Her Oath

The llth of Ootober, 1810, was a wild night, a night of eloud-wraek and pale, intermittent moonlight. The high westerly wind seemed hke a demon let loose : over sea and land. In citieshouses were unroofed and chininey-pots feil with the sound of thnnder. On seas, full of lmrry and confusión, ships staggered blindly, with far more chance oí' going down than of making port. Through f'orests the wind roared and raved in its fierce on-rushiug. One could hear great tree boughs snapped short from the trees and hnrled about in great fury. At seven o'clock in the evening a postcarriage, with smoking post-horses and shoutiug post-boys, drew np bofore tlie principal inn at Deal. The carriage was occupied by two persons, a man and a woman, who, having heard that they could obtain a good night's shelter, dismounted. Seen by the bright light of the ii.n parlor, the two travelers showed a strange contrast. The woman, or girl rather- for ehe could not have been more than twenty - prcsented a striking type of village beauty. Shc was tall and straight, with a fiím, shapely figure. She had brown hair, thick and curling. There was a wistful look in dark, deep eyes, whosc abundant lashes feil on rounded, warmly-tinted cheeks. Tbe lipa, ripe and red, might have excused any man for longing to kiss them. Her companion, who was at least ten years older, was evidently in a very different position of life. He must have had good blood in his veins; at least you would have guessed it from the long slender fingers terminating in the exquisito filbertshaped nails. He was tall and slightly-fashioned. The face would have been called a handsome one, but it was too pale and too delicate in outline to suggest the idea of complete manly beauty. "Well, Mary, my darling," he said, holding the girl in his arms, "how do you think you shall like being Mrs. Oldworth, and a painter's wif e ? Would you rather have stayed only a farmer's daughter?" "I suppose I could have remained so had I wished; or I could have been a farmer's wife. There were plenty of lads who wanted me. There was Bob Turner, son of one of the richest farmers in Kent, aod Torn Miller, who fonght Joe Martin because I walked home from church one Sunday evening with Joe, when I had promised to walk with Tom.': "And you prefer me to Bob, Joe, Torn ?" returned the man. "Yes, or why should I have married you ?" He drew her head down upon his shoulder, smoothing lovingly her soft brown hair. They had the room to themselves ; and eo wrapped up were they in each other that they failed to notice a face from outside, which, pressed close against the blindless window, was watching them with bright, strained, sinister eyes. But, when the girl, changing her position, did catch siglit of the face, the blood suddenly forsook her cheeks and lips, and, uttering a short, sharp cry, she hid her face agtin on her husband's shoulder. " Oh, my God, it cannot bc !" she exclaimed. "We are watched, Arthur. Don't you see ?" But the face had vanished, and so Öldworth replied quietly: "My darling, I see nothing. It was only a nervous fancy;" adding, as she was shivering in his arms : "The long, windy drive has been too much for you; you have taken a chili. " " Yes, I think I have. Let us go." Öldworth was about to ring the bell, when a door opened and closed, and a man carne up to where they were standing - a man about the middle height, but powerfully built. His face, beaten by wind and tanned by sun. was one which, having seen, you would not easily forget: The eyes, which looked straight out at you, from under the heavy, overhanging brows, had in them a strange and mdescribable fascination. He was a man, you could teil, whomeantto have his own way - a sort of mastiff, dangerous when roused. " I have come to offer my congratulations," he said, addressing himself to Oldworth's wife, and holding out his hand, which she did not appear to see. " I have heard all abont itfrom the postboys - all about the grand wedding down at Farmer Grant's this morning. It is lucky my meeting you here. I was on my way to give you important news, which Í have brought from over sea with me. It's not a night when amantravels further than he needs. But I can't say you seem glad to see an old acquaintance. " " My friend," put in Öldworth, "this lady is my wife. She has had a long and fatiguing drive, and is to-night quite unfit for conversation; but, to-morrow. before resuming our journey, she will, I am sure, be happy to exchange the warmest