Crystal never moved as she heard the sound of the closing door. Only once she tried to cower away from him, but he would not release his hold; and, as his strength and purpose made themselves felt, she stood there dumb and cold, until, suddenly overcome by his tenderness, she laid her head on his breast with a sob that seemed to shake her girlish frame.

“Raby, Raby! oh, I can not bear this.” Then in a tone of anguish, “I do not deserve it.”

“No,” he said, calmly, and trying to soothe her with grave kisses; “you have been a faithless child, and deserve to be punished. How do you propose to make me amends for all the sorrow you have caused me?”

“Oh, if I could only die,” she answered, bitterly; “if my death could only do you good. Raby, the trouble of it has nearly killed me; you must not, you must not speak so kindly to me.”

“Must I not, my darling; how does a man generally speak to his future wife?” and as she trembled and shrunk from him, he went on in the same quiet voice, “if you are so ready to die for me, you will not surely refuse to live for me. Do you think you owe me nothing for all these years of desertion, Crystal; was there any reason that, because of that unhappy accident—a momentary childish passion, you should break my heart by your desertion?”

“I could not stay,” she answered, weeping bitterly; “I could not stay to see the ruin I had made. Oh, Raby, let me go, do not forgive me; I have been your curse, and Margaret’s, too!”

“Then come back and be our blessing; come back in your beauty and youth to be eyes to the blind man, and to be his darling and delight. Crystal, I am wiser now—I shall make no more mistakes; indeed, I always loved you, dear; poor Mona was no more to me than any other woman.”

“You loved me, Raby?”

“Yes, most truly and deeply; but you were so young, my sweet; and I did not think it right to fetter your inexperienced youth—you were so unconscious of your own rare beauty; you had seen so few men. ‘Let her go out into the world,’ I said, and test her power and influence. I will not ask her to be my wife yet. How could I know you would never change, Crystal—that your heart was really mine?”

“It has always been yours,” she murmured; but, alas! those sweet blushes were lost on her blind lover.

“Yes, I know it now; Margaret has helped me to understand things. I know now, you poor child, that you looked upon Mona as your rival; that you thought I was false to you; that in my ignorance I made you endure tortures. It is I who ought to ask your pardon, love, for all I made you suffer.”

“No, no.”

“We must both be wiser for the future. Now put your hand in mine, Crystal, and tell me that you are content to take the blind man for your husband, that the thought of a long life beside him does not frighten you; that you really love me well enough to be my wife;” and, as he turned his sightless face toward her, Crystal raised herself and kissed his blind eyes softly. “‘She loved much,’” she whispered, “‘because much had been forgiven her.’ Oh, how true that is; I deserve only to be hated, and you follow me across the world to ask me to be your wife. Your love has conquered, Raby; from this day your will shall be mine.”

******

Miss Campion had passed a long morning at the springs, wandering about the pleasant grounds with an American friend. Crystal would have finished her letter to Fern Trafford long ago, she thought, as she walked quickly down the hot road, and would be waiting for luncheon. She was not a little surprised then when, on reaching the cottage, she heard the sound of voices, and found herself confronting a very tall man in clerical dress, whose head seemed almost to touch the low ceiling, while a sweet-looking woman, in a long gray cloak and Quakerish bonnet, was standing holding Crystal’s hand.

“Dear Miss Campion,” exclaimed Crystal, with a vivid blush that seemed to give her new beauty, “some English friends of mine have just arrived. Mr. Ferrers and his sister.” But Raby’s deep voice interrupted her.

“Crystal is not introducing us properly; she does not mention the fact that she is engaged to me; and that my sister is her cousin; so it is necessary for me to explain matters.”

“Is this true, child?” asked Miss Campion in a startled voice; and, as though Crystal’s face were sufficient answer, she continued archly, “Do you mean that this is ‘he,’ Crystal—the ideal we were talking about last night in the moonlight?”

“Oh, hush!” returned Crystal, much confused at this, for she knew by this time that there had been silent auditors to that girlish outburst. But Raby’s hand pressed hers meaningly.

“I am afraid I must plead guilty to being that ‘he,’ Miss Campion. I believe, if the truth must be told, that Crystal has been engaged to me from a child. I know she was only nine years old when she made me an offer—at least she informed me in the presence of my father and sister that she meant to belong to me.”

“Oh, Margaret, do ask him to be quiet,” whispered Crystal; but her glowing, happy face showed no displeasure. Something like tears glistened in Miss Campion’s shrewd eyes as she kissed her and shook hands with Mr. Ferrers.

