Waverley Library (Octavo Edition) (no. 88) (1886 01 26)
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i “F er oS, AVERLEY FERS er La stg Zr ee , earee See ors ‘. a EF Heenan: Copyrighted, 1886, by BrapLe anp ADAMS. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second Class Mai: Matter. Jan. 26, 1886. $2.50 PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, Price, VOL. VIL. a Year. No. 98 William Street, New York. Five Gents. No 88. ‘“ HE IS QUITE STUNNED, EVE.” A MINISTERING ANGEL ; Or, Royal Thornleigh's Mistake. BY GEORGIANA DICKENS. CHAPTER I. AN {NTERRUPTED DECLARATION, Ir was four o’clock on the eve of a regular old-fashioned Christmas-tide, with its full com- plement of frost and snow; for, as far as the eye could se>, old Father Christmas had his customary hoary aspect, without which one never seems fully to realize that his festive reign has commenced, But plenty of evidence as to the character of the season was shown by the clusters of bitter- sweet, and wreaths of evergreens, clematis and autumn leaves which adorned the interior of
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2 A MINISTERING ANGEL. ET Elsmere Hall, even had the exterior surround- ings been less conclusive, The hall itself was a singular combination in its structure, of ancient and modern architecture, Built originally in the last century it had passed down through several generations of E's- meres who had taken pride in retaining in their name the fine old property. From time to time wings had been added here and there, with turrets and towers and fancy windows, until from the outside very little of the old structure was apparent. Inside it was different, and it was of the original part that the Elsmeres were especially proud, and spared no trouble or expense to keep it in a state of preservation; and on occasions of this kind it was the great old square hall with its open fire- place, which formed one of the chief atirac‘ions, und where assembled many a merry party who made the great beams overbead ring with the echoes of their mirth and frolics. Just at this moment, however, the hall seemed deserted but for tae presence of a slight girlish figure which was kneeling before the blazing logs, with a dimpled chin sunk deepin two little hands the whole attitude betokening deep thought hardly in keeping with the lively sur- roundings. There was another occupant, who, although not a human one, was certainly a most intel- ligent creature, as could be seen from the way in which he looked up continually into the face of his young mistress. Perhaps the faithful animal could read some- thing in that face which did not quite accord with the time and place. Yet surely the proud daughter of the Elsmeres coald have no reason to look sad and wistful at tnis bright season! And yet brute instincts are not often at fault in divining when something is amiss. But Maud Elsmere did not long remain silent. Patting the dark, shaggy coat of the animal, she said, softly: ‘“Wiat ails you, Don, old fellow? Is my silence infectious? I{t will not do to be gloomy to-day; and it is time for me to be moving.” She had just risen from her kneeling position on the hearth-rug, when her father entered the hall, “Tsn’t it time you were dressing, Maud?” he asked—and there’ was the faintest shade of dis- pleasure on his dark, grave face. “T am going now, papa. Bot first I want you to see that all is arranged to your satisfac- tion.” ‘“T have already done so, my dear,” and the slight cloud was succeeded by a smile of won- drous tenderness; ‘‘ and, my darling, I can only say that even your poor mother could not Lave succeeded better.” Maud drew nearer to the tall, fine-looking man, and his softened mood seemed to affect her greatly. “There, Maud, my child, let me see you look- ing your brightest. You are going to have a very happy evening, | trust, my darling.” “Yes, pppa. I am always happy.” As Maud went toward the door her father said hastily, “I forgot to tell you that Mr. Thornleigh has telegrapbed that he intends to | pe with us thisevening. He finds he can man- age to come, after all.’ ‘Very well, papa.” And Mr. Elsmere bad no idea how much his daughter was affected by the news she so calmly received. Her head seemed in a perfect whirl as she went through the short broad corridor which led to the main staircase; but even there she was not free to indulge in thought, Several visitors were staying at the house, and one of them, Lucy Millington, who had been one of Miss Elsmere’s schoolfellows, came bound- ing up the stairs after her. Mrs. Millington was the widow of a refined, but improvident, naval officer, whose death had left her in somewhat straitened circumstances, Her one hope of rescue from a life of genteel poverty was based on the beauty of her only child. Lucy had, from her earliest infancy, been drilled in her mother’s creed—that wealth stood pre-eminent on the Jist of qualifications for a suitable husband, In order to fit her daughter for a high position in society, Mrs. Millington had drawn rather | freely on her not very ample resources, and had ' sent Lucy to one of the best city schools. The widow’s gratification at the intimacy there formed between her child and Miss {!swere was certainly more sincere than most of the ** grati- fications ” she was wont to express: and to add to her satisfaction came Miss Elsmere’s very cordial invitation that Mrs. Millington shoud accompany Lucy on this first visit to Eismere. The beautiful heiress was not by any means inclined to be suspicious. She was too genuine and true-hearted herself to suspect others of mean motives, and it was ploasant to her to see | Luey’s childishly gleeful delight at the prospect of the evening’s festivities. But Lucy and her light words were soon for- gotten, and as Maud went to her dressing-room, a softened brightness made ber pure face per- fectly lovely. Hers was no commonplace type of beauty. Her oval face was generally pale; and the dark hair, which waved slightly, forming pretty curves against the clear skin, would have led one to expect that when her darkly-fringed eye- lids were raised, @ pair of dark-brown eyes would be disclosed, instead of the blue ones that were really there. Many people thought that in the contrast of color—between hair and eyes —Maud’s chief charmlay. At any rate, she was charming; £0 every one allowed, in spite of a certain pride of demeanor which kept all the gentlemen in the neighborhood from ac- knowledging that they were under the spell of ber beauty. An hour later, Mr, and Miss Elsmere were receiving their guests, All the neighbors in the vicinity bad been invited, so that, including the gues's already installed at the Hall, there would be a goodly assembly, Conspicuous among the bevy of fair girls present when the part entered the dising-hall were Lucy Millington and Iva Walsingham. It so happened that Lieutenant Hilton had ung girls on each side of-him; and one of the 5
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A MINISTERING ANGEL. 8 although he was gradually losing himself in the witchery of Lucy’s smiling repartee, he could not quite ignore the fact that Eva was not only attractive in appearance, but thoroughly weil informed. On his arrival at Elsmere, where he had been invited on account of his father’s intimacy with Mr. Elsmere in bygone days, he had been very much struck by Maud Elsmere’s beauty. The young officer, though willing to own that she was certainly the most beautiful girl he had seen, was nevertheless less a slave to her than to Lucy Millington. Perbaps Lucy’s apparent preference for him was a balm to his feelings after Miss Elsmere’s indifference; for what man does not feel a slight sense of wounded vanity after being coolly passed by as he bad been. And Lucy was too worldly-wise to let go her hold of this gay, light-hearted cfficer until she had been able to sound the depth of bis pocket. Dinner was over, and the evening’s amuse- ments had commenced before tae arrival of Mr. Thornileigh. No one excepting Mr. Elsmereand his daughter had known that he was expected, Perhaps it was well that they did not, otherwise they might have attributed the change in Maud Els- mere to its right cause. Already there were wonderings whispered that the heiress was less haughty than usual on this night when for the first time she was play- ing the hostess as the recognized future mistress of the grand old place. There was something in ber manner, they could not tell what, that made her more thoroughly lovely than they had ever seen her; and yet, in spite of the soft- ened tenderness of expression that bathed her glorions eyes in dreamy beauty, some of those who looked at her could fancy how those same blue eves could assume a steely look at any at- tempt to gain their owner's favor. ; Luckily for Miss Elsmere, the guests were so struck by the announcement of the new guest’s name that she was unobserved. Many present knew Uoe stranger by name as a railroad mag- nate and political power of great repute, and in their astonishment at baving so emivent a per- sonage in their midst they tailed to notice the bright flush that would come into her cheeks in spite of every effort. When, a few seconds later, the assembled company saw their young hostess exchange yreetings with her guest her face was as pale as on ordinary occasions, and but few of the num- ber noticed the slight quiver of her lips as for a moment she raised her eyelids and glanced quickly at the man whose love she felt to be vers, and whom she had during a brief visit to her aunt, Mrs. Brentwood, learned to regard as the noblest and best of his sex. To Mrs. Millington and ber daughter the en- trance of this distinguished and wealthy man was as the sudden appearance of the sun among the less brilliant twinkling stars. The stars had been bright and attractive until now; but the superior position and wealth of the newly- arrived sun had thrown all other objects into the shade. But Lucy Millington had plenty of discretion, and in the dazzling light of this unexpected lu- minary she dia not forget that should he take | see that he bas eyes only for ber. his departure the former lights would be very acceptab e. She therefore skillfully corcealed her ambitious hopes and allowed Mr. Hilton to dance with her several times. Meanwhile she observed Miss Elsmere closely, and once, on having an opportunity of speaking to her mother, she asked for that lady’s opinion respecting the heiress and Mr. Thornleigh. “Do you think, mamma, that she shows him any marked preference?” Lucy asked. “No, my dear; and yet I am certain that there is something different about her this evening. As for Mr. Thornleigh, any one can But, as if to contradict her Jast remark, Miss Elsmere and Mr. Thornleigh came forwerd at that moment, the young lacy saying as she did so, ‘‘ Lucy, my dear, Mr. Thornleigh wishes to make your acquaintance.” She did not say, nor had Lucy the modesty to suppose, that in seeking her Mr. Thornleigh had been influenced by Miss Elsmere’s accidental remark that Miss Millington had been ber com- panion at school for six years. The feeling that causes us to envy those who have known and been intimate with our loved ones in those days when we were in ignorance of their very ex- istence—the time which we fancy now would be unendurable if we had to live it again—had roused Mr. Thornvleigh’s interest in Lucy Mil- lington; whereas she, in her girlish vanity, at- tributed his notice to her own superior attrac- tions. Never had the frivolous girl been so proud of her mother’s appearance as she was then; and as Mrs, Millington gracefully bowed to the strange gentleman, the thought came into ber daughter’s mind that ber mother’s boastful re- mark that she was connected, though distantly, with a noble English family must surely be true, for no lady of rank could have looked more thoroughly a lady than sbe. in her trail- - ing dress of black satin and beautiful lace. The expense that had been incurred in sup- plying the two \adies with what Mrs, Milling- ton deemed rod james for a proper appearance at Elsmere would swailow a year’s income; but, then, what was the use of giving Lucy a bril- liant training if she were to throw her chances away? The harvest-time was at hand now, Should the in-gathering be a failure from inef- ficient means? Decidedly no. And as the widow spoke a few well-chosen words, she no- ticed with delighted satisfaction that Lucy was looking the perfection of girlish innocence and sweetness, To the mother’s partial eyes, Maud’s pale beauty seemed quite insignificant compared with Lucy’s glowing loveliness. If only Lucy had Mand’s position, or one equal to it, no man in his senses would hesitate to give her the pre- ference. Mr. Hilton watched the girl whose winning graciousness had made bim her slave, and he began to fear that he was to have a formidable rival in Mr. Thornleigh, But after one dance with Miss Millington, he seemed willing to re- sign his partner. The merry hours were passing quickly on- ward, and Lucy was thorougbly peg the young officer’s company. She told herself that
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4 A MINISTERING ANGEL. should he prove to be wealthy, she should prefer his debonair gayety to the more serious manner ee. Thornleigh. She was somewhat disconcerted by hearin Mr. Hilton remark: f * “IT really believe that Mr. Thornleigh is the veritable sunbeam that will thaw the Elsmere ice. Did you ever see our young hostess so charming? I cannot say that she devotes much time to him, and yet there isa shy softness in the way she speaks to him that quite transforms er “Really, Mr. Hilton, I wonder to hear you spexk so coolly of what may be a serious.matter, it, as would appear from your remarks, you are so ardent an admirer of the beautiful heiress,” Lucy retorted. There was a slight stress on the last word that struck rather painfully on his ears; but he laughed lightly. “An heiress can never be anything to me,” he said, quickly. ‘‘I should scorn myself if I let a rich woman’s gold purchase a luxurious life for me; and, besides, is it likely that a woman in Miss Elsmere’s position would ever deign to accept a poor lieutenant who has very little but his pay? Thank goodness, my heart does not lead me in that direction! But, see! there is a general move. I declarg, it is nearly twelve o’clock|” Very soon the last of the carriages that had been drawn up before the Hall doors was heard driving away. Maud Elsmere took advantage of the lull that followed the busy task of entertaining so many guests to slip away onto the terrace that ran slong the west side of the Hall. She knew that the dear old bells of the village church, that she had listened to when a child, were ju% com- mencing to repeat their yearly-toid song of peace and good-will. The full moon shone with her cold, pale gleams on Maud’s upturned face, and in spite of the chill air that swept over it, that face was far from meriting its appellation of icy. The prettily-curved lips trembled, and the beautiful eyes were dim with tears, Taere was much of sadness in her thoughts; yet, above all, came the remembrance that the man who had won her uote heart had come to tell of his love. She felt positive that he had thought only of her in coming to Elsmere. But she dreaded having to speak tohim alone. She weuld go indoors, and after saying ‘‘Good- night,” would hasten to her room. be was leaning on the stone balustrade that skirted the terrace, but had raised herself ready to walk away, when she heard some one coming toward her. She did not turn round. Instine- tively she knew that it was too late to fly. ‘Pardon me, dear Miss Elsmere, if I intrude, I saw you leave the house, and, as I have some- thing to say to you, I took the liberty of follow- ing you hither.’ **T came to hear our dear old bells,” Maud said, hurriedly, as she vainly strove to make Mr. Thornleigh forget bis pu . “TI think no music equal to them; and it seemed to me, in my days of exile in my boarding school, that I longed with a longing unutterable for the old familiar sounds. To my imagination it seemed that when Orpheus succeeded in drawing ***Tron tears down Pluto’s cheel:,’ his strains were not more entrancing.” “Tt is wonderful how we cling to the memo- ries of other days,” Mr. Thornleigh said. ‘I remember how the bark of my favorite dog sounded in my hungry ears after my long ab- sence from Thornleigh Towers.” There was a slight pause, and nothing broke the stillness save the ringing out of the Christ- mas bells. “This is the first time that I have spent Christmas in the country since my return. I wanted this bright season to be a specially happy one, so 1 have come to Elsmere to see if the blessing I crave is to be mine.” He was bending low as he spoke, and his voice had sunk toa whisper. Maud was sbak- ing from head to foot, but there was no mistak- ing the happy light in her eyes. ** Why did you leave Mrs. Brentwood’s house so abruptly? I thought you knew that I loved you, dearest. I was terribly troubled to find that I could not see you again. This rest from political work is most opportune. Will you not tell me now if you will accept my love, and give me—” ‘* Maudie, are you there, dear? I have been looking everywhere for you; then I remem- bered your old attachment to your sweet bells, and fancied you might be here,” Lucy Milling- ton said, as she quietly slipped her arm round Miss Elsmere’s waist, looking perfectly uncon- scious that she had interrupted an important interview, ‘Tam coming in, Lucy, forI really am get- ting quite cold, My teeth are absolutely chat- tering.” But Maud’s trembling band betrayed more than cold as she drew her shawl more closely round her, Mr. Thornleigh opened the long, low window through which he and the ladies bad gained the terrace, and in a few moments he was obliged to separate from Maud without hearing her confession of love. His feelings against Lucy may be imagined, as be quietly went to his room, He had the comfort of feeling that his darling loved him, although she had not actually said so, CHAPTER IL AS SEEMING FALSE AS FAIR. “*TF you will be careful, Lucy, and not let that penniless young Hilton evgross so much of your time, I believe you may realize my high- est expectations, after all,” Mrs. Millington re- marked, when she and Lucy were alone, pre- paring for rest, ‘* Penniless! mamma?” ‘* Well, perhaps not quite penniless; but Mrs, Walsingham was speaking of him this evening, and from what she said it seems that he, his widowed mother, and a sister have all to exist on something like fifteen hundred a year. Of How do you know he is s0,
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course, he has his pay; but I should fancy that is scarcely sufficient to pay his tailor’s bill. It is a pity he is not the son, iustead of tic nephew, of John Hilton. I believe the son is a fine fellow. Don’t you remember bearing your papa speak of him? : ‘No. Did he? I have forgotten if he did. But about Mr. Thornleigh, mamma. I believe he was on the verge of proposing to Maud half an hour ago, when [ interrupted them on the terrace.” _ “‘T fancied he seemed attentive to her,” Mrs. Millington answered, musingly 3 ‘* but consider- ing his position, she was barely civil to him, I thought. She danced with him once, and then seemed in a hurry to leave him. Did you not hear her say he had desired to be introduced to ou?” és “‘Yes, mamma; but ”—with a sigh—“ it is so hard to have no position to begin with, If I only bad Maud’s wealth—” ‘Perhaps, if that .ffair of her brother’s had not turned up, she might have been less attrac- tive,” the widow said, bitterly. ‘I wonder if Mr. Thornleigh would like to be connected with such a low person as Mrs. Elsmere. I dare say he knows very little about the matter, as he was abroad when Geoffrey took that fatal step. I.should like him to know that Maud’s sister-in- law is far beneath you in the social scale.” ‘Tt seems hardly fair, mamma, if you re- member all we owe to Maud, that we should come between her and this man, if she really loves him.” Lucy’s growing admiration for young Hilton was perhaps making her feel for others, she had a different prompter, she would per- haps have developed into an amiable woman. * Stuff and nonsense!” Mrs. Millington ex- claimed, angrily. ‘‘ Why should she have ey- erything, while we bave nothing? Now, Lucy, do be rational! That was a clever move of yours to interrupt the fete-a-tete.” ‘‘T am glad you are pleased,” Lucy rather | coldly replied. “The great thing is, to keep the gentleman | from compromising bimse]f until I can sev a chance to enlighten bim about Geoffrey’s wife. It is a delicate thing to do, though,” Mrs, Miull- ington said, as Lucy turned to leave her. n Christmas Day the household repaired to church. Mr. Thornleigh fonnd that he had a difficult task before him. out of his way, and whe ever she was likely to be alone with him, either Lucy or her mother was on the alert to prevent any private conver- sation. . Next day there was to he a skating-party, and he boped to be able to have Maud to him- self before night. He would contrive to skate away from the party, taking her with him. Mrs. Millington was strongly inclined to be- lieve that ‘‘ fortune follows the brave,” when just as Miss Eismere was turning from speaking to her, the girl dropped a tiny note. No scruples hindered the widow from making herself acquainted with the contents of that scrap of paper. She hastened to her room, and there, to her intense delight, read as follows; A MINISTERING ANGEL. Had | Miss E smere willfullv kept | § ** Meet me by the old lodge-gate at twelve to-nicht, Maud, dearest. The others will have retired then. I am all impatience to see you. “Gr” Mrs. Mililington’s plan was soon laid. She must contrive to let the paper fall into Mr. Thornleigh’s hands, Jt was not addressed, and the abrupt style in which it was written would necessitate a partial reading of it before its owner’s name could be discovered. The widow hoped that be would make inquiries respecting the writer of the note, and so make himself fa- miliar with the chapter in the E smere annals to which allusion was never made. She did not | intend to join the skating-party; but she went | down in order to see the ycung people set out. As she passed the breakfast-room door, she heard loud chattering and laughter. Just then Mr. Thornleigh came out, saying as he did so, ‘‘ I have a note to write, Hilton, so [ must leave you to help to arrange with the la- dies about to-morrew’s entertainment, I am quite willing to fali in with any plans you may form,” Mrs. Millington watched bim as he went to the library, and after giving bima few moments to get partly through his task, she went quietly in the same direction. The question that was troubling her was whether he would come out from the library before any one else passed by. She knew he would use the utmost cispatch, because the ladies were already dressed for their proposed excursion. It was necessary that she should / act at once; so, with a quick glance around to note if she were unobserved, sbe hastily drop- ped the unaddressed paper on the door-mat, Nothing more could be done, excepting to watch if Mr. Thornleigh removed the paper; so she took up her position at some distance, where | any passer-by would suppose her to be lost in admiration of the view to be obtained from a long, narrow window, by the side of which a full-length statue bid her from the notice of any One passing to or from the library. | She bad not long to wait. Mr. Thornleigh came quickly out, and saw the note, Perheps he fancied he had drcpped it bimself. At auy rate, he picked it up, and then went to his dressin g-room. Ten minutes later Mrs. Millington saw him take his place in the wagonette that was to car- ry the party to the lake. His face wus pale; but the widow, even in her hardness of heart, would have been moved, could she bave known the anguish which was the cause of that calm pallor, She bad only meant to excite his suspicions concerning Miss Elsmere’s brotber. It never occurred to her that, baving little or no know]- edge of recent events in the Elsmere family, be would be ignorant of Geoffrey’s very existence, | Had she thought cf such a probability she would at once have known what interpretation | he would give to those few penciled words; as it was, she fancied there could be but one cou- struction to be put upon them. She was rather uneasy in Ler mind, but all uneasiness ig to flight as she noticed th: !, | although Mr. Hilton sat on Lucy’s left, M:. Thornleigh was on ber right, while Miss Diy-
