltering with earnestness. There was a No; indeed I do not think so," replied Ida, long silence, which was at last broken by Madeeagerly; of course he was amazed and agitated; line, who, dropping upon a chair, gave way to a of course he felt himself injured; but I do not sudden outburst of unconquerable tears. Her think he spoke with bitterness, and he repeatedly powers seemed to be mastered in a moment by said that no constraint should be put upon your the agony which had so long vainly struggled

"Indeed, you do not understand!" cried Ida. child. Poor Ida dared not speak, but weeping "You never have understood, and I believe you

against them, and she wept and sobbed like a

too, she repeatedly kissed her friend's hands; that silent expression of mere love was the only consolation she could offer. She listened eagerly for the first words, and at length they came abrupt, resolute, inexorable.

"It is useless-I CANNOT do it!"

never will understand her. You have thrown
away a treasure of true affection, and you would
not even stoop to pick it up when it lay at your
feet. Wrong as she may have been in the past,
if her husband had understood her, if he had loved
her, if his thoughts had not been exclusively
centred and entirely occupied in himself, she
might have been now a happy, honored wife.
The ruin of a heart, the wreck of a life is your
work; at least the guilt is half yours.
wrong which you did her in making her believe
that she was beloved, though less palpable and
less definite, perhaps less capable of being sen-

The

And Ida ceased to urge the impossible; not that she ceased to think it right, but she felt that she had gone as far as she could-as she ought. With undiminished tenderness she soothed the agitated Madeline, and again offered to go to Mr. Tyrrell, to speak for her, to do anything, everything she might to spare or to serve her. "Tell him that I am ready to see him-now-tenced, less sure to be avenged, was full as deep directly, if he so pleases."

and far more irreparable than that which she

"Dearest Madeline, are you fit? have you afterwards did you." strength?"

"I am as strong as I shall ever be," replied Madeline, sharply, almost peevishly; "nothing can hurt me so much as delay or remonstrance."

Ida was at the door in an instant; she would have paused to express her fear of having given unnecessary pain, to ask forgiveness; but she felt that it was not a time to think of herself, or to expect Madeline to think of her, so she was withdrawing quietly and quickly, when her friend's voice checked her in an accent whose very feebleness made it the more impressive, “ Ida !—stop -you are to do what you think right. Leave me -quick-and say nothing!"

She paused, breathless, and, as soon as she paused, felt ashamed of her impetuosity, and afraid of its result. There is no truer nor more universal law of woman's nature than that which gives fire to the gentlest, and boldness to the most timid, in the cause, not of herself, but of her affections; but it is a fire whereat the very hand which kindles it, trembles in sudden amazement.

"I beg your pardon," said Ida, humbly.

He

Mr. Tyrrell did not do as he ought; very few men do in difficult circumstances. He did not take Ida by the hand, and say warmly, "For what? for speaking the truth to me?" It was, perhaps, quite as much as could be expected of The injunction could not be disobeyed, for there him that he felt something like this in his heart, was a pale and awful anguish in the face of her and that he demonstrated it outwardly by smiling who gave it, which it would have been profaneness kindly at her, as if he quite forgave her. to contemplate. Once again, however, she recalled looked as though the eloquent rebuke were a the departing Ida, hurrying after her with a mo- specimen of not unamiable childish petulance, and mentary strength, the result of vehement agita- this manner of patronizing and indulging the truth tion, and saying, rapidly, "Tell him that I place gave some small inexplicable satisfaction to the myself entirely in his hands, and only supplicate Man in him; at least, I suppose it must have that he does not ask to see me!" She turned been so, because this is such a common masculine and flung herself on her knees, almost on her face, habit. The frank avowals, the stately candors, prostrate upon the floor, while Ida, merely bowing the noble self-forgettings which we meet with in her head, in token that she understood and would books, are very seldom met with anywhere else. fulfil the request, went from her even as she had | When they are, let us guard them jealously, for come to her trembling, tearful, and speechless. they are the jewels of life; they should be the She hurried in search of Mr. Tyrrell, feeling as though half an hour's unnecessary delay would be guilt. She found him awaiting her in the vestibule, with a countenance from which he vainly sought to banish the signs of anxiety and emotion. Silently she placed the volume in his hands; he looked wonderingly and inquiringly at her.

zone of the heart in its secret retirement, for it would seem that the air of heaven, or the gaze of man, may tarnish the delicacy of their brightness. There is a kind of allowable, and even neces|sary churlishness, so to speak, in true affection; we like to keep our friends not only for, but to ourselves. But to return.

