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I â- 0-»-C»^>*-0*0»-Ch4<>X> i DARE HE? OR, A SAD LIFE STORY CHAPTER XXIX.â€" (Continued). In the course .of the past week each •member ol the family has confided to him separately how tar more she or he misses Amelia than can be possible to either of the others. I'pon this head Sybilla's lamentations are the loudest and most frequent. She had at first re- fused to admit that there was anything at ail the matter with her sister, but lias rxw fallen into the no le.5.s trying oppo- site extreme of refusing to allow that there is any possibility of her reco\4ry, talking of her as if she were aUnost be- yond the reach of human aid. Sybilla's grief for her sister is perfectly genuine ; rone the less so that it is complicated by Irritation at her own deposition from her post as first invalid, at having been com- pelled to confess the existence in the bosom of her own family of a traitor, with an indisputably higher temperature and more wavering pulse tlian she. "It is ridiculous to suppose tliat a per- son in such rude health as Cecilia can miss hor as I do," she says queinilously ; "I was always her first object, she al- U'ays knew by instinct when I was more Buffering than usual ; who cares now"â€" breakuig into a deluge of self-compas- sionating tearsâ€" "wliether I am suffering or not ?" Then when ne.\t he happens to be alone with Cecilia, it is her turn to as- sert her right to a superiority of woe ; c superiority claimed witli still more emphasis the ne.\t half hour by the fattier. With a. patience which would have surprised those persons wlio had seen him only in his former relatkins with the family of his betrothed ho tries Ui sooihe the sorrow of each â€" even that of Sybillaâ€" in turn ; but to his own heart ho Siiys that not one of their griefs is worthy to be weighe<l in the balance to'itii Ills. In the case of none of theirs is the woof crossed by the liideous wui-p of self-reproach that is woven inextricably inio his. They have worked her to death, Ihey have lorn her to pieces by their conllicting claims; their love has been exacting, selfish, inconsiderate; but at least it has l)een love; tliey have prized her almost her full worth while they h-ad her. In the intervalsâ€" neither long nor manyâ€" between hi.s ministrations at the Aiij-'lo-Americain, Burgoyno hurries back to the Minerva to sec that Byng has not blown his brains out. In the iiresent state of mind of tluit young gentleman this catastrophe does not appear to be auiong the least likely ones. He has re- fused to leave Florence, always answer- ing the suggestion with the same ques- tion, "Whore else should I go ?' and if pressed, adding invariably in the same words as those employed by him on the fii-st dav of his loss, when !us friend had urged the advisability of his removing his countenance from the beaded stoolâ€" "Where shall I find such recent and au- thentic truces of tier as here?" He passes his time either on Iho I.ung Arno. staring at the water, or stretched fac« downw-ards upon hit. bed. He wiilks atoul the town most of the night, and Jim suspects him of beginning to take chloral. Occasionally he wuses up into a quick and almost pa.ssionate symi)alhy with his friend's trouble, asking for no- thing belter tlian to be sent on any errand, however trivial, or liowever tire- some, in Amelia's behalf. But no sconer have the immediate effects of the appeal tj his kind-heartedness died away than ho sinlvs back into his lethargy, and .lim is at once too much occupied and. too iTiiserablo to use any vcy strenuous en- deavors to sliake him out of it. But yet the consciousness of the tacit engage ment under which he lits to the young mans niolher to look after him. coupled with the absolute impossibUily. undei his present circumstances, of fullilling that engagement, and hLs uneasiness as lo what new form the insanity of ByTig's grief may take on, from day to day, add very pei-coptibly to the weiglil of his own already sufiiciently ponderous burden. It is tlio ninth day since Amelia fell sick, thai lUutli day which, in maladies such as hers, is, or is at least reckuned to be, the crisUs and turning-ponU ol the disease. ,Iim has b-en up all night, and has just rustled back to the .Minerva for the double purpo.se of taking a balh. and of casting an uneasy eye upon his charge. He finds the latter not <n his room, but leaning over the little sjiiky balcony, out of his window. Iianguig over it so far, and io absoiliedly, tlial he does not hear his friend's a|)pro:ich, and starts violently when Jun lays a hand on his shouldiT. "What are you looking at ? ' "I? ohâ€" nolhing parliculai- 1 What should I be looking at? What is there to look to? I was onlyâ€" onlyâ€" wuiuler- jng. as a mere matter of curiosity, how manv feet it is from here to the |)ave- iiieni? SixWen? eighteen? twenty?" Jim's only answer is to look at him sodiv and sternly ; then he sii>s coldly ; "I do not recommend i' • it would lie a cluMisy way of doing it."' "What mailer Iidw clumsy lli.