"Father, they have cast lots for your child!"

"Cast lots?"

"Yes; cast lots, as for a thing that does not live and feel--a toy, that has no will of its own, no self-respect; given as a prize to a man who is nothing to me. And it is all done in the name of religion!

Father, protect me!"

"Cast lots!" the old man repeated, as if his brain could not grasp what his ear heard. "No! Heaven forbid that such a misfortune, should befall you! It is enough that one of us has suffered and lived through such an ordeal. No, Carmen, be at rest, my darling. Your father will tell the elders that he cannot do without his child."

The faintest shadow of a smile appeared again on Carmen's lips as she listened to his comforting words, and she breathed more freely.

"I knew you would help me, my own dear father! I rejected the choice, and hastened to you for support."

"But for whom have they selected you as a wife?" asked Mauer, gently stroking her cheek.

"For Daniel Becker, the missionary who, six months ago, went to the land of the Caffres. Oh, father, you will not let me go from you? We will remain together; no one shall separate us--not even this Jonathan--" She involuntarily shuddered. At mention of that name the old man started and fixed his eyes on her.

"Jonathan?" he asked slowly. "Why do you blame him?"

"Father, I feared to speak of it," she stammered, shocked that she had so clearly betrayed herself. "He is your friend, and you become so agitated when he is mentioned. But you must listen now. Before your return he asked me, from Sister Agatha, for his wife; and after I refused him--for oh, father, I cannot help it, I have an aversion to him--he pursued me with a wild love that frightened me. He embraced and kissed me against my will, and then begged I would be silent about it. I promised; but that was before I knew I had a father living. Now I have told it, and I am glad you know all about the matter."

Her eyes rested trustingly on him, but she could not catch a responsive glance; he kept his head turned away, and looked out into the distance with a countenance full of distress and anguish.

"Dear father, are you angry with me?" she asked humbly.

"Not angry, no; but it is a misfortune--a great misfortune," he whispered.

At this moment there was a knock at the door; it opened, and Brother Jonathan entered. Father and daughter stared at him without stirring; no one uttered a word; no one moved. Mauer remained leaning back in his chair; Carmen did not rise from her kneeling posture, and only pressed her head closer to her father's bosom.

Jonathan silently regarded the pair. Never had Carmen looked more beautiful than in this clinging posture--in this outpouring of love and confidence. To see her thus reclining on her father's breast was nothing to give rise to jealous feelings, but it increased his longing to have her leaning thus on him.

"You are troubled; I know it, and have come to help you," he said at last, in his gentlest tones. "I am sorry, very sorry, that Sister Carmen has allowed herself to be so far carried away by her feelings as to lose all sense of duty and humility, and to speak such wild words before the people. We must see if things cannot be arranged pleasantly. I will consider what can be done, if Carmen will permit me to act at all for her in the matter."

"Dear Brother, spare me my child," pleaded Mauer, with faltering voice.

"She cannot accept the lot which has fallen on her; she must not go so far from me just now, when I have found her again. I cannot live without my daughter."

"You know, dear Brother," returned Jonathan, "we of the faith always recognize in the casting of lots the most direct indication of the will of Heaven. Each one must fulfil the duty laid upon him, and not pause to consider if it concurs with his own wishes or not. If Carmen's hand is still free, she must follow the call which has been given her. She may not be separated from us forever. Perhaps in a few years she will return with her husband."

"A few years! Will they be granted to me?" said Mauer, sadly.

"Dear brother, I have already remarked that if Carmen is already betrothed, the choice made by lot is null and void, and the elders must be requested to give their consent to the alliance she has in view,"

replied Jonathan, sharply, emphasizing each word.

Carmen's lip curled scornfully as he spoke, and the cutting, scathing glance she gave him was enough to wither a braver man than he. She surmised what he was aiming at, but uttered never a word. Leaning against her father's heart, she felt sure of finding there a secure resting-place, and a precious sense of sheltering love made her able to endure anything. But her proud glance roused Jonathan's spirit, which grew hotter and hotter under his calm exterior. Would he be compelled to give her up?

He could not satisfy himself whether his feeling for the girl was love or hate; at any rate, he thought within himself that to bend her pride and destroy her fancied security would afford him infinite satisfaction.

"But she is not betrothed," said Mauer, when Jonathan ceased speaking.

"I, as her father, am the natural guardian of her destiny. I have the right to decide."