“It is not often the ideal turns up at the right moment,” she said, bluntly; “but I am very glad you have come to make Crystal look like other girls. Now, Miss Ferrers, as only lovers can feed on air, I propose that we go in search of luncheon, for the gong has sounded long ago;” and as even Raby allowed that this was sensible advice, they all adjourned to the boarding-house.

The occupants of the piazza were sorely puzzled that evening, and Miss Bellagrove was a trifle cross. Captain Maudsley had been raving about the beauty of the wonderful brunette who was sitting opposite to him at dinner. “She must be an Italian,” he had said to Miss Bellagrove, who received his confidence somewhat sulkily; “one never sees those wonderful eyes and that tint of hair out of Italy or Spain. Tanqueville, who is an artist, is wild about her, because he says he has never seen a face with a purer oval. He wants to paint her for his Rebecca at the Well. It is rather hard lines she should be engaged to a blind clergyman,” finished Captain Maudsley, rather incautiously. Miss Bellagrove’s fair face wore an uneasy expression.

“How do you know they are engaged?” she said, impatiently; “I do not believe they are. Miss Ferrers does not wear any ring.”

“Nevertheless, I should not mind betting a few dozens of gloves that they are,” replied Captain Maudsley, with a keen, mischievous glance that rather disconcerted Miss Bellagrove. He was quite aware that he was teasing the poor little girl; but then she deserved punishment for flirting with that ass Rogers all last evening. Jack Maudsley was honestly in love with the fair-haired beauty, but he had plenty of pluck and spirit, and would not be fooled if he could help it. Perhaps Miss Bellagrove, in common with the rest of her sex, liked a lover to be a little masterful. It was certain that she was on her best behavior during the rest of the evening, and snubbed Mr. Rogers most decidedly when he invited her to take a turn in the shrubberies.

Crystal attracted a great deal of notice in the boarding-house, but she gave no one any opportunity of addressing her. Raby was always beside her, and she seemed completely engrossed with his attentions. As Miss Campion observed to Margaret, she might as well look for another companion for all the good Crystal was to her.

But one evening Margaret found Crystal sitting alone in a corner of the large drawing-room. Most of the company had gone into the tea-room, but one or two, Raby among them, were lingering in the garden. Raby was talking rather earnestly to Miss Campion.

“Alone, Crystal!” sitting down beside her with a smile. “Do you mean that Raby has actually left you?” But Crystal’s face wore no answering smile—she looked a little disturbed.“I asked him to go and let me think it over. I can not make up my mind, Margaret. Raby wants me to marry him at once, before we go back to England; he will have it that it will be better for me to go back to the Grange as his wife.”

“Yes, darling, I know Raby wishes this, and I hope you mean to consent.”

“I—I do not know what to say—the idea somehow frightens me. It is all so quick and sudden—next week; will not people think it strange? A quiet English wedding in the dear little Sandycliffe church seems to me so much nicer. But Raby seems to dread the waiting so, Margaret,” and here her eyes filled with tears. “I think he does not trust me—that he is afraid I may leave him again; and the idea pains me.”

“No, dearest,” returned Margaret, soothingly; “I am sure such a thought never entered Raby’s head; but he has suffered so, and I think all the trouble, and his blindness, make him nervous; he was saying so last night, and accusing himself of selfishness, but he owned that he could not control a nervous dread that something might happen to separate you both, Crystal,” looking at her wistfully. “Is the idea of an immediate marriage so repugnant; if not, I wish you would give way in this.”

Crystal looked up, startled by her earnestness, and then she said, with sweet humility, “It is only that I feel so unworthy of all this happiness; but if you and Raby think it best, I will be guided by you. Will you tell him so? but no, there he is alone; I will go to him myself.”

Raby heard her coming, and held out his hand with a smile.

“You see I never mistake your footsteps,” he said, in the tone he kept for her ear; “I should distinguish them in a crowd. Well, darling?” waiting for the word he knew would follow.

“Margaret has been talking to me, and I see she approves—it shall be next week if you wish it, Raby; that is, if Miss Campion will spare me.”

“She will gladly do so, especially as Margaret offers to keep her company for a fortnight; after that we will all go back in the same steamer. Thanks, my darling, for consenting; you have made me very happy. I knew you would not refuse,” lifting the little hand to has lips.“I feel as though I have no power to refuse you anything,” was her loving answer; “but I know it is all your thought for me, Raby,” pressing closer to him in the empty dusk, for there were no curious eyes upon them—only night-moths wheeling round them. “Are you never afraid of what you are doing; do you not fear that I may disappoint you?”

