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THE RESULT of AN IMPULSE.

subdued by the heavy purple curtains made me what seemed to me, the congeniality between us. close my eyes again. $ We would discuss and argue questions for hours;

I should have died but for a small clump of !; and yet there was no jarring; all was in harmony, bushes, which the water, in its unusual height ^ even when we disagreed. After our long, ani- had overflown, and where my dress caught. > mated conversations, during which Margaret The assistance, which the screams of the children \ always observed a perfect silence, busily plying brought, rescued me. $ her needle in embroidery, he would turn to her,

I lay there, quiescent from weariness, yet $ and playfully addressing her as “ma belle” or thinking calmly. I had never before been so ^ “ma petite covaine ,” would ask for a song, or subdued, my bitterness of spirit was all gone, ^ challenge her to a game of chess. Her face and, “Oh, heaven is very kind!” were the first ^ would light up, and she would utter some words I uttered. v piquant remark, or laugh in her merry, musical

Wos heaven kind, or was my destiny sorrow ? \ way, seemingly so grateful that the literary storm _ i had subsided.

$ 1 thought he liked her as a companion for

CHAPTER II. ^pleasant relaxation, but not as an intellectual

“Margaret.” \ equal.

The same name, but not the same voice, now \ It was another spring day, drawn to an early

spoken low and tenderly, not uttered, as before, \ close. The half moon came timidly up, and the in fright; now not the call for aid to me, but a 5 sky twinkled faintly with stars, before the glow bolt of anguish, which shook me as only the $ of the sunset had faded away. The leaves were first fury of a storm can; blinded, stunned me. 5 scarcely open upon the trees, and the warmth I will give you the details. j; of the days had not sufficiently penetrated the

My life had been one of poverty, ignorance, $ bosom of mother earth to prevent a chilliness and struggling, until, from the effects of an i; coming on with the night.

impulse, I was lauded as heroic, and then, jj Margaret, with her love of out-door life, and Margaret’s father, who was the one most grate- ^ distaste for any confining employment, reveled, ful for my childish heroism, being a wealthy ^ like a lark, in the fresh, invigorating air; and man, gave me the best advantages for an educa- s now, as evening came on, in a flow of unwonted tion. My mother being dead, he insisted on my $ spirits, she wheeled a large chair out on the sharing Margaret’s mother’s care. My father ^ portico for Fritz, and an ottoman for herself, readily consented to the proposition, as my in- «; and insisted on having a “summer time.” variable moroseness had, in a measure, alienated < “But you will take cold, ma belle” he in- his love. But I was not grateful; what free ^ sisted.

spirit is for charity? I had strong desires, how-s An incredulous toss of her pretty head, and ever, to learn, and therefore I tacitly accepted $ some mischievous whisper, which annoyed, while his bounty. ^ it pleased him, was her only heed of his remon-

I progressed with unusual rapidity in my ^ strance. studies, and was termed a genius. My craving ^ She had been provokingly merry and wilful for books was insatiable. Margaret, on the $ all day, while Fritz had been unusually sombre, contrary, grew*up with a dislike for study $1 had endeavored in vain to engage him in con- Simple, affectionate, and cheerful she was, but \ versation, but my fascination failed me, or else not brilliant, as her parents desired. I learned ^ he was in trouble.

her tasks as well as my own. She was notjj I seemed to be entirely forgotten in the “ sum- envious, but willingly ceded me superiority, $ mer time” arrangement, for no chair was wheeled while she won the love of all by her wilful | for me; so I sat down by the parlor window, simpleness and innocence. She admired and ^ which had been open, the blinds remaining shut, petted me, and never treated me otherwise than ^ all day. Faint bars of the faint moonlight as a sister, \ checked the carpet; I sat, besides this, in deep

She had a cousin, Fritz Wolcott, who spent \ gloom, his summer holidays, while in college, with us. ^ Margaret’s ottoman was drawn close to the He was of that intellectual and poetic tempera- chair of Fritz. I could see them plainly, bnt ment which we admire in men, but which seldom \ heaven knows I had no intention of eves-drop- meets with sympathy if found in a woman. Pas- i ping. Their conversation had been at all times sionately fond of reading and study, he evidently $ so unconstrained in my presence, that I did not enjoyed my society; and I, with my hero-wor- * consider myself a listener. I was thinking in- shiping spirit, was perfectly fascinated with, tensely, and was as if withdrawn from myself.