“The years rolled by, but, alas! they brought no added happiness with them. The taint in my nature that had revealed itself so unexpectedly, only developed more strongly as time went on; at rare intervals—very rare, I am thankful to say—fierce gusts of passion overmastered my reason, so that for a brief time I seemed like one possessed with an evil spirit.

“They tried everything—everything that human wisdom and kindness could devise to save me from myself, but in vain. All causes for offense were removed, and every possible means taken to ward off the threatened excitement; but when the paroxysms came, they wasted no words, no severity upon me, they simply left me to myself.

“But the punishment that followed was a terrible one. For days and days after one of these outbreaks, sometimes for a week together, Raby would refuse to speak to me or to hold any communication at all.

“Our walks and rides, our pleasant studies, were all broken off, every little office and attention refused, my remarks met by a chilling manner that drove me to silence.

“Left completely to my own society, I wandered aimlessly about the house or sat moping over my books or work in a corner. I never sought to rebel against the rigor of my sentence; it was a just one I knew, and I bore it as patiently as I could. And then all at once, sometimes when I least expected it, when I was most hopeless and forlorn, a hand would be placed on my head in the old caressing manner, and a low ‘forgiven, darling,’ would bring me back to sunshine and happiness; but, oh, how he suffered. I never knew until afterward that his punishment was even greater than mine.

“I am speaking now of my younger days, but presently there came a time when they treated it less as a fault than a malady; when Raby dreaded the repentance more than the paroxysm, for so poignant was my anguish of remorse that it threatened to prey on my health.

“Then, when they saw how I wept and strove against it, and how the torment of my own undisciplined nature was more than I could bear, then they grew to look upon me as one upon whom some deadly scourge was laid—some moral sickness that they could not understand indeed, but which, out of their great love, they could afford to pity.

“Years rolled on. Raby had passed through his university life with honors; had gained a fellowship, and had taken orders, and accepted a curacy some distance from Sandycliffe.

“It was only a temporary position until the church at Sandycliffe had been restored and was ready for use; the living had been already promised to him, and small as it was, he wished to hold it, at least for the present. Raby was a man singularly devoid of ambition, and though he must have been conscious that his were no common gifts, he always told us that he did not wish a wider sphere until he had tested his powers, and had worked a little in the home vineyard.

“At this time he was much occupied with his studies, and some doctrinal treatise on which he was engaged; and as only Sunday duty was required of him, he was able to be with us from Monday to Saturday, a great boon to us, as Uncle Rolf’s health was failing, and his son’s constant presence was a great comfort to him. He died when I was about fifteen, and then Raby became master of the Grange.

“The next two years that followed were, in spite of my dear uncle’s loss, very happy ones.

“The fits of passion became more rare and decreased in violence, and for a time ceased altogether. It seemed to be coming true what Raby had once prophesied, that I should outgrow them when I became a woman.

“That was our chief joy; but later on, after a year or so, Hugh Redmond came more frequently to the Grange, and by and by Margaret and he were engaged. Raby gave his consent rather reluctantly, he always told me he did not consider him worthy of a woman like Margaret, he thought him weak and impulsive and without ballast; but Margaret had lost her heart to her handsome young lover, and could see no fault in him, and for a time all went smoothly; but I am anticipating a little.

“The event that stands prominently in my recollection was a ball that was to be given in honor of young Egerton Trelawney, the eldest son of a wealthy merchant living at Pierrepoint. Margaret was going, and of course Hugh Redmond would be there, but they were not engaged then. Margaret had induced Raby to let me accompany her, for I was nearly seventeen then, and very womanly for my age. He consented rather reluctantly, I thought, and the subject dropped. Another time I should have tried to extort a more gracious permission, for my heart was set on the ball; but for some time I had noticed a slight change in Raby’s manner to me, an imperceptible reserve that made me a little less at my ease with him; it was not that he failed in kindness, for he had never been so good to me, but there was certainly a slight barrier between us. He ceased to treat me as a child, there was something deferential in his tenderness; his eyes had a keen, watchful look in them as they rested on me that perplexed me.

