Catherine Arnatti never closed her eyes that night; one instant fancying that Edwin loved her, and only paused to own it for fear of a refusal, and flattering herself that he would not "And is this all you have to say? Now lisleave without. These thoughts gave way to ten to me, Edwin: know that I love you, and bitter disappointment, hatred, and vows of re-judge of its intensity by my thus owning it. I venge against him, and all connected with him, more particularly his sister, whose words she now recalled, torturing herself with the idea that Annie had extorted a promise from her brother never to wed his cousin while she lived; and the sickly girl had improved much since then, and might, after all, be restored to perfect She felt his hand, cold and trembling; his health; then, the first time for years, she wept | face was even paler than her own, as, overcried bitterly at the thought of being separa-whelmed with confusion, Edwin stammered out.

she saw it, and paused. But still he never so, indeed, than the circumstances would seem

raised his eyes to hers, that were so fixed on
him; and she continued, "You ask for time to
think, oh! heaven and hell, that I should come
to this! But take it, and think well; it is four
hours before you quit this roof; I will be there
to say adieu.
Or better, perhaps, if you will
write, and give at leisure the result of your de-
liberations."

She spoke the last words with a bitter sneer; yet Edwin caught at the suggestion, and replied,

Yes, I will write, I promise you, within a month. Forgive my apparent coldness; forgive-"

"Hush!" interrupted Catherine; "your sister calls; why does she come here now? You will not mention what has passed, I know; remember, within a month I am to hear. Think of me kindly, and believe that I might make you love me even as I love you. Now, go to her, go before she finds you here." Edwin pressed her hand in parting, and she bent down her forehead, but the kiss imprinted there was cold and passionless. He met his sister at the door, and led her back affectionately to the drawing-room she had just quitted.

The old gardener had deposited a portmanteau and knapsack on the very edge of the footpath by the side of the high road, and had been watching for the mail, with a great horn lantern, some half-hour or so before it was expected; while the housemaid was stationed inside the gate, upon the gravel-walk, ready to convey the intelligence, as soon as the lights were visible coming up the hill; and cook stood at the front-door, gnawing her white apron. The family were assembled in that very unpleasant state of expectation, that generally precedes the departure of a friend or relative; Edwin walking about the room, wrapped up for traveling, impatient and anxious to be off. At last, the gardener halloed out lustily; Betty ran toward the house, as if pursued by a wild beast, and screaming, "It's a-coming;" and cook, who had been standing still all the time, rushed in, quite out of breath, begging Mr. Edwin to make haste, for the coach never waited a minute for nobody; so he embraced his mother and sister; and then, taking Catherine's hand, raised it hastily, but respectfully to his lips. Miss Reed watched the movement, and saw how he avoided the piercing gaze her cousin fixed upon him, not so intently though, but that she noted the faint gleam of satisfaction that passed over Annie's pale face; and cursed her for it. Strange, that the idea of any other rival had never haunted her.

"Good-by, once more," said Edwin. "I may return before you expect me; God bless you all!"

And, in another five minutes, he was seated by the side of the frosty old gentleman who drove the mail, puffing away vigorously at his meerschaum.

The ladies passed a dismal evening: more |

to warrant. Annie commenced a large piece of embroidery, that, judging from its size and the slow progress made, seemed likely to afford her occupation and amusement until she became an old woman; while Mrs. Reed called to mind all the burglaries and murders that had been committed in the neighborhood during the last twenty years; deploring their unprotected situation, discussing the propriety of having an alarm-bell hung between two of the chimneypots, and making arrangements for the gardener to sleep on the premises for the future. Miss Arnatti never raised her eyes from the book over which she bent. Supper, generally their most cheerful meal, remained untouched, and, earlier than usual, they retired to their respective chambers.