"I was to give you this," faltered she," and "And I am to read this!" said Tyrrell, musto say-that-that she will submit to your deter-ingly. He put the book in his pocket, and stood

mination in everything, but that she earnestly beseeches you" Ida hesitated.

"What?" exclaimed he quickly.

still, looking strangely and awkwardly.
alone?" asked he at last.

"Is she

"She wished to be left alone," replied Ida;

"Not to insist upon seeing her," added Ida, in"I shall go to her in a little while; but just now a low, abashed voice. I think it is better for her-she is terribly

"A true woman's submission," observed Mr. agitated." Tyrrell, bitterly. "She will do whatever I de

He was silent; then, with a courteous little

mand, and then she restricts my demands to what-bow, which seemed almost grotesque, so suddenly ever she pleases. I understand perfectly."

did it introduce the formalities of daily conven

tionalism into the presence of those powers and yet did the last so shelter and embrace the first

passions by which conventionalism is shattered into fragments-he left her. Ida sought her own room, and sat down to think-not of Madeline, but of herself.

that condemnation was lost in pity. The Puritan spirit which brands the offences of others is as different for the Christian spirit which watches tremulously for its own, as darkness is from So rapidly had events crowded upon each other light. Innocence, like Him from whom she that not till now had she leisure of thought for comes, is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity; it reviewing her last strange and painful conversa- is hers not only to suffer long and be kind, but to tion with Godfrey. It was there in her mind as a be strong and patient in belief, prodigal and inexthing suppressed, shut up, not to be looked at for haustible in hope. Ida's heart said no hard words the time, yet undoubtedly existing and importu- to her either of Madeline or of Godfrey. She nately present. She had only thrust it a little was, however, still too young, too unused to the below the surface, and the moment the actual business of life, to be able thoroughly to realize to pressure was withdrawn it arose, and she could herself what had happened. It seemed to her a not shun the encounter. She recalled his tone, mournful and pathetic vision, which brightened as his look, his gestures, and the intense reality of she gazed upon it. She thought how dear she them all was terribly convincing. It seemed must be to Godfrey, since he had chosen her as the strange that they should be more impressive in depository of his secret, and then she wept bitter memory than in actual occurrence, but so it was. tears of self-reproach in remembering that she had She hated and despised herself for her slowness given nim pain instead of consolation. But if it of perception; she accused herself of cruelty, of was in her power to wound, it must be in her coldness, of idiocy. Alas! she was only guilty power also to heal, and this poor logic comforted of innocence. It is wonderful how soon, the first her greatly. Only she felt impatient to apply the shock being over, the mind accustoms itself to the balm at once; to let Godfrey know, without an contemplation of new and terrific forms; it is still instant's delay, that he had mistaken mere surmore wonderful how soon the heart learns to veil, prise and unconsciousness for horror, and that she to disguise, to beautify them with fair excuses. was still the sister whom he had chosen for himIda had received, almost unconsciously, the idea self. Her heart beat quick, she felt feverish and of the dark truth which lay in Godfrey's narra- confused; it was the natural result of the agitation, and she was now far more occupied with tions of the day, yet she was almost afraid of meetcondemning herself as pitiless than with thinking ing Godfrey till she should have become a little of him as criminal. Indeed, she consigned the more composed. Twice she rose, moved to the crime to some far unseen hiding-place. She took door, and twice returned to her seat, spreading her it for granted before the beginning of the history, hands over her lovely, troubled face, and striving, and she began with the misery and the repentance. by a strong effort of will and an earnest self-comHow intelligible was now all that wayward vari- mendation to God, to subdue the tumult within. ableness, which had so often wounded her in him; Then she began once more to build for the future; how touching an aspect did the close union be- a happy family-picture grew up before her eyes, a ween the brothers now assume ! It was the seal group of many well-known and well-loved figures. of a perpetual pardon, ever besought, never with- Hand-in-hand with Godfrey she sat at the feet of held. She went through, in fancy, the life of her father, whose presence was as the presence of both; identifying herself with the struggles, the an angel, sanctioning and consecrating their affecpangs, the keen and silent sufferings of Godfrey, tion; kind, gentle aunt Ellinor looked tenderly upon with that vivid force so natural to an imaginative them, and dear uncle John peeped smiling from heart when the subject under contemplation is a behind a screen. Some one else, too, was looking friend, too proud, too shy, or too self-governed to at them; some one who said, in low and thankful ask for sympathy. The undemanded, often un- voice, "Oh! how can I ever use these restored suspected tenderness which we lavish upon the eyes, except in looking at faces so beautiful and woes of such an one, is, by some strange yet so beloved?" A fairy's wand had done it—the precious perverseness of our nature, a thousand- fairy of youthful, hopeful fancy. Those visions fold more liberal, more delicate, and more vigilant, of earthly happiness are very puzzling; so pure, than the compassion which is charmed from us by so perfect are they, and yet so different from all tears or wrung from us by entreaties. We create we dare conceive of the happiness of heaven. It anew for ourselves each trial that he has under- seems strange that, in the greater number of hugone, and assert a partnership in all; and with an man hearts, there should be faculties which find involuntary reserve, different from his own, and no occupation, cravings which obtain no answer, yet the counterpart of it, we delight in thinking conceptions to which there is no responding reality that we feel far more for him than he suspects or throughout Eternity. True, they will be all abwould believe-more even than he would ever sorbed in the loftier capacities of risen and purified confess that he has felt for himself. In love, yet humanity; yet does it seem mysterious that they more than in charity, it is more blessed to give should have been, so to speak, created only to than to receive.