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6 A MINISTERING ANGEL. mere, with slightly flushed cheeks, was chat- tering gayly to the young rector of the church. The skating was not very enjoyable, efter all, A thaw bad set in, and some of the weather-wise farmers predicted that it would rain before night; so, instead of keeping up the amusement by torcbhlight, as had been in- tended, Miss Elsmere proposed to return home for five o’clock tea. She was not very happy, for although she had avoided Mr. Thoroicigh, sbe did not like the tarn affairs bad taken; and she was quite convinced in her own mind that he was avoid- ing ber. Could it be possible that he was yielding to the witcbery of Lucy Millington’s manner? Mand had much to trouble her just then; but her friends had no reason to suspect that such was the case. The young hostess was determined to let nothing interfere ~ith her duty to ber father’s guests. So, through the long hours of that win- ter evening, she maintained her character by her cheerful winning graciousness, although she longed intensely for the time when she could pnt off tbe restraint that was on her, and give way to the feelings she was so painfully controlling. A calm stillness seemed to pervade Elsmere Hall in its quiet embrace. To all outward ap- penrance the whole household slept. But ap- pearances are ever deceitful, and in this case they were proved to be so, A slight, dark figure stepped out from a con- servatoryv that hid the old garden from the part of the grounds that were laid out in modern style. .uere had been a slight shower, and the clouds hurrying past the moon seemed to tell of more rain. But the slight girlish figure went uickly on until the old lodge gate was gained. tren she was eagerly clasped and kissed by a tall, bearded man, The light was not bright, and the silent watcher in the conservatory had no means of identifying the man; but he had seen quite enough to satisfy him that Mand Els- mere bad stolen out like a thief from her father’s house, and bad, by appointment, met some one clandestinely. ‘* Heaven forgive me if I have acted meanly!” he muttered to himself as he went to his room. “ Until now I thought there was some mistake. Oh, Maud, Maud! [could not have believed it had my owneyes not seen! And I was fool enough to think she loved me!” In the mean time Miss Elsmere was learning what had induced her brother to seek his home after three years of banishment. Since his marriege he had never set foot on his father’s estate until now; and Maud had never seen him during those three dreary years. But, in spite of her pride, Miss Eismere was deeply attached to her brother, and she bad some feeling of compunction on the gnound that it was through her that be and his wife—then El-ie Barton—had become acquainted. The introduction bad taken pl.cs one holilay time when Mrs. Brentwoo.i bad taken Moul to | Newport for a few weeks. Geoffrey E’smere was then at Harvard; but he went down to| Newport to see his sister before her return to school. She had gone down to the beach when Geoff.ey reached the hotel where Mrs. Brent- wood hai taken up her quarters, and Geoff-ey, full of impatience to see his sister, went in search of ber. He never forgot the happiness that came to him that day when he found Maud, for hy her side was seated a simply-dressed golden-baired girl, wih a sweet flower-like face, to whom his heart was drawn as if by some subtle charm. “This is my brother Geoffrey, Elsie,” M :ud explained. ‘‘Isn’t it strange, Geoffrey, that I should see Miss Barton here? She was living at Astoria when she last wrote to me, at sei ool, but has recently removed here with Mrs. Barton and is earning her living by teaching music. You have heard me speak of Elsie Barton, the late Doctor Barton’s adopted daughter, Geof- frey? She was with me till last term at Madame D’Arcy’s.” , And that was how Geoffrey Elsmere met his ate, Mrs. Barton, Elsie’s adopted mother, was not aware, until the girl’s happiness was at stake, that matters had gone so far, Then she oppos- ed their union, But Elsie, although greatly at- tached to the kind-hearted lady who had al- ways been asa mother to her, was resolute in one thing—she would not give up ber lover; and after much weeping and entreating on both sides, Mrs, Barton consented, though reluctant- ly, to let her darling go. Mr. Elsmere refused to see or hear from Gaof- frey after the marriage had taken place. It was nonsense for Geoffrey to urge that Elsie was a lady; she was a poor girl—a music-teacher— which was quite sufficient to condemn her in Mr. Eismere’s eyes. And she was actually un- aware of what or who she was anyway! Th was nonsense for Geoffrey to urge that Mrs. Barton had reason to believe that Elsie was _we!! horn. She could give no proof at all. Indeed, she could say little more than that Elsie’s mother— who wasa stranger to her—had died when the girl was born, to the inexpressible grief of ber young husband, who after her death bad gone away into foreign lands, leaving a sum of moncy for the child’s maintenance. However, Geoffrey Elsmere was satisfied that Elsie was the only girl he could marry, so be married her, and set to work in earnest to sup- port her. For more than two years he had been ablo by acting as foreign correspondent to a lorge firm, to earn snfficient to keep bimself and E sie from want. Then the firm bad failed, and the young husband found bow hard a thing it was to see his wife suffering from privation at a time when she needed support; and in the bitter winter time, when so much was needed for fuel, the last bill was changed to provide nbsolute necessities for the girl-wife and her infant boy. It was in this F ag that Geoffrey resolved to go to Maud for elp. ‘*f would not ask for myself, dear,” be said, humbly, “but it is for Elsie and her hoy.” ‘Hush, Geoffrey!" and Mand Elsmere drewv the facs that had rrown thin and hagge:d against her own, ‘ Tell me about the hov.’ ‘*He j.a fine fellow, Maudie; and Elsie has
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A MINISTERING ANGEL. 2 decided to give him the oldname. So he will be christened Geoffrey.” ‘* Poor Elsie! Give her my best love, Geoffrey. Tell her that I shall be in New York sborily, and that 1 will contrive to see her. In the mean time give her this for my nephew.” And Maud drew a small, well-filled purse from her ocket. ‘*I must not remain here, dear rother. How I wish this was at an end! I long to see you in your old place again.” ‘That is like you, Maudie. You deserve to be heiress of Elsmere, and I do not envy you buat for the sake of my wife and helpless child. But you are shivering,” ““T will goin now, Geoffrey. But how shall you return?” ‘*T can catch the early express, dear. Do not trouble about me,’ Iam anxious to get back to poor Elsie.” __ ; With a loving and grateful kiss, Geoffrey turned away, never even stopping to glance at the home that for years he had looked upon as his rightful heritage. It was breakfast time at Elsmere when Mr. Elsmere announced that Mr. Thornleigh had been suddenly called away from the Hall. Mrs, Millington wondered if there had been any unpleasant disclosures respecting the marriage of young Elsmere; if so, his father’s countenance did not betray bim. Maud was, to all appearance, quite uncon- cerned respecting their guest’s movements. Certainly she looked ratber weary; but then Mrs. Millington thought she could account for that by the knowledge she had of the midnight appointment. She would have thought differ- ently had she seen Miss EJsmere early that morning when she received from her maid a note that had been senc in by Mr. Thornleigh’s valet. It was very brief. ““The inclosed note, which accidentally came into my possession, will explain why I cannot see you again. It is bad enouzh to think of you asI now do, without having the additional pain of seeing you, Oh, Maud, Maud! why did you act so deceit- fully? RoyAL THORNLEIGH.” Tn speechless agony Maud opened her brother’s note. This, then, was what hed driven her lover away. She had not thought that he would have been so hard on her for seeing Geof- frey, although, in doing so, she was obliged to deceive her father. Presently indignation overcame every other feeling. She bad given this man no right to censure her—that was a soothing reflection. How, then, did he presume to act so? She would not repine for one who had so easily been induced to give up wooing her. There was no time for quiet, calm reflection. The breakfast-bell would soon ring. In a few minutes’ time she had written a freezing reply to Mr. Thornleigh’s outburst. “Me will not think [am disconsolate after that,” she thought, as she read what she had written, ‘Next time he confesses his love to a lady he willdo well to be sure of her answer be- fore essuming so much,” ; The quiet, stony calm that deceived Mrs, Mil- lington lasted through the day. It was not un- til evening that Miss Elsmere’s sorrowful anger found relief in tears, Then for a few days nothing happened to break the quiet monotony of life at the Hall, Lucy Millington began to fear that her chance of meeting Mr. Thornleigh again was rather doubtful, and in the absence of other occupation she gave herself up to the selfish pleasure of en- couraging Mr. Hilton’s attentions, when she well knew she could not give him anything in return, But this state of things could not continue: and one morning, when the thougbtless girl had consented to walk in the lane where a sharp frost after the recent rains had made it neces- sary that she should accept Mr. Hilton’s services to insure a safe progress—the young officer told her of his love, and asked her to promise to be his at some future day when he should have a home provided for her, He looked so brave and handsome, with ad- miration lighting his eves, that Lucy felt it dif- ficult to refuse him. In every way he seemed so desirable—excepting in that one essential— that she pitied both herself and him. The ardent young lover had been quite sure of success. Lucy’s manner had given him hope from the very first, and ber answer that she was very poor, and could not therefore marry poverty, came like a thundereclap. He stood quite still, and turned so as to look her full in the face, ‘Do you mean to tell me that you have been trifling with me? That you have been leading me on only to throw me over? You cannot, surely, be so base?” Lucy tried first by arguing, then by smiling banter, to calm the angry man; but the little gestures that had once filled him with admira- neg now added to the contempt he felt for er. “You bave until this moment appeared to me as a pure-hearted, innocent girl,” he said, scorpfully. ‘‘ Now I have no words to express what I feel for the heartless woman who, while determined to marry a rich man, trifles with the affections of a poor one. It was the. innocent child I deem+d vou that I loved—not your own mean, despicable self!” How the pair would have managed to walk back to the house in the nncomfortable frame of mind that the young officer’s words produced was not put to the test, for, to Lucy’s intense re- lief, Miss Elsmere came in sight, driving her ponies, “Tam going home, Lucy. The roads seem Lene) unsafe, May I give you a lift?” she asked. “Thanks; yes. We were just about to re- turn,” Lucy said. But as she took her seat beside Maud, Mr. Hilton walked away in the direction of the stables, If hi: manner was noticed by Maud, she made no comment. She was beginning to fancy that everything was wrong, and nothing would henceforth astonish her very much,
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8 A MINISTERING ANGEL. CHAPTER III. FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE. “ TaKE my arm, Eva, I declare I can scarce- ly keep on my feet. I am glad your mamma id not venture out,” ** $0 am I, papa; although she is missing a treat. The fields look like plains of crystal. It is a pity that Miss Elsmere’s skating-party was not put off until now; the weather is glorious!” Mr. Walsingham smiled at his daughter’s en- thusiasm. ‘*Tf we could walk briskly it would be more enjoyable,” he said. ‘‘ Sleigbs or skates seem necessary to safe locomotion just now.” ‘¢T should like to go over to Elsmere before the frost goes,” Eva remarked. ‘‘I fancy the young people will be visiting the pond again.” ©] dare say I could drive you over,” her father said, after a slight pause; ‘‘ but it would be unsafe to take any horse but old Derby, and your mamma would fidget if we were to venture out behind a spirited animal,” She was eg | very pretty in her dark vel- vet dress and soft furs. The keen air gave a brighter tinge than usual to her cheeks; and her hazel eyes shone with enjoyment of the present and happy anticipation of the future. Even to herself Eva had scarcely admitted that she felt interested in Herbert Hilton. Yet the prospect of seeing him gee made the in- tended visit to Elsmere Hall very inviting, al- though the young officer never paid her any special attention, unless, as sometimes hap- ropa Mr. Thornleigh bad Lucy Millington at side. But Mr. Walsingham had heard of his sud- den departure, and as Eva thought that Mr. Hilton would have no one to come between — Lucy, the bright look became more sub- ued. **Walloa! what on earth isthe matter?’ And Mr. Walsingham quickly jumped over the fence that separated the field-path from the road, A horse had dashed past at a terrific ran, just as Eva and her father reached the road, ““By Jove, he’s down!” And without wait- ing to give Eva a helping hand, the old gentle- man went as rapidly as he could to render as- sistance to the fallen horseman, Quick as he was, Eva had reached bis side before he had gained the side of the prostrate man. Eva had known from the moment when horse and rider had gone madly by that the gentleman was Mr. Hilton. In the distance, some laborers had contrived to arrest the flight of the frightened horse, so that Mr, Walsing- ham and Eva gave their undivided attention to the unfortunate young officer. “He is quite stunned, Eva, and we have no ‘means of restoring him. Some of these men will help me to convey him to our house. It will require caution, for the roads are so bad, and as there ere only three men, { do not see how any one can be spared. { am afraid to let = gO, Eva, and yet it may bea case of life and— ‘‘Oh, I can go, papa! You need not fear You want to send hume to tell some one to go for adoctor? Ican manage all; everything wil be in readiness when you come,” ‘Be careful, child. You look quite fright- ened; but I know I can trust you.” In less time than Mr, Walsingham could have deemed it possible, Eva was at bome. Her mother was startled at first to see her without her father; but Eva briefly explained matters. Mrs. Walsingham was a helpless sort of pas but her daughter was a host in her- self, A message was sent to the nearest doctor, and two man-servants, carrying warm rugs and a flask of brandy, was sent to render as- sistance to those already engaged in doing their best to carry Mr. Hilton’s prostrate form to The Willows—Eva’s home. The time seemed very long to the anxious cirl before ber father and his hearty co-opera- tors arrived. She had caused a fire to be made and everything prepared for the reception of the injured man; and when Mr. Walsingham appeared, he saw at once that, as she had said, everything was in readiness, In less than an hour the doctor had pro- nounced the injuries to be serious. There was, a ca to a broken leg, a fracture of the skull. When everything that skill and kindness could do had been done to relieve the poor fellow, Eva suggested that Mr. Elsmere should be SS daa of what had happened. ‘**To be sure; he ought to know at once, Though, now I think of it, the man who took the fiery brute, Sultan, home would tell what had occurred. Still, it would only be polite to send to Elsmere H~1).” A note was hastily dispatched; but before the man had gone many yards he met Mr. Elsmere himself, He quickly scanned the note, and then, dismounting, entered the house, “This is a sad business, Walsingham,” he said, as that gentleman met him in the hall. ‘Does Sabin think seriously of that head- wound,” ‘“‘That is the worst says there is danger; less,” ‘‘Then I think his mother should be told. She is in delicate -health, poor lady; so I will not alarm her unnecessarily. A letter will not look so ominous as a telegram, and I think it will be as well to say nothing about that nasty skull fracture; the broken leg will suggest quite enough danger to her mind, poor soul! esp y as she is unable to come to his help.” Eva had been listening breathlessly. ‘He has a sister, has he not, Mr. Elsmere? Perhaps she would like to come,” “T think, my dear,” Mr. Elsmere said, with unusual gentleness, ‘* that perhars you could send a tiny note to the sister. ou will say what is needed more tenderly than I car, and be able to convey to her mind that although there is no great danger, you will welcome her gladly if she thinks her presence would com- fort her brother.” “T will do anything you advise, dear Mr. Elsmere,” Eva eagerly returned, And the gentlemen both noticed how her art of the business, He ut the case is not hope- »
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7 OU SS —e ae ee A MINISTERING ANGEL. 9 ae trembled as she sat down to execute his wishes, “However the poor fellow could have been so mad as to mount Sultan when the ground is simply a sheet of ice, puzzles me! It is my Opinion that he has been annoyed in some way, I saw him lange merrily with that light- hearted friend of Maud’s—Lucy Millington, I mean—this morning; and not half an hour later he was as pale as death, and went to the stables in astate of great excitement. Tomkins says he never saw a man so determined to have his way. Nothing would keep him from mounting Sultan ” Mr. Elsmere had been speaking in an under- tone to Mr. Walsingham; but Eva heard spon to convince her that Lucy had been to ame, ‘¢ Tf ever there is mischief, a woman is sure to be at the bottom of it,” Mr. Walsingham re- marked. ‘‘ Butasfor Miss Millington, she looks quite a child.” “Jf matters are as I fear,” the other returned, “she is woman enough to know how to trifle with a man’s love. She has encouraged him openly, and if she has fooled him she is no longer worthy of my daughter’s friendship.” “Tt may not be so bad as you think,” Mr. Walsingham said. He was a peace-loving man, and did not like the frown that had settled un his friend’s face. -* T hope you may be right; but Herbert Hilton is dear to me for his father’s sake; and that this evil should have fallen on him while visiting Elsmere troubles me greatly.” When he returned home in the evening he was convinced of the truth of his suspicions, He felt weary, and before removing his riding- dress lay down on a couch in one of the draw- ing-rooms, A curtain separated thisroom from the adjoining one. There had formerly been a sliding partition, but Maud had aghpanrty her father to substitute gracefully falling curtains. For some time Mr. Elsmere lay dozing; then, while be was dimly conscious, he heard voices, For some moments he gave no heed, and the voices bad no meaning to him. Suddenly he was aroused by hearing an angry voice exclaiming, “I tel] you, mamma, it was my fault. I told him I could not marry a poor man. If only he was wealthy I would thank- fully marry him. He is a thousand times more lovable than Mr. Thornleigh!” : - enn Lucy! Don’t talk to me about ove Mr. Elsmere started to his feet. He had not intended to overhear the conversation between mother and daughter. He went softly out of the room, and at his earliest opportunity spoke to Maud on the subject. **-You will not desire them to prolong their stay as you intended, my dear?” he asked, after detailing all he knew. ‘Certainly not, papa; ercugs I cannot help thinking that Lucy, left to her better impulses, would act differently.” “T know you always find ‘extenuating cir- cumstances,’ Maudie,” her father said, with his rare smile. . And then he went to dress for dinner, CHAPTER IV. A MINISTERING ANGEL. ‘‘ Here comes the postman, mamma! I hope Bertie has written.” ‘* We ought not to expect it,” the mother re- turned, although the hope was echoed in her own breast. ‘‘ He has so much to think of now. Poor boy! how I wish he could always have his days as bright as these late ones have been.” And Mrs. Hilton sighed as she waited in eager anticipation of what news the mail had brought. As Miss Hilton took the letter—there was only one—from the neat little maid, who, with an elderly domestie, constituted the whole retinue of the modest little menage, an expression of surprise flitted across her face, ‘The letter is from Elsmere; but the writing is not Bertie’s, mamma, I almost think it is Mr. Elsmere’s,” Mrs. Hilton looked anxiously at the address. Her face paled even to the ‘.- “Tt is from Mr, Elsmere, Florrie, What can be the matter?” The young lady took the letter from her mother’s hands, “‘T will open it, dear mamma,” she said, gently. ae a few moments the elderly lady did not speak, — one glance the daughter saw that some- thing was wrong; but pete how excitement would tell on her mother’s delicate frame, she said, quietly: “It is nothing very serious, mamma; but I will read it to you. rtie has had a fall, and” —reading hurriedly to get at the gist of the matter—‘ has injured hisleg. I will read what Mr. Elsmere says, mamma,” the young girl went on bravely, knowing that ense would be worse than anything to the poor invalid, And very soon the widow knew the extent of the injuries, so far as the gentleman had deemed it wise to enlighten her, ‘‘Here is also a note to myself in a lady’s handwriting, mamma—from Miss Elsmere, I 7 se. No; itis from some strange lady—‘ Eva alsingham,’ she signs herself. Listen, mamma: “Dear Miss Hrtor:— “Mr. Elsmere is writing to tell you of the accident that has happened to your brother, Lieutenant Hilton; so I am sending to let you know that you need not feel anxious on hi- account, if you cannot conveniently come to see him. Mamma and I will nurse him as though he were ourown, He has been brought to our house, as he fell near here. But, dear Miss Hilton, if it would comfort you and Mrs. Hilton to see for yourself how he is, do not hesitate to come. I know people often exaggerate danger when they cannot see what is going en; so if Mrs. Hilton’s health will permit of your absence for a few days, will you let me know, and I will meet D ha at the station. At the same time, I should like " Hilton to rest assured that there is no absolute danger, and that I will send daily to inform her of her son’s state, unless you come, when, of course, you will take that yp ene “Tam, dear Miss Hilton, “ Yours sincerely, “Eva WALSINGHAM.” ““Whata dear, thoughtful girl, mamma! It