For several hours, Catherine sat at her open window, looking out into the close, hazy night. The soft wind, that every now and then had rustled through the trees, or shaken dewdrops from the thick ivy clustered beneath the overhanging eaves, had died away. As the mist. settled down, and a few stars peeped out just over head, a black curtain of clouds seemed to rise up from the horizon, hiding the nearest objects in impenetrable darkness. The only sounds now heard were those that told of man's vicinity, and his restlessness: the occasional rumble of a distan. vehicle; the chime of bells; sometimes the echo of a human voice, in the direction of the town; the ticking of a watch, or the hard breathing of those that slept; and these fell on the ear with strange distinctness, amid the awful stillness of nature. Presently, the clouds, that hung over a valley far away, opened horizontally for an instant, while a faint flash of lightning flickered behind, showing their cumbrous outline. In a few minutes a brighter flash in another quarter was followed by the low roll of distant thunder; and so the storm worked round, nearer and nearer, until it burst in all its fury over the hill on which the cottage stood.

Miss Reed, who from her childhood had always felt an agonizing and unconquerable fear during a thunder-storm, roused from her light slumber, lay huddled up, and trembling, with her face buried in the pillow. She did not hear the door open or the footstep that approached so stealthily, before a hand was laid upon her shoulder; and starting up she recognized her cousin.

"Oh, Catherine!" she faltered, covering her eyes, "do stay with me awhile; I am so terri fied-and think of Edwin, too, exposed as he. must be to it."

"I have been thinking of him, Annie."

"But you are frightened, also, a little, are you not-with all your courage, or what made you shake so then?" said the poor girl, trying to draw her cousin nearer as flash after flash glared before her eyelids, and louder claps of thunder followed each other at shorter intervals. "I frightened?" replied the dauntless woman

"I frightened; and what at? Not at the thunder, surely; and as for lightning. if it strikes, they say, it brings a sudden and painless death, leaving but seldom even a mark upon the corpse. Who would not prefer this, to lingering on a bed of sickness."

"Do not say so, Catherine, pray do not; only think if O God, have mercy on us! Was not that awful ?"

"Was it not grand? Magnificent-awful if you will. Think of its raging and reveling uncontrolled, and striking where and what it will, without a bound or limit to its fury. And fancy such a storm pent up in the narrow compass of a human breast, and yet not bursting its frail prison. What can the torments that they tell us of, hereafter, be to this ?"

"And what reason can you have, dear cousin, for talking thus. Kneel down by me, for once, and pray; for surely, at such a time as this, if at no other, you must feel there is a God."

"No; you pray, Annie Reed, if it will comfort you; pray for us both. There, now, lie down again, and hide your face. I will stand by your side and listen to you."

pressing on quickly in the same direction. Making some passing remark upon the weath er, I was recognized by the old gardener whe begged me for God's sake to hurry back; he cottage, he said, was struck by lightning, and two of the ladies either dying or dead from the injuries they had received. In a few minutes my horse was at the gate. I had just time to observe that two of the chimneys were thrown down, and some mischief done to the roof. On entering the house, I was guided, by the low, wailing sound of intense grief, to an upper room, where I beheld one of those scenes that, in an instant, stamp themselves upon the memory, leaving their transfer there forever.

