KATHERINE LEITH stopped her horse on the brow of the hill, and sat there for some time, looking down into the valley. But it was not on the landscape that she gazed. Her eyes were fixed on two persons, also on horseback, who were loitering along the road, as if lovers.

      "How I hate her," she cried, her eyes full of a fierce fire. "And oh! how I love him." And her voice, just now so angry, sank into low, caressing tones.

      Faith Raymond, and Gerard Dorne were guests at the country-house of Katherine Leith's father. Before Faith came, Gerard had seemed absorbed by Katherine, so much so that the latter had, unconsciously, given him her heart. When she saw his attentions transferred to another, she first awoke to a consciousness of what she bitterly called her folly. To-day, knowing that Faith and Gerard had gone out together, her jealous fears would not permit her to rest. So she had ordered her horse saddled, and had followed, to watch them, unobserved, from a distance.

      You could have told, by her face, as she spoke, that she was not a woman to love lightly. Having given her heart to Gerard Dorne, she had given her all, and given it forever.

      "I will win him yet," she said, clenching her hand resolutely, and shutting her mouth hard. "Win him, by foul play or fair; but win him. To think that a chit of a girl, with a face like a wax-doll, should come between me and happiness!"

      The pair, by this time, had turned their horses' heads, and as they would have to come back by the road where Miss Leith was waiting, she also turned homeward, and cantered on to escape them.

      Suddenly a gipsy-woman, dark, old, and weird-looking, stepped out from some bushes by the road-side. Katherine's steed drew back, frightened for the moment.

      "Soho, soh," she cried, patting the restive animal's neck.

      "What do you mean?" This, half angrily, to the gipsy, who had laid her hand on the bridle. "Let him alone."

      "Not till I have told you the fortune that hangs over you."

      "Pooh! pooh!" said Katherine, impressed with the woman's manner nevertheless. "I have no faith in your juggleries."

      "Ah! you don't believe I can tell what is going to happen. To convince you, I'll say first, that I don't want your money, but that a higher power than myself forces me to speak." Then, seeing she had made some impression, she added, "And then I'll warn you that you'll win the thing your heart is set on — that you'll be supremely happy for awhile — and that then —"

      "Then! What then?" cried Katherine, moved quite out of her skepticism, not less by the words, than by the manner of the woman.

      "The clouds shut in. I can see nothing further. But hark! I hear horses' hoofs. Your fate pursues you. Ride on, or you'll be detected. Ha! ha! you turn pale. You know now that the old gipsy woman can read the heart, even if she can't forecast the future, though you'll find yet she can do the last, too."

      Katherine also heard the rapidly approaching hoofs, and striking her horse sharply with the spur, darted on, and was lost behind a turn in the road, before Gerard and Faith came up. The old gipsy remained where she stood, but she did not stop the lovers: only she watched them, curiously, as they went by, muttering strange words to herself.

      "I wonder if she really can foretell the future," mused Katherine, as she sat, in her room, before her glass, arranging her toilette for dinner. "She spoke so impressively, she seemed so sure, that I half believe in her. She said, 'You'll win the thing your heart is set on.' And I will win! Come what may, I'll win him yet."

      Circumstances seemed to favor her from that very afternoon. Faith, quite unlike herself usually, seemed pre-occupied, in the evening. A letter had come, by the late post, at which she had started visibly, as the keen eyes of Miss Leith had observed; and ever since, she had been absent in manner, even to Gerard. So plain was this, that her lover, at last, had left her, and, in a pique, joined Katherine. The latter exerted herself, to the utmost, to keep the truant at her side. Never had she been more charming. She sang Gerard's favorite songs, and sang them as she had never sang before. He was moved quite out of himself. In his half angry mood, he contrasted her fire and passion with what, for the moment, he called the mild weakness of Faith. "How such a woman as this could love," he said to himself. At this very instant, Katherine looked up suddenly, as if feeling his glance, and a soft color wavered over her cheeks, while her eyes drooped, and fell in a sweet confusion, she either could not, or did not care to conceal.