"The right, dear Brother?" interposed Jonathan, with a scornful smile.

"That depends. It could not be granted to every parent in the Brotherhood." And as the old man before him dropped his eyes, he added smiling: "Yet if I asked, for the sake of old times, that you would give me Carmen for my wife, would I be able to gain your consent, as her father?"

It was a helpless, imploring look that Mauer now directed towards his daughter; his hands clasped over hers with a convulsive grasp; his lips moved, as if to speak, but no sound came from them.

Carmen looked at her father in perfect amazement.

"Father, dear father, indeed I cannot become the wife of this man," she whispered with a beseeching tone.

"Child, cannot you make yourself do it for my sake?" were the words wrung from his lips.

"No, never! Urge me not, my father; it would bring untold misery on me, and afford happiness to no one."

A deep flush rose to Jonathan's brow, and anger and disappointment completely triumphed over self-control. "You cannot be my wife, Sister Carmen? Very well; then you will be the wife of Brother Daniel in the land of the Caffres. Do you think I am going to tolerate your rebellious, stubborn spirit, which is so unsuitable to a member of our community? Let your father tell you that I have the means in my hands to compel you to decide between the two fates!"

As he spoke, Carmen sprang up, and, drawing herself to her full height, measured him with a proud, contemptuous look; then, as if unable to bring herself to address him, she turned to her father and said calmly: "Dear father, speak for your child, and protect her!"

She clasped her hands imploringly; while he shook his head in sorrow and grief, but remained silent.

"Father," she cried, "have you nothing to say?"

No sound issued from his pallid lips; the anguish of his soul was betrayed only in his eyes.

Burying her face in her hands, Carmen now broke down utterly; and Jonathan's evil countenance gleamed with triumph. As she appeared before him, bowed in despair and grief, like some beautiful flower crushed by a ruthless hand, his eyes feasted themselves on the lovely girl, who was at last humbled and forced to give herself to him.

"You will do well to consider the matter calmly, and give me your final decision, Brother Michael. I will return this evening for it. We will try to help each other in a spirit of brotherly love, and you well know I am willing to exercise mercy and patience, as we are commanded; but there are times when both must cease." Saying thus, he left the room.

Brother Mauer sat alone with his daughter, and a deathly silence enwrapped the two, left alone together with their grief. The sky was still dark, with threatening dark clouds, which threw their deep shadows over the room, and at intervals a blinding flash of lightning illuminated with dazzling ray the bowed figures of father and daughter; while loud claps of thunder called to them, as if to rouse them from the sorrowful trance.

But they stirred not. Outside, the rain poured in torrents, and the wind swept howling by; but they seemed not to hear. At last Mauer's hand felt its way to the girl's head, and pa.s.sed lovingly and gently over it. She caught his fingers, as if the very touch inspired her with new life; and raising her head, she turned her hot, tearless eyes up to him, saying in an inexpressibly sad tone:

"Father, why have you forsaken your child in her hour of need?"

"Because, Carmen, I am powerless before this man," he returned in a low voice.

"Powerless?" she asked. "But how can he have any power over you if you do not wish it? He, a friend, against his friend!"

"Ah, Carmen," answered the old man, "that he has not used his power against me before is another proof of his friendship for me; but now, when he sees fit to exert it, I cannot prevent him, and must bear it.

I have already told you that it is a great misfortune that he loves you, and you cannot return his affection."

"Father, my thoughts are so perplexed by all this. I cannot understand how any one can have such power over you that you are forced to leave your own child unprotected."

Mauer sighed deeply. Carmen rose, and began to pace restlessly up and down the room. Outside, the thunder-storm raged with ungovernable fury; within, the poor girl was endeavoring to quiet the tumult of her aching heart, and collect her scattered thoughts.

"Father," she said at last, breaking silence, and seating herself near him, "speak, and let me know how and why Brother Jonathan can injure you. What can we do to avert the peril we are in?"

"Carmen, could you bear to behold in your father a culprit, a great sinner?" He looked so crushed, so very, very miserable, that her loving heart overflowed with sympathy and pity. To look at that dear face, and see the wretchedness of gulf and remorse written there, wrung her heart beyond endurance, and brought the scalding tears to her eyes.

She threw her arms about his neck, and answered tenderly: "You cannot be guilty in your daughter's eyes; and if you appear so before the world, I will only love you the more for it, and help you to bear your grief, father." He sobbed aloud, and drew her closer to him.