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10 A MINISTERING ANGEL; is well that Bertie is among stith ‘kind friends.” **T should like you to go, Florrie,” Mrs, Hilton said, speaking for the first time, ‘‘ Bertie will like to see some one belonging to him now he is suffering.” ‘* But bow can I leave you, dear mamma?” the girl asked, anxiously. The mother smiled bravely. ‘* How can you ask that of a soldier’s wife?” ~she never spoke of herself asa widow. ‘‘Sure- ly Ican be content to accept Maria’s services foratime, I shall not feel happy unless you go. Maria must travel with you, and return to-morrow. I am glad I am rot dressed. I shall remain in bed to-day and to-morrow until Maria’s return; for the rest, Jane can manage nicely.” It was useless for Florence to argue that she could travel alone. Mrs, Hilton was firm. So a telegram was dispatched to The Willows, and after making every possible arrangement for the widow’s comfort, Miss Hilton prepared to make the journey to Elsmere acc»mpanied by the respectable-looking middle-aged woman who had lived with Mrs, Hilton during the happy wifehood that had been suddenly put an end to ten years ago. Never during those long years had Mrs. Hilton been left by the faithful servant and loving daughter; but this was an exception- al case, and the two tender nurses decided that to persist in remaining would only aggra- vate the poor mother’s distress. The young servant-maid felt the gravity of her responsi- bility when, after listening to a multitude of directions, she saw Maria follow Miss Hilton into a hack, a “Ts that you, Flora? WhereamI? Have I been ill?’ And Lieutenant Hilton tried to raise himself in bed, but was held prisoner by wesk- ness and by a strange, fettered feeling about his right leg. ‘Yes, dear,” his sister returned, answering his last pet first. *‘ Your leg has been in- jured by a fall. Do you not remember your ride on Sultan?’. A spasm of pain seemed to contract the mus- cles of the face, and he raised his hand to his head. ‘*[ remember,” he said, head, Florrie?” “‘It was bruised by the fall, dear, and you have been unconscious; but, dear Bertie, you must not talk.” “Only tell me where I am, and about my mother,” he entreated, ina weak voice. “When did you leave her?” Florrie explained how she had been at The Willows for three weeks, and that her mother would not hear of ber return until he should be pronounced convalescent, ‘*So yon must be obedient, Bertie, and try vour utmost to get well speedily,” she added, cheerfully, And Herbert Hilton did not know how near he had been to the verge of eternity, nor how, in those weeks of anxiety, his sister and Eva Walsingham had been drawn, by a common feeling of miserable suspense, into a close bond of friendship. To Florence Hilton the conviction that Bertie ‘““What ails my was very dear to the sweet, brown-eyed girl had gradually deepened. She did not know then of the blow he had received from Lucy Millington’s cruel hands; and she wondered in those first days of returning strength, when Eva spoke to him so tremulously, that he did not perceive how his well-being affected her. Gradually the young officer’s health improved and with the fiist ray of joyous certainty that such was the case, Eva’s manner underwent @ change. Florence Hilton involuntarily re- spected the womanliness that hid from Her- bert’s eyes the love which be had no wish todis- cover. It was from ber brother’s own lips that Flurence heard of Lucy Millington’s rejection of him. , ‘*T have made up my mind to explain wh¢ I was so mad as to run headlong into tits trouble,” he said one day, when Florence sat be® side his couch, embroidering some la¢e which} she intended asa parting gift to Eva, “ Have: you ever seen Lucy Millington?” he asked, ab-- ruptly. “You mean the pretty, ehildish-looking girl I met on the day I came here? She and her mother were leaving Elsmere, and were taking; tickets at the station as I came here.” ‘* Then you know what reason FE had to be deceived in supposing her a pure-minded, inno-- cent girl, instead of the mercenary, unwomanly’ wretch she has proved. She refused me on ac-- count of my lack of wealth, Florrie.” His sister kissed him tenderly. She was bis senior by two years, and had always felt the » importance of those two years in spite of ber — brother’s stalwart appearance. “I hope the knowledge of her treachery has: * not come too late,” she said, gently. “Tt has come in time to cure me entirely of the illusion that has made me so irrational,” he said, gravely. ‘‘ It is impossible for me to love any but a pure, good woman,” he added. And Florence wondered if the time would ever come when he would know of, and appre- cia‘e, the blessing which was so near at hand. Two days later Florence Hilton returned home, traveling this time with Mr. and Miss Elsmere, who were about to spend some weeks at Mrs. Brentwood’s town residence. Herbert Hilton was to remain a few weeks longer, as the doctor thought the journey wouid be too trying for him, and Mr. Walsinghem was so urgent, that Florence used her influence to in- duce her brother to consent to prolong his stay, Perhaps she hoped that he would see more of Eva, and would learn to value her sweet, lov- able character; but she was careful not to say’ a word that should betray what she suspected of Eva’s feeling for her brother. If Florence had hoped for good news in this quarter, she felt sadly disappointed when she met ber brother a fortnight later. He seemed sad and weary, and thére was evi- dentiy nothing to communicate, Yet, in spite of his assertion that- he was cured of his passion for Lucy Millington, be was often moody and absent-minded. Only in his mother’s presence did he seem anything like the Bertie of old. No selfish emotions caused him to appear sad and gloomy when with her. She had enough to bear without baviog the shadow of his petty
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A MINISTERING ANGEL. eares thrown over her, he told himself, as he patiently told her, over and over aguin, the story of his accident. There was one thing that struck Florence, Whenever he spoke of the Walsingtams, he never alluded to Eva; and when M-s. Hilton spoke of her gratitude to that young ledy, and ber urgent wish to be able to see and thank her personally, a bright flush came into Her- bers’s face, but be made no remark, CHAPTER V. A STORY OF THE PAST, “Tgn’t he a beauty, Maud?’—and pale, fragile- looking Elsie Elsmere looked in proud, happy Velight at the pretty picture presented by Maud and her nepbew on tueir first acquaintance, Maud’s eyes filled witb tears. ‘Thera is a picture of mamma in pap1’s bed- room. It was painted when she was only three years old, and the likeness between these tinv features and bers is most striking,” she said, brokenly, as at intervals she paused to kiss the pouting baby lips, “Geoffrey thinks baby like your mother, dear,” the young mother exclaimed, delighted- Jy. ‘*How I wish she ha’ lived, Maudie! Per- haps she would have infiuenced your father, and softened him toward my poor busband.” And Mrs. Elsmere’s vo'ce trembled pityfully. ‘*T® any one could have done so it was she,” Maud said, in alow tone, ‘Oh, Elsie! why are men so hard?” she went on, passionately. ‘‘ It seems that they are always ready to condemn us,” she added, angrily, as the thought of Mr. Thornleigh came into her mind; indeed, the thought of him was seldom ahsent. A cry from the baby, who was alarmed at the sudden change in her aunt’s tones, changed the conversation, and before the subject was re- sumed, Geoffrey E!smere came in. He was looking pale and careworn; but his face lighted visibly on seeing bis sister, ‘‘ This is kind of you, Maudie! How did you get away, dear?” ‘Papa had to transact some business, so I called @ carriage and drove here. He bas not the remotest idea that I am acquainted with yeur whereabouts, unless—” Se paused, and colored nainfully. “Uuless what, dear?” Geoffrey asked anxi- ously. “T was thinking—but he could not be so mean!” she said, as if speaking to herself, “You know, Georfrey, that night when you came to Eismere, one of the visitors found the note vou sent me. He returned it next day.” “Who was he, Maud? What did he say?” ‘¢He blamed me very much for deceiving my father; but he bad no right to speak so,” and Maud drew herself up haughtily. ‘‘It was Mr. Thornleigh, Geoffrey.” And in spite of herself the tell-ta)e color came to ber face. “The fact that he returned the note shows that he does not intend to betray us; but how came he to read it?” Geoffrey asked. ‘‘Tt was unaddressed. Do you remember how it ran?” ’ Mr. Elsmere shook his head; and Maud gave the contents verbatim, : Her brother looked grave, ‘* Maudie, my dear sister, I hope I have not brought any additional unbappiness on you?” he said, earnestly. ‘‘Dos Mr. Thornleigh know my unfortunate story?” “Of course he does! Everybody knows it. Didw’t the whole land ring with the most tri- fling details?” ** That is true,” her brother returned. ‘*But, Geoffrey,” the girl went on, after a ause, ‘‘ there is une fact 1 have overlooked, He was abroad at the time. Hehas only been back a few months, after an absence of some length.” “Then, my dear, depend upon it he did not know I was your brother.” Maud turned pale as she thought for the first time of the real purport of Mr. Thornieigh’s note. A sudden sickness and dizziness seized her, but she could not let these dear ones see her misery. “ Perhaps so, Geoffrey; and if so, there is no fear that be will enlighten papa.” But the cold hard tones did not deceive Mr. Elsmere nor his wife, who sat looking wistfully from ber husband’s grave face to the pale and now careworn one of his beautiful sis- ter. Miss Elsmere’s stay was necessarily short, and no further ellusion was made to Mr. Thorn- leigh’s mistake; buat after her departure bus- band and wife talked the matter over, and prayed earnestly that their darling sister might be spared from a life of suffering through their unfortunate but never regretted union. During the next few weeks Maud met Mr. Thornleigh frequently. Her manner toward gentlemen was proverbially cold; but to Mr, Thornleighshe appeared a positive iceberg. No allusion was made to any former intimacy. Indeed, the beautiful girl might never have seen him before, so little did she regard his pre- sence, His altered appearance was not lost upon her; but what pity could she feel for the man who had judged her so hardly? She had not thought it possible that any man could have imputed such baseness to her; and that tbis man ‘to whom she had given her heart’s best love, should do so, filled her with most acute pain and anguish. Yet she could not shut bim out of her heart. Strive as she would for peace and contentment, it would not come, and daily she longed for the quiet of home. But the days dragged wearily by, and no ease came to the weary, heart-broken girl. Mr. Thornleigh was often seen, during the time of his stay in London, in company with Mr. Arthur Cleveland. Report said that the latter—a man of somewhere about forty years of age—had become strongly attached to the younger man while wandering about in foreign lands, when a virulent fever had laid its poison- ous hand on the elder man where little help could be obtained for him, and he must have died but for the untiring efforts of Mr. Thorn- leigh, who in turn took the dreadful disease, but less severely than his friend bad done. At | all events, there was some strong sympathy between the two men, in spite of the difference | of years in their age,
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12 Mr. Thornleigh was sauntering one afternoon, about the end of February, near the entrance to Central Park near Fifth Avenue side, in the hope of seeing Mrs. Brentwood’s carriage drive past. He tried to excuse himself by thinking that he had heard one of the gentlemen at his club speak in rapturous tones of her new and elegant “turn-out;” but in reality he knew well that, should the much-admired equipage come in sight, it would have no attraction for him but for the pale, marble-like face that he longed to see therein, in spite of the evil things which circumstances had Jed him to impute to its owner, He had passed and repassed the entrance several times, when he suddenly encountered Mr. Cleveland, who was looking pale and excited. ‘*Will you come home with me, Thornleigh? I am in need of advice, and perhaps you can help me.” ; “All right. But let us drive; here is a car- riage,” Thornleigh returned, wishing to screen his friend from observation, in less than ten minutes the two men were seated in a room of a somewhat nondescript character, where Mr. Cleveland spent much of bis time when in-doors. **T have a long and painful story to tell you, Thornleigh; but 1 know | can count on your forbearance, and it may be that you can see some way out of my dGifficulty,” the agitated man began. “I most sincerely hope I may do so. But pray go on!” “Well, then, you know, Thornleigh, that I am a widower; but you have never beard the history of my marriage. lt is necessary now that that history should be made known. My father was married twice. He had several children; but they all, with the solitary excep- tion of myself, died in their infancy. You can imagine what hopes centered in me, the son of his old age. Fron: my earliest childhood, every one who approached me seemed to bave but one idea—that I should be in-pressed with a sense of my own importance. Unfortunately for the carrying out of my fether’s brigbt and ambi- tious designs with regard to his son and beir, I was of a quiet, retiring dispositicn, and had no regard for my position in society, and under- valued the benefits to which Iwas born, My love of study was not displeasing to my fatber, us be hoped to see mes Jeader of statesmen; but in this, too, he was doomed to disappoint- ment. My studies bad more to do with the fine arts than with political intrigue. “It was pitiful to see how anxiously he watched my progress toward manhood; and although I knew how be suffered constantly at seeing me so unlike what he had hoped, [ al- ways received the utmost kindness and con- sideration from bis bands. I spent much time _in a delightful studio which my father had caused to be fitted with every appliance and comfort, although he kad no sympathy with my love of painting. “In the weery years that have passed since my father’s lavish gifts were so heaped upon ime, I have often realized how selfish I was to A MINISTERING ANGEL. beautiful and picturesque scenery, while he— — poor lonely man!—was left all alone in the solitude of Clifton Grange. He was gettin very frail and infirm; but the knowledge that had disappointed him so greatly always chilled me in spite of his affection, and my short so- journs at the Grange were always more or less painful to me. “You will understand, Thornleigh, that un- der the circumstances I did not care to be recog- nized, and on that account I traveled incognito, sin ply calling myself Arthur Clifton. “It was during one of my tours that I met with Edith Brownlow, a clergyman’s orphan, who, with two little pupils, was spending a few weeks at a farm-house on the banks of the beautiful Hudson, I need not tell you of the delightful time that followed. ‘““Three months later I married the lovel governess, and took a pretty little villa resi- dence within view of the Catskills, and there spent the only happy days of my married life. “*T told Edith, after our marriage, that my father was wealthy, but I did not enlighten her as to bis real position. She was so entirely happy that Il did not wish to trouble ber with fears concerning me. ‘Three times during the next half-vear I visited my father. Sometimes I felt strongly impelled to make a clean breast of it, and abide by the consequences, but the sight of my father getting gradually weaker deterred me. “Why shou'd be know that I bad, even in marrying, gone in direct opposition to his wishes? ““T took everv precaution to prevent the news from reaching him, and laid no end of plans to make it appear that I was, as usual, moving about from place to place. “My only excuse for the deception I prac- ticed was that I meant to spare my fatber. I had nothing to fear—io a pecuniary sense— from his anger, for even had he chosen to dis- own me, and to leave me none of bis vast wealth, Istill had an ample fortune bequeathed to me by my maternal grandfather, ‘*T tell you this, Thornleigh, because I value your esteem, and would not appear more cul- pable in your sight than Theater was; SO par- don the digression,” Having received an assurance of Thornleigh’s sympathy, Mr. Cleveland resumed: **Té was about three weeks after my last visit to my home that I learned that my father had become alarmingly ill. The fact was first couveyed to me through the medium of the daily papers. ¢ told Edith that I had had news of my father’s illness, and would hasten bome, She was in delicate health just then, or I should have been inclined to take her to New York, and leave her there while I proceeded home- ward, but I considered that she was unfit to travel, ‘She looked pale and anxious while I was reparing to depart, but tried to appear brave. told her that, as usual, she bad better not write to my father’s house, but in case of any* thing special, I desired, as usual, to be written to at u post-office some miles from Clifton leave howe for weeks at a time, in search of Grange,
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Ss wa A MINISTERING ANGEL. ‘Just then 1 had a 7 4 eee borror of my af- fairs being made public, ut as Edith cheerfully complied with my wishes [ went away without | much fear, “Three days after my arrival at my old home my poor father died, and I was unutter- rae thankful to be able to be with him at the ast, “T wrote a few hurried lines to my wife, tell- ing her that I should be compelled to remain away for another week, so as to atiend my father’s funeral. “There was no letter from Edith when I called at the little country post-office, so I went quietly about the arrangements for the sad ceremony; and the days went slowly and gloomily by. ‘““There was no opportunity for me to visit the post-office again until the day after the funeral, “* Judge, then, of my borror on finding a note from Ejvith’s doctor, urging me to return at once, as my wife was very dangerously ill. The letter bad arrived on the very next day to the one on which I had called at the office. I was nearly frantic. During the whole of that wretched journey I was fullof remorse. My father’s dying eyes seemed to haunt me and mock at my misery. I think I was almost in- sane when I reached the little mountain village where I bad left Edith.” Mr. audible, and his friend interposed here to induce him to pause, ‘““No;I prefer to tell all now,” he said, with an effort to control bimse!f. *T cannot remember all that followed. room, then her baby-girl, from whom [I turned in horror, knowing that her birth bad robbed me of my darling wife. They told me how, when she first became ill, she would not have | me summoned; I had sorrow enough, she said. | It was not until the last, when she knew she was dying, that she had given the address to the doctor, fh less than an bour she was dead. “Strange and grave fears came into the doc- tor’s mind then; but his wife, who had buried | her only child a few weeks before, took the poor new-born babe to ber home, Nothing remained to me of the beautiful wife I had left not a fort- | night before but a newly-made grave, and in her stead a puny, pale-faced infant. ‘*T was ill for many days. Then I left the child with the kind-hearted wife of the villnge I re- member somebody showed me Edith’s empty | Cleveland’s utterance was almost in- | doctor, and went back to the Grange, to make | arrangements for a long absence from home, 1 went to see my child before I left America, not so much because I had a desire to see her, as that something was of necessity obliged to be settled respecting ber. “T had no intention now of proclaiming my | «miserable story. Society gossip was always hateful to me; now more so thanever. Ifound that the child had ‘taken to’ the friend whom | chance had put in our way, and as the doctor was very poor, getting only a scanty livelihood for his kindly-administered services, for the | People among whom he practiced were poor, the offer I made to the kind-hearted couple to } | found to my cost. 13 ké@ep the child for a liberal allowance was glad- ly accepted. **T told the doctor, under promise of secrecy, that Clifton was not my surname—i was chris: tened Arthur Clifton, you know—and disclosed, to his amazement, my name and position. How faithfully he respected my wishes I afterward When, after ten years of wandering over greater part of the inhabited globe, I felt weary of foreign ways, and came back intending to claim my child and settle down at home, the greatest disappointment awaited me, “The good docter had been dead five years— thrown from his gig and killed instantly—and after three years of waiting, his widow had gone away to some place where she could keep ® boarding-house, “The rector to whom I applied was under the impression trat she bad gone to Brooklyn, or somewhere in that part of Long Island; but be was rather an eccentric character, and uot very much given t trouble his head about his parishioners. Hs remembered the widow and her little girl’ quite well, he said. They used to sit in the pew next the one where his sisters used to have ‘sittings’ before they were mar- ried and went away. That was all he could tell me, ; ‘‘T advertised for months in all the leading papers and visited town after town, taking Brooklyn as the starting point, but with no re- sult save continued failure. “Thornleigh, I cannot tell you how wretched I have been all these years. Abroad and at home my wife’s sweet face seems to haunt my dreams and urge me to find our child, I am perfectly sincere when [ tell you that | would willingly forfeit my inheritance to find my little daughter. “To-day, for the first time, I bave learned more of her history. I was looking at the brilliant crowd who were thronging the park, when suddenly a woman touched my arm. I | | looked at ber rather absently, but was roused | by ber query—‘I am not mistaken, I believe; you are Mr, Arthur Clifton? “Ina moment the truth dawned on me. ** ¢ And you are Mrs, Barton, Where is my child? I asked, eagerly. *** That, sir, I cannot tell; but will you walk this way, and I will tell you all I know,’ she added. And in spite of the numb feeling that seized me as she spoke, I noticed that she was pale and trembling. “As soon as she had moved away from the throng of loiterers, Mrs. Barton told me the sequel to what I bad learned on my return to New York, ten years ago, ‘On the death of her husband, she had been quite at a loss to know how to act. She had never sought to force her husband to betray Mr. Clifton’s confidence; and he had never given her any account‘of what had transpired in making arrangements with me. The only ref- erence he had ever made to my position was when he once spoke of the child’s education: ‘If her father does not claim her before she is old enough to go to school, she must be sent to one of the very highest class, The liberal settle-
