Margaret could hardly keep up with the long, even strides
that brought them so quickly to the corner house; at the gate she
checked him gently.

"We must be quiet, Raby--very quiet--or she will hear our footsteps.
She is sitting with her back to the parlor door--I can see her
plainly. Tread on this grassy border."

And as Raby followed her directions implicitly, restraining his
impatience with difficulty, they were soon standing in the porch. The
door stood open for coolness, and the little square hall, with its
Indian matting and rocking-chairs, looked very inviting. Margaret
whispered that the parlor-door was open, too, and that they must not
startle the girl too much; and then, still guiding him, she led him
into the parlor and quietly called Crystal.

"We are here, dear Crystal." And as Crystal turned her head and saw
Margaret's sweet, loving face, and Raby standing a little behind her,
she sprung from her chair with a half-stifled scream. But before she
could speak, or Margaret either, Raby was beside her; and in another
moment his arms were round her, and his sightless face bent over her.
"Hush, darling, I have you safely now; I will never let you go again,"
Margaret heard him say as she left the room, quietly closing the door
behind her. Her turn would come presently, she said to herself; but
now she must leave them together.

CHAPTER XXXV.

RABY'S WIFE.

Yet, in one respect,
Just one, beloved, I am in nowise changed;
I love you, loved you, loved you first and last,
And love you on forever, now I know
I loved you always.

E. B. BROWNING.

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