      "He was more like himself, to-night," she said, with a beating heart, when she had gone up to her bed-room, "than he has been, since Faith came. A little more neglect of him, my lady, and he will transfer his allegiance back again. That was a lucky letter; for me, at least; since it made you so absent-minded. I wonder what was in it? Can she have another lover? Is it possible that she has only been flirting with Gerard out of revenge?" A glad light came to her eyes, and she cried exultantly, "I almost believe it, I am sure the letter was from some old lover; and if so — if so — the gipsy was right, and I shall win."

      She was too much agitated to go to bed as yet. Sleep, in her present state of excitement, was impossible. She sat by the open window, with her head leaning on her hand, musing and looking out vacantly, really seeing nothing, until she was roused by the great hall clock striking twelve, when she rose to draw down the sash.

      Suddenly something white, moving along by the edge of the garden, at the left of the house, caught her attention. She leaned out, eagerly, now quite aroused, and followed it with her keen eyes. It was a woman's figure.

      "Surely," she said, "it can't be Faith? Yes! it is. But what she can be doing there, at this time of night?"

      Her heart began to beat faster and faster. Was she about to have confirmation of her vague suspicion about the letter? Had Faith really gone out to meet a lover?

      At the lower end of the garden stood three large trees, and between them and the building, some tall shrubs grew, so that the place was hidden from the observation of any one who occupied the rooms in the front of the house. But Miss Leith's room was in the east end, and the three trees were just in range of her vision, beyond the edges of the lilacs and laburnums, which hid all but the tops of them from other eyes. As the figure in white neared them, a man sprang out, and caught it in a close embrace.

      "It is — it is, as I thought," muttered Katherine. "The game is in my hands," exulting. "But I must know all."

      She threw a shawl about her, as she spoke, and descended to the garden, where she glided silently toward the trees, in the shadow of the great shrubs. When she dared go no further, she stopped and listened. She could hear the low sound of voices, but could distinguish nothing of the conversation.

      It was, perhaps, an hour later when the interview terminated. Miss Leith, from her concealment, kept sharp watch of everything that transpired. Faith's mysterious visitor came with her a little way toward the house, and there bade her good-night, with a kiss, to which the girl responded with a long embrace.

      "Don't forget to meet me again, on Saturday night," he said to Faith, as she turned to go toward the house.

      "I will not forget," she answered, stopping, and looking back. "I will be here at midnight, and bring the money."

      Then they separated. Miss Leith waited till Faith was safe in the house, and then crept back, cautiously, to her own room.

      "Oh! I will win!" she cried, when there, with a strange, wild sense of coming triumph. "Fate is helping me."

      She could not sleep for thinking of it. Should she tell Gerard Dorne what she had seen? After much thought, she decided not to tell him, lest he might imagine she had acted an unwomanly part in playing the spy. In some way, however, he must be told, she said to herself. But how?

      Faith had held her stolen interview on Thursday night. On Saturday she was to meet her mysterious visitor again. During these two days, her pre-occupation increased, rather than diminished. More and more, Gerard Dorne devoted himself to Katherine, seeming more and more alienated from Faith. Miss Leith tried to form some plan, by which she could reveal the secret to him, indirectly, without seeming to do it intentionally. At last she hit upon a plan.

      When Saturday evening came, Faith was more absent than ever. She was restless, and uneasy; kept starting at the sound of steps in the hall, or on the garden paths; and, finally, said good-night, at an early hour, and went up to her room.

      "I wish you would stay with me, to-night," Miss Leith said to Margaret Dorne, Gerard's sister, as the guests broke up, about an hour after Faith's disappearance. "I want some one to talk to."

      "I'm at your disposal," answered Miss Dorne, quite unconscious of the part she was to play; and presently they went up stairs together.

      "I don't feel at all like going to bed," said Miss Leith, sitting down by the window. "It is very pleasant here, Margaret. Come and see the moonlight on the sea. It's like a dream-world."