- way so that olio attain.s the einl?' asks Byng cxiraviigaiilly. Ihiowing off even the thin pretence he had at first as.Mimed ; "will) cares liow liad the mad is, so that it leads him to the goal?" Jiui sluiddcrs. Death has bceu w> near to liini for Die last nine days, that the terrific realism of (Constance's apostrophe seems lo be almost more tlian he can bear. "It is silliness to live when lo live is a torment, and then, have we a prescrip- tion to die, when death is our physician!" continues Byng loudly and wildly, cla.sp- ing his hands above his head, and appar- ently perfectly indifferent as to wliether the otiier inmates of the hotel, or passers-by on the piazza, overhear liim. "If you stay here much longer you will spare yourself the trouble of putting an end to ycur existence," replies Jim, glancing at the other's head, exposed hat less to the scorch of the Tuscan sun, "for you will certainly get a sunstroke." So saying, he takes him quietly, yet i,lccid'Xily, by the arm, and leuds him witliin the room. Either his matter-of- fact manner, or the sight of his face, upon which, well-seasoned as it is, vigil and son-o\v have begun to write their unavoidable marks, brings tlic young madman back lo some measure of sense and self-control. "I had no U.xed intention," he says, apologetically, still looking wliile and wild ; "'you must not think I meant any- thing, but. oven if I hadâ€" <Jo you luiowâ€" have you ever happened to i-cad any- thing about tlie statistics of suicide? Do vou know what an increasing number of people every year find life intoler- trbler "I know that you are fast making my lif' intoieralile," answers Jim, fixing his tired, sleepless eyes wilh melancholy severity upon his companion, ".\melia isâ€" you are as well aware of it as I amâ€" probably dying, and yet even now, thanks "lo you, into my thoughts of her is continually pushing the fear that I may have to tell your mother that you have had the colossal selfishness to rush out of the world, bP.;au.se, for the first lime in your pampered life, the toy you cried for has not been put into your hand." Burgoyne's hopes have not been high, as to any salutary result of his own philippic while uttering it. But our words, sometimes, to our surprise, turn from wooden swords to steel daggers in our hands. Kor a moment Byng stands an if stunned ; then he breaks up into a ,, . '„pyp,. ,j,„e to liope very easily tornado of sobs and tears, .such tears as have often before angered his friend, but whi'-h now he welcomes the sight of, as perhaps precursore of a saner mood. "Oh, my dear old chap !" he cries, catching at Jim's unresponsive hand, and wringhig it hard, "she is not dying really? '^ou do not mean it? You ore only saying it to frighten me? Oh! dear, kind AmeUa. Not dying? not dy- ing?" "I do not know, lo-day is Ihe turning point, they say ; even now it may have come." "And why are not you with her? Why do not you go back to her?" cries Byng, in a broken voice of passionate excite- ment, the tears still racing down his face. "And leave you to go tomfooling out there again," asks Jim, with a nod of liis ticad towards the balcony, seen from where they stand, grilling in the niid- day blaze. The verb employed, if closely looked into, bears a ludicrous proportion to the intended action indicated, but neither of the men see anything ridiculous in it. "I will not ! " cries Byng, in eager asseveration. "I give you my woi'd of tionor I will not; if you do not Lx-lievo me, take me with you ! Kwp me with you all day I Do you lliink that I, too, do not w-ant to know how .\melia is ? Do you think that I am indifferent as to wlielher she lives or dies? Potir. good .<\mi-lia : When I think of that drive to Valloiiibiosa, only ten days ago '. They two sitting side by siile, so happy, laugli- iiig and making friends with each o I tier !" lie covei-s his face with his hands, and tiirough them tlie scalding drops trickle; but only for a moment. In the next, he has dashed them away, and is moving restlessly about the room, looking for his hat. "l.el us go this instani,'' he .â- Â»ays urgently ; "my poor old man, do you Ihink I would willingly add a feather- weight lo your burden ? I should never forgive my.self if I kept you a second Uinger Irani her at such a time ; let us go at once." Burgoyne complies ; but, under pretext if making some clwinge in his dress, es- capes from his friend for jiisi (lie few niinules necessary to write and despatch a telegram to the young mans mother. I' runs thus : "No cause for alann, but come at once. H.