Ida was growing rapidly familiar with the face of evil; sin and surrow had started up before her,

cease.

More than an hour glided away unperceived, and by degrees she began to feel the necessity of

exchanging her dreams for action. She could | so, as it were, by main force, the following not yet quite resolve to encounter Godfrey, so she words :went in search of Frederick, to whom she always felt that she could speak with far less restraint. I would not pain you by telling you what I then MY DARLING IDA,-When I parted from you She found him in the library alone; a rare, but just now a most fortunate occurrence. She felt embarrassed—she did not know how to begin the subject, nor how far she could let him know what had happened, without giving him pain; she had a kind of persuasion that he knew of Godfrey's intended confession, yet she could not feel sure of this, and so she hesitated, and doubted whether to speak of it or not. She sat down by his side, put her hand into his, and asked him, with forced playfulness, of what he was thinking?

"Of you, dear Ida," was his immediate reply, but the words were uttered in a tone so full of melancholy that she directly felt sure he knew all, and was secretly reproaching her.

"O, Frederick!" she replied, her eyes overflowing with tears, "do not be angry with me! I did not mean the least unkindness. I was so astonished, so pained, so shocked that I really did not understand-and so I-I-I do so want to be friends with Godfrey! Do tell me where I can find him."

"With Godfrey !" answered Frederick. "I have not seen him since the morning. I was not thinking of him.”

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But I am thinking of him," rejoined Ida, quickly.

"It would make him very happy to hear that. But, dear Ida, let us forget him for a few moments. I have been wanting to speak to you

about

-are you listening to me?"

