Then again she fell to weeping, but suddenly she arose as if struck by a sudden idea. "You will be taken," she said; "how can I have forgotten it so long? You must fly from the island. You must get away to-night. To-morrow all will be discovered." you "I will not leave the island," said Dan, firmly. “Can you drive me from you?" he said, with a suppliant look. "Yes, do well to drive me away." "My love, I do not drive you from me. I would have you here forever. But you will be taken. Quick, the world is wide." "There is no world for me save here, Mona. To go from you now is to go forever, and I would rather die by my own. hand than face such banishment." "No, no, not that; never, never that. That would imperil your soul, and then we should be divided forever." "It is so already, Mona," said Dan, with solemnity. "We are divided forever as the blessed are divided from the damned." "Don't say that, don't say that." "Yes, Mona," he said, with a fearful calmness, "we have thought of my crime as against Ewan, as against you, myself, the world, and its law. But it is a crime against God also, and surely it is the unpardonable sin." "Don't say that, Dan. There is one great anchor of hope." "What is that, Mona?" "Ewan is with God. At this moment, while we stand here together, Ewan sees God." "Ah!" Dan dropped to his knees with awe at that thought, and drew off the cap which he had worn until then, and bent his head. "Yes, he died in anger and in strife," said Mona; "but God is merciful. He knows the feebleness of his creatures, and has pity. Yes, our dear Ewan is with God; now he knows what you suffer, my poor Dan; and he is taking blame to himself and pleading for you." "No, no; I did it all, Mona. He would not have fought. He would have made peace at the last, but I drove him on. 'I cannot fight, Dan,' he said. I can see him saying it, and the sun was setting. No, it was not fight, it was murder. And God will punish me, my poor girl. Death is my just punishment-everlasting death." "Wait. I know what is to be done." "What, Mona?" "You must make atonement." "How?" "You must give yourself up to justice and take the punishment of the law. And so you will be redeemed, and God will forgive you." He listened, and then said: "And such is to be the end of our love, Mona, born in the hour of its death. You, even you, give me up to justice." "Don't say that. You will be redeemed by atonement. When Ewan was killed it was woe enough, but that you are under God's wrath is worse than if we were all, all slain." "Then we must bid farewell. The penalty of my crime is death." "No, no; not that." "I must die, Mona. This, then, is to be our last parting." "And even if so, it is best. You must make your peace with God." "And you, my last refuge, even you send me to my death. Well, it is right, it is just, it is well. Farewell, my poor girl; this is a sad parting." "Farewell." "You will remember me, Mona?" "Remember you? When the tears I shed for Ewan are dry, I shall still weep for you." There was a faint cry at that moment. "Hush!" said Mona, and she lifted one hand. "It is the child," she added. "Come, look at it." She turned, and walked toward the bedroom. Dan followed her with drooping head. The little one had again been restless in her sleep, but now, with a long breath, she settled herself in sweet repose. At sight of the child, the great trembling shook Dan's frame again. "Mona, Mona, why did you bring me here?" he said. The sense of his crime came with a yet keener agony when he looked down at the child's unconscious face. The thought flashed upon him that he had made this innocent babe father less, and that all the unprotected years were before her wherein she must realize her loss. He fell to his knees beside the cot, and his tears rained down upon it. Mona had lifted the candle from the table, and she held it above the kneeling man and the sleeping child. It was the blind woman's vision realized. When Dan rose to his feet he was a stronger man. 66 Mona," he said, resolutely, "you are right. This sin must be wiped out." She had put down the candle and was now trying to take his hand. "Don't touch me," he said, "don't touch me." He returned to the other room, and threw open the window. His face was turned toward the distant sea, whose low moan came up through the dark night. "Dan," she murmured, "do you think we shall meet 'again?" "Perhaps we are speaking for the last time, Mona," he answered. "Oh, my heart will break!" she said. "Dan," she murmured again, and tried to grasp his hand. "Don't touch me. Not until later then." - not until until Their eyes met. The longing, yearning look in hers answered to the wild light in his. She felt as if this were the last she was ever to see of Dan in this weary world. He loved her with all his great, broken, bleeding heart. He had sinned for her sake. She caught both his hands with a passionate grasp. Her lips quivered, and the brave, fearless, stainless girl put her quivering lips to his. To Dan that touch was as fire. With a passionate cry he flung his arms about her. For an instant her head lay on his breast. "Now go," she whispered, and broke from his embrace. Dan tore himself away, with heart and brain aflame. Were they ever to meet again? Yes. At one great moment they were yet to stand face to face. The night was dark, but Dan felt the darkness not at all, for the night was heavier within him. He went down toward the creek. To-morrow he would give himself up to the Deemster; but to-night was for himself - himself and it. 2197 PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA. PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA, a distinguished Spanish dramatist and poet, born at Madrid, Jan. 17, 1600; died May 25, 1681. After receiving his early education in the Jesuit College at Madrid, he studied philosophy and scholastic theology in the University of Salamanca. On quitting the university he returned to Madrid, where his poetry and his talent for arranging gorgeous spectacular entertainments gained him the patronage of King Philip IV. In 1625 Calderon joined the army, and served with distinction in the Milanese and Low Countries, after which he was recalled by the King, and was employed to superintend the court amusements and write plays for the Royal Theater. In 1651 Calderon entered the Church, and was soon appointed to the Royal Chapel at Madrid, that he might be near the King. He continued to arrange the court spectacles, and wrote many dramas (autos sacramentales) for representation at the feast of Corpus Christi. His last work was written in his eightieth year. Calderon was the author of one hundred and twenty-two comedies, tragedies, and historical dramas, and seventy-two autos, besides three hundred preludes and sayentes or divertissements. Among his works are: "Life is a Dream," "The Wonder-Working Magician," "Two Lovers of Heaven," "The Constant Prince," "Zenobia the Great," "The Locks of Absalom," "The Scarf and the Flower," "The Brazen Serpent," "The Fairy Lady," ," "Love Survives Life," "The Physician of His Own Honor," "No Monster Like Jealousy," "The Mayor of Zelamia," "The Devotion of the Cross," "The Purgatory of St. Patrick," "The Divine Orpheus." CYPRIAN'S BARGAIN. (From "The Wonderful Magician.") [The Demon, angered by Cyprian's victory in defending the existence of God, swears vengeance. He resolves that Cyprian shall lose his soul for Justina, who rejects his love. Cyprian says: -] VOL. V. -1 So bitter is the life I live, That, hear me hell, I now would give To thy most detested spirit My soul forever to inherit, To suffer punishment and pine, So this woman may be mine. [The Demon accepts his soul and hastens to Justina. Justina-'Tis that enamored nightingale Who gives me the reply: He ever tells the same soft tale Be silent, Nightingale !- No more For while thou thus thy boughs entwine, Restless sunflower, cease to move Ye use against me— Love love! love! It cannot be !- Whom have I ever loved? Trophies of my oblivion and disdain, And Cyprian? [She becomes troubled at the name of Cyprian. |