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14 A MINISTERING ANGEL, ment Mr. Clifton made shall be spent to fit her for her future life, We sball never regret the step, [am sure.’ “That was all she knew; but it wag sufficient to belp her in deciding when, without a ino- ment’s warning, her husband was taken from her, ber adopted child should be sent to school; and in order to increase her means the widow moved, not to Brooklyn but to Astoria, where she had remained for several years. Then, when Elsie came home from school, her bealth seamed to fail, and Mrs. Barton removed to Newport. While there she met, fell in love with, and married the brother of one of her schoolfellows.. The strangest part of the busi- ness is that her husband turns out to be that fine young fellow whom the elder Geoffrey Els- mere disinherited two or three years ago for forming a mesalliance.” Royal Thornleigh stared rather vacantly. “T think I misunderstood you.” he said, ina poses tone. ‘‘Whom did Mr, Elsmere disin- erit?” ‘“Why, don’t you remember?—but perhaps you didn’t notice the newspaper accounts, and you must have been abroad. Young Geoffrey Elsmere—as fine a young fellow as any on this side of the ocean or the other either, for the matter of that—met with a pretty little music- teicher at Newport, fell desperately in love and married her, and was in consequence disin- herited. But what is the matter, Royal, my boy?” “If what you say is true—and I feel it is so— T have committed a most fatal blunder,” Royal Thornleigh said; “‘but let me hear the end of your story.” ‘‘There is little more to tell,” Mr, Cleveland said, witha sigh. ‘After the marriage, young Elsmere went bravely to work to keep his wife from extreme poverty. For some time all went on quietly, and the young wife—my Edith’s child—wrote cheerfully. Then her letters ceased, and Mrs, Barton’s had_ heen returned to her from the ‘Dead Letter O“fice,’ As soon as she could do so, the poor lady came to New York, and went to the factory where young Elsmere had obtained employment. The mystery was solved then; the firm bad failed, and the young couple would not apply to her in their need. But where were they gone? She had come into the Park withont any definite aim; and so, after twenty long years, I met with this link to the past. Now, Royal, what is your blunder about?” ““My dear Cleveland,” the young man re- turned, sadly, ‘‘lam reaping the folly now of my own stupidity and impetuosity. You know 1 went to Elsmere on Christmas Eve? Well, I went, intending to ask Maud Elsmere to be my wife, Just as | had told her of my regard for herself we were interrupted, and I did not get her reply. y ‘*PerhapsI am scarcely justified in saying that her matiner led me to suppose she would accept me. Yet such was my iu pression; and I intended to hear from her own lips, at my earliest opportunity, if I had been correct in my inference, , ‘*But before the Speostan ty came, I learned that tbe proud, beautiful Mi ss Elsmere had | made an appointment to meet some man secretly | at midnight, The knowledge, acquired from a scrap of paper signed ‘G. E.,’ drove me nearly mad. Under the circumstances, I felt justified in seeing if the meeting took place. It did so; and I, having no idea that Maud was not Mr, Elsmere’s only child, came away, after writing a few lines expressive of my gulorrekoe of her duplicity.” The young man paused, looking helplessly at his friend. The latter was not quite so de- pressed as the young lover. He got up and patted Royal Thornleigh on the shoulder. ‘* Do not be out of heart, old fellow!” be said cheerfuliy. ‘If the young lady loves you, she will be thankful to have the truth made clear, One thing is evident; she is cognizant of her brother’s movements.” ‘*'To be sure she is!” And the young lover tried to shake off his own gloomy fears, “I feel confident, my dear Cleveland, that your daughter will soon be restored to you.” And he grasped his friend's hand in token of his sympathy. ‘*T shall lose no time,” the other returned. “TI must see Miss Elsmere to-morrow, if pos- sible; she must know where my child is,” ‘There can be little doubt on the subj ct. How can you entertain any? ‘G. E.’ n ust mean ‘Geoffrey Elsmere.’ Had I not bee so hasty, perbaps [ might have arrived at that con- clusion before,” Thornleigh said, regretfully. “Well, don’t despair, my boy! When she knows bow you made such a very natural blun- der, she will forgive you.” ‘But she will think itan unnatural blunder, I fear. You don’t know how proud she is. Yet even you must have noticed her haughty manner.” ‘* Perhaps, as she seems to love ber brother, T mav see ber unbend from her frigid calm,” Mr. Cleveland returnod. His friend was silent. He was thinking of the time when Maud Elsmere’s face bad been bright and flusbed at his presence. How he longed to see it again! ‘I wish you success from the bottom of my heart, Cleveland. I should like to be able to see her when she hears the good news. How- ever, I will wait to see you before I go to Grantley’s. I shall be anxious to hear the news,” CHAPTER VI. BACK TO HIS OWN, “T HAVE contrived to get away from my aunt’s whirl of pleasure, you see, E}sie.” Mard Elsmere said, blithely, as she entered the she b- by little sitting-room where her sister in law sat sewing busily, while with one foot she kept her baby’s cradle in motion. ‘You are very good, dear, to leave such at- tractions,” Mrs. Elsmere said, as she rose and folded the delicate satin work she was embroi- deving, and for which she hoped to receive a couple of dollars after hours of patient work, ‘* Attractions! I am _ sick of them, if you mean the continual round of gayety! An hour spent here is worth a dozen elsewhere!” ‘Then I ought to be content,” Elsie said with asmile. ‘‘How I wish Geoffrey would come,
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A MINISTERING ANGEL. 18 S— ee He willl be ‘se disappointed if be does not see you, antl 'I fed] sure he will come home with the same stity of feilure.” And the young wife sighed sadly, ‘‘He is almost out of heart, Maud, I fear.” ; : “JT wish ‘there was no need for this hateful poverty!” . Miss Elsmere said, vehemently, ‘Wouldn't iit ‘be a relief if you could prove that Mrs. Bas‘ton’s idea respecting your birth was not a falsewne?” “jt ig of no use to think of it more, Maudie. I have gone over the story of my birth so often that I am almost weary of it.” “ Nevertheless, to please me, dear, you wil] - not mind referring to iit just this once,” Maud said, as sbe knelt by her sister’s side, and passed one arm around her waist. Did you not tell me that, although you were always called ‘Barton,’ you were maxcried in the name | by your father? vir. 244 Zine. His name was Clitton—Arthur (Clifton, But, Maudie, why do you ask? And Mrs. Elsmere looked searchingly into the beauti- ‘ful face that now wore its rare softened expres- sion. “1 fancy, Elsie—I hope I may not be wrong, but I think | have found out something that may help you to discover the truth. If so, that noc- turnal visit of Geoffrey’s to Elsmere bas been productive.of some good after all.” Mrs. Elsmere did not speak, Sbe clasped her hands on her lap,.and looked mutely at her companion. ‘*T will not keep you in suspense, dear, A gentleman has been recognized by Mrs. Barton asthe Mr, Arthur Clifton who left you in her care, He has searched for you for years, and at length fancied you must be dead. From what your adopted mother told him he learned that you had married my brother. -He is a wealthy man, Elsie, moving in good society, and told his story to Mr. Thornleigh, who then knew that it was my brother who met me secretly; so your father came to me with the story, and asked to know of your where- abouts.” ; But Elsie did not hear the last few words, and her husband, coming in a moment later, was alarmed tosee her lying ina fainting state, with her head on Maud’s shoulder. ‘Lift her to the couch, Geoffrey. There, that ‘is better! Do not be frightened, dear brother; she will soon be all right. It was joy that over- ‘came her, thank Heaven! Not sorrow this time, dear, dear Geoffrey. I believe all will be well ret.” a Brother. and sister were, in the mean time, ‘trying to restore the young wife to conscious- ness. Very soon they succeeded, but not before Mr. Elsmere had heard the news of ‘* Mr. Clif- ton’s” existence. Mr. Cleveland had enjoined Miss Elsmere not to speak of him by his real mame, so she simply said that his family was quite as old and wealthy as her own, and that r. Eismere’s pride would therefore be satis- fied. : ‘‘T hope, now, that papa will cancel all the new arrangements, and have you home again, Geoffrey. But if he does not, the old life of poverty will be ended. Elsie is ber father’s only child, and, the heiress to his great wealth.” And Maud turned away for a moment to lift her baby nephew from his tiny bed. “When will my father come? Elsie asked, when she Was sufficiently recovered to speak. ** As soon as you will see him. This evening, if he may.” “Ob, yes, Maudie; let him come! You do not know what thisis to me, dear. Think how many years I have waited for his coming!” “Tt know, Elsie, dear little sister. Rest as- sured that he will Jose no time when he knows that I have prepared you for his visit,” Soon afterward Miss Elsmere left the mean, unfashionable part of the metropolis, and drove rapidly to the more aristocratic locality where Mrs. Brentwood’s mansion stood. Before even- ing she had communicated with Mr, Cleveland, who was waiting impatiently for his daughter’s summons, ‘If you please, sir, a gentleman is asking to see Mr, and Mrs, Elsmere, His name is Clifton, May I show him up?” The inquiry was made by an untidy servant- maid, whose manner was somewhat more re- spectful in addressing ‘‘ the poor young people” who rented the poorest of her mistress’s rooms, than if was wont to be in general to their prede- cessors in those humble apartments. She fancied she could tell the look of people who were from the upper ranks; and if Mr. and Mrs. Elsmere were poor, they must have seen better days. Besides, sbe was sare that the young lady who had twice called on;them was a lady; and now a ‘‘real gentleman” was waiting to be received, Having gained Mr. Elsmere’s permission, the maid disappeared, and returned a moment later to throw the door open to admit the gentleman in question. Mrs. Elsmere was in the inner room; but Geoffrey went forward eagerly to welcome the new-comer. “You are Geoffrey E!smere?’ and the gen- tleman looked round the room, as if in expecta- tion of seeing Mr. Elsmere’s wife. ‘ I remem- ber vou well,” ‘*Pardon me,” Mr. Elsmere said, “ there is some mistake. I was expecting to se>a Mr. Clifton, I see now that I misunderstood the servant’s message. I have the honor of address- ing the Hon. Mr. Cleveland, I believe?’ * You are quite right; there is no mistake,” Mr. Cleveland returned, as be warmly grasped Geoffrey’s hand, ** excepting in the supposition that I am not Mr. Arthur Clifton, <A glance at my card will show you that my name is Arthur Clifton Cleveland.” At this moment Elsie returned, Her lovely face was pale, and fear of some kind made ber look ill. “Geoffrey, did I hear you say it wasalla mistake?” she asked fearfully, going to her bus- band’s side. But her father took her in bis arms. «There is no doubting that you are my Edith’s child,” he said, hoarsely. ‘* Even the look of fear that was on my poor wife’s face when I left her bas been transmitted to you, is not permanent, my cbild.” _ : It did not take long to convince him that he need have no fears on !bat head. Elsie Elsmere’s radiant loveliness had no tinge of fear or sor- row as she welcomed ber father, And his heart 1 hope it
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seemed filled to overflowing as again and again he shook his son-in-law’s hand, and then turned again to look at Elsie and her boy. “You have been proud of his name, Miss Elsmere told me,” he said, smilingly, with a nod toward his grandson; ‘‘ but you may be rouder yet, for he is heir to all my possessions, Isie. Did you think of that?’ ‘* No, dear father; and I do not wish to think of him as he may be some day, but as he is now, son of the best busband, and grandson of the dearest father in Christendom.” CHAPTER VIL. “DOWN THE SHADOWY LANE SHE GOES.” HERBERT HILTON’s recovery—or, rather, his acquisition of strength—seemed somewhat tardy; but at the beginning of March he be- gan to think seriously of returning to his military duties. He should be more like- ly to regain something of his old healthy tone when he had to go through the rou- tine of the duties of his office, he told himself; and much as his mother and sister wished to keep him with them, they were wise enough to yield to his wishes, and consider him sensible in urging his doctor to pronounce him fully restored to health. He had only three days to remain at home when an event happened that changed the whole course of his life—namely, the accidental drowning of John Hilton and his son; the latter amteprore. | in a noble attempt to rescue his father, who had gone out boating on the pretty little bay that could be seen from the windows of the fine old mansion where the Hiltons head lived for two or three generations and, with a friend who was spending a few days at his house, rowed out of the shelter of the harbor and got upset, fYoung Hilton, who had been watching the course of his father’s small craft for some time, put out in the only available vessel at hand—a poor, rickety pleasure-boat, that had long been abandoned as unseaworthy. He contrived to row across the smooth water of the harbor, but when the open sea was reached, his frail boat soon filled with water; and some lads, who had by this time become aware of what was going on, soon looked in vain for the brave youn fellow who, as they supposed, had expected, i his own boat failed, to be able to reach the one in which his father had gone out. Three bodies were washed ashore the same evening, wry the loud wailings of the villa- gers, who had for hours been using every effort to rescue the unfortunate men. ‘In young Hilton the poor had lost a friend; and though his father was no favorite, bis death had come so suddenly that his virtues were for once more thought of than his faults. The only other immediate relatives of John Hilton were his nephew and niece, Florence and Herbert Hilton, and in default of any pee disposition of the property it all went to em, Everybody had seen Herbert Hilton when, a year before, young Hilton had induced his father to invite him over for a few weeks; and 16 A MINISTERING ANGEL. although Jordan. the family lawyer, had no knowledge as to Herbert’s address, there was no difficulty in communicating with the young gentleman at official quarters. Herbert Hilton’s feelings were a mixture of sorrowful regret for the loss of life that had brought bim a fortune and thankfulness that he had not received it previous to his rejection by Lucy Millington. He was too sincere in his regard for his cousin to have any feelings of gratification, and fora time he felt that the position he was so suddenly called to occupy was an irksome one. That was owing, in a great measure, to the poor state of his health. Under the circumstances, it was incumbent on him to proceed to the house of mourning, where he remained until the remains of the un- fortunate men were interred. Much would have to be done before the new owners could settle down in their new home. Arrangements had to be made for resigning his commission, so, for a few weeks, Herbert considered it advisable to remain quietly at his mother’s unpretending dwelling. The widow was so attached to her old home that she had no wish to leave it, excepting on her son’s and daughter’s account. ‘**T should infinitely prefer to remain here if, after a time, you take to yourself a wife, my dear,” she said, a few days after the news had come of the sad catastrophe. Herbert was silent for awhile, and when he spoke again it was on another subject. Soon afterward he had an opportunity of speaking privately to Florence, ‘*You heard what my mother said about my marriage, Florrie? I want your advice, dear. How fortunate I was in getting through that wretched business at Elsmere before I heard this news!” ‘** T expect that the money-loving young lady will not feel quite so thankful,” Florence said, witha laugh. ‘ I cannot think bow she could have been so insane,” the girl went on with a loving look at her brother. ‘“ It seems to me that any girl might deem herself fortunate in winning your love, Herbert.” And certainly there wassome excuse for Miss Hilton’s admiration of her brother, whose affec- tion for her, and tenderness for bis invalid mother, proved that his character well accord- ed with his handsome a 5 > pega ‘*- You are almost as bad as my mother, I de- clare!” he rejoined, with asmile, ‘It is quite time for you to see more of your fellow-mortals, Florrie. It is only by comparison with others that we find our own level. But, dear sister, I want to tell you of what isin my heart, I will not act on impulse this time, but I have seen one who, if I could only win her, has all the qualities that I should wish for in my wife; but, Florrie, this time I have had no encour- agement.” **Are you thinking of Eva Walsingham?’ Florence asked, eagerly. ‘‘ Oh, Herbert! if it could be! I have been hoping so much that you might learn to love her.” ‘But, Florence, that is not the question now. I am getting impatient to know if she could »
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A MINISTERING ANGRI. i? love me, was less cordial at the end of my stay at The Willows than it was on the first evening of our acquaintance,” , “* Might not the change arise from the knowl- edge she must have possessed of your infatua- tion for Miss Millington?’ Florence sug- gested. J “Which presupposes, Florrie, that she would be influenced from some preference for myself, does it not? But I have no such hope.” His sister hesitated between her desire to en- courage her brother and her wish to act honor- able by Eva. ‘* Would it not be as well to settle the sus- pense at once by going to Eva with a straight- forward question?’ she said. ‘‘I would not counsel you thus, Herbert, but I know that Eva is worthy of your love, and that mamma would like to feel that you are comfortably and happily settled.” “]T have suffered so for my temerity once that I am naturally diffident now,” Herbert said, with a nervous laugh. ‘‘ One obstacle has been removed—my lack of wealth,” he went on gravely, ‘so perhaps I ought to feel encour- aged, But, Florence, she is so incomparably my superior in every respect that—” | *«That you will be doing us all a kindness by bringing such a treasure into our home,” his sister interrupted. ‘‘ Do be sensible, Herbert, and remember that it is due to Eva that she should have an opportunity of accepting your love.” “Then I will go, Florrie. My mother need not know anything of this until Ireturn. She will naturally suppose I bave plenty of business on hand just now, and I should not like her to rice that I am suffering any disappointment if ail.” “Very well, Herbert; but remember there is tobe no talk of failure. You know what an old wiseacre I am; and I prophesy your tri- umphant return.” “Tam going into the Janes to find some wild- flowers and violets; I am sure that papa will be lad to see evidences of his return to country ife after three weeks’ stay in town, What do ou say, mamma?’ “T think that you are right, as usual, my dear. How thankful I shall be to see your papa at home again! It seems to me that we are uite cut off from the world during his absence. nly look at that great pile of newspapers, all unopened!” T fancted once— But no! her manner | i | “Well, mamma, it will beso much nicer to | listen to papa’s gossip if we are in ignorance; and he will be the more gratified in relating what he considers worthy of note! TI shall not be very long, mamma.” And Eva Walsingham took a fancy basket from a stand in the ball, and went quickly out in quest of the pretty n ssoms. ' Pte wen not long in filling her basket with bunches of dark purple violets, clusters of pale -uemone, and sprays of the beautiful green Seaves, together with delicate ‘lady ferns;? for wild-flowers and pretty grasses and ferns win rich profusion along the banks that erirted the well-sheltered lanes. So Eva’s task was soon completed, and she sat down for a moment to see that her treasures were securely placed, when a gentleman came in sight round a bend in the lane only a few yards distant, For a moment she did not re- cognizs him, for he was attired in black; but suddenly the bright color that dyed her face and neck proved that she knew and felt inter- ested in him, She rose hurriedly, and extended her hand. “Tam glad to see you able to walk so well,” she said, with a determination to be calm. “But, I fear, Mr. Hilton, you are not strong yet. Have you lost—is all well at home?’ with a glance at his dress. “Yes, thank you;” and Herbert’s face began to resume its ordinary hue, for. something in Eva’s manner led him to hope that she was not so indifferent ashe had feared. ‘ I have lost some relatives—father and son—by accidental drowning.” “Tam very sorry.” Eva’ said, simply, ‘‘ ‘Were you on very intimate terms?’ “Yes, with the son—my cousin—cspecially; and his death has cast a cloud over my poor mother. But let us forget thatbnow. Do you know that [ have come here on purpose to see you?” ‘*And papa has not returned from the city yet,” Eva said, misunderstanding the young man’s use of the pronoun; ‘‘but we expect him this evening.” “Then he will be in time to answer the ques- tion I hope to refer to him—that is, with your permission, Eva.” S It was the first time he had ever so addressed er. She gave one quick, hurried, questioning glance into the face she had loved so hopelessly, and the reaction of feeling was so intense that tears shone for a moment in her beautiful eyes, ‘* May I hope, Eva dear? Can you forgive the stupidity which was enchanted by the glit- ter of a false gem, instead of by the purity of the real one? Tell me, dearest, that the cold- ness you have shown me bas not arisen from dislike. Can you promise to love me just a lit- tle, dear? The love I bear you is so deep and earnest, that I think it must gain a response from you in time.” The fair face was bent over the beautiful flowers, and Eva listened to her lover’s words without interruption; then she lifted her eyes, in which unshes tears glistened, and inquired: ‘** Are you quite sure that you are not mis- iaken? Can a man levetwice? And was not your first, best love given to Miss Millington before?” Herbert’s face became pale and anxious. “I thought so then, becuse I believed that the girl possessed the qualities which I most ad- mire in women, and without which it would be impossible for me to give my love. When I found that the pretty exterior covered a cold, calculating heart, all charm was gone, The disappointment was keen, but I needed the les- son to teach me how to discern between true and false metal.” ‘*But,” Eva said, shyly, ‘*may you not be again mistaken? You cannot read what is in my heart.”
