The Rector of St. Marks

The worshippers at St. Mark's on Christmas morning heard the music of

the bells as the Hetherton sleigh passed by, but none of them knew

whither it was bound, or the scene which awaited the rector, when, his

services over, he started towards home.

Lucy had kept her word, and, just as Mrs. Brown was looking at the

clock to see if it was time to put her fowls to bake, she heard the

hall-door open softly and almost dropped her dripping-pan in her

surprise at the sight of Lucy Harcourt, with her white face and great

sunken blue eyes, which looked so mournfully at her as Lucy said: "I want to go to Arthur's room--the library, I mean."

"Why, child, what is the matter? I heard you was sick, but did not

s'pose 'twas anything like this. You are paler than a ghost," Mrs.

Brown exclaimed as she tried to unfasten Lucy's hood and cloak and

lead her to the fire.

But Lucy was not cold, she said. She would rather go at once to

Arthur's room. Mrs. Brown made no objection, though she wondered if

the girl was crazy as she went back to her fowls and Christmas

pudding, leaving Lucy to find her way alone to Arthur's study, which

looked so like its owner, with his dressing-gown across the lounge,

just where he had thrown it, his slippers under the table and his

arm-chair standing near the table, where he sat when he asked Lucy to

be his wife, and where she now sat down, panting for breath and gazing

dreamily around with the look of a frightened bird when seeking for

some avenue of escape from an appalling danger. There was no escape,

and, with a moan, she laid her head upon the table and prayed that

Arthur might come quickly while she had sense and strength to tell

him. She heard his step at last, and rose up to meet him, smiling a

little at his sudden start when he saw her there.

"It's only I," she said, shedding back the clustering curls from her

pallid face, and grasping the chair to steady herself and keep from

falling. "I am not here to frighten you, I've come to do you good--to

set you free. Oh, Arthur, you do not know how terribly you have been

wronged, and I did not know it, either, till a few days ago. She never

received your letter--Anna never did. If she had she would have

answered yes, and have been in my place now; but she is going to be

there. I give you up to Anna. I'm here to tell you so. But oh, Arthur,

it hurts--it hurts."