Day was just breaking; a cold gray light slowly gaining strength over the yellow glare of some unsnuffed candles, while the occasional boom of distant thunder told that the storm was not yet exhausted. Extended on a low couch, and held by the terrified servants, was the wreck of the once beautiful Catherine Arnatti; at short intervals her features became horribly distorted by an epileptic spasm, that seized one side of the body, while the other half appeared She drew the slender figure gently back. to be completely paralyzed; and the unmeanThen, with a sudden movement, seizing a large ing glare of the eye, when the lid was raised, pillow dashed it over Annie's face, pressing told that the organ of vision was seriously inthereon with all her strength. The long, half- jured, if not entirely destroyed. Close by, the smothered, piteous cry that followed, was almost mother bent sobbing over the helpless form of unheard in the roaring of the storm that now her own child, blanched and inanimate, with a was at its height. By the vivid light that streak of blood just oozing from her pallid lips. every instant played around, she saw the violent I found afterward, that Miss Reed, in her fearefforts of her victim, whose limbs were moving ful struggle, had ruptured a vessel, and, faintup and down, convulsively, under the white ing from the loss of blood, had lain for some bed-clothes. Then, throwing the whole weight time to all appearance dead. Shortly, however, of her body across the bed, she clutched and a slight fluttering over the region of the heart, strained upon the frame, to press more heavily. and a quiver of the nostril, told that the princiSuddenly all movement ceased, and the mur-ple of life still lingered in the shattered tenederess felt a short and thrilling shudder under-ment. With the aid of gentle stimulants, she neath her. Still, her hold never relaxed; un- recovered sufficiently to recognize her mother; touched by pity or remorse, exulting in the thought that the cruel deed was nearly done, so easily, and under circumstances where no suspicion of the truth was likely to arise; dreading to look upon the dead girl's face too soon, lest the mild eyes should still be open, and beaming on her with reproach and horror. But what was it she felt then, so warm and sticky, trickling down her arm? She knew it to be blood, even before the next flash showed the crimson stain, spreading slowly over the pillow. Again the electric fluid darted from the clouds, but this time charged with its special mission from on high. The murderess was a heavy sigh, she once more sank into insensistruck! and springing up, she fell back with one shrill, wild, piercing shriek, that reached the ears of those below, before it was drowned in the din of falling masonry, and the tremendous crash that shook the house to its foundation, until the walls quivered, like the timbers of a ship beating on a rocky shore.

That night I had been to visit a patient at some distance, and finding no shelter near when returning, had ridden on through the storm. Just entering the town, I overtook a man,

but as her gaze wandered vacantly around, it fell on the wretched and blasted creature, from whose grasp she had been so wonderfully rescued. As if some magnetic power was in that glance, Catherine rose up suddenly, despair and horror in the glassy stare she fixed on the corpse-like form before her, as, with another yell, such as burst forth when first struck by the hand of God, she relapsed into one of the most dreadful and violent paroxysms I have ever witnessed. Annie clung tightly to her mother, crying, in a faint, imploring voice, "Oh, save me-save me from her!" ere, with

bility. It was not until late in the afternoon, and then only with great difficulty, that she was able to make those around her understand what had taken place, and account for the intense horror that seized upon her, when at times a groan or cry was heard from the adjoining chamber, in which Miss Arnatti lay. It became, therefore, necessary that this person should be removed, and accordingly, the same night she was taken to lodgings in the town Her conduct there was such as to induce a be

lief that she might be insane, and steps were taken toward placing her in a private asylum. Once only, a few days after her removal, she asked, suddenly, if Miss Reed were not dead; but appeared to betray no emotion on being informed, that although still alive, her cousin was in most imminent danger, and, turning away, from that time maintained a determined silence, which nothing could induce her to break, obstinately refusing all medical aid.

fully with her remaining children to a good old age.

All efforts to trace the unhappy fugitive proved unavailing, and much anxiety was felt on her account; but about ten months after her disappearance, Mrs. Reed received a letter relative to the transfer of what little property her niece had possessed to a convent in Tuscany. The lady-abbess, a distant relative of Miss Arnatti's, had also written much concerning her, from which the following is extracted :

"When a child, Catherine was for two years a boarder in this very house. Fifteen years passed since then, and she came to us travelworn, and weak, and ill. Her history is known only to her confessor and myself; and she has drawn from us a promise that the name of

I visited her in company with the physician in attendance, about six weeks afterward, when she appeared to have recovered, in a great measure, the use of her limbs; but every lineament of the face was altered; the sight of one eye quite destroyed, and drawn outward, until little could be seen but a discolored ball, over which the lid hung down flabby and pow-England should never more be mentioned to her; erless; while a permanent distortion of the mouth added to the frightful appearance this occasioned. The beautiful hair was gone, and the unsightly bristles that remained were only partly concealed by the close-fitting cap she wore. It was indeed a sight to move the sternest heart. That proud and stately woman who had so cruelly abused the power her personal beauty alone had given her; trifling alike with youth's ardent and pure first love, as with the deeper and more lasting affection of manhood, and glorying in the misery and wretchedness she caused! Stopped in her full career, her punishment began already. Yet was there no index on that stolid face to tell how the dark spirit worked within; whether it felt remorse or sorrow for the crime, and pity for its victim, fearing a further punishment in this world or the next; whether the heart was torn by baffled rage and hatred still, scheming and plotting, even now that all hope was gone. Or was the strong intellect really clouded?