“I was beginning not to understand Raby at all; either he was not quite happy, or I had disappointed him in some way; and yet, though I longed to question him, an unusual shyness held me back.

“It was the evening before the ball, and Raby was in the library so absorbed in his Hebrew manuscript that for once he had not missed me from my accustomed place.

“The new ball dress Margaret had ordered had ordered for me in London had just arrived, and she had coaxed me to put down my book and try it on in case any alterations should be required. I had never seen any gown I liked better; the rich, creamy tint just set off my olive complexion and coils of black hair to perfection. I was quite startled when I saw myself in the long pier glass; my neck and arms were gleaming through the dainty, cobwebby lace, a ruby pendant sparkled like a crimson star at my throat. Margaret was enchanted.

“‘Oh, Crystal,’ she exclaimed, ‘how beautiful you look, just like an Esther or Vashti with their grand Oriental faces. Come down with me and let us startle Raby from his dusty old folios; he will think he sees a vision.’

“I followed her smiling; I was pleased that Raby should see me in this queenly garb. I stole gently behind his chair. ‘Oh, king, live forever,’ I said, laughing, and then he turned round; and as I dropped him a mocking courtesy he tried to suppress the exclamation that rose to his lips.

“‘Shall I do?’ I continued, mischievously; ‘shall I do, Raby?’ and I made a sweeping obeisance to him, such as Esther might have made to Ahasuerus, but no like scepter of favor was extended to me.

“‘Yes, you will do very nicely,’ he said, curtly, and then he went back to his folios. But I had seen the expression in his eyes, the long, wistful look he had cast at me, and I triumphed.

“But my triumph was of brief duration. The next morning Raby treated me with almost chilling reserve. In vain I laughed, and talked, and strove to win him to merriment; his manner repelled all such attempts, and I was obliged to chat with Margaret.

“‘Where are you going?’ I asked, presently, when he had closed his books and was preparing to leave the room.

“‘I am going up to West Point to see poor Lettie White,’ he returned; ‘her mother has been down this morning and tells me she is worse. You had better not accompany me, Crystal,’ for I had started up from my chair.

“‘And why not?” I exclaimed, in a hurt voice; ‘it is such a delicious morning, and there is no such place as the West Point for a breeze; it will freshen me up for the evening.’

“‘Well, do as you like,’ he returned, coldly, and closed the door. The indifference of his tone wounded me. What could I have done to offend him; but I was never proud where Raby was concerned, so I put on my hat and accompanied him.

“For the first mile or two we were very silent. Raby walked on with his shoulders slightly bent, and his eyes fixed on the ground, a habit of his when he was thinking very deeply.

“‘Raby,’ I said at last, rather timidly, ‘I wish you would walk a little slower, I want to talk to you;’ and then he looked at me with some surprise.

“‘I was only thinking of my next Sunday’s sermon,’ he replied, as if in apology for his want of attention. ‘I told you you had better not come with me, Crystal.’

“‘Oh, I know you did not want me,’ I answered, lightly; ‘your manner made that fact very apparent; but you see I wanted to come, and so I had my own way. Of course I know the text you will choose, Raby. What a pity that it is too far for me to come and hear that sermon. To think that neither Margaret nor I have ever heard you preach, and to lose that sermon of all others.’

“‘What do you mean?’ he answered, rather irritably, for my gay mood was clashing with his somber one.

“‘Oh, the text will be, “Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher. All is vanity;” that will be your subject, Raby, will it not?’

“He turned round at that, and a smile dispelled his gravity; and then he took my hand and put it on his arm, and held it gently there.

“‘I think you have guessed my thoughts, Crystal,’ he said, quietly, ‘but not all of them. Do you know I have been thinking as we came along that you and I, dear child, have reached the cross-roads of life at last, where each must choose his or her path, and go on their way alone.’

“‘Oh, Raby,’ I exclaimed in some distress as I pressed closer to him; ‘what can you mean by saying anything so dreadful. I hope your path and mine will always be the same.’