wishes with you." Öldworth had spoken in a tone of sweet patronage, but the other man never ! looked in his direction, only saying to Mary, " That's your ohoice, is it? Why, i he look a if a breath of wiDd would j blow him away. But you must hear rny newa alone, (Jet rid f him, "vvill youI or mufst I ?" "One word," exclaimed Oldwortli, the color rising in kis face, though lie strove to control his, voice. " You come from a journey, the night is stormy, nnd tbis is your excuse for kaviiig druuk too freely; but, if you cannot behave youreelf, it will be my duty to have you removed." "Look here," returned the other, fixing now for the first timo his oyes upon Oldworth's face. "My name's Mark Shaw. I ara first mate of the ship Annie, brought to Dover harbor last night. I am no more drunk than you are, and when you say I atii you know that you are telling a lie. You cali yourself a flne gentleman; well, in the matter of words, you beat me; but you wouldn't like to have a go-in witk me. No! she wouldn't like it. You wouldn't care to go sprawling at her feet; the fioor hero are dnsty. Keep a civil tongue in your head, and I have no wish to interfere with you." His large, strong hands were clenched, but they hung down heavily. "The sooner you go, you know," he went on, " the better it will be for all three. " "Yes, do go, dear," exclaimed Mary, with an nssumption of gayety in her voice. " Whatever you do, don't quarrel. Mark is rough and violent, I know; but he may have newB which I ought to hear. Of course I shnll teil yon everything." " I will leave you, then, for ten minutes," said Oldworih, addressing himself to Mark. " Not, you understand, on account of your threats, but because a gentleman will allow no brawl to take place before a lady, and I sec nothing less than this woulrl satisfy you. At the end of ten minutes I shall return." Oldworth glanced at his watch, and left the room. The door closed after him, and the two were togetker. Mark folded lus arms, and fixed his eyes on the girl's face. Um.'er that keen and pitiless scrutiny she writhed and winced as in some great physical pain. The wind shrieked round the inn; the wood fiie on the hearth oraekled and sputtered, the red ñames leaped up fitfully; a cart lumbered near on the dark road, and drew up ponderously at the inn door. At length Mary broke the eilence: "For God's sake, ppeak," she said. " Do yon wish to kill me by just looking at me? " "I wish I could," he rejoined. "I should like to see you dying inch by inch under my eyes, without touching you. You are the right gort of girl, aren't you? for a man to have loved, before, indeed, he was aman - nothing but a small boy, who went miles after the least thing you wished for, and who only left you when he was a man to get money enough to build a home for you. You're the right sort of girl to have trusted and believed in - to have prayed for night and day. Why, in some of our great storms I have done what I never did till then. I have prayed, ' God save me, forif I go down and don't come back any more, how will that girl I know of f ar off in Kent bear it ? If she kuew that Mark would never como íigain to take her in his arms and kies I her any more, why, it would just break i her heart or send her mad.' And all the time you were making love to this fine gentleman - this creature that looks more like a sick girl than a man ! Why, if I were to strike the thing friendly like on the shoulder it would go down under my hand like a nine-pin, and bowl for pain ! Did you hear any rumor of the ship being lost ?" " No," said she. "Youhadii't that excuse tken ! Do you love him ?" "I fancied I did." " Have you any excuse ?" "No, only mother and father were failing, and he said he would do everything for them, and make me a lady, and take me to places I wanted to see so much. And every one said it wotild be 3uch a fine thing for me ; and they made me proud ; and that was how it happened." " Are you ashamed of yourselt ?" he [juestioned. "Yes." " Do you despise vourself ?" "Yes." " Do yon hate yourself aa you deserve to be hated ?" " TeB, God knows I do." "Well," he replied, "the strange thing is that I, who ought to hate you, ought to scorn and spurn you, Love you just as madly as ever. Polly ! I Polly ! I can't bearit ! For God's sake, come to me, my darling !" For a moment she stood irresolute; then, with a low cry, she flnng her arms round his neck, and dropped against his heart. He strained her close to him, kissing her with