      Miss Dorne sat down on a low ottoman, at Miss Leith's feet, and they conversed in low tones. The night was a wonderfully pleasant one. The sea was like silver. The deep murmur of the waves came to them like the sound of hushed voices, heard afar off.

      Suddenly, Miss Dorne caught hold of Miss Leith's arm.

      "See!" she whispered, pointing to the path, leading to the trees, at the farther end of the garden. "There is Faith. I saw her face as distinctly as I see yours, when she passed through that patch of moonlight. What can she be doing there, at this hour of night?"

      "Wait, and see," answered Miss Leith. Her plan was succeeding as well as she had hoped it might.

      The trees cast a heavy shadow about their feet, the window saw the meeting, and looked at each other, with a wordless question in their eyes.

      At last, Miss Dorne spoke.

      "Who is it that she meets, in this extraordinary fashion? I would never have believed it of her."

      Miss Leith thought it best to keep her counsel to herself. Her plan was working admirably. "Leave well enough alone," she said to herself. But aloud she answered, "I do not know. It is very strange, isn't it?" All this, so innocently, that it quite deceived her companion.

      "I wouldn't have believed it, if I hadn't seen it," said Miss Dorne. "What would Gerard say? I have thought, lately, that he cared for Faith. She was the last one I should have suspected of such deceit. I shall have to tell him."

      Miss Leith's face was full of triumph. "You will win!" rang in her ears again.

      They waited by the window, until Faith came back to the house. The man she had gone to meet, accompanied her part of the way. When they parted, he kissed her again and again, and she clung about his neck, as if dreading to let him go.

      "Come away," said Miss Dorne, drawing the other from the window, her face full of scorn and disgust. "I have seen enough. Drop the curtain, Kate."

      The next day, Margaret Dorne went to her brother, with the story of what she had seen. At first, he was incredulous. She was mistaken, he declared.

      "I am not mistaken," she said. "I saw her, when she went to meet her lover, and when she came back. And Miss Leith saw it, also."

      "I can't believe it," he insisted.

      "Do you think I would try to deceive you?" she asked.

      "No, I don't think that," he answered; "I know you too well to harbor such a thought for an instant. But, — but Faith is too pure and womanly — too true to be capable of deceit. I will ask her what it all means. There must be some solution that will be satisfactory."

      That afternoon, Gerard saw Faith in the garden alone, and joined her.

      She looked up, at the sound of his footsteps, and a glad light broke through the shadow in her eyes.

      "Faith," he cried, and something in the sound of his voice startled her, and made her turn pale; "Margaret saw something, last night, which she cannot understand. Neither can I. You know, you must have guessed, how I regard you, though, for a few days, a shadow has seemed to come between us. It is this love for you, which makes me seek an explanation."

      Faith lifted a scared face to his, trembling so, that the lily in her hand shook, as if a wind was blowing over it. "I think I know what you mean," she said, in a low voice. Then she added, with an effort, "But I can explain nothing."

      "You must!" he cried, impetuously. "Don't you see how bad it makes things look for you? If you can explain why you met that man, for God's sake, do so! I would not believe a word against you, when I heard of it. I told Margaret, I knew you could explain it all."

      "I am glad you had faith in me," she said, with a grateful look. "But I can explain nothing. At least, not now. By and by, I may."

      "Faith!" he said, almost sternly, "you have no right to refuse me an explanation. Was that man your lover?"

      "I tell you, I can explain nothing," she cried. "If you have faith in me, wait. Some time, I may tell you. I cannot do it now."

      "Do you want to gain time, to manufacture some plausible story?" he cried, stung to quick anger. He was ashamed of himself the moment he had said it.

      "I shall tell you nothing but the truth, if I ever tell you anything," she answered, a grieved expression coming into her troubled eyes. "I am as worthy of your trust and confidence now, as ever I have been. I have done nothing I am ashamed of. I have done nothing, you would reproach me for, if you understood it."