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“way of the world. 18 A MINISTERING ANGEL. “Tf I could only read that there is hope for me,” Herbert said, ‘I should be content. Have you just a little love for me, my darling?” And emboldened by her blushes, he drew her head upon bis shoulder, ‘‘Not a little,” she said‘gently. ‘* The whole love of my heart is yours, Herbert. I thougst the anguish of those sad weeks would have killed me; but worst of all was the shameful reflection that I had given you my love un- asked.” “Thank Heaven yott did so, darling! But for that it would not be mine now. Remember, Eva, my love, that the true love which knits our hearts together is heaven-born. You could not control the feelings of your heart, dear, al- though you so skillfully managed to make me feel that I was nothing to you. I longed to speak of my love in those days of returning health, but your manner repelled me.” ‘*T am thankful that it did so, dear Herbert, Ishould hate myself had I been unwomanly enough to betray what I felt, until you had yourself spoken,” The time passed quickly by, and still the lovers lingered. “We really must be sensible, Herbert!” Eva said, laughingly, when an hour had passed in happy forgetfulness of all save themselves, “Mamma will be imagining all sorts of horrors in connection with me; and besides, I want to arrange papa’s favorite flowers before his re- turn.” So Herbert was obliged to acquiesce, and, ten minutes later, the lovers entered the grounds that belonged to The Willows, Mrs. Walsingham welcomed Herbert politely ; but he could not help feeling that there was a lack of cordiality in her manner, as she glanced uneasily from her daughter’s beautiful sby face to Herbert’s calmly serene one. She mentally hoped that “that penniless, handsome young officer ” would not come too often in contact with her lovely and wealthy daughter. Bnt the worthy lady’s prejudice vanished an hour later, with her busband’s first words, **Halloo, Herbert! Or, Mr. Hilton, I suppose IT should say! How delighted I am to have this opportunity of congratulating you! <A sad business, that boating disaster. Butsuch is the ‘'Phe king is dead; God save the king! you know.” Eva looked as astounded as her mother; but it was the latter who spoke, “T declare, Mr. Hilton, you are too bad. Why did you not say that the loss of your rela- tions had altered your position?” “T feel their loss—my cousin’s especially—too greatly to allow me to rejoice as 1 otherwise should at my good fortune,” Herbert said, ravely. ‘But, madam, and you, my dear sir, T anon like to say now what I wish to tell you. I have been kept bitherto from asking you to give me your daughter’s band, because I feared to ask her to give herself to a poor man; but now that difficuity is removed—and sir, we love each other dearly—will you give her to me?” ““Eh?—what? My little Eva? Bless my soul!” the old gentleman said, in amazement, while bis daughter put her arms round his neck. = ae “So you are agreed!” he went on witt aiaugn, by which to cover the misty look of his ey cs and suspicious quivering of his lips. ‘* Well, then, it?s useless to say nay, I suppose! Take her, Hilton. I have a good opinion of you, or I would not hand her over to you, in spite of her wish to run away from ber old father.” All hearts were full; butit was a happy fam- ily circle that slept under the roof of The Wil- lows that night, CHAPTER VIII. SACRIFICED THROUGH PRIDE. IT was not often that Mr, Elsmere went to the theater, but be had always expressed a wish to see Booth as Hamlet, to be able to compare that great actor’s merits with those of Forrest in the same character. Thus it came to pass for once during his visit to New York he found himself again sitting ‘‘ before the curtain,” with a curious sense of having gone back to the old days, when with his beautiful bride he had frequented similar places, and had been a great lover of the drama. _ But the lovely girl by his side was very un- like bis companion of days gone by. He closed his eves for a moment, and pictured that long- lost face. How he remembered it as it bent in loving tenderness over her baby-boy! But that was long, long ago—she was gone. And her darling boy—where was he?” Mr. Elsmere opened bis eyes. There was quite a little stir in the box opposite, caused by the entrance of some distinguished party. Ah! the gentleman was the Honorable Arthur Cleveland; but who could that lovely girl be on whom all eyes were fixed? Mr. Cleveland was paying her great attention; but he could not be thinking of ‘‘ making love to her, sure- ly.”? Certainly not; at any rate, his chance of success would be small, for another and youn- ger gentleman was bending over her, saying something in a low voice, and ber glorious eyes were raised to bis with an expression in them that eyes only take when looking at the face dearest to them, Suddenly the younger gentleman lifted big: head and in that moment Mr. Elsmere recog- nized bis wife’s darling boy. The play was; commencing, but Mr. Elsmere could not think: of that. ‘* Papa, Maud’s voice said softly. out?” “Did you speak, my dear? Take you cut? Yes, dear. I thought it was cold.” : Maud saw with concern how white he had: /?- come. ‘*Let us go home, child; I—1 am?) and faint.” Jans The carriage would not be in attendant@) He was dazed and stupefied. some time; but several gentlemen were anxfdus. “ to be of service, soa back was ealled,.and Mr, * with his rs, Brent- Elsmere was soon left in compan daughter, to go quietly home to woed’s mansion. ‘“What does it mean, Maude?’ ber father asked, as the gentlemen returned to their seats in the theater, ‘“*It means, dear was quite correct fancying he well- Ane pa, that Geoffrey’s wife. dear, this heat is overpowering,” © “Will you take me % ti
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born, She hes lately been restored to her fa- ther, the Hon. Mr. Clevelend, whose heiress she is, and who is proud of bis lovely daughter and her noble-bearted husband. The baby, too, vf isa perfect treasure to its grandfather.” Mr. Elsmere started stightly when the child yas mentioned. “Is ita boy?’ he asked, with eyes fixed on the carriage window. ‘Yes, papa. He is calle’ Gecffrey, and is very like that pictureof mamma, You know, papa?” There was no answer, “Maud nestled closer to bis side. She feared to speak; yet, perbaps, she would never beve é so good an opportunity. Her voice was tremu- _ lous when she commenced, *‘ Papa, dear, won’t ™ ou forgive him now—poor Geoffrey, of whom mamma was so fond? You see, papa, he did not marry beneath him, after all; and his in- stincts were not at fault in recognizirg true gold, for Elsie isa thorough lady in all respects, You could judge for yourself, papa, this even- ing.” She waited patiently for a reply. ome minutes Lefore it came, “The feult is none the iess grievous because circumstances bave made the penalty less severe, I admit that it is wore gratifying to know that Geoffrey Elsmere’s wife is a lady than a poor ignorant music-tescber; but that my—that he married without knowing whom he married, end without eny regard for my feelings on the subject, is si flicient to prove bim unworthy of 6 my consideration,” ‘‘ But, papa—” Miss Elsmere began. “That wiildo, Maud. Here we are at home. T do not choose to discuss the matter further.” And Mr, Elsmere set bis teeth firmly together under cover of his heavy mustache. So the bope of reconciliation which had been so strengthened by her father’s emotion died ut of Miss Elsmere’s heart, and she went to * er room sadly dispirited, longing earnestly : thatshe might soon return to the seclusion of Elsmere, instead of daily mixing with the bright, gay world, where everything was so little in unison with her weary, disappointed ‘heart. It was Mr. Cleveland gave a grand ball in honor of . daughter’s installment as mistress of his es- ablishment, Geoffrey Elsmere was not quite comfortable n accepting the home tbat had so suddenly ened to receive Lim; but bis father-in-law » not be content to let his daughter go. nor you for this, as for every other mo- , © bas actuated youin your relationsbip # e,” the other said; ‘* but you must bear we, Geoffrey, if I am anxious to retain my ciilu now I have found ber. Think how J have lived all alone all these years!” And Mr. Elsmere could not find the courage necessary to refuse so earnest a request. “You must try to find me some appoint: t,” he stipulated; ““I cannot live a life of idle dependence.” And Mr. Cleveland was well content to usé¢ his influence to find a Government post for bis son-in-law, ea “ A MINISTERING ANGEL. 19 So Elsie became the acknowledged mistress o her father’s bouse, and a ball was to be given for the beautiful young heiress to issue invita- tions to those members of society who had al- ready received her with open arms, Mr. Elsmere made no objection when Maud mentioned to him that Mrs. Brentwood was de- sirous that she should accompany her to jMr. Cleveland’s, And Maud was anxious to be near her sister- in-law: for report bad said that the two girls had always been on good terms, and Maud hoped that her presence would tend to turn the popular notion concerning ber father’s impluc i- bility. hee enjoyment of Geoffrey’s society was tlhe chief attraction of the evening, and many of the gentlemen who bad seen Miss Elsmere’s cold demeanor at several preceding balls were astonished at her sweetness on that evening, when, for the first time, she was meeting her brother openly. Had not Royal Thornleigh appeared on the scene, she might have, for a time, forgotten ber own troubles. He was late in arriving, and Maud was not aware of his presence for some time. Then the smiles left her face again, and she forgot to be gracious. The time was very weary .after that, until Geoffrey contrived to take her away quietly into a cosey little room. ‘* Elsie says you looked tired, dear, and so I am to smuggle you off to a quiet nook.” And Maud was glad of the soft light in the deserted little room. Her brother left her to fetch her a glass of wine, and she sunk wearily into a chair, ‘“*You are very thoughtful, dear Geoffrey,” she said, without looking up, when a moment later, she heard steps crossing to her side. “1 have over-tired myself lately, and this disap- pointment about papa—” ‘**Mand, dearest, it is not Geoffrey. Will you not welcome me instead of him, and let my foolish mistake be forgotten?” ** ‘You are making a mistake now, Mr. Thorn- leigh,” she said, coldly, as she rose to her feet, ‘‘Tam Miss Elsmere, andam not aware of any circumstance that can by any means be con- verted into an excuse for the manner in which you have presumed to address me. You will therefore have the goodness—” ** And for one foolish blunder—a blunder that I might have had the sense to avoid—are we to be made miserable?” he asked, in tones of deep- est agony. ‘*Really, my dear sir,’—and she laughed coolly—‘tI imagine you have been preparing some tragic rehearsal! By what ingenious course ot Dep rery | have you contrived to as- sure yourself that [am to be made miserabl-? My presence here to-night is a proof that I am nearer happiness than [I have been for years; so, pray, be under no apprehension on my ag- count.” “You persist in misunderstanding me,” Royal Thornleigh said, sadly. ‘‘You know that Lrefer to the note that I wrote to you con- cerning your meeting with your brother.” =~ “In which I believe you ms ee your dis- approval of my conduct? ut still you are
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2) blundering. [simply regarded your censure as an uowarrantable piece of presumption. And, now, all that need be said bas been said, I be- lieve, and I should feel obliged if you would kindly leave me before my brother returns.” ‘* But, Maud, I must say it,if I die!” he ex- claimed, passionately. **You must have known when you read that note that I did not know your brother had been the one to come—” ‘Silence, Mr. Thornleigh! Have you the audacity to tell me to my face that I met a—a— Good heavens! And you ask me to pardon an insult so outrageous!” “How was I to dream of the existence of your brother? Do be reasonable, Miss Elsmere, and listen to what I wish to say.” ‘Pardon me, there is no need for more— Ah, Geoffrey; how long you have been!” **That comes of being the hero of a romantic love-story!” hesaid, with alaugh. ‘‘ Mr. Cleve- land is asking for you, Thornleigh,” he added, without appearing to notice that young man’s haggard face. aud took the wine from Geoffrey’s hand, and drank it eagerly. *“Couldn’t you contrive to send me home without making a commotion? I am over-tired, Geoffrey, and shall be thankful to get away.” * Allright, dear; but how about Aunt Brent- wood?” “Do not let her know at present that I have gone, and tell her to say as little as she can about it. I wanted toshow up here to-night for all our sakes, and now I have done all that is needful,” ‘Maudie, dear sister, forgive me! Isn’t there more behind? Don’t let a myth spoil your life, dear sister;” and he litted her tace and kissed her tenderly. “‘ My life will not be spoiled if papa will only welcome Baby Geoffrey to Elsmere,” she an- swered lightly. ‘ Now see about the carriage, there’s a dear fellow.” , Ten minutes later she was whirling home- ward; and amid the rumble of wheels came her brother’s entreaty, now seeming like a warning, “Don’t let a myth spoil your life.” CHAPTER IX. A MIND DISEASED. Tue Elsmere church bel's were ringing gayly, and many groups of people in holiday attire, were talking of the wedding that bad just taken lace; for, on this warm September day, Eva alsingham had become Mrs. Hilton, The wedding had been talked of for weeks, and the country people had been quite excited at the preparations. ‘ ow that the ceremony is over, they form in little knots to discuss the event. “No one, not even the bride herself, looked lovelier than our young lady,” one of the Els- mere neighbors remarked; ‘‘ but it’s my opinion she’s too lovely to remain here much longer. wish somebody would give a hint. It seems to me folks never see what is going on under their very eyes, and Mr, Elsmere doesn’t seem to notice that anything is wrong.” A MINISTERING ANGEL. It was quite true. Maud Elsmere wasgreathy changed, and yet her father seemed perfect! unconscious of the fact. She and Florencé Hil: ton bad formed one of the three couples at Eva’s wedding, and her father bad noticed with pride her delicate loveliness, shown to advantage by the creamy satin dress she wore. It was cer- tainly a tired-looking face that looked smilingly into his when the last slipper bad been hurled after the carriage that carried the bridal pair away. * Do you feel om to the evening party Maud, my child? You are looking very tired, he said, as she leaned on his arm. “If Mrs. Walsingham would excuse me, I should like to go home,” she replied, wistfully. ‘But I fear she will feel hurt.” To Mr. Elsmere’s surprise, when the pro- posal was made a few minutes later, the lady remarked: ‘*Poor dear! I was afraid it would be too much for her. Certainly we will excuse her, although we will miss her lovely face,” ‘** And they are getting more scarce now,” he replied with a smile, remembering how the young bride had been present at every ball in the neighborhood since his return to it, ‘But, my dear madam, why do you speak so seriously about Maud? She does not strike you as looking ill, does she?” ‘““T have fancied that she has looked delicate since your stay in town. I suppose she was over-fatigued during the season. But | expect- ed that a few weeks at home would set her up again, Does she ever complain?” ‘No; but now I think seriously of the mat- ter, she has not been so ready for active amuse- ments lately, and she really does look tired out to-day,” Mr. Elsmere said, an expression of anxiety deepening on his face. ‘* Perhaps the beat has been too much,” Mrs, Walsingham remarked; for although that lady had wondered at his obtuseness concerning Miss Elsmere’s evident weakness, she was inclined to gloss the matter over now that his perceptions were awakened. ‘* But the heat did not affect her so last year; and she used to be equal to a little pleasant ex- citement,” Mr. Elsmere exclaimed. “I am convinced that there is something wrong, and I will have advice at once.” Very tenderly the anxious father hovered around his darling for the rest of the dav. She, laughing, tried to dissuade him from his pur- pose of sending for a doctor. ‘ ‘He will tell you I am giving way to idle- ness,” she said, nervously, for in reality she dreaded the ordeal of po him, in pain, dear papa; and very probably Doctor Wilson will think we are making a fuss about nothing.” “T hope he may, my dear. Anyway, I am quite determined that he shall see you to-mor- row, By the morrow Maud had worked herself into a fever of excitement. The efforts she made to appear cheerful and natura) bad the opposite effect; and when Doctor Wilson ar- rived, her face was flushed and her hands burn, ns, “T am not. .