That night her attendant slept long and heavi

ly; she might have been drugged, for Miss Arnatti had access to her desk and jewel case, in the secret drawers of which were afterward found several deadly and carefully prepared poisons.

In a room below was a large chimney-glass, and here Catherine first saw the full extent of the awful judgment that had befallen her. A cry of rage and despair, and the loud crash of broken glass, aroused the inmates early in the morning they found the mirror shivered into a thousand fragments, but their charge was gone, We learned that day, that a person answering to her description, wearing a thick vail, and walking with pain and difficulty, had been one of the passengers on board a steam-packet that left the town at daylight.

For a long time Annie Reed lay in the shadow of death. She lived, however, many years, a suffering and patient invalid. Edwin married his betrothed and brought her home, where his fond mother and sister soon loved her as they loved him; and Annie played aunt to the firstborn, and shared their happiness awhile; and when her gentle spirit passed away, her mother bent to the heavy blow, living resigned and peace

and whatever tidings we may hear, in consequence of this communication, from those she had so cruelly injured, whether of life and health, or death-of forgiveness, or hatred and disgust at her ingratitude-that no allusion to it should be ever made to her. She follows rigidly the most severe rules of the establishment, but avoids all intercourse with the sisters. Much of her time is spent at the organ, and often, in the dead of night, we are startled or soothed by the low melancholy strains that come from the dark chapel. Her horror always on the approach of thunder-storms is a thing fearful to witness, and we think she can not long survive the dreadful shocks she suffers from this cause. They leave her, too, in total darkness many days. A mystery to all, we only speak of her as the BLIND SISTER."

[From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal.] FORTUNES OF THE GARDENER'S DAUGHTER.

ETWEEN Passy and Auteuil were still to

be seen, some few years ago, the remains of what had been a gentleman's residence. The residence and the family to whom it had be longed had both fallen during the first Revolution. The bole of a once magnificent tree, stag-headed, owing to the neighboring buildings having hurt the roots, was all the evidence that remained of a park; but bits of old moss-grown wall-broken steps that led to nothing-heads and headless trunks of statues that once adorned the edges of what, now a marsh, had formerly been a piece of ornamental water-little thick. ets of stunted trees stopped in their growth by want of care-all hinted of what had been, although they could give no idea of the beauty which had once made Bouloinvilliers the pride of the neighborhood and its possessor. Such was the aspect of the place recently; but when the following anecdote begins, France was to external appearance prosperous, and Bouloinvilliers was still in its bloom.

At a cottage within the gate which entered the grounds lived the gardener and his wife. They had been long married, had lost all their

cause to our little recluse, which served for reflection, conversation, and curious questioning for many a day after. On a white-painted table with a drawer there stood a plaster-cast of the Virgin Mary, much admired by its innocent namesake, and associated in her mind with praises and sugar-plums-for whenever she had been particularly good she found some there for her. It was her office to dust it with a feather brush, supply water to the flowers amid which the little figure stood, and replace them with fresh ones when faded. Whenever she was petulant a black screen was placed before the table, and Marie was not suffered to approach it. This was her only punishment; indeed the only one she required, for she heard and saw nothing wrong; her parents never disputed, and they were so gentle and indulgent to her, that she never felt tempted to disguise the The old priest often represented to the father that unless he intended his child for the cloister, this mode of bringing her up in such total seclusion and ignorance was almost cruel; but Pierre answered that he could give her a good fortune, and would take care to secure a good husband for her; and her perfect purity and innocence were so beautiful, that the kind-heart