> is perfi-ctly. well, but needs you.' If. as it is ho|x'd. Mi's. Byng is still in London, reaping Ihe succession lo the old relative, whose de,Tth-bed she had quitleil Kloivnoe to attend, his message will bring her hither within forly-eight hours, and the burden of resixmsibilily. now grown so insiipixirtilble. will iie .shifted from his •â- â€¢tKiukiens. liilil lluise forty-eight liours have i-lapscd, he must not again let Byng oul of his .sight. Ttie day ivills by. the critical ninth d.iy rolls by on its torrid wluvls lo evenlule. and when that evenlido comes it finds liecilia Wilson running down from Amelia's room, to give the last news of tier to the tliree men and one womun waiting below. "f think he seems quile salisfled," she says, in answer lo the silent hungry looks of question addressed to her, and alluding to the doctor, who is slill with the patient; "the strength is maintained; the temperature lower." W hat a dread- ful parrot-sound the two phra.ses, so familiar to us all in the newspaper bul- letins of distinguished men on their dtath-beds, have, during the last week, assumed in Burgoyne's ears ; "you can speak to him yourself when he comes down, of course, Jim ; but I am sure he 15 satisfied." "She is better Iâ€" she is saved?" cries Byng, rushing forward and snatching both CeciUa's handsâ€" "do you say that she is really saved ?" "Oh, are you here still, Mr. Byng? haw very kind of you!" replies Cecilia, a tinge of color rushing over her mealy faceâ€" that face, ten days ago. clothed in so many roses â€" "well, 1 am afraid he does not go quite so far as that, but he says it is as much as we can expect, and even I can see thai she is not nearly so restless." "Thank God !- thank God !" In the ai-dor of liis thanksgiving he presses her hands closer, insteadjaf drop- ping them, a fact of which he is entirely unaware, but so is not she. and who knows, even at that serious moment, what tiny genial hope may slide into her plump heart. Again tliis night Burgoyne d04is not go ' to bed, from a superstiUous fear that if he does, if he seems lo take for granted an improvement, that very taking for granted may annul itâ€" may bang f.n a relapse. Bui w'.ien the nexte moriuiig iiniis no such baclolidings to have taken place, when each hour through the cheerfully broad.'ning day brings falling fever and steadying pulse, then indeed he cautiously opens the door of his heart to let a tiny rose-pinioned hope creep in â€"then at last, on the third night, he stretches his tired limbs in deep slumber upon liis bed. He has received a brief telegiam from Mis. Byng lo announce her arrival as fas', as boat and train can bring tier; relapse. Bui when the next morning -he having sent his despatch to her on the previous Wednesday-finds hini pac- ing the platform of the railway station, awaiting the incoming of the morning e\pi-ess from Turin. He is pacing it alone, for he has thougtit it best not to reveal to her son the tact of her ex- pected return, not being at all sure m what spirit he will receive it, nor whe- ther indeed the news of il niighl not even drive him, in his pre>ent unsound state of mind, to fiy from the place at her approach. The morning air. in its early clear coolness, blows sweet here, under the sta I ion-roof, unconquercd even by engine sn.oke, and on Jim's face as tie walks up and down-careworn as il still isâ€" there comes, now and again, a luilf-bom smile. - â- '- but surelv now-now thai yet another nighl ha*-- been prosperously tided over, there can, even to luiii, seem no reasonable ground for doubt that Amelia has turned Ih.^ corner. Amelia, with the corner turnedâ€" Bvng, in live minutes wholly off his hands": The only wonder is. that the small smile never comes quite to the l^i'""'- , .... Tlie train is punctual, and almost at its due nioiiicnl draws up in dusty length al the platform. Its pasengcrs are com- paratively few ; for at this latcning sea- .soii most of the English are winging home to their rooky woods ; and he hiis no diniculty in al once discovering among ttiem the tall smarc figureâ€" smart even utter forty-eight hours of the un- luxurious luxury ol a Wagon-Litâ€" of the ladv he is awaiting. :Vs he gives her hit huiid to help hor down tlie high step, the admiring thought crosses his muid of what a large quantity of fatigue, dust, and uneasiness of mind a radically good- looking Englishwoman, in radically good clothes, can undergo without seem- ing much ttie worse for Ihem. Before her neat narrow f<X)t has touched the pave- ment, a brace of eager questions shoots cut of luT mouth. "Am I m time? .\m I too later' "In Ume for what ? Too late for what? "Has heâ€" has lie done any tilingâ€" any- thing irrevocable? Is heâ€" is he? I sup pose thai horrid woman has gol hold oi him? I suppose that is why you seni for me !" By this time she is safely landed at h\s side, wliich is possibly tlie reujoii why he al once lets fall her hand. "I am not aware that there is an> 'tiorrid woman' in the case." "Oh, what does il matter whnl 1 cal' her?" cries the mollier. fast becoming frantic at the delay in answering hei passionate questions. "I will call hei what you please; you know perfectly whom 1 mean ; she has gol hold of him I suppose. I always knew she would Did not I tell you so ? but is it too late is there no way of gelling him off?' Now tliat Burgoyne has a neui-er viev. of Mrs. Byng. lu^ sees I hat she lias a more fagged and travel-woni air than ti.; had at first .