      "Then I fail to see why you cannot explain," he said, coldly.

      "Let me be the judge of that," she said, her lip quivering like a child's, when it feels its father's displeasure, and her eyes filling with tears.

      "I shall never ask you to answer my question again," he said, and turned away, with a stormy face.

      Miss Leith understood very well what had taken place, and was, consequently, in one of her most fascinating moods. She could be all grace and tenderness, if she chose, and now, she thought best to assume that role. Her sympathy, given in an unobtrusive, wordless way, might prove a pleasant balm to Gerard Dorne's heart.

      She had calculated rightly. Faith’s refusal to give any explanation, had shaken Gerard's confidence in her in a measure; and yet he could not believe that he had been so completely deceived in her. But it angered him, to know that she would not acknowledge his right to be taken into her confidence; and he avoided her now, as much as possible, devoting himself, assiduously, to Miss Leith.

      During the days that followed, Gerard could not understand himself. The sight of Faith's grieved eyes haunted him, and often made him long to take her in his arms, and kiss the shadow from her face. The thought of her midnight interview, on the other hand, and the embraces, which she had accepted from the unknown visitor, steeled his heart against her. Perplexed and tormented by conflicting emotions, Gerard was glad to find consolation in Miss Leith's society; and sought her, more and more, as we have said. On her part, she contrived to weave the web of her fascinations about him, and so skilfully, that he was not aware of what she was doing. She had nothing to fear from Faith, meantime, for the girl, feeling keenly the unpleasantness of her position, and too proud to ask for sympathy, kept herself aloof, and waited for — she hardly knew what.

      And so a week went by.

      The day which brought to Katherine Leith the fulfilment of her dream, the day when she lived a life-time of wild, passionate happiness, in an hour, dawned fair and full of promise. There was to be an excursion to an island, a mile or two from the mainland. Everybody was going. Lunch was to be eaten there, and it bade fair to be a pleasant trip.

      Faith did not care to join the party, but Mrs. Keith insisted that no one should stay at home, and, at last, she consented to go. The sight of her pathetic eyes struck a remorseful chord, in Gerard Dorne's heart, as they walked down to the shore, quite near each other. He pitied her, and, try as he might, he could not believe that she was quite the deceitful creature that circumstances made her appear.

      Miss Leith, by whose side Gerard walked, was in her brightest mood. She was radiant, and fascinating beyond any former experience. The spell of her subtle, mesmeric influence, finally drove away all remorseful thoughts from Gerard's mind, and made him willing to linger at her side, happy to come and go at her bidding, all the morning.

      The sun was half way down the west, when her crowning triumph came. She saw Gerard standing apart from the group, about the camp fire, with his eyes upon Faith Raymond's pale and sorrowful face; and she knew that a great pity was stirring in his heart. He was longing to comfort Faith. Miss Leith's face darkened. Her influence, after all, was not strong enough, she said to herself, to make the man she loved forget this woman, whom she hated.

      But she rallied immediately. The game was too nearly won, to give up now. Going up to him, she touched him on the arm. He looked around, and smiled.

      "You promised to show me where the gulls nested," she said. "I was afraid you would forget it, if I did not remind you."

      "I had forgotten," he answered. "But we have plenty of time yet. Shall we go now?"

      "Yes, I would like to," she answered. And then they left the group on the beach, and strolled away unnoticed.

      They stood a long time on the cliffs, watching the gulls circling below them. Gradually the magnetic influence of his companion overpowered and possessed Gerard. Something led to the remark, on his part, of what his sister had seen, that memorable night. "Do you, too, think that Faith went to meet a lover?" he said. "Margaret says you know all about it."

      Katherine lifted her eyes, timidly, to his face. "How can I tell?" she faltered. "Your sister should not have mentioned my name, and you must not ask me. Dear Faith, I would not misjudge her in the least, but — but all seems inexplicable. Remember, she is my guest. Go to your sister, Mr. Dorne, and not to me."

