The Heart of the Mystery.

"WHAT is it? What has happened?" cried Edith. She, poor girl, did not dream what a terrible revelation had suddenly been vouchsafed me. Her face was white and shocked as my own; and, indeed, how should it be otherwise, seeing that I was so profoundly, mysteriously affected? For a moment it seemed as if the whole world was whirling away from me, and I was standing alone in space; I thought - if my startled brain did not in that first moment of incredulous and tragic bewilderment refuse to think at all - that I was certainly, must surely be, absolutely mad. A sickening sense of horror engulfed me, as I stood, looking dumbly at this man, - her brother. Oh! could not forget that! I pressed my hands to my temples, and so stood, looking - looking.

"What is the matter?" cried Edith again.

"Are - are you faint, sir," said the brother gravely and courteously, stepping forward as if to support me.

"No, no!" I managed to cry out at last, waving him aside. I could not bear to encounter the touch of Stephen Maymore's murderer.

My poor Edith! She was trembling violently, as indeed she might; and the consciousness of her misery roused me to a sense of present duty. I knew I must combat my own feelings and control my own countenance. I must have time to think, too, - time to get away from the horrible presence of - Edith Austen's brother.

"Pardon me, sir," I said at length. "It was a sudden faintness, a - a - it comes upon me now and then. I have not been - feeling well today."

Then I turned and quickly left them, almost fled from them. I did not care what color my conduct must show; I only wanted to be alone.

In my own room, far from sight or hearing of any human being, I tried to consider calmly the terrible problem. But I could arrive at no satisfactory result. Here were the facts - the vision which had showed me my friend's murderer, and Mr. Edmund Austen, brother of the young woman - who was my plighted wife. Ah, what a deep and bitter tragedy was expressed in those few words! How could I account for these things except through supernatural causes? How could I account for supernatural causes? I had not been trained to believe in so startling spiritual manifestations as these. They were entirely apart from any thing I had ever known, and the light of experience, actual or possible, could not guide me.

What was to be done? That question now presented itself before me with stern and unrelenting face. Forgetting what things had been, remaining content to be involved in this unexplained mystery, with what demeanor should I again meet Edith - and her brother? Her brother! The cruel thought forced itself upon me. That one incontrovertible fact was the tragic centre of circumstances, the one key to the dark and unknown future.

Let me not dwell upon this point. I believe I am crazy almost when I think of it.

By and by I went to find Edith. She was alone on the piazza, and she looked up with such a sadly tender face as I approached! - Well, I told her that I had been seized with sudden faintness, and that was all. I asked where her brother was; I was sorry for my seeming rudeness; and Mr. Edmund himself appeared then, and begged me say no more about it. We fell a-talking with each other. I could not help be impressed with the charm of his manner, for he reminded me very distinctly of his sister. Surely there was no dark hidden mystery in this man's life! What was I but a raving lunatic, to suspect him? Yet - yet! There was the suspicion, and it would not vanish.

I trust that I made myself intelligible and agreeable, although it seemed as if my brain were on fire. Possibly I grew excited and nervous; I saw Edith looking strangely at me once or twice, almost with a certain semblance of fear, as I thought. Poor girl, she was not wholly wrong in this!

And so we three, unconscious how "the gods made mock at us," sat late into the starlight night, and no one could know that our hearts were not at peace. I can hear the light laughter of more than one happy group of people on that piazza yet; so great a part does commonplace play in this life of ours.

Concluded in our next.