long, passionate kisses, salling her with a hundred endearing names, seeming to forget everything 3ave the fact that she was in his arms igain after their cruel separation. At lengt li, with a sudden revulsión of feeling, he thrust her from him almost toughly, saying in a voice that jarred with suppressed passion, "Have you forgotten your oath - the oath you swore to me that last night, under the moonlight, when we stood together in your father's garden ?" She cowered against tjje wall, shrinking from his eyes, as a child from the land which has strick en it. "I forget lothing," she moaned. "Say that oath over, then," he fxlainied, holding her hands in his, as in j vise. "Spare me this," she cried. "What have you done that I should ?pare you?" he retorted almoct brutally. "Come, I have a faney to hear that oath, md hear it I will. I can prompt you svithit." And then, as one speaking in trance, she spoke: "If ever during your absence I let iny man touch my lips, or willingly listen to any words of love, or become, in the least word, though t, or deed, unfaithful, may I be slain, soul and body, so help me God !" " That's the oath yon made and broke, then !" he exclaimed, still holding her hands, still looking at her face with his keen. pitiles eyes. "Oh, Mark !" she cried, "I love you, and only you. It is not too late yet. To-morrow let ns fly together." " No, we can't get out of t like that," he rejoined. "I don't know that I've much conscience; or it may be that I have a good deal in my own way. Where two folks love each other they make their own laws, is what I think. What's right tothem is right, and what's wrong is wrong; but this man, your husband, I'd toss him over, as in rough weathei we've tossed overboard far more precious cargo to save the ship. I am not what men cali pious either. I don't live different on Sundays to what I do other days, and I'm not particular about going to church when I'm ashore, bui I am a bit superstitious. I believe in a God, and if your oath maant anything, it ineant everything. If you'd made a blunder, married thie man, loving me all the tune, an4 just sftid, imple aad childlikc, ' Mark, I am sorry. Forgive me,' l'd have taken you back to my heart, and thought nothing bard of you. Bnt we oan't get away from this oath. What sort of God wauld He be who would let His name be hik and sworn by just to mako a fino sound? No, we can't escapo it. Don't you know wt can't? Waen't it for tin, just to meet you lier?, that Uie ship carne back three montba before tlie time she was due ? Do just as I teil you ;" and Le would have taken her in his árms RgaJn, but at that moment the door opened and Oldworth came in. " I told you I should be goneten minutes," he said, "and I have been twelve. Come, Mary; your room is ready. Wish yonr iriend good-night. " " It strikes me," observod Mark, " she's not as anxious for that as yon would have her. You've come back too soon ; we haven't done our talk yet; we've a faney to finish it on the shore. " "A fancy which you must most certainly resign," replied Oldworth, forcing a smile, though Le was white a6 death, and his hands and lips were quivering. " Mary, my dear, are you coming ?" " No. she isn't," put in Mark. " Do you think she'd rest without know ing my news? I teil you again, you came back too soon. Five minutes' walk and talk on the shore, and then it will all be over." "Yes. Then it will all be over, dear," eaid Mary, goiDg to her husband. " You don't want to grieve me, do you? he auswtred. "Come, Mary." ■' No. I must go to the thore first," slie replied. " Indeed, I should like it. It is sueh strange news Mark has for me that it rnakes my head throb and burn, and the night air might cool it. " " You will teil me everything ?" said Oldworth. " Yes, everything," she answered. " Well, of oourse I sliall come with you." " As you like," ejacuhited Mark, who during this brief dialogue had been waiting with a look of sullen impatience on his face. So those three went outinto the night. The white, panic strieken moon seemed to be flying through tke sky, followed by great maescs of cloud. As these three came to the shore you could hardiy teil which was the louder, the wind's voice or the Boa's.' The spirits of the oceau and the storm seemed to be holding some wild revel. The huge, black, foam-crested waves came with the sound of thunder against the land, and the hissÏDg spray, blown up like smoke, dashed in the faces of the two rnen and the woman. When they were fairly on the