      How it came about, after this, Gerard never could tell, but before long, he had asked Katherine to be his wife. In a vague way, he remembered saying to himself, "Faith can never be mine, I could never trust her again — why should I be unhappy forever, why deny myself the sweet sympathy, the passionate affection of this devoted girl at my side?"

      And Katherine answered, and, as he thought, with noble frankness,

      "I am yours, Gerard, if you want me." And her face glowed with happiness, like a glory, as she spoke. Few women have known such rapture, in a life-time, as she felt then. It seemed to her that all the joy in the world, all its wildest, deepest bliss, had been concentrated, and poured into her heart. She had won!

      The sky filled suddenly with black clouds, and roused them from their pre-occupation.

      "We must hurry back, or they will get impatient, and leave us," Gerard said.

      "One moment," said Katherine. "You really love me? It is not all a dream."

      In answer, he took her in his arms, and kissed her. But as he did so, there came a wild, miserable wish, that his kisses were being given to Faith, or to the Faith he had believed in, before the shadow came. He knew, in that moment, as by a revelation, that this woman, with all her passionate love, could never be quite all to him that Faith would have been. But he gave no utterance to the thought.

      When they reached the landing, they found it, to their dismay, deserted. Nothing was to be seen of the party they had left behind them. All the boats were gone.

      "They must have thought that we had left," said Gerard. "We shall have to stay here, until they discover their mistake."

      The wind was blowing in from the sea in great gusts. The sky was black and threatening. A few drops of rain began to fall. It was evident that the storm would soon break upon them in all its fury.

      "We must find shelter somewhere," Gerard said. "Perhaps the rocks yonder will afford it."

      They hurried along the beach, to some rocks, which rose up grim and forbidding, from the water's edge. A woman came hastening towards them, with a white, scared face, as they approached.

      It was Faith.

      "They have forsaken us!" she cried. "I came back, just in time to see the last boat going out of sight, around the point yonder. I thought I was left here alone."

      "I will find shelter for us," Gerard said. "Wait here, while I look among the rocks."

      Pretty soon he came running back to them.

      "We are fortunate, after all," he said. "I have found a cave in the rocks yonder. It will give us the shelter we need."

      He hurried them towards it. By stooping somewhat, they effected an entrance. The cave was quite large. A few rocks were scattered about in it, showing dimly in the gray gloom, which filled the place.

      "I am afraid of it," Miss Leith said, with a shiver. "You are sure there is no danger?"

      "None at all," he answered. "We shall have to sit in darkness, for awhile; for when the storm breaks, it will probably make the place like night. But beyond that, there is nothing to dread. These rocks will afford us seats, and we shall be quite comfortable."

      He sat down, and Miss Leith nestled close to his side, happy, as she had imagined people were, who were so fortunate as to get to Heaven, with him beside her, now! — what cared she for the coming storm?

      It broke soon. The fury of its force shook even the stout rocks. The wind shrieked outside, like a lost spirit, striving to find entrance into Heaven. The waves dashed against the opening of the cave, sending little jets of salt spray into their faces, now and then. The darkness was intense. For a long time no one spoke.

      Suddenly, Faith cried out, sharply. Her voice, in the roar of the tempest, seemed far-off and indistinct.

      "What is it?" asked Gerard, springing to his feet.

      "The water!" she answered. "It is rising in the cave. It touches my feet!"

      "My God!" cried Gerard, and there was a ring of agony in his voice; "it is the tide!"

      He was right. The tide was coming in, and already, the opening of the cave was submerged. Seated on the rocks, to which they had climbed, they had not discovered the fact, until the water had risen, and cut off all chance of escape.

      "Can't we get out?" cried Miss Leith, in terror. How could she die, when the happiness of life was just begun?

      "There is no escape for us," answered Gerard. "Perhaps, the water may not cover the rocks. If it does not, we are safe. But we are prisoners."

      Oh! that awful waiting! It was waiting for death.