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?~ A MINISTERING ANGEL. 21 “You are too warm in this close room, are **Trouble! What trouble cculd I have, papa? you not?” the keen-eyed little man asked, know- | Do not imagine that Iam unhappy.” ing that she was not really so. _ 2 ¢ And ber father saw tbat bis attempts to win ‘On the contrary, I am feeling quite chilled. | her confidence were doing ber harm; but, in bis I was wondering if the weather had grown | own mind, there was a lurking suspicion the colder since yesterday,” Maud returned, as she | doctor was right. moved her hand restlessly on the back of her That evening the beautiful girl grew worse, tuvorite dog. and when the morrow dawned over the earth, The doctor was in no burry to leave the Hall. | and the sun lit the quivering dewdrops with Mv. Elsmere and be were on good terms, and he | wondrous tints, no one at the Hall gave thought j retended to be remaining for a friendly chat, | to the beauteous outer world, for all hearts when, in reality, he wanted to notice his patient. | were anxious for the young mistress, into whose He was a shrewd man; and having learned from | eyes came no brigbtness with the glad, warm ber father that Maud’s depression bad com- | sunshine. menced about the time of her stay in New York, Her father, although outwardly calm, suf- he fancied that perbaps the sudden return of | fered most acutely. Could it be possible that, Geoffrey Elsmere into society had something to | after all, Heaven would not suffer his daugh- do with ber low spirits. ter to inberit what should have been given to Might she not fear that her father would be | his son? The doubt would come so etimes; i: fluenced to recall his son, who had become so | and when the anxious father sat beside his suf- yreat a favorite with society, and so make an | fering child, his heart was very heavy. But ulteration in ber position at Elsmere? That | he could not forgive Geoffrey even then. Had was the only solution he could find to the ciffi- | not Geoffrey deserved his just anger? Was he culty, unless there was some unfortunate love- | not the cherished object of bis tather’s pride »ffair; and how could the beautiful heiress of | and his mother’s love? Elsmere be unfortunate in that respect? The proud heart faltered for a moment then; Mr. Elsmere walked out a little way with the | but it was not until + ‘ew days later, when a ductor when the interview with Miss Elsmere | sense of his own unwortniness and insignifi- was over, cance came to him, that the haughty head was “There is something on her mind, Mr. Els- | bowed by the side of that fearfullv deathlike mere, and unless some means can be found to | face. That same evening Geoffrey Elsmere re _jelieve ber distress, 1 cannot do much for her, | ceived a telegram from his father. It said sim- She bas a good constitution, but it bas or ply: great havoc from some mental strain. I do not PY F «ish to pry into ber private business, but I am Come home, my son; Maud is very ill.” under the impression that trouble of some kind But the words ‘‘my son” spoke volumes to . is at the root of the mischief. Can yousee any | the heart that had so longed for his father’s for- way out of the difficulty, Mr. Elsmere?” And giveness; and it was with mingled feelings of Doctor Wilson looked earnestly at his com- | trouble and thankfulness that Geoffrey sought panion’s anxious face. his wife. “T fear not,” was the answer. “I do not | “TJ have had rather bad news of Maudie, my know of any trouble that could so affect ber.” | darling,” he said. ‘She is ill, and I am going But even as he spoke the thought of her grief at | to see her.” the persistent refusal to be reconciled to bis son “To Elsmere, Geoffrey?’ Lady Elsie ex- came into the father’s mind. clai med, in surprise, ‘¢Then I very much fear she wil] haye a hard “Yes, dear. See bere.” And her husband time of it. I don’t like the feverishness. I will | produced the telegram. send some mixture at once; and I had better “Poor Maudie! I believe she has been trou- :un in again this evening.” bling about that wretched mistake of Mr, ‘Do so; and, Wilson—she ismy only daugh- |\Thornleigh’s. Do you think he cares for her, ter—if you see any danger, let me know at | Geoffrey?” once.” “Tam sure of it. Let him know how she is, “You may rely on me; and if, as I fear, she | my love.” is worse to morrow, I should feel relieved if you |] will, dear,” Elsie said, as she looked again would call in other aid,” the doctor remarked, | at the telegram. ‘ Why, Geoffrey, surely your anticipating Mr. Elsmere’s wish on the subject. | father never sent that message! Do’ you see ** Not,” be added, “that any one can do more | how he addresses you?” for her than I, who know her constitution so “Yes, my darling; and but for the thought well, but we sball feel that—in fact, it will be | of poor Maud, I should feel nothing but thank- greater satisfaction to us all.” fulness.” Maud was very restless during theday. Her} ‘What can have brought about such a father spoke of their visit to Mrs, Brentwood, | change?’ Elsie murmured. ‘Can it be that with the express pulpose of eliciting some re- | trouble about Maud has softened his heart?” mark that would throw light on the doctor’s| Perhapsso, dear. I have ordered Grayson suggestion. But he was unsuccessful, and was | to pack a few things together, for 1 want to at length driven to ask, Is anything troubling | set out at once. I shall beable to reach Elsmere you, my ebild? If there is any care or sorrow, | this evening if I can catch the express. Where of which I am ignorant, will not my darling let | js the child, Elsie?” me do something to remove it?” Five minutes later Geoffrey Elsmere had The fever burned trighier in her cheeks, and | taken a hurried leave of his wife and )ittle son, ber laugh sounded unnatural as she replied; and for the second time since his yen = c - set out on his journey to the home of his
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22 hood. His anxiety for Maud did not prevent bim from contrasting this with his former jour- ney. Then he had left his delicate young wife and son alone but for the occasional visits of the little servant-maid; now they were surrounded by attendants who would obey their slightest wish. Then he stole into his father’s grounds in the dead of night; now he was going openly at that father’s earnest wish, The train seemed to go very slowly, and yet it was not behind time when it drew upin front of the old familiar station. A servant in the Elsmere livery stood on the platform. Mr. Elsmere recognized him at once as one of those who had been in his family’s service in his mother’s lifetime. The man touched his hat respectfuily, while tears glistened in his eyes. “Tm right glad to sea you again, Master Geoffrey, though it is a sad house you’re coming to,” he said, brokenly. ‘‘Our young lady will be better for knowing you are at home, sir; that is, when she comes to her sensts again.” ‘*Then she is delirious? What ails her? I only had a telegram,” Mr. Elsmere said, quickly. ** Itis a sort of fever, sir, The doctor says it isn’t infectious, though; but it has weakened her terribly, poor young lady, and she had been delicate before. She has never seemed very well since the New Year came in—least ways, so I’ve fancied, and I’ve not been alone in my opinion; but her visit to New York made the most, noticeable alteration in her, only Mr. Els- mere didn’t seem to see it.” *“ What do the doctors say?” “They don’t know what has brought on the illness, I think, sir; and they cannot tell how it will end till she gets the turn.” By this time Geoffrey Elsmere had entered the carriage which his father had sent in expec- tation of his son’s arrival. ‘** His affection for Maud will bring him, even though he may heave ceased to feel anything for me,” his father thought. Doctor Wilson was somewhat troubled when he learned that Mr. Geoffrey Elsmere had been sent for. “Do you think the sight of her brother will be beneficial?’ he asked, when Mr, Elsmere spoke of his son’s probable visit. ¢ ‘*T do,” Mr. Elsmere returned. ‘She always regarded him with deep affection, and the one point on which we have ever disagreed has veen that of banishing him. Only a few weeks ago she urged me to be reconciled to him. I wish her to see, if she is mercifully restored to consciousness, that I have yielded at last.” “‘T thank you for your confidence, sir,” the doctor said, gravely; ‘‘and I believe you have acted wisely. Anything that will tend to soothe our patient will be of advantage.” Mr. Elsmere did not leave his daughter’s room until he heard wheels on the drive out: side. Then he went out, ard stood bareheaded on the broad steps. In a moment his son was grasping bis hand, ‘“*l am here, dear father,” he said. ‘‘ You will now forget my youthful willfulness, and let nie help to share your trouble?” be said, softly. A MINISTERING ANGEL. **And my boy must forget his father’s | ness,” was thereply. ‘‘1 have been a long . learning the lesson, Geoffrey. Perbaps sorrow was needed to show me the utter us ness of setting up ourselves against all thé tates of mercy. You must be prepared to 4) great change in our poor child; her fal altered so from its cold, proud beauty, ané hair has been cut, off.” w But Geoffrey Elsmere was not prepara 4} the awful cbange that had come over the It face—the face which had no coldness for but had been the link between him and hi y life. For some moments he could not § Then it was to the doctor. le “Ts it possible she can live?’ he asked} there was no mistaking the anguish that expressed in his look. it ‘It is not impossible. She is sleeping né expect she will be conscious when she wa And before long the beautiful eyes opened, and’ the light of reason shone again. “Ts that you, Geoffrey? Then it is 1 dream! I thought that papa aad you wel ting by my bed. But where is papa?” “Tam here, my darling.” And the father’s eyes were dim as he too) wasted hard, ‘‘Has Elsie come, and Baby Geoffrey? asked, : ‘*Not yet, dear; but she will be here s! Geoffrey said, as he smiled across at his fa ‘*And now, Maudie, love, you must rest, ¢ sball all get into trouble for letting you tal ‘* The greatest danger is over now,” thed said, an hour later; ‘‘but you must insi absolute quiet, sir, or I will not be respon Doctor Hamlin will be here again to-mori ° he added, as he took his leave, Doctor Hamlin was the second member ¢ faculty who had been called in, He wasa of high standing and repute; and he bad asi Mr. E'smere that Doctor Wilson had alf hi acted just as he should have advised, 1 As Maud had asked for Elsie and the ¢ Mr. Elsmere desired his son to send for thé th m 23 So pl to he ut ac dy hr once. th ‘*I do not care to spare you now,” he 2 “ £17 Wick 9%) Ww But how wi!! Elsie travel? a ‘‘Mr. Cleveland will bring her, or dé® the task to some one; Thornleigh, pert! is Geoffrey said, v And he scanned his father’s face to see ae had any knowledge of Maud’s trouble wil: gard to him; but there was no indication of such knowledge. During the two days that elapsed befort wife’s arrival, Geoffrey devised all sorts of } for bringing peace to his unbappy sister. fr father had told bim of the doc’or’s opinion | nothing but mental distress had brought ib oor girl to such a state; and from wha® rey already knew, he felt; pretty surev 7 unlucky mistake of Thornleigh’s, as he és" was the cause of it ail. But he fancies * Elsie would bave more wit than he t#, some means of bringing about a desirable = of affairs, and he waited rather impatiently her coming, in ar la: ft wn
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A MINISTERING ANGEL. —_—_— 23 r’s | ong . aps rus the Lito fal ant CHAPTER X. AT ODDS. “My husband has gone to Elsmere at last, Mr. Thornleigh. We have long hoped for a reconciliation; but unfortunately the telegram that summoned him brought bad news.” ** 1 hope no one is ill, Mrs. Elsmere?” And the sudden paling of bis lips betrayed , much to the eyes that were trying to read his fe thoughts. fod “Yes, unfortunately; Geoffrey’s sister is ill. 1 hi Iam longing to go to ‘her, but I do not know t yet how my husband was received.” What is the matter? Has she been ill long?” i in town.” mT Mrs. Elsmere,” Mr, Thornleigh said, desper- es peti I will tell you exactly why I am inter- °s | ested in Miss Elsmere. I once asked her to be my wife, and I believe she was about to give : ate $4 answer when we were disturbed. wel ore | bad an opportunity to repeat my ques- tion | uvluckily sent her a note in which | in- ferred that she had met a lover by appoint- too} Ment. You know that I was unaware of the _ existence of her brother. I believe now that 2 Sue did not at first understand all that was im- plied by what I said. But while she was in ia town—at your ball, by the way—I tried to win fa her forgiveness; but she repelied me with the ‘;, ¢ utmost scorn. I donot think | am a vain man, el and yet [ tell you it is my firm conviction that eq but for that unfortunate error, Maud Elsmere ~-. would now be my wife.” ey os “You have my deepest sympathy,” Elsie ort S214, gently. ‘‘My husuand and [ bad a dim suspicion that there bad been something wrong. .~¢ Maud mentioned that you bas been able to ye advise papa to apply to her for Geoffrey’s ad- al dress; and she was very indignant when my jp Dusband sxggested that you had not known of his relationship to her. I assure you, dear Mr. e ¢ Jhornleigh, that Geoffrey and I will do all in the OUT Power to help you. You see, it seems as though we—that is, Geoffrey and I—bave been be the means of bringing sorrow to Maud, whereas we would do anything to show our love and qe gratitude to her; for, Mr. Thornleigh, in spite rp) Of ber coldness to others, she has the very warmest of hearts where her loved ones are __ -concerned,” wit: _. 1 know it,” was the reply; “ but I fcar there a ywill never be any warmth for me again. Never, in her coldest moments to others, have I seen port anything to equal her manner to me at our of} last interview,” be added, dejectedly. al May not the exaggeration of coldness arise on from the desire to repress other feelings?” E'sie rat suggested. ‘‘Iam betraying no contidence in 7.4 vying this, for I assure you that Maudie bas 7 er given us any reason to suppose you were iapeything to her; and my suggestion wes based yo your own remark, that you felt sure that she was inclined to accept you.” eee understand, Mrs. Elsmere, and I am rth zreatly. indebted to you for your kind interest. "You will probably hear scon from Elsmere?” ‘* Yes; and I hope Geoffrey will send for me,” ai th) “We have not heard any particulars; but I | fancied she was not looking well when she was | was the answer. as I hear.” “You are very kind; but—I think—I vonder if I might venture to go there—not to t!e Hall, but to the village hote). I think that would be better than this uncertainty.” ‘¢Perhaps you are right. May I speak on the subject to papa?” Elsie asked. “Yes. He knows how lam placed, and will probably be. glad to have achance of getting rid of my unsociable self for a time,” be replied, with a poor attempt at 4 smile. The time seemed interminable until the news came from Elsmere. Then no time was lost iu preparing for the journey. Elsie only took one servant with her—the baby’s nurse—a respectable, motherly-looking woman; and her father decided that, as Mr. Thornleigh was bent on going, be would remain in the city until further news should be forth- coming. It was a close, sultry day when Elsie saw, for the first time, the home where her husband’s earliest recollections and effections were cen- tered, and the excitement had made her un- usually nervous; so that, when she entered the beautiful grounds, she felt she was locking very weary. Her husband had driven to the station to meet ber, and he was somewhat surprised at her pale face. “T am thinking, dear husband, what you must have suffered in those weary days of toil, after spending your childbood bere,” she said, as tears filled hereyes. ‘I cannot think bow you could have been so patient.” > “TI chose deliberately, my darling! I knew that, in all probability, I should irrevocably offend my father. The mistake | made was in supposing myself able to secure some lucrative employment. But do not think now of that sorrowful time. Now that there seems more hope of poor Maud’s recovery, 1 cannot think of the past. The worst part of the business is about poor Thornleigh. How ill be looks, Elsie! And he will be wretched down at that bustling little hotel. I must speak to my father on the subject.” ; “Do you think, dear Geoffrey, that your father could help us in any way to put ap end to the estrangement between Maud and Mr, Thornleigh? He told me bow it happened, Geoffrey, and I feel sure that it is her own will- fulness that has reduced her to the state she is in. The worst of it is, too, that in endeavoring to help us she brought all this trouble on her- self.” “Tt know, dear. At any rate, it will be neces- sary to explain something to my father, in case he may inadvertently mention Thornleigh’s presence in the village.” ‘yes. Look, Geoffrey, there is your father! How he bas altered since the night when you pointed him out to me!” “ He has had a bard time, darling; but I think that the trouble bas softened him, He is as tender as he was in the olden days, when my poor mother stood by his side,” Elsie was very pale when sbe sprung from the carriage. Mr. Eismere was struck by the con- trast between her appearance when he first saw **T will let you know as soon
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24 A MINISTERING ANGEL. her and now. He bent down and kissed her softly on the forehead. “My little daughter will forgive the tard welcome that has been given to her,” he said, gravely. And Elsie thought how truly noble he looked in uttering words which until lately he would have deemed weak, ‘I am longing to see my little grandson,” he added, kindly bent on making the young mother feel at home. ‘* Maudie tells me he is like my poor wife,” **So Geoffrey thinks; but the nurse and he will be here in a few minutes. May I go to Maudie now?” ‘Yes, my dear; shoe is longing to see you again.” So Elsie went, leaving her husband to speak of the subject they bad been discussing. Mr, Elsmere was troubled greatly by bis son’s communication, ‘**I had hoped that the only source of trouble had been removed with your coming,” be said, sadly. ‘* And yet, now you have brought the subject to my mind, I remember that on the right of Tbornleigh’s coming here, Maud was brighter and happier than Tasve since seen her. Something must have caused her to act so differently toward him when we were in town; but to tell the truth, Geoffrey, I was too harassed about you then to notice what was going on around me.” For a few days after Elsie’s arrival, Maud seemed to improve greatly. The pleasure of seeing ber father speaking kindly to Geoffrey’s wife, and noticing the child with daily in- creasing interest, gave the invalid a happier look. But it was soon apparent that the doctor was dissati-fied with his patient’s progress. “ We have not yet got to the root of the mat- ter,” he said, with a grave shake of his head, when, after another fortnight of careful nursing, .~Maud was unabie to sit up in bed for even a few minutes. ‘‘ With her constitution, now that the worst is past, she ought to regain strength rapidly, instead of which she is positively no further on the road to recovery than she was a week ago,” Mr. Elsmere was nearly tempted to go to his daughter and urge her to confide in him, but Elsie interfered, “TI think, dear sir, if you will trust to me, we may find out if she really does care for Mr. Thornleigh. I really believe that if she still loves him it will be a relief to her to know that he is interested so deeply in her welfare. As it is, she has so shut herself off from all means of ascertaining what has been the result of her last interview with him, that the suspense must be dreadful. Will you leave me to contrive to ascertain her feelings on the subject?” *T shall only be too glad to doso; and Iam quite sure that you will do the work more ekillfully than I should, my dear,” Mr. Elsmere replied, with a feeling of relief, as if he fancied that one step bad already been taken in the right direction. ‘Where is baby, Elsie?” Miss Elsmere asked, in the low, weak voice to which her friends were becoming accustomed, ‘Nurse has just brought him in from the garden, Do you fee] well enough to see him? 1 will let him come in for a few minutes, if the excitement will! not tire you.” ie Let him come, dear, 1 like to see his bright ways. Elsie went out and called to the nurse, who was going to the nursery, with the child in her arms, “Bring him in, nurse; Miss Elsmere wishes to see him.” The woman obeyed, walking softly toward the bed. As tbe child’s eyes rested on Maud, he crowed delightedly, and held a beautiful geranium to- ward her. “You are a very gellant young gentleman,” his aunt said, with a smile. ‘‘Where did he get the flower, nurse?” “He was stretching out his hand to try to reach one, and Mr. Thornleigh broke this spray,” the woman said, with a respectful courtesy. Elsie seemed afraid to breathe. In a moment a change passed over the in- valid’s face, and Elsie feared she wou!d swoon. ‘““Take baby away now,” she said, to the nurse. ‘I ought not to have c.nsented to let him come.” And as the woman left the room, Elsie quick- ly and dexterously applied the Jueedful restora- tives, ‘‘Maudie, my darling,” she said, tenderly, feeling sure now that the news she had to im- part could not be other than grateful to the suffering girl, ‘‘ perhaps 1 ought to have told ou before that our dear friend, Mr. Thorn- eigh, came down to Elsmere with me. You know, dear, that we are ail aware of that un- happy business—Mr. Thornleigh’s mistake, I mean—and we are all sorry that it should have happened through us; so, when he desired to come here, so that he could hear hourly of your condition, we had not the heart tosay him nay, He is so changed, dear, from what be was, that your father says it is almost impossible to be- lieve that he has not been an invalid since his visit here at Christmas.” Elsie was kneeling ona stool by the side of Maud’s bed, and her cheek rested gently against ube pale, sunken face, She was not very much pe ea to see tears stealing at length from under the closed eyelids, But Maud tried to hide them, and very soon she managed to say: ‘‘Mr. Thornleigh is a perfect enigma. Why should he profess to be interested in one whom he has so shamefully insulted?’ ‘‘He knows now, dear, and bitterly repents offering such an insult. But, my darling, think of the circumstances! Had you seen him keep- ing a secret assignation in the dead of the night —to say nothing of the note—would not the natural inference have been that there was something wrong? Put yourself in bis place, dear. He must have loved you very dearly— indeed, that he doas so now is very evident— and the notion that you could act unworthily must have given him unutterable pain. You cannot thinkj/dear, that, loving you as he did, he would willfully wound you? But you are tired now, my love. I will go into your dress- ing-room to write to papa. If you want me, I sball hear your slightest movement,”