beach Mark turncd to Oldworth, and paid in a voice that was quite audible through the sound of wind and waves : " Look here, now ; I'll be frank and above-board with yon. I loved this girl a long time ago ; we were pkymates together ; and it's rough on me that she should love you better. Come, now, don't be greedy ; let us have five minutes to ourselves to say good-by in, and then I will never again cross ycur path or hers. This I swear." Oldworth turned to his wife. " Do you wish it ?" he asked. She murmured faint-Jy, " Yes. it will be better, I f-uppose." So he held her with his arm for a miüute while he kissed. her lips lovingly ; then he let her go and walked aside, turning his back to tüe sea. The moon was hurrying through the heavens, and all around Oldworth the night shook and clamored. At times he seemed to hear footsteps coming and going near him, and at times he seemed to hear a sound of singing through the storm, but these were only siek fancies. He waited five minutes ; he wuted ten; then he turned and went nearer the sea, but his eyes could not discover that for which they were loo&ing. "Mary!" he called at the top of his voice. "Mary, my darling, where are, you?" But thero came no answer to his cali. Wind and sea laughed him to drision, and overhead the moon fled faster than ever between the great spaces of black cloud. Oldworth searched the beach in all directions; then he went to its extremity, where two sailors were lounging together. "Have you seen a man and a woman pass up this way?" he inquired. "We saw you and another man go down with a girl some minutes back," replied ono of the sailors. "They eertainly have not come up this way. Now I think of it, they can't have got round any other way, because the tide is high up over the rock?." "Why, you must be drunk, Bill, to talk like that," cried the second sailor. "Don't you know the gentleman was married to her to-day ?" Then he turned to Oldworth: "Never mind him, sir, they've only gone higher up. I'll be bound we'll tind them fast enough. What might the man's name be ?" " How in Heaven's name should that help you ?" returned Oldworth desperately. "The man's name was Mark Shaw, and he was a sailor." " Mark, Mark! Why, that's our mats !" cried both nien togethcr. "Well, "we'll do all we can." And they went down to the sea. and while Oldworth stood, feeling that the horror which he suspected eould not really be, and wondering what he should do next, the men returned bearing something with them. " It's a womsm's hat, sir," said the second sailor, the one who had reproved his companion lor what he deemed his inconsiderate speech. ' ' But don't you takc on, sir ; more hats than one get blown aw.iy this weather." " Thank you. I know the hat," returned Oldworth, with awf ui quiet in his voice. Then he turned from them. " Take my arm, won't you, air ?" said the sailor who had last spoken, observing that Oldworth seemed hardly able to control his steps. This sailor was known on the Annie as "Jim tlie pigeon-hearted. " "Thank you," rejoined Oldworth, taking the man's hand. "I know you mean wel!, and I shall not forget you. You're a sailor. Is there any bont, do you think, that could follow and find them ? Can they be all the way clown yet ? Down at the very bottom of the sea? Why, I thonght just now I heard her laugh. Don't you think she might have run past us ? I shall find lier again somo day. Not to-night, perhaps, but some day." He pressed his hand to his forehead ns iL trying to collect his thoughts ; then a, ery, which thoss who heard will never forget, broke from his lips and rang through the storm. High up it went, l'nr away over the wind. The dead must have heard it. Then he feil senseless to the ground. The sailors, good-hearted men both, bore Oldworth back on their sliouklers to th inn. Medical aid wm prooured, but all that night he raved dolinnuslv, Very pitrly the next mqrnir% in the íirstlow light, the bodiesof aman and wuman, claspèd in ono anothor's arms, wei-e washed nsliore. Two sailors ideLtifled the man's body asthatof their first mate, Mark Shíw, of the schoener Annio. William Grant, a ' farmer in Kent, swore to the woman's body as being that of bis daughter, who liad been married only the dfly bef ore. The two had decent burial, side by side. Oldworth lived, but rea son never retumed to hini. " He is a troublesonie patiënt, and a dnngeroiis one," say his keepers, " whenever the wind is high and westerly. " - Pliilip Bourkc Maratón, in November Oalaxy.