children, and were considered by every body a staid, elderly couple, when, to the astonishment of all, a girl was born. This precious plant, the child of their old age, was the delight especially of Pierre's life: he breathed but in little Marie, and tended her with the utmost care. Although attired in the costume appropriate to her station, her clothes were of fine materials; every indulgence in their power was lavished upon her, and every wish gratified, except the very natural one of going outside the grounds that was never permitted to her whom they had dedicated to the blessed Virgin, and determined to keep "unspotted from the world." Pierre himself taught her to read very well, and to write a little; Cécilon to knit, sew, and prepare the pot-au-feu; and amusement she easily found for herself. She lived among green leaves and blossoms she loved them as sisters: all her thoughts turned toward the flowers that sur-truth. rounded her on every side; they were her sole companions, and she never wearied playing with them. An old lime, the branches of which drooped round like a tent, and where the bees sought honey as long as there was any lingering on its sweetly-odorous branches, was her house, as she termed it; a large acorn formed a coffee-pot; its cups her cups, plates, por-ed but unwise ecclesiastic did not insist farther. ringers, and saucers, according to their size In the mean time she grew apace; and her and flatness; and bits of broken porcelain, mother being dead, Marie lived on as before rubbed bright, enlivened the knotted stump, with her father, whose affection only increased which served for shelves, chimney, and all; a with his years, both of them apparently thinkwater-lily was her marmite; fir-cones her cows; ing that the world went on as they did thema large mushroom her table, when mushrooms selves, unchanged in a single idea. Alas! were in season, at other times a bit of wood we know not what a day may bring forth," covered with green moss or wild sorrel. Her even when we have an opportunity of seeing dolls even were made of flowers-bunches of and hearing all that passes around us. Pierre lilies and roses formed the faces, a bundle of and Marie were scarcely aware of the comlong beech-sprigs the bodies; and for hours mencement of the Revolution until it was at its would she sit rocking them, her low song height-the marquis, his son, and the good chiming in with the drowsy hum of the insects. priest massacred-madame escaped to England When grown older, and become more adven--and the property divided, and in the possesturous, she used to weave little boats from rushes sion of others of a very different stamp from his upon bits of cork, and freight them with flowers. late kind patron, a model of suavity and grace These she launched on the lake, where the fresh of manner even in that capital which gave air and fresh water kept them sometimes longer laws of politeness to the rest of Europe. All from fading than would have otherwise been this came like a clap of thunder upon the their fate, during the hot dry days of July and astonished Pierre; and although he continued August, on their native beds. Thus passed to live in his old cottage, he never more held her happy childhood: often and often she dream- up his head. Finally he became quite childish, ed over it in after-life, pleasing herself with the and one day died sitting in his chair, his last fancy, that perhaps as God, when he made sin- words being "Marie," his last action pointing less man in his own image, gave him a garden to the little figure of the Virgin. When his as his home, so for those who entered into "the death, however, became known, the new projoy of our Lord" a garden might be prepared priétaire desired that the cottage should be in heaven, sweeter far than even that of Bouloin- vacated, and came himself to look after its сараvilliers-one where sun never scorched, cold bilities. He was astonished at the innocent beauty never pinched, flowers never faded, birds never of the youthful Marie, but not softened by it; died. The death of a bird was the greatest for his bold, coarse admiration, and loud, ingrief she had known, a cat the most ferocious solent manner, so terrified the gentle recluse, animal she had as yet encountered. She at- that as soon as it was dark she made a bundle tended the private chapel on Sundays and saints' of her clothes, and taking the cherished little days. The day she made her first communion earthern image in her hand, went forth, like was the first of her entry into the world, and Eve from paradise, though, alas! not into a much distraction of mind did the unwonted world without inhabitants. Terrified to a desight of houses, shops, and crowds of people, gree which no one not brought up as she had