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A MINISTERING ANGEL, And Elsfe kissed the pale, wan face, and went | softly away, breathing a prayer inwardly that some good might come of what sae bad said. Miss Elsmere was oot improving at all, the doctor thought that day; but on each succeed- ous shake of the head was seen no more. Elsie told Mr. Thornleigh that she had spoken to her sister-in-law about him. She bad a bad such a horror of poverty that she, poor girl, was afraid to eccept him.” “Then subsequent events must have been ra- ther galling to them both,” Elsie said musingly. c 2d- | ** However, Maudie, you will see bow she is go- ing one he looked more pleased, and the omin- delicate task to perform; so she merely let him know that Maud had said little concerning him, but had listened quietly to ber remarks in ex- tenuation of his conduct. But that was better than nothing to his hungry soul. There was no hope of seeing his darling. It would be weeks before she would be strong enough to see any | but her own family circle; so he found it neces- sary to return to his business duties, and to trust to his kind friends for regular bulletins from Elsmere. CHAPTER XI. “11s MUCH HE DARES.” AUTUMN was far advanced when Maud Els- mere looked out again from her window upon the outer world. The trees were almost desti- tute of foliage, and what little still remained was looking sere, and ready to follow the heaps that were daily removed by the indefatigable rdeners from the Jawn and garden paths. A ew chrysanthemums and late asters still lin- gered, as if unwilling to show themsce!ves rout- ed until a severe frost should make them sur- render, On the whole, it was not a very cheer- ing or inspiriting scene upon which the still weakly girl gazed with dreamy eyes. But, in spite of the appearance of decay and change, the invalid found pleusure in looking at familiar objects. Perhaps, too, the thought that loving eyes had looked lately upon the prospect she now saw, helped to bring the bright flush to her pale face, and a light to her eyes. “There are some letters for you, dear,” B'sie said, as she noticed how much better her sister- in-law was looking. ‘‘ Mr, Elsmere would not have you troubled with them before. He thinks there is nothing of great importance, as all your intimate friends have been aware of your illness, Shall I get them for you to see, Maudie?” “Thank you, Elsie, I think I may as well just look at them,” Maud said, somewhat _listlessly. When the numerous square envelopes had been opened, and their contents lightly examin- ed, Maud set aside one lengthy epistle. “1 must read this,” she said with a look of in- terest. ‘It is from Lucy Millington, Elsie.” ‘*T saw her one day after you returned home,” Elsie remarked. ‘She asked me if there was any truth in the report that Herbert Hilton was about to marry Eva Walsingham. [I told her that it was quite true, for you bad deputed me to select a wedding-present for the bride. Poor Lucy! I fancied from her manner that she had | <r some hopes in that direction for hers self, “She might have been Mrs. Hilton now,” Maud said, indignantly, ‘“‘if she bad been less mercenary. He followed ber like a shadow for days, and then she refused him because be was poor. I believe she liked him, but her mother a | a laugh, ing on, for you have evidently quite a budget there.” : Maud looked down at the closely-written pages. ‘Tf she was disappointed about Herbert, she has soon found a panacea for her woes, Elsie; for she is about to marry one Anthony Liver- more, en importer.” And Maud looked at her companion with a gleam of merriment. ‘*Who is going to marry that ungainly fel- low?’ Geoffrey asked, coming in at that mo- ment, “Do you know bim, Geoffrey?” bis sister in- quired, in astonishment, ‘“Thave seen him, and that is sufficient to know him,” was the reply. ‘‘He bad business transactions with the firm which had the honor of enrolling me among the number of its em- ployes.” And Geoffrey Elsmere smiled now at the change in his circumstances. ‘‘ There was some rather unpleasant business, too, I remem- ber,” he added; ‘‘and sltogether my impres- sion of the man is anything but flattering.” “Poor little Lucy!” Maud said, compassion- ately. ‘‘She reminds me of my promise to be bridemaid whenever she should require my services in that capacity; but she fears from accounts she bas heard of my health that she will be compelled to release me from that promise. I wonder if she bas also remembered ove I made in connection with it+~namely that [ would present to her on the happy occa: siona facsimile of my bracelet, with lilies of pearls and diamonds,” “Trust her! A woman who would marry a man of the Anthony Livermore type is merce- nary enough for anything,” Geoffrey said, with ‘*] will send her a few lines of congratula- tion, and say that orders shall be given at once for the bracelet. Will you be my amagnuensis, Elsie?”? Maud asked. “Certainly, my dear; but first of all you must let Geoffrey place you on the couch, and then I will pour you a dose of Doctor Wilson’s tonic. He will be pleased to see you so mucao better when he pays his next visit,” the fair- haired young matron continued, Mr. Elsmere was anxious to keep bis son with him at Elsmere, but Mr, Cleveland had to be consulted before any definite arrangement could be made, Maud suggested that it would be a erpital lan if Mr. Cleveland would consent to spend Soristmas at the Hall, and then he could settle with her father about the future of E.sie and Geoffrey. So, as every one liked the idea, Elsie wrote to her father, who promised to try to conclude some business he had undertaken and join his friends some time in December, The winter did not seem in any burry to assert itself, and the shortening days passed quietly onward without any very apparent indications, save in their diminished length, of the steady approach of Christmas,
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A MINISTERING ANGEL. Mr. Elsmere had thought mucb about the com ne seasov, but as yet had said nothing. He must te content to let this one year pass, asa few sorrowful predecessors had done, without the time-honored festivities. It was rather a pitv that after once resuming old customs they should again have, to to be neglected; but then it would not do to have bis daughter reminded so painfully of the happy time she had spent a year ago. Havine come to this conclusion, he was somewhat non- plused by Maud’s own rroposal on the subject. “T think, papa, that Zisie must takemy place this year in helping you to arrange for the en- tertainment of our guests. IJ should like to in- vite Herbert and Eva Hilton to stay here for a few days. Mr. Walsingham tells me they aro coming to The Willows for a few weeks,” ‘* But, my dear, do you think you are wise to fill the house with company now?” her father remonstrated. ‘*T wish my brother to have a thorough Els- mere Christmas, dear papa. Tlsie does not yeb know how delightful our unconventional parties are, Sbe bas been so tossed ubout in her young life that I teel sure she bas never realized what ‘home’ means, and will not doso till she can have one Christmas-time in our happy Elsmere fashion.” ‘It shall be as you wish, my darling. If we can maké little Elsie entirely happy I should be pleased to do so, although I thiuk she has but two wishes ungratified at present—sbe wishes for Mr. Cleveland’s presence and for my Maud- ie’s perfect restoration to health and happiness.” So it was settled that, under Maud’s instruc- tions, Elsie should arrange fur the coming of a few guests, Florence Hilton was included in the. invita- tion to her brother, and Mrs. Hilton insisted on her acceptance of the invita‘ion. ‘You are not going to bury yourself here for life, my child,” her mother said, when her duti- ful daughter expressed her intention of declin- ing the invitation. ‘‘ When I consented to let Herbert buy the old place and beautify it, I had no intention of debarring you from the rivileges which your wealth can bring you. he old place would have served me as it was, but it was not fitting that you should spend your life in a poorly-appointed household. I Shall not feel happy now, my dear, if you do not accept the good gifts that fate has put in your way.” So Florence was fairly launched into aristo- cratic society. It was she who carried some astounding news respecting Mrs, Anthony Livermore to Elsmere. She, Florence, bad been out shopping a few days before her depar- ture from New York, when she was suddenly brought in contact with the fair girl whom she now knew to have been the cause of sorrow to ber brother, But the look of childish innocence that had been go striking in Lucy Millington’s face had no longer any existence. It was an expression of fear which tovk away the chief charm from the girl’s fair loveliness, for as she and ber companion, a man of about forty years of age, dressed in the extreme hight of fashion, stepped out of a somewhat dashing-looking car- riage, two detectives who had followed in a hack arrested the gentleman quietly, and de- sired him to accompany them. Mrs. Livermore was some minutes before she could understand that her husband was really a prisoner. It was at this juncture that Miss Hilton had kindly done her best to comfort the miserable young wife. Sbe induced her to re- enter her carriage, and then gave orders that Mrs. Livermore should be driven home. Feel- ings of delicacy kept Miss Hilton from accom- panying ber. Perbaps it would be painful to the poor girl to know that Herbert Hilton’s sis- ter had witnessed her distress, and Florence was thankful to see that as yet she was unrecog- nized. After Mrs. Livermore had been disposed of, Miss Hilton turned to one of the detectives, who had not yet entered the hack, ‘* Pardon me,” she said, in a quiet tone, to the man, ‘but I am interested in Mr. Livermore for his poor wife’s sake. Will you tell me if the charge is a very grave one?” ‘‘T have no objection,” was the reply. ‘* An- thony Livermore is charged with forgery, and with uttering false checks to an unusually large amount. The evidence is black against him, and there isn’t the ghost of a chance for him.” So Florence Hilton went home, and on her arrival at Elsmere told the sad story of the shame and misery that had been brought upon poor Lucy by ber undue regard for wealth. Herbert Hilton was truly sorry for the poor girl, and he consulted with Miss E!smere as to the best method of doing something to render her assistance, in case of her actual return toa life of poverty. ‘‘ My wife would like to have a small sum paid to ber yearly, Miss Eismere,” he said; ‘** but I should be thankful if you would let the poor soul imagine that the money comes from you,” ‘Tt does you and Eva credit to show such kinduess to one who has shown herself so un- worthy,” Miss Elsmere said, with genuine ad- miration. ‘*On the contrary, we feel we owe her some- thing Zor aiding us as sbe has done in securing the happiness we now enjoy,” he replied, laugh- ingly. ‘‘Had she been able to look into the future there is no doubt that I should now bea wretched man, instead of one of the happiest in ©xistence.” *Tam truly rejoiced at your good fortune,” Maud said, earnestly. ‘‘ And it I can assist you in your plans for poor Mrs. Livermore’s benefit, I shall most willingly do so.” But nothing could be done until after the trial of the scoundrel who had passed as a rich man, and had with bis false professions secured the influepce of Mrs. Millington, who had re- duced her small fortune greatly by her efforts to appear well in society. Lucy had no love for the coarse-looking man whose eyes she had dazzled, and to »bom Mrs, yi es ite was willing to sell her daughter for gold, Deep indeed was the disgrace, and heavy the punishment that speedily came to the unnatural woman who had striven to drive all better in- stincts from her daughter’s soul. A few weeks later Anthony Livermore was
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found guilty; and, but for the yearly payment of five hundred doliars by Miss Elsmere, Lucy would have been obliged to earn something to eke out her mother’s crippled resources. Herbert would not consent to have Lucy in- formed of the real donor of the welcome assist- ance. He could not fancy that she would be dead to all shame; and so, in spite of Mics Els- mere’s uneasiness at having to accept thanks that were really not her due, she felt bound in honor to fulfill Herbert Hilton’s wishes. The third week in D cember gave greater promise of winterly weather than bad been ex- pected, for there had been more than a month of damp, unhealthy weather, But one bright night the stars came out clearly again in the steely-blue sky, and next morning the clear sunshine discovered some rather ob- stinate patches of ice, and after all there wasa hope of seasonable weather for Christmas, Elsie was enjoying to the full the new sense of being beloved by @ larger circle of friends than she bad ever hoped for. She was experi- encing, too, the happiness of trying to benefit others, Another source of excitement was lending its beautifying effects to the lovely flower-like face, But Elsie did not intend to let too many into the secret of the one paramount interest. Only her busband, of all the inmates at E}s- mere, knew of the project that was filling Ler with delightful expectations. , Great fires wera kept burping in all the rooms of the old Hell during the week before Christmas, and, with Geoffrey for a referee, Elsie succeeded in arrangzng the evergreens in the quaint style that had characterized them in his childhood, Mr. Elsmere was gradually losing his anx- iety respecting his daughter, and there was a feeling of peace and joy at his beart to which he had long been a stranger, when on Christmas Eve he stood with a calm, happy smile on his face, welcoming the neighboring families, who had a> extra stimulus to their craving for pleasurable excitement, in anticipation of seeing Mr. Elsmere’s demeanor toward bis son and son’s wife, Miss Elsmere was not permitted to take any active part in the evening’s gayeties. She was greatly changed s'nce tue similar occasion in the preceding year, but the change was not a very deplorable ove. Certainly ber beautiful long glossy hair had been cut off, but the soft little rings that were beginning to grow gave an inex- pressible charm to ‘the face that paled and flushed alternately, for Maud was not yet quite strong, and the past came very vividly before her as she saw the company preparing to joy themselves. 3 ewan a great pleasure to Maud to see Mr. Cleveland's eyes following Elsie’s every move- ment. Sbe could not resist the temptation of going over to bis side and speaking a few words of thankfulness for the happiness that had come tothem, He wasa pleasant companion, in spite characteristics, and for more than an hour he kept Miss E!smere well entertained, } | of the reserve that bad been one of his chief | 0 at length Elsie found them, and expressed A MINISTERING ANGEL. 27 her pleosure at finding her sister-in-law display- ing so much sense. ‘* You are wise to sit quietly and not get over- heated, especially if you intend, as J know you generally do, to go outside when the bells ring,” she said to Maud, ‘Geoffrey and I want to go out, too; but as we do not want any to join us but just our own circle, you wrap up warmly, and go first—will you, dear?—and Geoffrey and { will contrive to join you quietly when we have discharged our duties to those who will be leaving us presently. Ob, Maudie, Iam a happy girl to-night! I only wish you were equally so.” Maud smiled faintly; for although she never spoke of Royal Thornleigh, she did not check Hisie’s occasional references to him. “I think I will go away and rest for a time, Itlsie,” she said, as she saw her father coming to speak to Mr, Cleveland. ‘Yes, dear; I shall certainly go out to hear those glorious peals. It is not likely that I, who have longed so ear- nestly for their sweet sounds in days gone by, shall forego the pleasure now. You will find me there when you and Geoffrey come.” And, with the little patient smile that was becoming habitual, she went away to lie down. She could not rest, however. She was living over again those few bright hours of a year ago. How well she remembered it all—that happy, bappy time when she knew tbat Mr. Thornleigh really loved ber! Then came the thought of the miserable time that followed, and like a warning came the words of her brother—she could almost fain y he really_spoke—‘‘ Do not spoil your life for a myth.” Perhaps that warning had come too late, Perhaps the wan who bad loved ker so well had tired of her persistence. She could not blame him if be had; for bad she not tried to convince him that be was nothing to he: ? She had not thought then of the dreary fu- ture. It hac not occurred to her, in the pride of her outraged dignity, that she wus ‘‘ spoiling her life.” But it seemed she had done so; and not only her own, but the life of the man sie loved, for she knew well that no other man could ever be anything to ber, She would not have repined so much if she alone bad had to suffer for her obstinacy; but repining could do no good, so she must try to bear with the lot that she had chosen. When she had been offered ber choice, she had -pre- ferred to gratify ber pride rather than her love, Why sbould she murmur? A few minutes before twelve she went to the old spot on the terrace, Excepting that there was a sense of desolation in her heart,gnd that there was no moon to light up the Jandscape, there seemed to heave been no interval between the time when she had stood listening, a year ago, to the fist clear ringing sounds; for even as she leaned ug: iust the stonework, the peals came distinctly on the still, frosty air. The reflections that oceupied her mind were very different to those that had troubled ber theo. Her trcuble must be buried, however, for already she could bear the casement open- ing, and she would not, for any consideration,
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28 A MINISTERING ANGEL. add a cloud to the brightness of Elsie’s horizon, tbat bad been overcast too often in the past. In after years, Maud cvuuld never quite re- member how the next few minutes were passed. She had a dim consciousness that she had turned to make room beside her for her brother and his wife, and that, instead of Geoffrey, sbe found Royal Thornleigh had returned, and was going through the last year’s programme asif he, too, bad found it imvonsttte to separate this solemn time with its preceding anniversary. But she could not remember what words were spoken; for during the semi-unconsciousness under which she reeled in those supreme mo- ments when she realized that happiness had come to her after all, there seemed to be but one refrain breathing in time to the joyous pealing —‘‘ I bave not spoiled my life.” To Geoffrey and Elsie, the half-hour’s preced- ence which they had agreed to allow Mr. Thorn- leigh seemed interminable; but when it ended, and they went out in time to hear the last dy- ing notes slowly fading away in faintly repeat- ed echoes, the husband and wife felt that at last the cloud had been lifted from their sister’s life, for Royal Thornleigh’s arms were around her, and even when Elsie went forward and kissed Maud’s cheek with devout thankfulness, the lover did not let his darling go. “You may congratulate me at last, dear Mrs. Elsmere! I am to be forgiven now for my wretched blundering, thanks to your goodness in helping me to present my plea at the righi moment, It will be a pleasure to me in my after life to be able to claim you as a sister,’ Mr. Thornvleigh continued; ‘“ for next to Maudie, he will always seem the angel of my life. Shake hands, Elsmere; for in less than a month, if I can have my way, weshall be related! Louk up, Maudie dearest, and let our dear friends see that my coming has done you ro harm!” But Miss Elsmere did not look up; she pro- fessed to be tired, and Elsie considerately left the lovers to say ‘‘Good-night,” while she and her husband sought their respective fathers to proclaim to them that there was at length an end to the troubles brought about by Royal Thornleigh’s mistake. THE END. THE Dime Dialogues No. 32 Containing eighteen Minor Dramas“Extravaganzas, Burlesques, Farces, Dress and Humorous Pieces, for the Amateur Stage, Parlors, Schools and Exhibitions, All original and by favorite authors, professors, teachers and amateurs, For sale by all newsdealers, or sent, post-paid, on receipt of price—ten cents, BEADLE AND ADAMS, PvustisHers, 98 William Street, New York. Half-Dime Singer's Library 1 Waoa, Exma! and 59 other Songs, 2 Caprain Curr and 57 other Songs, 8 Tue Garnsporo’ Hat and 62 other Songs. 4 Jounny Morean and 60 other Songs. 5 Tut Strme You Wirs A Fearuer and 62 others, 6 GrorGE THE CHARMER and 56 other Songs. 7 Tue Bette or Rockaway and 52 other Songs. 8 Youne Fe.ian, You’re Too Fresx and 60 other’. 9 Say Youne Grr and 65 other Songs. 10 I’m THE GOVERNOR’s ONLY Son and 58 other Sungs 11 My Fawn and 65 other Songs. 12 Comm’ Taro’ Tur Rye and 53 other Songs. 18 THe Rowiickine IntsHmMan and 59 other Songs. 14 Otp Doa@ Tray and 62 other Songs. 15 WuHoa, CHARLI£ and 59 other Songs, 16 In TaH1s WHEAT By anp By and 62 other Songs, 17 Nancy Lee and 58 other Songs. 18 I’m THe Boy THaAtT’s Bound To BLAZE and 57 others 19 Tae Two OrpHans and 59 other Songs. 20 WHar ARE THE Wi~p WAVES SAYING, SISTER? and 59 other Songs. 21 InNpiaNaAnT Potty Woe and 59 other Songs, $2 ‘Yue OLD ARrM-CHair and 58 other Songs. 23 On Conrey Istanp Brace and 58 other Songs, 24 OLp Stmon, THE Hot-Corn Man and 60 others. 25 I’m in Love and 56 other Songs, 26 PARADE oF THE GuaRDs and 56 other Songs. 27 Yo, Heave, Ho! and 60 other Songs, 28 "['witt NEVER Do To GiB Ir up So and 60 others, 29 Buue Bonnets Over THE RorpeER and 44 others, 80 Tae Merry LavGHiIne MAN and 56 other Songs 81 Swrer Forart-mz-Nor and 55 other Songs. 82 LeeTLe Basy Ming and 53 other Songs. 88 De BANJO AM DE INSTRUMENT FOR ME and 53 others. 34 Tarry and 50 other Songs. 85 Just To PLEASE THE Boys and 52 other Songs. 86 SKATING ON ONE IN THE GUTTER and 52 others, 37 Kotorep Kranks and 59 other Songs. 38 Niw DesPpERANDUM and 53 other Songs. 89 Tue Grru I Lerr Benryp Me and 50 other Songs. 10 °Tis put a LirrLe Fapep FLower and 50 others 41 Pretty WHILHELMINA and 60 other Songs, 42 DANCING IN THE Barn and 63 other Songs, 43 H. M.S. Prnarore, comMpLeTE, and 17 other Songs Sold everywhere by Newsdealers, at five cents per copy, or sent post-paid, to any address, on re- ceipt of Sia cents per number. BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pus.isuers, 98 Witi1aM Street, New Yorg,
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THE DIME DIALOGUES. 7 Dime Dialogues, No. 29. Who Shall Have the Dictionary? For six males and ewo females. The Test of Bravery. For four boys and teacher. | Fortune’s Wheel. For four males. The Little Austhetes. For six little girls. The Yes and No of Smoke. For three little boys. No References. For six gentlemen and three ladies. | An Amazing Good Boy. One male and one female. | What a Visitation Did. For several ladies. Simple Simon. For four little boys. The Red Light. For four males, two females, and several subsidiaries. The Sweetest Thought. The Inhuman Monster. tleman. Three Lictle Fools. For four small boys. Beware of the Dog! For three ladies and three “‘ Dodgers.” Bethlehem, For a Sunday-School Class Exhibition. Joe Hunt’s Hunt. For two boys and two girls. Rags. For six males. For four little girls. For six ladies and one gen- Dime Dialogues, No. 30. Invisible Heroes. For five young ladies. A “Colored” Lecture. For four males. Wishes. For five little boys. Look at Home. For three iittle girls. Fisherman's Luck. For two males and three females. Why He Didn’t Hire Him. For several characters. A Fortunate Mistake. For six young ladies, onc little girl and a little boy. ; An Alphabetical Menagerie. For a whole school. The Higher Education. For eight boys. The Vicissitudes of a Milliner. For six females. Cat and Dog. For two little ones. } The Jasthete Cured. For two ladies and three gen- | tlemen. Jim Broderick'’s Lesson. For two boys. The Other Side of the Story. For five females. The Test that Told. For five males. Wooing by Proxy. For two ladies and three gentle- men. Learning from Evil. For five boys The Teacher's Ruse. For ten boys and three girls. Colloquy of Nations. For eleven personators. Additional Personations for ‘‘ Goddess of Liberty.’ A scenic piece in Dialogues No. 24. | a | Dime Dialogues, No 31. Rarr’s Boarders. For various characters. A Lively Afternoon, For six males. A New Mother Hubbard. For six little girls. Bread on the Waters. For four females. Forninst the Scientists. For two males. Sloman’s Angel. For two males and one female. What Each Would Do. For six little girls. Twenty Dollars a Lesson. For eleven males. Aunt Betsey’s Ruse. For three females and one male. The Disconcerted Supernaturalist. and audience ‘‘ voices.” Grandma Grumbleton’s Protest. Fora “grandma” and several girl grandebildren. Nothing Like Training. For a number of males The Bubble. For two little girls. For one male Medicine for Rheumatiz. Fortwo“ cullud pussons.’ | Applied Metaphysics | How They See the | Morgan’s Money. That Book Agent! For three males and one female. The Well Taught Lesson. For five little boys. A Turn of the Tide. For three male and three fe- male characters. A True Carpet-Bagger. For three females. For six males. What Humphrey Did. Tor flve males and three fe- males. Dime Dialogues, No 32. A Persecuted Man. For various characters. Toco Curious for Comfort. For two males and two females. Under False Guise. dren, A Sure Guide. For seven males. The Eight Little Boys from Nonsense Land. World. For five little girls. The Doctor’s Office. For several characters male and female. Too Much Side Show. Fora number of boys. How ‘dire. Ponderous Was Paid. For four young adies, Polywog Versus Wolypog. For numerous citizens. Tongue and Temper. For two ladies, The Flour of the Family. For three ladies and one gentleman. Middleton's Mistake. For five males. A Valuable Neighbor. For one lacy and one boy. The Man of Cheek. For two males. Mr. and Mrs. Blizzard at Home. For man and wife, p For five males. The ‘eelpehegi of Miles Standish. val, For several females and chil- For School Festi- Dramas and Readings. 20 cents. DRAMAS. For five characters. For fifteen characters. A Moonlight Masquerade. For fourteen ladies. Matches Made in Attics. For five characters. Dandelions. For seven characters. Lottie’s Leap Year Victory. For four characters. The Friend in Disguise. For six leading characters and several subsiciaries. The Hypochondriac. The Retrieved Name. READINGS AND RECITATIONS. The Last of Little Nell. The Raven. Mary’s Lamb. William Brown of Oreron Larry O’Leary’s Ghost, Which Shall It Be? Go Feel What I Have Felt. Hamlet and Ophelia. Scepe in a Mad-THouse. The New Baby. | Red Riding Hocd, tive Tlow cine Ramon, the Hero of El Refugio Mine. The Bridge of Sighs. A Lecture on Matrimony. A Ramble in the Wood. Grandmother's Notions. Naming the Baby. Address to the Comet. Parrhasius and the Cap- | to Practice Medi- For sale by all newrdealers, or will be sent, post- paid, to any address, on receipt of price, ten cents, BEADLE AND ADAMS, Pusiisrers, 98 William Street, New York.