“‘My dear,’ he returned, gently—very gently; but there was pain and some strange solemn meaning in his face—‘I disappointed you last night. You thought that I would not praise your finery or stoop to flatter your innocent vanity, that I held myself aloof from your girlish pleasure. Ah,’ with a sudden change of tone, ‘you little know what brilliant vision haunted me last night and drove sleep from my eyes; how it lured and tempted me from my sense of right; but God had mercy on His poor priest, and strengthened his hands in the day of battle.’

“The white abstracted look of his face, the low vehemence of his tone, thrilled me almost painfully; never had Raby looked or spoken like that.

“‘No, my darling,’ he went on, sorrowfully, ‘I will never wrong the child I have guided and protected all these years, or take advantage of your youth and inexperience, by using my influence and condemning you to a life for which you are not fitted. Go forth into the world then, my Esther—did not Margaret compare you to Esther—make experience of its pleasures, its trials, its seductions, its false wooings, and its dazzling honors; if they tell you your beauty might win a coronet they would be right.’

“‘Raby!’

“‘Hush! let me finish; go into the world that claims you, but if it fail to please you—if it ever cast you away humbled and broken-hearted, then come back to me, my darling, come back to Raby; he will be praying for you here.’

“Shall I ever forget his tone; my tears fell fast as I listened to him.

“‘What do you mean?’ I sobbed; ‘how have I offended you? Why do you propose to send me away from you?’

“‘Nay,’ he said, quietly, ‘I am only speaking for your good. You are young, Crystal, but you must be conscious, indeed your manner told me so last night, that you have grace, beauty, and talents, triple gifts that the world adores. You will be its idol. Make your own election, then, my child, for you are now a woman. I will never seek to influence you, I am only a humble priest. What has such a one to do with a ball-room queen; the world’s ways have never been my ways, for from my youth I have determined that “for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”’

“His calm steadfast voice awed me; every word seemed to rebuke my vanity and presumption. Ah, I saw it all now. Raby was disappointed with my choice; he had hoped—he had hoped otherwise.

“We had reached the end of our walk by this time. Before us was the poor cottage where Lettie White was dying. I took my hand from Raby’s arm and sat down on the little stone bench by the bee-hives. Raby seemed to linger a moment, as though he expected me to speak to him, but I remained silent, and he turned away with a quick sigh and went into the house. Soon after I heard his voice through the upper window, where the white curtains were flapping in the breeze, and Lettie’s weak tones answering him.

“Before me was a field of crimson clover; some brown bees were busily at work in it. There were scarlet poppies too gleaming in the hedge down below; the waves were lapping on the sands with a soft splash and ripple; beyond was the sea vast and crystalline, merged in misty blue. Did I hear it with a dull whirring of repetition, or was it the voice of my own conscience: ‘For me and my house, we will serve the Lord.’

“Raby came out presently, and we walked home, still silent. The dignity of his office was upon him; his lips were moving, perhaps in petition for the dying girl.

“When we reached the house he went up to his room. The evening came. I got out our German books—Raby and I were studying together—and presently he joined me. In his absence of mind he had forgotten all about the ball, as I knew he would, and we were both absorbed in Schiller’s magnificent ‘Wallenstein’ when Margaret entered, looking what Hugh Redmond called his ‘Marguerite of Marguerites,’ his pearl among women.

“Raby started and looked perplexed.

“‘What, is it so late? You are dressed, Margaret, and this careless child has not commenced her toilet. Pray help her, Maggie, she will be dreadfully late.’

“Margaret gave me a wistful smile.

“‘The carriage is here already,’ she answered, quietly, ‘and Mrs. Montague is waiting. Crystal is not going to the ball, Raby.’

“‘Not going?’ He turned and looked at me, our eyes met, and then he understood.

“‘Does not Margaret look lovely,’ I asked in assumed carelessness, when the hall door had closed, and he came back to the room.

“For answer he took me in his arms.

“‘Not half so fair as my Esther,’ he said, tenderly, ‘though she is not wearing her regal dress. I thank God,’ and here his voice grew low and solemn. ‘I thank God, Crystal, that my darling has chosen the better part that shall not be taken away from her.’”