"Yes, dear Frederick, I will listen," cried she, summoning up her attention, which, to say the truth, was not a little inclined to wander. "Ouly, Godfrey"

"Nay," interposed he, "it is a very grave matter of which I have to speak. Dearest Ida, you have known but little sorrow, and if I could fix the course of your future life, it should all run through pleasant pastures and under sunshiny skies; but God knows what is good for you better than I do. And in His eyes it has seemed good that you should taste affliction. Nay, do not look

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well knew myself, namely, that I was affected by
a disorder which is-I must not conceal it—of
dangerous though not of hopeless character. I
wished to save my precious child the anxiety of
these months of separation, but there is a point
after which concealment becomes unkindness and
distrust; and that point is now reached. I have
confidence in your courage; I have faith that God
will support you. I am myself quite calm, and 1
feel sure that you will aid me in maintaining my
calmness; I know you are capable of such an
effort. Come to me, then, my darling; I owe
you this confidence. Come to me, remembering
those who out of weakness were made strong,
remembering also whose strength it was that was
perfected in their weakness. It is vouchsafed to
us also to suffer somewhat for our Lord. Come,
and I shall at least have the happiness of watch-
ing and wiping away such tears as you cannot
help shedding. Mr. Tyrrell will tell you all the
particulars, for I am not allowed to write at great
length.
God bless you.

Your affectionate father,

PERCY LEE.

As

Let us pass over in silence the hour which followed the reading of this letter. At its close Ida was ready and the carriage was at the door. she issued from her room, her face pale and haggard, her eyes full of that desolation which knows not the softness of tears, little Arthur ran to meet her, buoyant and, uproarious in his childish glee. "I am going to see poor sick Mrs. Chester," cried he; "papa sent me, and he says I am to be very gentle to her."

Ida passed on without heeding him, or even understanding the import of his words. Unused to aught but tenderness from her, the little fellow stood still, wondering and displeased; but, speedily forgetting his wrath in eagerness to visit his new acquaintance, he betook himself to the door of Mrs. Chester's bedroom.

On the stairs poor awkward Agnes joined her so terrified," (pressing her hand earnestly between" Ida," said she, in a thick, broken voice, “I am his own,) no irrevocable blow has been struck-going with you. Pray let me ; aunt Ellinor canno irreparable misfortune has befallen you-there not leave Frederick, and Mrs. Chester is ill, and is still hope." you must have a woman with you. I am quite

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Papa!" said Ida, trembling violently. She ready; I will give you no trouble, and I will try could articulate no more. to be a comfort to you if I can."

"I have a note for you from him," replied Frederick, speaking very gently and deliberately. "He gave it to Mr. Tyrrell, who was charged to communicate it in the first instance to Mrs. Chester, and afterwards, if necessary, to you. It is now necessary, and the task has fallen upon me. God knows, Ida, every tear you shed seems wrung from my own heart. What shall I say to comfort you?"

She took the letter from his hand without speaking, and read, compelling herself to do

A silent pressure of the hand was the only reply, and the two cousins entered the carriage together. Ida did not notice that Alexander took his seat upon the box; she was almost unconscious of uncle John's hearty embrace and faltered blessing as she ascended the steps; she had not remembered to take leave of Madeline; she had even forgotten Godfrey.

She did not know, for it had been thought better not to reveal it to her as yet, the immediate cause of the summons she had received. It was

and at such a time, should seek to separate his child from him. Yet, while he was determined

necessary that Mr. Lee should undergo a very dangerous operation, which might possibly restore him to health, but which, if it failed, would not to allow her presence during the trial, he greatly accelerate the termination of his sufferings. He felt that it would, indeed, be a needless and irreparable cruelty disguising itself in the shape of kindness, which, under such circumstances,

From the Christian Advocate and Journal. WHAT AMUSEMENTS ARE ADMISSIBLE.

I SEE Some of our good people writing in the Advocate on the subject of Methodist schools and theatricals, and what is, and is not, innocent amusement; but none of them appear to me to be sufficiently plain and clear. I like, on all such matters,

for writers to be what we old folks sometimes call plain and flat-footed, that all who read may understand; and as it does seem to me that of late years there does seem to be too much rope given, I thought I would ask you a few plain questions, to which I must insist on your giving equally as plain and flat-footed answers; and I will begin with the membership; and,

1. Is it wrong to go out and see the horses run? 2. If not, is it wrong to bet on them? 3. Is it right to go to theatres, and deal in lottery tickets?