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THE DIME SPEAKERS. the Conscience Best Guide, Whom to Honor, The Lords of Labor, Ferly Rising, Pumpernie kel and Pe p- schikoff, | Only a Tramp, Cage Them, Time's Soliloquy, lind a Way or Make It, The Musquito Hunt, The Hero. Dime Funny Speaker, No. 21. “Jol, Sellers Elucidates, | A Fogry Day, Clory Mit Ter Sthars und! New Mythology (Vulcan), Sthripes, lotism,) The New Mythologs ry(Pan,) Terence O’Dowd’s Patri- T.ime Kiln Club Oration, Farmer Thornbush on Theo Fiddler, [Fools, The Regular Season, The School Boy’s Lament, Hot Baby Off Mine, Bluggs Once More, Views on Agriculture, One Hundred Years Ago, Mason, De *Sperience ob de Reb’- Joan of Are, rend Quacko Strong, Blessings of Farm Life, A Dollar or Two, The People, On Some More Hash, Thermopyle, I Kin Nod Trink To-Nighd, New Church Doctrine, Wilyum’s Watermillion, Josiah Axtell’s Oration, Parson Barebones’s An- athema, Cesar Squash on Heat, Fritz Valdher is Made a Where Money is King, Cats, Professor Dinkelspeigel Jim Bludso; or, The Prai man on the Origin of _ rie Belle, Life, A Catastrophic Ditty, Konsentrated Wisdum, The Maniac’s Defense, Joseph Brown and the Woman, God Bless Her! Mince Pie, Be Miserable, John Jenkins’s Sermon, | Dc dds versus Daubs, The Cadi's Judgment, That Calf. A Parody on “ Tell Me Ye Winged Winds,” Dime Jolly Speaker, No. 22, A Weak Case, Thev May Be Happy Yet, Grpheus, A Side View, Grandfather's Clock, The XIXth Century, Marvy’s Von Little Ram, A Familar Lecture on Perseus. <A “ Classic,” Science, Rigid Reformation, OlLand New Time, The Funny Man, Clayfoot’s. Spirit Race, Don’t Give Tt Away, The Village School. A Dark Warning. A “Colored ” Dissertation An Awful Warning. Effective Appeal, De Parson Sowed de Seed, Pompey’s Thanksgiving Turkey, A Sermon for the Sisters, De Filo ofy ob Fun, Disappointed Discoverer, A Heathen’s Score, Der Dog und der Lobster, The Young Tramp, Delights of the Season, The Delichts of Spring oY Josh Billings’s Views, Beasteses, How tew Pik out a Watermelion, How tew Pik out a Dog, How tew Pik out a Kat, Tiow tew Pik out a Wife This Side and That, Nocturnal Mewsings, The New ‘Essay On Man, A New Declaration of Independence, The Jolly Old Fellow. A C hristmas Welcome, My First Coat, The Fire-Prigade, A Patriotic ‘* Splurge,’ Dime Dialect peukisr, No. 23. Dat's W’at’s De Matter, The Mississip pi Miracle, Ven Te Tide Cooms In. Dose Lams Vot Mary Haf Got, [man’s Rights, | Pat O'Flaherty On Wo- The Home Rulers, | Hezekiah Dawson On Mothers-In-Law, He Didn't Sell The Farm, New Mythology (Bacchus) | The True Story of Frank- lin’s Kite, [Again, I Would I Were a “Boy A Pathetic Story, All About a Bee, Scandal, A Dark Side View, Te Pesser Vay, On Learning German, Mary’s ShmallVite Lamb, A Healthy Discourse, Tobias So To Speak, Old Mrs. Grimes, A Parody, Mars and Cats, Bill Underwoo d, Pilot, Old Granley, The Pill Peddler’s Or: ation WidderGreen’s last words’ | Latest Chinese Outrage, An | The Good Old Times, In- | deed! A Congratulatory Reminder, Ps ILunatiec’s Reverie, Stealing the Sacred Fire, = Ballad, The Story of Prome- he | var, theus Modernized, Backbone, ' Owl and the Pussy-Cat The Manifest Destiny of the Irishman, Peggy McCann, Spray sfrom Josh B illings De Circumstances ob de Sitiwation, Dar’s Nuffin New Under de Sun, A Negro Religious Poem, That Violin, Picnic Delights, Our Candidate’ s Views Dundreary'’s Wisdem, Plain Languagé, | My Neighbor's Dogg, | Condensed Mythology, Pictus, The Nereides, Legends of Attica, The Stove Pipe Tragedy, A Doketor’s Drubbles, The Coming Man, The Iligant Affair at Mul- doon’s, [the Corner, That Little Baby Around A Genewine Inference. An Invitation to the Bird of Liberty, The Crow, Out West. Dime Readings and Recitations, No. The Trishman’s Panora- ma, The Lightning-rod Agent | The Tragedy at Four Ace Flat, Ruth and Naomi, Carey of Corson, 3abies, John Reed, The Brakeman at Church Passun Mooah’s §Sur- mount, Arguing the Question, Jim Wolfe and the Cats, The Dim Old Forest, tasher at Home, The Sergeant's Story, David and Goliah, Dreaming at Fourscore, Rum, 24. When the Home, The Donation Party, Tommy Taft, A Michigander in France, Cows Come | Not One to Spare, Mrs. Breezy’s I ‘ink Lunch Rock of Ages, J. Cesar Pompey Squash’s Sermon, Annie’s Ticket, The Newsboy, Pat’s Correspondence, Death of th’ Owd ‘Squire, Mein Tog Schneid, At Elberon, The Cry of Womanhood, The Juijgment Day, The Burst Bubble, Curfew Must Not Ring Why Should the Spirit of | To-night, Mortal be Proud? | The Swell, The Coming Mustache, The Water Mill, The Engineer's Story, Sain’s Letter, A Candidate for Presi- Footsteps of the Dead, dent, Charity, toll Call, An Essay on Cheek. Accession to the Family, or sent, post-paid, to ten cents, For sale by all newsdealers, any address, on receipt of price, BEADLE AND ADAMS, PcBLisHEns, 98 Willliam street, New York,
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ws Se ~ Ox ©), OO fey oe FSS Ie POPULAR “YU | DIME HAND-Books. } BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK. eee Each volume 100 12mo pages, sent post-paid on receipt of price—ten cents each. GAME AND PASTIME SERIES. HAND-BOOK OF SUMMER SPORTS—Comprising Walking, Running, Jump ing. Hare and Hounds, Bicycling, Archery, etc. With Complete American and English Athletic Rules, HAND-BO-K OF WINTER SPORTS. Embracing Skating, (on the ice and on rollers,) Rink-Ball, Curling, Ice-Boating and Football. : HAND-BOOK OF PEDESTRIANIsM—Giving the Rules for Training and’Prac- : tice in Walking, Running, Leaping, Vaulting, etc. ; CRICKET AND FOOT-BALL—A desirable Companion, containing complete : instructions in th. clements of Bowling, Batting and Fielding; also the Re , vised Laws of the Game; Remarks on the Duties of Umpires; the Mary-le-Bone N Cricket Club Rules and Regulations; Bets, etc. ) DIME BOOK OF CROQUET—A complete guide to the game, with the latest 5 rules, diagrams, Croquet Dictionary, Parlor Croquet, etc. ; DIME GUIDE TO SWIMMING—Embracing all the rules of the art for both sexes. YACHTING AND ROWING—This volume will be found very complete as a guide tothe conduct of watercraft, and full of interesting information alike to the amateur and the novice. ! RIDING AND DRIVING—A sure guide to correct Horsemanship, with com- ert )lete directions for the road and field; and a specific sectibn of directions and information for female equestrians. BOOK OF 100 GAMES—Out-door and In-door SUMMER GAMES, for Tourists and Families in the Country, Picnics, etc., comprising 100 Games, Forfeits, etc, DIME CHESS INSTRUCTOR—A complete hand-book of instruction, giving the entertaining mysteries of this most interesting and fascinating of games, t=) 5S YOUNG PILOPLE’S SERIES. 1—DIME GENTS’ LETTER-WRITER—Embracing Forms, Models, Suggestions and Rules for the use of all classes, on all occasions. 2—DI © BOOK OF E'TIQUETTE—For Ladies and Gentlemen: being a Guide to True Gentility and Good-Breeding, and a Directory to the Usages of society. 8—DIME BOOK OF V}.RSES—Comprising Verses for Valentines, Mottoes, Coup- lets, St. Valentine Verses, Bridal and Marriage Verses, Verses of Love, ete. 4—DIME BOOK OF DREA MS—Their Romance and Mystery; with a complete interpreting Dictionary. Compiled from the most accredited sources. 5—DIME FORTUNE-TELLER—Comprising the art of Fortune-Telling, how to read Character, etc. ; 6—DIME LADIES’ LETT®”?-WRITER-—Giving the various forms of Letters of School Days, Love and Friendship, of Societv, etc. 7—DIME LOVERS’ CASKET—A Treatise and Guide to Friendship, Love, Court- ship and Marriage. Embracing also a complete Flora! Dictionary, etc, 8—DIME BALL-ROOM COMPANION—And Guide to Dancing Giving rules of et B00! hints on Private Parties, toilettes for the Ball-room, etc, PP PPP LPP PP PPP AAP A OD worn ne RPLPALL ee 12—DIME BOOK OF BEAUTY —A delightful book, full of interesting informa- tion. It deserves a place in the hands of every one who would be beautiful, FAMILY SERIES, | 1. DIME COOK BOOK. 4. DIME FAMILY PHYSICIAN, . 2. DIME RECIPE BOOK. 5 DIME DRESSMAKING AND MII- 3. DIME HOUSEWIFE’S MANUAL, LINERY. PPFD DID PPLE LLL LL LOLOL OOP LPL tN lt OLN OE” AP A (zr The above books are sold by Newsdealers everywhere, or will be sent, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of price, 10 cents each. BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William street, New York. | | zi CELL EO PLLA LL A PPL AL fi 2 > iy) | 6) { ; | — i RN
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OLB LLL LLL LPP PPP PD PP PP PP PPP LLLP PLP PPP LPP PPL PL PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY. = +7 Waverley Library. — THIRTY-TWO OCTAVO PAGES. 1A Bride of a Day; or, The Mystery of Winifred Leigh. By Mary Reed Crowell. ; 2 The Girl Wife's or, The True and the False. By Bartley T, Campbell. . 8B Was kt Love? or, Collegians and Sweethearts. By Wim. Mason Turner, M.D. ; 4 Married in Haste. By Rett Winwood. : 42 48 44 & Will She Marry Him? or, The Masked Bride. | 4 By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 6 His Lawful Wife; or, Myra, the Child oi Adop- tion. By Mrs. Ann 8, Stephens. F ? A Falr Face} or, Out in the World, By Bartley T. Campbell. - 8 A Mad Marriage; or, The Iron Will. By Mary A. Denison. : / A Daughter of Eves or; Blinded by Love. By Mra. Mary Reed Crowell. 3 : The Broken Betrothal ; or, Love versus Hate By Mary Grace Halpine. The Bride of an Actor; or, Driven from Home. By the Author Alone in the World,” ete., ete. A Pair of Gray Eyes; or, The Emerald Necklace. By Rose Kennedy, Without a Heart. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. Alone in the World; or, The Youny Man’s Ward, By the Author of “ The Bride of an ctor,” ete. ete. The Bouquet Girl. By Agile Penne. Mariana, the Prima Donna, By Arabella Southworth. The Ebon Mask3 or, The Mysterious Guardian. By Mra. Mary Reed Crowell. Lucy Temple. Paughter of Charlotte. Che Three Sisters, By Alice Fleming. Creole Sisters. My Mrs. Anna E. Porter. A Marriage of Convenience. By Sara Claxton. the Wife’s Secret. By Co}. Juan Lewis. Sir Archer’s Bride. By Arabella Southworth, Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. Homeless; or, Two Orphan Girls in New York. By Albert W. Aiken. ‘ The Maniae Bride. By Margaret Blount. Pledged to Marry. By S«ra Claxton. Cecil's Deceit. By Mrs. Jennie Davis Burton. } Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Second Love. By Arabella Southworth. ZT Without Mercy. By Bartley T. Campbell. Motherless; or, The Farmer’s Sweetheart, By Col. | Prentiss Ingraham. The Secret Marrlage. By Sarna Claxton. Sister against Sister; or, The Rivalry of Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowel. ; Heart to Heart; or, Fair Phyllis’s Love. By Arabella Southworth. ¢ ; Bed for Gold; or, Almost Lost. By Mrs. M. V. fictor. F 20 Entangled; »r, A Dangerous Game. By Henrietta ‘Thackeray. 21 Sybil Chase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. By Mrs. Ann 8. Stephens, . 22 Trust Her Not; or, A True Knight. By Margaret eicester. 28 Sinned Against. By Clara Augusta 24 A Loyal Cover: By Arabella Southworth. 25 The Oountry Cousin, By Rose Kennedy. 26 His Idol; or, The Ill-Starred Marriage. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 27 Fliirtation; or, A Young Girl’s Good Name. By Jacob Abarbunell (Ralph Reyal). ; Helebmiedniele? BNA RRO Derr sos 28 Now and Forever; or, Why Did She Marry Himt | By Henrietta Thackeray. 29 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, the Lost Heir. By Agile Penne. 80 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. 81 The Little HMefress; or, Undera Cloud. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. : 82 Leap Year 3; or, Why She Proposed. By Sara Clax- ton. 88 In Spite of Herself; or, Jeanette’s Reparation, | By S. R. Sherwrod. $4 Wer Face W as Her Fortune, By Eleanor Blaine. 85 The Cuban Heiress. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 86 Only a Schoolmistreas, By Arabella Southworth. 87 The Winged Messenger; or, Risking All for s Heart. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 88 Was She a Coquette? or, A Strange Courtship. By Henrietta Thackeray. 89 One Woman's Heart. By George S. Kaime, 40 Love-Mad; or, Betrothed, Married, Divorced and— By Wm. Mason Turner, M, D. Al For Her Dear Sake. By Sara Claxton. 92 | 98 ' The Baronet’s Secret, By Sara Claxton. Agnes Hope, the Actress; or, the Romance of a Kuby Ring. By Win. Mason furver, M. D. A Widow’s Wiles, By Rachel Bernhardt, Did He Love Her? By Ba tley T. Campbell. Almost in His Power. By Lillian Lovejoy. She mid Not Love Him. By Arabella South- worth, Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl. By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. A Brave Girl. By Alice Fleming. Lord Roth’s Sin. By Georgiana Dickens.. A Wicked Heart. By Sara Claxton, Hi« Heart’« Mistress, By Arabella Southworth. The Only Daughter. Py Alice Fleming. Why I Married Him? By Sura Claxton. Honor Bound. By Lillian Lovejoy. A Man’s Sin. By Rett Winwood. His Own Again. By Arabella Southworth. Adria, the Adopted. By Jennie Davis Burton. A Brother’s Sin, By Rachel Bernhardt. Because She Loved Him. By Alice Fleming. A Strange Marriage. By L llian Lovejoy For the Woman He Loved, By Agnes Mary Shelton. Forbidden Bans, By Arabella Southworth. Two Young Girls By Alice Fleming. A Point of Honor. By Lillian Lovejoy. A Woman's Witchery. By Sara Claxton. A Seathing Ordeal. By Mrs. Georgiana Dickens. Outwitted by Herself. By Arabella Southworth. What Jealousy Did. By Alice Fleming. * A Woman’s Maneuver, By Lillian Lovejoy. A Fateful Game. By Sara Claxton. A Ministering Angel. ‘By Georgiana Dickens, Ready January 26. Haunted Hearts. By Rachel Bernhardt. Ready February 2. Buying » Heart. By Lillion Lovejoy. Ready February 9. A Desperate Game. By Arabella Southworth. Ready February 16. Under a Cloud. By Sara Claxton. Ready Febru- ary The Cost of a Folly, By Georgiana Dickens, Ready Marchi 2. The Waverley Library is for sale by all newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each. Beadle and Adams, Publishers, No. 98 William street, New York. Or” (OES pe 4% PLP POPP OP LAA