-supposed, and tier dusty eyes are fastened upon him with such a hunger of interrogation, that, angered and jarrwt as tie is by tier tone, he has not the heart any longer to keep tier in suspense. "If you are alluding to Miss Le .Mar- chant, I may as well tell you at once that she has left i-iorence." "Left Florence 1 Do you mean lo say that she has run away witti some on' else ?" She puts the question in all good faith her lively imagination having easily made the not very wide jump from tlii fact already established in her own mind of Elizabetii being an advonlui-oss, lo tht not much more dillicult one lo swallow of her having devoured iiiiother tils dt famille, as well as .Mrs. Byngs own. For a moment, Burgoyne turns away, voice and countenance alike beyond hif control. He has by no means perfectly recovered either, when he. answersâ€" "Yes, wilh some one elseâ€" she has reached the pith of turpitude of leaving r-'lorence with her nn ther.'' "She is gone'.'" cries Mrs. Byng. with an accent of the highest relief and joy , "gone away altogether, do you mean?- oi'. thank Ood !"â€" then, wilh a sudden laise into affright, she adds rapidlyâ€" "and he is gone iifler her'.'â€" he is nol here ?" "No. he is hei'e.' "Then why hn.s nol he come to meet me ?"â€" suspiciously. "He did nol know you were expected," "You did not tell him?" ".No." "\\ liy did not you tell him ?" "I did not know liow he would take it." "Do yu 1 menu lo say "â€"falling from her former rapidity of ullernnce lo a dis- mayed uicredulous slownessâ€" "llial lie will not be glad to .«ee me ?â€" that Willy will nol be glad to see mo?" "I mean lo say that I ''am afraid you will nol find him very much in sympa- thy with you ; I do nol think he will liiid it easy lo hear you speak of Miss Le .Marchanrin the terms, and make the implication about her that you did just now, ' replies Jim, avenging by this sen- tence the wrongs done to Elizabeth, and doing il so well, that a moment later a feeling of compunction comes over him at the success of his own attempt at r©- Inbulive Justice. Mrs. Bvng turns pale. "Then she has got hold of him ?" she says under tier breath. "Got hold of him ?" repeats Jim, liis ira aroused again no sooner than allayed by this mode of expression ; "you certainly have I lie most extraordinary way of mis- â- :-onceiving the situation ! Got hold of liim ? wti«n slio had to leave Florence at 1 moment's notice to escape his impor- lunities !" (To be continued). VICTISI OF RrS.SI.\.N TYRA.NNY. Tragedy of a Younu Woman Held Willi- out 'I'rii'.l. 'Die suicide in the fortress of St. Peter ;nd .St. Paul. .St. Petersburg, of a young ..voman naimd Dorofieff, who had been iripj-isoiied there for nearly six months vithout trial, has caused as painful an impression as that of the girl Vietrova, .vho committed suicide in the same plaoa ;ibout eight or len ycare ago by pouring jvcr tii-i-self Iho oil of the lamp with .vhich her cell was provided and setting iicrself on fire. Dorofieff strangled hef- ielf by tying her hair round tier neck, aslening Hie end of the plait to the foot 'f Ihe bi^l and tlieii leaning back till death relea.sed tier. •She was a young married woman, barely ii years of age, who came to .St. Petersburg with her husband in th© sj/ilng vif last year. Tlio two lived a quiet, .simple life, and allracled little nq» lice from their neighbors, until shortly after a revnlulkmary outrage, when they <li>appeared. The iwlice made a descent •ipon their apartment and left a few men u peniianent anibu.sh. When, two days later, the husband returned alone, he hail iiardly entered the hall when they rushed )ut with loade<l revolvers and arrested iiiin. Two days later he was executed in iceoi'dance with the verdict of a field ;ourt-marlial. The following day Uio woman Dfiro- lleff was arrested. She was immeiliately incarcerated In the Forliv^ of .St. Peter and .St. Paul, and since then, aeC'ii-ding !i) tlie newspaper aeounts, she was kept in comiiiete ignorance as lo the fata n{ her husband, the jaikirs nol being allowed to reply l<j any of her questions. The news of her Imsband's death, il is said, was conveyed to her on the eve ot her suicide. She had lieen dead for several hours beforo it was discovered thai she had put an end lo her life. She was buried secretly al night lime in Hie I'l-eobujen- sky Cemetery, where are tlie gra\es of many of those who fell during the shootr ing on Bed ."sunday. Who »he was and who her husband remains a mystery. 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