4. Is it right to play at cards, even for amusement?

5. Is it right to purchase or play on any musical instrument, from the accordeon up to the piano or organ?

6. If it is, is it wrong to dance to the sound thereof?

7. Is it right to suffer our children to be shooting their fire-crackers, playing checkers, dominoes,

and others of kin?

8. Is it right to purchase skates, and go and amuse themselves on the ice, instead of doing it by reading the Bible, or some other good book? 9. Is it right to go to balls, or to ball-yards alleys?

10. If so, is it wrong to partake of the amusements?

wished also, if possible, to keep the knowledge of it from her till it was over, only securing that he should at least see her once more, and that she should be present to close his eyes.

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We here allow our old friend to speak out his whole heart; and now will proceed to give him plain and flat-footed answers. First, we must inform our readers that the signature of our correspondent is not his real name-so no one must identify him with our excellent father Kent, of New England.

wrong.

To the first four questions, we answer, all To the fifth, we answer, not wrong when circumstances make it expedient-we go for music in its place. To the sixth, we answer, undoubtedly wrong. As to the seventh, we say, "shooting fire crackers" is mean business, and "playing checkers," &c., should be discouraged as having bad tendencies. In answer to the eighth question, we say, we think skating an innocent and healthy exercise for boys; but rather dangerous on thin ice. We would not enjoin "reading the Bible, or some other good book," as an amusement. It should have its place, but should be considered a devotional, or at least a serious duty. To the ninth question, we answer, no-and this answers the tenth.

We were educated under the Puritanic regimen, and not being very young, may be supposed, from habit, strongly prepossessed against fashionable follies. We are not, however, quite so rigid as our friend Kent. We are not old enough to recollect the time when the children of Methodists amused themselves in "reading the Bible, or some other good book." When a boy, we were indulged in all sorts of innocent and healthy amusements, and we have allowed our own children the same latitude. While we must contend for the right and necessity of this course to the young, we have no fellowship for anything demoralizing, or having a tendency to debase the intellect or heart.

These amusements were once all cried down. Has the rope stretched, or unwound? As to the ministry, I would fain hope they are not chargeable. Would that I could also say it of the membership! Our fathers, where are they? Wesley, Asbury, Whatcoat, Pickering, Everett, Sharp, and a host of others, who cried all these things down? They are gone where we have got to follow them. Would LAW OF STORMS.-Captain Handley, of the to God they had left their mantle, and more of Sultany, has recently most successfully tested the their spirit with us who are left behind. There is truth of the law which regards tropical tornadoes as a great want of money to fill the missionary treas- cyclones, or revolving masses of air travelling ury, Bible treasury, and provide for the worn-out along certain curved lines. The edge of the cypreachers. Well, I go in for all these things. clone referred to was thirty degrees, at least, from But if those who purchase pianos, and other mu- Bombay, Calcutta, and Aden, and its effects were sical instruments, as well as skates, would put that felt at the distance of 2,000 miles. The course of money these things cost into the Lord's treasury, the ship Sultany was south-west, when, overtaken it would there do much good; and, instead of tri- by the storm, Captain Handley says, in his log, he fling away their time with those worse than foole-furled top-sails and fore-sails, and rounded the ries, if they spent it on their knees, and reading some good books, it would certainly be much better for the church generally.

But perhaps I am now doing wrong. I did not intend to intimate any opinion. But to these questions you will do me the favor to give me a candid KENT.

answer.

Dec. 27, 1849.

ship to, with her head to the eastward, as I have every reason to believe I am on the edge of a hurricane." The storm passed onward to the southwest; and thus, by laying to, and steering to the eastward, Captain Handley, no doubt, saved his ship and 300 coolies on board. This triumph of scientific observation cannot be too widely known. -Athenæum.

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