“No,” he answered, calmly, “I fear nothing.”

“Not my unhappy temper?” she whispered; and he could feel the slight figure trembling as she put the question.

“No,” in the same quiet tones that always soothed her agitation, “for I believe the evil spirit is exorcised by much prayer and fasting; and, darling, even if it should not be so, I should not be afraid then, for I know better how to deal with it and you; no angry spirit could live in my arms, and I would exorcise it thus”—touching her lips. “No, have faith in me, as I have faith in you, and all will be well.” And so he comforted her.

There was a great sensation in the boarding-house at W—— when news of the approaching wedding was made known. Captain Maudsley triumphed openly over Miss Bellagrove. “I told you the Italian beauty was engaged to the blind Englishman,” he said to her; “but after all, she is only half an Italian—her mother was a Florentine, and her father was English. Fergusson told me all about it—he is to marry them; and old Doctor Egan is to give her away. There is some romantic story belonging to them. I think he has been in love with her from a child. Well, Heaven gives nuts to those who have no teeth,” grumbled the young officer, thinking of the bridegroom’s blindness.

Crystal remained very quietly in the corner house during the rest of the week. Raby spent most of his time with her. On the eve of her wedding she wrote a little note to Fern, telling her of her intended marriage.

It was on a golden September day that Crystal became Raby Ferrers’s wife; the company that had grouped themselves in the long drawing-room of the boarding-house owned that they had never seen a grander bride.

The creamy Indian silk fell in graceful folds on the tall supple figure; the beautiful head, with its coils of dark glossy hair, was bent in girlish timidity. Margaret had clasped round her white throat the pearl necklace and diamond cross that had belonged to her mother, and which she was to have worn at her own bridal. “I shall not need it; it is for Raby’s wife,” she said, as Crystal protested with tears in her eyes; “it must be your only ornament. Oh, if Raby could only see how lovely you look.”But the calm tranquil content on the sightless face silenced even this wish. Crystal ceased to tremble when the deep vibrating voice, vowing to love and cherish her to her life’s end, sounded in her ears; but Raby felt the coldness of the hand he held.

When they had received the congratulations of their friends, and Margaret had tenderly embraced her new sister, and they were left alone for a little, Raby drew his young bride closer to him.

“You are not afraid now, my darling?”

“No,” she answered, unsteadily; “but it is all so like a dream. A fortnight ago—only a fortnight—I was the most desolate creature in God’s earth; and now—”

“And now,” echoing her words with a kiss, “you are my wife. Ah, do you remember your childish speech—it used to ring in my ears; ‘I am going to belong to Raby all my life long; I will never leave him, never.’ Well, it has come true, love; you are mine now.”

“Yes,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against him, “you will never be able to got rid of me; and oh”—her voice trembling—“the rest of knowing that it will never be my duty to leave you.”

He laughed at that, but something glistened in his eyes too. “No, my wild bird; no more flights for you—I have you safely now; you are bound to me by this”—touching the little circlet of gold upon the slender finger. “Now, my darling—my wife of an hour, I want you to make me a promise; I ask it of your love, Crystal. If a shadow—even the very faintest shadow, cross your spirit; if one accusing thought seems to stand between your soul and mine; one doubt or fear that, like the cloud no bigger than a man’s hand, might rise and spread into the blackness of tempest, will you come and tell it to me?”

“Oh, Raby, do not ask me.”

“But I do ask it, love, and I ask it in my twofold character of priest and husband, and it is the first request your husband makes you. Come, do not hesitate. You have given me yourself; now, with sweet generosity, promise me this, that you will share with me every doubt and fear that disturbs you?”

“Will you not let me try to conquer the feeling alone first, and then come to you?”

“No, I would not undertake the responsibility; I know you too well, darling. Come, I thought you promised something that sounded like obedience just now.”

“Ah, you are laughing at me. But this is no light matter, Raby; it means that I am to burden you with all my foolish doubts and fancies—that I am never to keep my wrong feelings to myself.”

“Promise!” was his only answer, in a very persuasive voice.

“Yes, I will promise,” hiding her face on his shoulder; “but it will be your own fault if I am ever a trouble to you. Oh, Raby, may I always tell you everything; will you help me to be good, and to fight against myself?”

“We will help each other,” he answered, stroking her soft hair; “there shall never be a shadow on the one that the other will not share—half the shadow and half the sunshine; and always the Divine goodness over us. That shall be our married life, Crystal.”