      The tide rose swiftly and surely. They climbed, in silence, to the summit of the rock, upon which they had taken refuge, each one busy with his, and her, own thoughts.

      "I am not afraid to die, since I can die with you, Gerard," Miss Leith said, at last.

      He bent, and kissed her lips.

      She fung her arms about his neck in a long, passionate embrace, and he knew then, as he never had before, how strong her love was for him. Stronger even than death, for it gave her courage to face death.

      In the darkness, Faith did not see this. Suddenly, she cried, "Gerard! are you there?" And when he answered, she said, "I must speak now. I can't die, thinking that you believe me to have been bad and false. It was my brother that I went to meet. He has been wild, reckless, and they accused him of a terrible crime. He ran away, and was gone a long time, and I supposed he was out of reach of the men, who were trying to find him, that he might suffer for their own wrong-doing, until he sent me a letter, about two weeks ago, asking me to meet him at midnight. I met him twice, giving him money, the second time, to get away with. I promised to keep his visit secret. So I could not tell you what you wanted to know. But with death so near, I must speak out. I cannot die, knowing that your heart is hard and bitter against me."

      "Oh, Faith! Faith!" cried Gerard, reaching out in the darkness towards her; "is it, indeed, so? Can you, then, forgive me? How I wronged you. I ought to have known better. God help me!"

      A fierce cry rose to Miss Leith's lips, as she heard these passionate words. Must she lose what she had won? Sudden, and keen with bitterest pain, the thought came to her, that if life were ages long, she could never lay claim to Gerard Dorne's heart now. Knowing that the woman he had loved, was all he had believed her to be, he would love her always, even if his honor forbade his retracting the pledge of betrothal he had given her. Her heart was up in arms against the girl, who stood between her and happiness. A swift, mad passion shook her. She felt Faith seeking a new foothold on the rock beside her — she put out a merciless hand — and then, there was a cry — a sound of troubled waters — and where three had stood, an instant before, there were only two.

      Gerard heard the splash, and though ignorant of Miss Leith's act, divined that Faith was drowning.

      "Faith! oh, my darling!" he cried, flinging off Katherine's arm, as she strove to hold him back.

      He sprang into the water, as he spoke.

      "Thank God!" he cried, a moment later, and Katherine, though she could not see, knew that he had found what he sought for.

      A moan of despair broke from her lips. She had lost him, after all. He was not to be hers in death even, as she had thought, a moment ago. The old gipsy woman's words rang through her brain like the voice of doom. "A life-time in an hour!" She knew what it meant, now. For one brief hour, she had experienced the rapture of Heaven. But the end was coming. was even now at hand!

      Gerard Dorne, when he found Faith, found also a place of safety — a rock jutting out from the walls of the cave, and to this he lifted her. He forgot, for a moment, the existence of any other woman in the world.

      When he thought of Miss Leith, after awhile, he called to her. She made some reply, but the wild shrieking of the tempest rendered it inaudible. Then no one spoke for a long time. The wind held high carnival outside; the rocks were stirred with thunderous echoings; and it seemed as if they were in the dwelling of the storm-king.

      By and by, the din began to die away. Then Gerard called to Miss Leith again. There was no answer.

      Frightened, he swam to the rock upon which he had left her. She was not there!

      In the darkness, he could do nothing but wait, and dread what would be revealed when light came. It was a terrible waiting, but it would have been vastly more terrible, if love had not waited with them.

      And when the waves went down — when light began to make its way into their prison, Gerard and Faith knew that they had kept their vigil in the chamber of death. For, lying in a tangled web of seaweed, they saw the white, dead face of Katherine Leith. After her one brief hour of sunshine, the end had come, swift and terrible, and her life had gone out in the storm of its despair.

      The gipsy was never seen again in the neighborhood. Whether what she predicted brought about its own fulfilment, or whether there are some who have the gift of forecasting events, is beyond our philosophy. All we know is, that what happened to Katherine Leith, came about just as it was FORETOLD.

(THE END)